#that’s seriously the best thing you could do for me so thank you so so so SO much my dear anon 🥺💕💕💕

[kyouka-supremacy]

Okay a list of some questions the fans who attended the panel in Shanghai asked Asagiri because I said I would have done it (and I want to be able to find things if I look them up). Unfortunately, Chinese socials are very hard for me to navigate due to account limitations, so all the ones I found come from Twitter (which is made thrice as hard to navigate due to Firefox restrictions just in the past days. But we soldier on ig). If you are aware of any question I've missed, please bring it up to my attention! (But only if you have a link to it, because I won't be able to add it if I can't include the source). These are mostly about soukoku.

Q: Would Dazai secretly drink Chuuya’s red wine? A: Yes he would. (x1) (staff’s voice?): He would. A (reaffirming without looking up, nodding): Yes, he would. (x2)

Via huawyn

Q: Can you write more stories about Fukuzawa and Ranpo? A: I see. understood.

Via huawyn

Q: Since in the Beast universe, there is pm boss Dazai & executive Chuuya - have you ever thought of writing a story where Chuuya is the pm boss and Dazai is an executive? A: Oh, that sort of thing... Well (no direct answer)

Via huawyn

“To sum it up, many people asked about movies regarding skk ages 16, 17, and 18. I personally asked if we could delve into the backstory of other characters like Kouyou’s past [for example] to which Asagiri responded, ‘ah i see.’ and that he would consider it.”

Via huawyn

Q: Will sensei write more stories about buraiha in the future? A: Stories about buraiha... How should I put it... As for Oda... Q: What about past stories about them? A: There will be. Q: Really? A: When will I write them... There are things I wish to write. Someday I will write them.

Via huawyn

Q: In the Beast universe, what kind of feelings/thoughts does Dazai have towards Chuuya? A: I won’t say from an official perspective; I hope everyone will understand through their interpretations after reading the work. But if I had to say... I feel a bit embarrassed. (Op wanted to emphasize that Asagiri said it quite seriously but clearly wanted to differentiate his personal opinion from the viewers'. As for why he felt embarrassed, it’s up to your perspective.)

Via huawyn

Q: I really like Chuuya. Is it possible to see him more often in the future? A (looking at op, nodding): Understood. Q: Is there a possibility you will continue to write skk story when they were 17 & 18? A: If i have the chance, I'll write more.

(The reaction he had as noted by op is that he smiled hearing skk’s name. There was a lot of people reiterating their experience with the event — mostly shippers who asked for their pairing to be written as part of the signature. Although technically he’s not supposed to, asagiri complied with as many wishes as possible before staff intervened. Additionally, people expressed their grievances with the staff as the venue moved Asagiri at some point and many were left confused. Regardless, many wished Asagiri a good time in shanghai and hope he would return again for another signing.)

Via huawyn

Q: Are there plans for a novel of dachuu (skk) at age 17? A (chin resting on hand, thoughtful): 17 years old… I'll do my best. (It’s possible!) Q: Really looking forward to it! A (golded hands): Thank you very much for the support. Epilogue: When I was almost done signing, I didn't say anything, and Asagiri started mumbling to himself again, “17 years old......” I quickly reiterated: “17, 18, 19, 20, I'm looking forward to any story involving skk!” A (starts to laugh): I see. Thank you very much.

Via huawyn (translation by me)

Q: What was originally after “We were fated...?”? A: Hahahahah!! Secret! Q: ... Ahh... (I don't know how to speak Japanese 💧) A: (We were the two people of fate)

Via cheriiiart

Q: Who is the most important in Dazai's heart? A: Everyone.

Via TSJbedEiCLzTJwK

[fandomfablesunleashed]

Tangled lives: Chapter Thirteen

Law x reader (she/her)

Chapter thirteen of Tangled lives

Words (for this chapter): 2.9k

Notes: Thank you all for the engagement <3 Seriously, it's awesome to know you're into this story. It definitely inspires me to keep improving it.

And now… the plot thickens

🫶 @chillerkiller @deputy-azor, @henritherogue, @theprincesss5, @hopelesslover06 @forest-haven @milktearose @moonj-fool @miruto1 @wanoisland @cruziival72🫶

You were thinking about him. Again. You hated how Shachi’s words:“I know it’s hard, but you don’t know the whole story. His life was a shitshow. I think… I think there’s more to it” kept replaying in your mind, swirling with the memories of all the things Law had said, all the things he hadn’t.

You couldn’t help but wonder if there really was more to Law’s behavior than just being a complete and utter asshole. What could possibly excuse the way he’d left, as though your feelings were disposable, as though the space you’d built together was nothing more than a fleeting moment to him? What could be a good enough reason to abandon someone, to leave them shattered in pieces, struggling to pick themselves up again?

Maybe you were grasping at straws, trying to find an excuse, a thread of understanding to justify the way he’d looked at you, the way he’d held you, the way he made love to you. It all felt so real. So full of promise, so full of care. 

A frustrated sigh slipped from your lips. You really should stop overthinking it. He left. He hurt you. And yet, despite everything, you were still giving him the benefit of the doubt that he didn’t deserve.

There was only one thing to do in this case. With trembling fingers, you reached for your phone. The familiar number was already memorized by your heart, and you tapped it without hesitation. It rang once before the line clicked, and the voice you needed most came through.

“Hi. Sorry to bother you. Again,” you said immediately.

“I told you to stop apologizing. I'm here for you. Always.”

That alone lifted your mood a bit. Just those few words, so simple yet so fierce, loosened something tight in your chest. You exhaled, letting the breath carry away some of the weight you’d been dragging around lately.

“Thanks Ikka.”

“I haven't done anything yet.” 

“You did plenty.”

And it was true. The moment you’d called her—choking on tears, the story tumbling out in broken fragments—she had dropped everything. Within minutes, she was there, standing beside you with fire in her eyes and a storm of curses aimed solely at Law. You’d barely managed to stop her from tracking him down and unleashing her wrath on him.

She was the definition of ride or die. Your safety net. Your shield. Fury when yours had burned out.

And right now, she was exactly what you needed most.

“You okay there?”

You swallowed hard, blinking away the sting behind your eyes. “Been better… been worse too, I guess. So, you know, I’ll survive.”

“Of course you will!” she said, with that fierce confidence of hers. “Remember, no jerk deserves your tears.”

“Yeah, yeah. You told me that. Like a lot.”

“And I will sing it till my dying days.”

That finally coaxed a real chuckle out of you. She always knew how to disarm your sadness. She always did. From the very beginning of your friendship to this very day, knowing exactly when to speak and when to sit in silence beside you. She was a reminder that you were never as alone as you felt.

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, the phone warm against your cheek. “What are you up to now?”

There was a pause, just long enough to be noticeable. “I was just getting ready for a date.”

You hated that it stung.  You were overjoyed that your best friend found the love of her life. And you adored her partner. She was kind, thoughtful, and patient. Everything you’d hope for Ikkaku and more.

They were great together. No, not great. Perfect. 

Still, the ache snuck. You could only dream of finding someone who would do everything for you. Someone who would choose you, every day, over and over. Who’d place your happiness above their own. Who’d fight for you, protect you with their whole heart. Their whole being even.

You forced your voice to stay light. “Ooooh, a date? Fancy. Where are you two going?”

Ikka gave a soft laugh, one that buzzed with excitement. “Nothing too over-the-top. Just this little rooftop place she found.”

“Sounds amazing,” you said. And you meant it. Even if your heart was a little sore.

“You okay there?”

“Yeah, yeah. Fine,” you replied too quickly.

“Don’t lie to me. Do you want us to ditch the date and come over? We can drink wine, eat an unhealthy amount of chocolate, curse every man who’s ever existed, and blast that playlist you made for me after my last nasty breakup.”

She really was an astounding friend. Maybe the universe had failed you in love, but at least it hadn’t left you completely empty-handed.

You laughed through the tears. “That sounds great, but no. Have your fairytale night. I’ll be okay. I promise.”

“You better call me if you’re not.”

“I will.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

She hesitated for a moment, her voice gentler when she finally spoke. “You’re going to get your fairytale too. And if not exactly fairytale then at least some epic love story. Someone who would risk it all for you. I’m sure of it.”

You let out a quiet scoff. That sounded so far away, so out of reach, and you were about to say as much. To say that those stories weren’t written for people like you. That perhaps some people were just meant to watch them from the sidelines, never truly belonging to the happy endings.

But before the words could leave your mouth, a sharp knock echoed through the room.

You weren’t expecting anyone. 

For a brief, irrational moment, your heart whispered that it might be Law—coming to collect his comics, or maybe, to apologize and beg for your forgiveness. That maybe he’d come not just to grab his precious issues, but to say the words you wished to hear: I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please, give me another chance. I love you.

You hated that your mind even went there. But it did. But deep down, you knew better. If he was here, it was for the comics. Not for you.

He really did care about Sora, more than he ever seemed to care about you. You used to think it was cute, the way he lit up talking about them, hands animated, eyes sparkling. But now? The thought only twisted your stomach painfully.

Another knock came, a little louder this time. You exhaled, rubbing your eyes. You weren’t ready for this. Not ready to face your former roommate, the guy who had once meant everything to you, and the man you still had far too many feelings for. Feelings he had never bothered to embrace.

“Someone at the door. I need to go,” you told Ikka, distracted by the sudden weight of anticipation pressing against your ribs. “Have fun tonight, okay? Love you.”

“Love you more,” she said, the smile in her voice a warm contrast to the knot tightening in your stomach.

You ended the call and rose swiftly from the couch, brushing invisible wrinkles from your clothes as if they mattered. As if he would notice.

But it wasn’t him.

A tall, blonde man stood in the doorway, his presence commanding the space with a striking confidence. There was something special about him beyond his height or the sharp, sculpted lines of his face. But what truly caught your eye was the coat. Long, tailored, and unabashedly pink. Definitely not a typical look. And you weren’t sure if you should be curious, impressed… or afraid.

You hesitated, uncertain if this was just another one of Law’s attempts to avoid confrontation. Maybe he’d sent someone else for his comics. Maybe Law was too much of a coward to face you himself.

“Umm, can I help you?” you asked cautiously, your tone guarded.

Did Law really send someone else to pick up his comic books? He seemed to go out of his way to avoid you. Sending a stranger to your apartment without even a heads-up, as though he couldn’t bear to confront you himself. Maybe he had asked Shachi, Penguin, or even Bepo to do it for him first, but you couldn’t help wondering if they were mad at him too. After all, they knew now how he’d treated you. What he did.

The thought of that… the idea that they might be upset with him, even a little, made you feel a little better. You didn’t know them that well—hell, you hadn’t spent nearly enough time with them to be close—but you could tell from their reactions that they were disturbed by Law’s behavior. 

They cared about you, or at least, they cared enough to be bothered by what he had done to you. And damn it, you had started to like them. And that just made you angrier at Law all over again. Because if they could see it, if they could understand the mess he had made, then why couldn’t he?

The man smiled politely, but there was something unnerving about the way he looked you up and down, as though trying to measure you before speaking. 

“Donquixote Doflamingo,” he introduced himself, his voice smooth. Too smooth. “Pleasure to meet you.”

You didn’t respond right away, just standing there, arms crossed. He was waiting for you to introduce yourself, but you weren’t going to offer up any information to a stranger.

“Is Law here?” Doflamingo asked, his tone casual, but there was an edge to it that made you pause. Now you didn’t like the situation even more. If he was asking that, it meant that Law didn’t send him here.

“No.” You didn’t owe him an explanation, not when the question seemed to cut through the fragile thread of your patience. You were even more furious at Law now, and he wasn’t even nearby.

He didn’t seem fazed. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

You narrowed your eyes, the anger welling up inside you once more. “He doesn’t live here anymore,” you replied, each word a sharp reminder of what had been taken from you.

Doflamingo didn't flinch at your words. Instead, he simply raised an eyebrow, as if your response was exactly what he expected. “I see,” he said slowly, almost amused. “And I take it you’re not expecting him anytime soon?”

You clenched your jaw, fighting the urge to slam the door in his face. The nerve of this man, standing there as though he wasn’t asking about someone who had hurt you, someone who had shattered your very own being. 

“I’m not expecting him at all.”

Doflamingo stepped forward, his posture casual but still imposing. “Such a shame,” he mused, glancing at you, almost as if he were studying you. “I was hoping to speak with him.” He paused for a beat, looking over his shoulder, as if considering his next words carefully. “But it seems I’ll have to deal with you instead.”

You frowned. “What do you want with him?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, his eyes flicking back to you with a sharper focus now. “Let’s just say I’m dealing with a few… loose ends.”

You didn’t believe that for a second. You had no idea who this man was, but something about him—the way he carried himself, the way he spoke—set your nerves on edge. You didn’t know whether he was on Law’s side or against him, but either way, you didn’t trust him. Not one bit.

“I’m not your go-between,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “If you’re looking for Law, you’ll have to find him yourself.”

Doflamingo gave a small, mocking chuckle, unfazed by your defiance. “Oh, I’m sure I will. It was truly a pleasure meeting you.” He gave a small bow, his eyes gleaming with something that made you feel uncomfortable, as though he knew more than he let on.

“Goodbye,” you stated firmly, pushing back against the feeling of unease that threatened to rise in your throat.

He gave you a final, inscrutable look, then turned away, walking down the hallway with the same casual grace he had entered with.

What the hell was that all about? Doflamingo’s words, his demeanor, everything about him left a bitter taste in your mouth, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on why. There was something far too deliberate in his actions.

Your thoughts circled back to Law, as they always seemed to. His absence in your life was an ache that refused to heal. And now, it felt like everything was spiraling further out of control.

You couldn’t shake the unease that prevailed. Doflamingo might have been all politeness and smooth talk, but something about him didn’t sit right with you. There was a cold edge beneath his words, and the way he had scrutinized you, made your skin crawl.

You let out a frustrated sigh, trying to shake the chill that had settled over you. Reaching for your phone, you felt a small flicker of hope that maybe Law would answer. You tapped his name in your contacts, but as soon as you pressed the call button, you knew. He didn’t answer. Of course, he didn’t.

But you couldn’t just let this go. Not when there were people like Doflamingo popping up at your door. You needed answers. You needed someone who could explain what the hell was going on.

So, with a huff of annoyance, you dialed Penguin’s number. The one he drunkenly punched in when you had come home that night, only to find Law and his friends inebriated. It seemed like ages ago now. Back when you weren't expecting the tension, the longing, and certainly not the emotional wreckage that would follow. It was that night that started the whole mess between you and your unattainable roommate.

As the call connected, you tried to steel yourself, not sure what you were hoping for, but desperate for something.

The phone rang. And rang.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, it picked up.

“Hello?” Penguin’s voice sounded muffled at first, like he was busy with something else, but there was a bit of panic when he recognized who was calling.

You didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “I need to ask you something. There was some creepy guy at my door. He just left. He was asking about Law, and I don’t know, I’ve got a really bad feeling about him.”

“What was his name?” Penguin asked, his tone shifting immediately. You could hear the concern creeping into his voice.

“Doflamingo something,” you answered.

“What’s going on?” You heard a distant voice in the background—Shachi’s, unmistakable.

“Doflamingo was at her place,” Penguin said sharply.

“Fuck, that’s not good,” Shachi mumbled, but you still caught it.

“I know that.” Penguin again.

Then you heard more distorted voices as they engaged in conversation, completely forgetting that you were still on the line. Their conversation was rushed and chaotic. You could make out the occasional curses, and there was a definite panic in their voices.

“Shit, guys, hellooo? Talk to me!” You screamed into your phone.

Penguin’s voice grew more cautious now, as if weighing his words. “Look, I can’t say much, but Doflamingo’s… complicated. He’s connected to Law’s past, to some things I’m not sure you’d want to know about.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and the sense of distress only grew. “What does that mean?!”

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “Doflamingo’s involved in some shady shit, and if he’s poking around… well, it’s not good. That’s for sure. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

You felt the blood drain from your face as his words sank in. This wasn’t just some random visit—it was part of something far messier than you’d anticipated. The knot of dread in your stomach tightened even more. Instinctively, you clenched your phone tighter, the smooth plastic biting into your palm, your knuckles whitening.

You swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in your throat, telling yourself to stay calm, to think with clarity. But the truth was, you were anything but composed.

“So, what am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing!” Shachi’s voice rang out sharply, now crystal clear through the line. The sudden clarity jolted you. He must have taken the phone. “You told him Law is not living there anymore, right?”

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice quieter now, still shaky, but you managed to keep it together long enough to answer.

“Okay, good. We’ll talk to Law,” Shachi said, calmer, as to ease your nerves. “Don’t worry too much, but if you get any other weird visits… anything at all. Call us immediately, alright?”

You wanted to protest, wanted to demand more answers, but you didn’t get the chance. With a final, reassuring, “Take care,” the call abruptly ended.

You stood rooted to the spot, every muscle locked in place, your breath caught somewhere between panic and disbelief. Your mind spun in a chaotic whirl, thoughts tumbling over each other like a storm unleashed. Law’s world—the one you had so desperately tried to leave behind, the one you had painstakingly tried to cut out of your life—was pulling you back in, as though the invisible strings, long thought severed, were tightening around you, drawing you toward a man you’d been desperate to untangle from.

[meslumieres]

OCEAN, SALT & WOUNDS —

rafe cameron x reader

warning :: divider made by @cafekitsune !! <3 || strong language . suggestive content . mention of drugs . kinda angst, tried my best . unconventional!reader but not in a bad way . rafe is an unstable mentally loser </3 || no real description of reader, just that she has quite a husky voice, with a subtle rasp.

synopsis :: when rafe cameron meets a strange woman on the docks, the night clings to him like smoke—sharp with cologne, salt, and the ache of something he’s been trying to forget. there’s powder on his breath, tremor in his hands, and his eyes—glassy, burning—don’t know whether to drown in the sea or in you. maybe it’s the same thing. maybe he’s already sinking.

it was pretty late when rafe cameron stormed out of a burning house party at topper’s place. maybe around three-thirty. maybe less, maybe more—rafe didn’t know, and he sure as hell didn’t care. his mind was hazy, lost in the thick fog of the white powder he’d snorted like it was his lifeline, and at the same time, the only fucking way out of it all. his eyes—blue like the ocean, glassy as hell—looked like they were always one blink away from shattering into tears. and god, had he cried. so many fucking times, when no one was watching.

and no one was watching. no one gave a shit about who he really was. who rafe cameron was—not cameron. not the name. not the goddamn last name that came with money, power, legacy, all thanks to his dad, his company, his grip on the island. rafe existed only through that name, and outside of it, he was fucking nothing. people had made that crystal clear. fuck, he even wondered sometimes if topper and kelce actually gave a damn about him, or if he was just another shiny trophy for them—a walking badge of popularity and chaos.

rafe swore under his breath, brows furrowed as he wiped a salty tear from his cheek, already bitter from the chill of the night. not that cold, really, but it still felt like he’d been tossed into the fucking ocean. rafe was sinking.

his feet had carried him to the docks, where his dad’s boat was docked—so not that far from home, technically. not that it mattered. they could all go fuck themselves anyway. every single person who claimed to be family but never gave a shit about him. his father. rose. that bitch sarah… not wheezie, though. wheezie got it. she knew what it felt like to be the black sheep, the odd one out, the fucking sad little joke no one took seriously.

he was about to sit down at the edge, dip his feet into the water, cry his fucking eyes out—maybe do another line or two—and finish off the bottle of vodka he’d been clutching like it was the goddamn love of his life. his vision was already going fuzzy, and he was halfway through cursing the sky, ward, rose, sarah, and every single fucking pogue ruining his life even more with their dumb little melodramas. and don’t even get him started on sarah’s little rebellion.

sarah, sarah, sarah.

even when he was supposed to hate her with every inch of his soul, rafe couldn’t stop saying her name like a fucking prayer.

“why do you always choose sarah over me?” “what does sarah have that i don’t?” “she betrayed us, and you still treat her like she’s fucking better than me?!” “dad, for fuck’s sake—look at me! me, rafe! your son!”

he remembered screaming those words at his father. he remembered the punch that followed, quick and brutal, eyes full of bitter disappointment—like ward wished he’d never been born in the first place. just the memory of it, raw and hot in his chest, made his stomach twist and his heart ache like hell. he rubbed his temples with the fingers of the hand not wrapped around his bottle like a lifeline.

you know, the one that hadn’t been claimed by the goddamn alcohol yet.

“are you cryin’?”

the voice came out of nowhere—husky, almost raspy, but unmistakably feminine. “you’re too pretty to be cryin’…” it added, softer this time, almost syrupy.

rafe’s head dropped, eyes scanning toward your silhouette already sitting at the edge of the dock, shoes kicked off beside you. the night was too dark to make out your face, but the moon lit your body like a stage light. he saw the lines of your collarbones, your tits—of course he noticed that, this was rafe after all—your neck, your lips, your nose, and those sharp, unsettling eyes.

who the hell was this girl? and who did she think she was, asking him some dumbass question like that? because no, rafe wasn’t pretty. rafe was broken. ugly on the inside. rotten to the fucking core.

“who the fuck are you?” his voice came out slurred, but the chill in it cut clean through the air. he wiped a tear off his cheek roughly with the back of his hand before taking a sip of water.

vodka. it was always vodka.

you didn’t say anything. just stared at him—through him—and rafe swore to god it felt like you were peeling back his skin, his bones, digging into whatever was left of him. fuckin’ creep, he thought bitterly, sniffing hard, nose still burning from the last few rails he’d blown through.

should he sit next to you or walk the fuck away?

actually, what were you even doing here? this was basically his family’s property, and he’d never seen you before in his life—not on this dock, not on this island.

“you’re trespassing,” he said, pupils blown wide, looking pathetic—no, worse than the word ‘pathetic’ itself—but still trying to intimidate you. or something like it, anyway.

“so what if i am?”

blink. silence.

the words hung between you like smoke—thin, curling, a little dangerous. rafe stayed rooted where he stood, unsure whether to laugh, lash out, or fall to his knees. he should’ve been pissed. really pissed. should’ve threatened to call security, drag you off cameron property by the fucking wrist if he had to—not that that was very gentlemanlike.

but he wasn’t exactly a gentleman, was he?

instead, he moved. not with grace, not with confidence—just that chaotic rafe kind of momentum, like the wind had shoved him forward. he kicked off his shoes in a clumsy, half-drunk mess, stumbling once—twice—muttering something under his breath that might’ve been fuckin’ hell. then he flopped down beside you. maybe too close. maybe not close enough.

your presence felt like static, like a low hum just beneath his skin. he could already feel the heat of you against his side, tracing lines down his spine even though you hadn’t touched him. not once. he, on the other hand, felt cold to the bone. not just cold—empty.

antarctic, if antarctica had vodka and daddy issues.

he didn’t look at you. not yet. just stared out at the black water in front of him, bottle resting between his legs like a warning sign. fuck, what was he even doing?

“you’re not feeling too good, baby, are you?”

you asked after a minute of silence, your eyes still fixed on him like they saw something deeper than bone. rafe felt like your gaze was sketching every line of his face, dragging across his skin like fingertips or blades—he couldn’t tell. and yet there was no judgment in it. not even a flicker.

in fact, that slow-blooming smile on your lips—the one that crept in without warning—jump-started something in his chest, something long dormant and rusted. it still sputtered, still coughed like an old engine with no oil, but it moved. god, he still couldn’t fucking breathe properly. he felt too light, like the wind could lift him straight off the dock and drop him into the dark water. hollow, like he’d been scraped out from the inside.

wait—baby?

you just called him baby, like you’d known him for years. like you’d seen the rot in him and stayed anyway. like you already knew the damage he’d done, all the fucked-up shit that clung to him like a second skin. then rafe parted his lips, something like a word catching in his throat—but it dissolved as quickly as it came, and he clamped his mouth shut again when he felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

“hey…”

your voice was too soft for someone like him. too gentle. and when your hand slid toward his arm and settled there, it sent something sharp and warm straight through him.

a jolt. not quite pain, not quite comfort. like you’d lit a match and pressed it to his ribs. he couldn’t explain it. wouldn’t even try. but he felt it, the heat from your skin bleeding into his. something passed between you—something he didn’t fucking understand.

what the actual fuck… the thought barely formed before his mouth went dry like sandpaper, and he tried to mumble something back but nothing came out. and mechanically, like muscle memory, his fingers curled tighter around the bottle. he took a long swig. vodka dribbled down his throat, and one stray drop slid along his neck, catching the moonlight as it traced the sharp rise of his adam’s apple.

“you’re crying,” your voice came again, soft and strange, your hand still resting on his bicep like it belonged there. “want me to lick off your tears?”

you smiled then—slow, deliberate—showing just enough teeth to blur the line between tenderness and something far less innocent.

rafe didn’t know if he should laugh or scream, didn’t know if you were completely fucking insane or if this was the exact moment to fall apart in front of a stranger. he didn’t even bother wiping the tears sliding down his cheeks, now flushed pink from the cold. instead, he looked at you—really looked—like maybe you’d say something else insane and he’d have no choice but to believe it.

“w-what the fuck are you even sayin’?” his voice cracked right in the middle, humiliating and sharp, and he wanted to dig a hole and bury the sound six feet under. a pathetic sob caught in his throat, and he pressed the back of his thumb under his nose, still sore from the coke, still burning. “you don’t even fuckin’ know… m-me, and you’re sayin’ stupid shit like that?”

he snapped—hard, fast, unfiltered.

it was easier that way.

easier to yell at someone who meant nothing to him. easier to throw his pain at you like it was your fault, like it would help if he made you carry some of it. rafe liked easy, even when it was ugly. especially when it was ugly.

he tried to breathe in deep, but his lungs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves, crushed under a weight that had no name—only pressure. he was sinking again, slipping under the surface, mouth open but no air getting in.

you blinked. that was all. still calm, still watching him like he wasn’t shattering into sharp little pieces. your face, though—it softened with every word he hurled at you, like the angrier he got, the gentler you became. it made no sense, none of this did. it was messy, incoherent, one big fucking fever dream. and yet you looked at him like you knew. not the details, not the facts—but the storm. as if you were just waiting it out, not trying to fix it, not scared of the rain. but the storm wasn’t going to pass.

rafe was the fucking storm.

a tsunami of emotion with no anchor, no map, no goddamn end. and fuck, he didn’t make sense, he was irrational. he wasn’t okay, and you weren’t running.

and because the whole situation was already wildly, impossibly irrational, you leaned in a little closer—so subtly it could’ve been mistaken for a breeze shifting direction—until your face was near his, your fingers reaching out to catch his chin between them, tender and slow, like he was made of fine porcelain and might not only crack but shatter everything around him too if you touched him the wrong way.

and then he felt something warm and wet glide along his cheek, tracing the exact path where a single tear—no, several—had carved their way down his skin.

rafe choked on the sound rising in his throat, his hand instinctively gripping the fabric of his shorts so tight his knuckles turned bone-white, eyes blown wide and reddened, the rims raw and sore.

he was dreaming.

no—worse.

he was hallucinating. this was a fucking fever dream, and you were nothing more than some embodied version of comfort his brain had made up to keep him from completely falling apart. he couldn’t even see your face properly. not really. not clearly enough to trust it was real.

“shit,” he breathed out with a half-laugh—something bitter, something hollow, something stretched too thin between disbelief and the urge to break down completely. his voice cracked again, folded over itself like a dying thing.

and then your lips, soft and impossibly gentle, brushed the top of his cheekbone, the corner of his eye, the curve of his eyelid—so delicate he wasn’t sure whether it was happening or if his mind had finally snapped. the touch didn’t feel like something grounded in reality. it was too light, too slow, like smoke on skin.

but fuck, it felt good.

his face, so cold just moments before, began to warm in small increments, like your mouth was coaxing life back into it one kiss at a time.

and then he smelled you. something salty. something like the ocean, not the sea air he knew from childhood summers but something closer, something wilder—like you’d come crawling out of the water itself, carrying its memory on your skin. he could taste it now, even on his tongue. it lingered on the roof of his mouth, too vivid, too intimate.

that’s when it really hit him—

you weren’t real. you couldn’t be.

you turned his face toward yours, slow and careful, like you were guiding a wounded animal or something more fragile than skin and bone. and then you leaned in—not to kiss him, not yet—but just to rest your forehead against his, the bridge of your nose brushing gently against his like you already knew every dark corner of him, every thought he didn’t say out loud, every inch of hurt clinging to the inside of his ribs.

your hands, warm and barely there, settled on either side of his neck, your thumbs ghosting over his pulse like you were trying to remind him that he was still alive.

rafe didn’t move. he couldn’t.

he just let his eyes close—because if he kept them open, something in him might splinter for good. the silence was thick and sacred and unbearable all at once. you weren’t doing much of anything. not fixing. not talking. just being. and somehow, that was the first time in what felt like years that he didn’t want to run.

his breath hitched—then slowed. and for a second, a single, suspended second, he wasn’t the fucked-up mess everyone thought he was.

he wasn’t ward’s disappointment.

he wasn’t the cokehead, the ticking time bomb, the boy with too many ghosts.

he was just… rafe.

a boy with salt on his skin, tears on his face, and someone—you—who hadn’t flinched once when he broke open in front of you.

“why are you here?” his voice was barely a whisper, like the question had slipped out on its own, too tired to carry any bite. you didn’t answer right away. you just breathed him in, fingers still pressed to his neck like a lifeline.

“maybe,” you murmured, lips brushing the corner of his mouth without ever fully touching it. “you needed someone to see you… and i was the only one who did.”

“ l’appel du vide ”

[stirpicus]

Hello! I know you’re probably tired of hearing about mcsm (it’s been a long time I know, so apologies for that)

1. I just wanted to say I really appreciate the way Jack was written; I really saw myself in the scene where he starts to panic after entering the sea temple. As someone with ptsd I can say I’ve had a similar reaction a lot of times to certain things. I really enjoy characters that I’m able to relate to like this (and it’s nice to see a good representation of how trauma can affect someone)

2. I figure you’re probably tired of answering just mcsm asks, so here’s a question unrelated to it (sorry if you’ve heard it before)—how did you get into storytelling/writing? And do you have any tips on improving one’s writing?

I really enjoy your work, you have created such amazing stories; I hope you’re having a great life now and I know you’re probably still creating amazing things

Have a good day! :3

Ah, thank you! Jack is one of my very favorite characters I’ve ever written so that means a lot, and getting to write someone dealing with PTSD and anxiety who is for all intents and purposes a tough badass guy is something I’m really glad I got to do. Cheers!

Honestly, I’ve been writing stories as long as I can remember. It’s how I’ve always processed the world and expressed myself. I started taking it more seriously when I was a teenager and developed a really bad stutter; it became basically my one outlet for getting my thoughts and feelings out into the world. I’ve dabbled across lots of different mediums over the years - animation, video games, comics - but the storytelling has been the one through line through it all. I ended up going to college to study animation and filmmaking, and after that I just said yes to any opportunity that seemed like it would let me stretch my wings as a storyteller and, well, here I am today.

The best advice I could give for improving your writing is to really pay attention to the little details in the world around you and study what adds texture and interesting detail to people, places, situations. Good plots and stories are a dime a dozen, but the ability to tell them in an interesting, memorable way is where the magic lies. And to do that you need the little details, the bits that are specific and that only YOU could have added to that story.

[calicolen]

Adolin: Merin points his blade at the king and tells him to surrender, he's already lost.

Shallan: Roll intimidation

Adolin: *rolls a natural 20

Shallan: "The day is yours, you've won." The king surrenders. And that's where we'll end campaign one.

Kaladin: Wait, that's it? The evil king Ahven just gives up? No climactic final battle?

Shallan: Well, he did roll a 20, I couldn't just take the success from him.

12124: The rules do not indicate that a natural 20 skill check is a guaranteed success, merely the best possible outcome a player could achieve.

Shallan: When did you get here? Have you been lurking in here the whole time?!

12124: Uhm, yes, sorry, I just, the rules, I just wanted to help.

Renarin: Is it a problem, Shallan? The Tower Spren is listening in all the time :|

Sibling: Thanks for blowing my cover, Son of Thorns.

Shallan: I guess it's fine. It's not as weird as having Szeth and Nightblood at the table I guess.

Nightblood: What makes us weird? :(

Jasnah: Szeth killed my father, Nightblood.

Nightblood: Well. He was probably evil.

Szeth: Not helping, sword-nimi.

Kaladin: Thank you for running this campaign for us Shallan, it was more fun than I initially expected, and I think I could use more less climactic final battles. It's a nice change of pace. Do we still meet next week?

Shallan: Indeed. We'll be playing the AshSpawn module starting next week. And you may all choose to keep playing as your current character or make a new one.

Adolin: AshSpawn? That's the module with that Kelsier guy, right? From Fortnite™️?

Szeth: Fortnite?

Adolin: Of course! I'm caught up with all the most popular in-game skins. And the Kelsier skin, I heard is from AshSpawn.

Kaladin: Adolin, Kalek's breath man, what are you talking about?

Adolin: Fortnite™️ Kelsier?

Renarin: Brother, it is indeed strange that you've gained knowledge of things beyond the veil. That thing you do is probably very uncomfortable for Kal.

Adolin: What thing?

Shallan: Can we please stop talking about Adolin's awareness of forbidden wisdom and move on, it makes me feel sick.

Kaladin: Agreed.

Szeth: Sorry about King Gavilar by the way. I was sooo wild and "quirked up" back then.

Nightblood: His life was like a lightweaving indeed.

Shallan: Kal, no more inviting people to the table.

Btw here's everyone's character info

Shallan: Chasm Lord, a fresh story teller learning to take the reigns of a cooperative story

Kaladin: Brightlord McChull Face, Eloquence Bard, Syl made his sheet as a joke but Kal takes the RP most seriously (he likes talking himself out of fights for once)

Adolin: Aredor (dead) and Merin, Battlemaster Fighter, takes combat most seriously, has done the most kill stealing and has had the best boss finishing blows

Renarin: Forgescorcher Slayerdawn, Glory Paladin, made his character as cool as he possibly could and min maxed for optimal damage, but avoids fighting out of fear that his character may die

Jasnah: Jasnah, Battle Smith Artificer, Jasnah can't imagine wanting to be anyone other than herself, she's just that cool

Szeth: Rise son Reshi, Life Cleric, he's just happy to help without having to hurt anyone

Nightblood: Szeth, Assassin Rogue, Szeth's the coolest ever obviously so naturally Nightblood lives its dream of getting to be Szeth and draw Nightblood

[rozicheeks]

first of all

FUCKING WOW!

i never thought i would see the day you had a Fansly! thank you! thank you! thank you! thank you! thank you!

i subbed to your "My Lovers" tier and liked and commented on everything! i cannot wait to see what you post next!

ABSOLUTELY GLORIOUS!

Check out my fansly 🥺💕

[blizzardfluffykpop]

You sent me an ask so I shall return the favor! What is the most recent Kpop group you’ve gotten into and how did you find out about them? I always love hearing fan “origin stories” lol

Thank you for returning the favor~ That would be The Boyz 🥰💖 I love hearing fan "origin stories" too hehe (This is gonna get long I love them sm)

Anyways I've known about them since debut? I loved Bloom Bloom Pow with my whole heart when it came out and tried to fall for them then- It didn't work. The next time was when The Stealer (TS) came out~ I had watched them perform for Road to Kingdom- because ptg was on the show too- But I really loved TS cb- sm so that I bought the album about 6 mos later with my favorite members as inclusions at the time (Eric, Kevin and Hyunjae). But nothing came about of it even after watching the weekly idol episodes... Then came Whisper era and I ended up biasing Changmin (Q) and loving that song but again nothing came out of it.

(A little backstory is that Changkyun (I.M) got me into Dominic Fike's music-) Thus, when tiktok showed me Juyeon, Changmin, and Sunwoo dancing to Babydoll earlier this year as a dance cover: I fell. And then I finally checked out Watch It~ But Hui had his solo and it distracted me completely from falling further. Then I had gotten sick and decided 'well, what if I watch their content?' And I did... I watched their hello82 interview and their reaction to fanart of them, and lastly their mafia dance. And I loved each sm that I decided to check out more.

It was the first time I had watched their content and wanted to see more. And now, I watch their content almost daily. It's kind of like they revived the joy of kpop for me? My (old) ult of ults has been on hiatus due to the military so it's been stagnant content lately for me. But then they came in like a breath of fresh air- and I simply can't get enough. This month will be 3 mos and I honestly hope I'll follow them for a long time. (I think they're my new ult of ults tbh)

And lastly now here I am as a Younghoon and Juyeon bias (with bias wrecker: Changmin... he's doing everything to be bias again). And with them having a comeback I loved with my whole heart this past month, I think it really solidified them with me. Honestly, I'm so happy with them.

[autosarcophagy-avaritia]

i wonder if theyve ever thought i know spanish or italian

[tonycries]

SODA POP! - G.S.

Synopsis. Five times Gojo Satoru - the hottest k-pop idol right now - gets exposed for wanting you, his pretty, totally-not-girlfriend best friend. And the one time he gives them headlines to talk about.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, idol!Gojo, k-pop idol au, 5 + 1 things, best-friends-to-Iovers, PINING, dispatch, fandom shenanigans, lie detector tests, variety shows, ISAC, he’s SO down bad, matíng presses, oraI (fem. rec.), spítting, chokíng, p sIapping, Gojo’s tongue píercing, PÚSSYDRÚNK Gojo, manhandIing, semi-public, he’s BIG, tummy buIges, D slipping, running from it, bIindfolds, talking you through it, first times (Gojo’s), creampíes, cúmplay, getting together, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 11.8k

A/N. Guess who’s back from the beach-each and watched Kpop Demon Hunters-

“And here we have the goddess, the myth, the-” 

It would take quite the feat to leave Gojo Satoru - self-proclaimed king of idols (debatable), world-class chatterbox (not debatable) - of all people gaping soundlessly at his screen.

For a second. Two. Three- before he’s sputtering at the blur of incoming comments, “O-oi! Don’t you lil’ perverts think you can get away with flirting with my best friend.” Arms crossed, he nods seriously at his fanbase, “Even I don’t get away with flirting with my be-”

“Satoru, they’re about to cut the cameras.”

“A joke. Obviously.” Smooth. Ever-so-smooth, Gojo’s flashing a winning smile at his stern-faced manager behind the tripod.

It was hard enough to convince Yaga into letting you join his livestream, but as a near-veteran in the entertainment industry, Gojo knew how to handle a little slip-up like this. He’s got this- “Because I am definitely not in love with my best friend, and am definitely not held hostage to say this.”

“...”

“A…a joke?”

In mild concern, the two of you can only watch as stoic, composed Yaga lets out what sounded like a strangled sob. Before whispering to another PR manager on-site, “Write a company statement.” 

“Oi-” Gojo pipes up, “Why would you need a company statement when I’m perfectly- user Fushidaddy type another pick-up line and I’m blocking you.”

The dark-haired man chokes through almost tears, “Just start writing already.”

You try to smooth things over from your seat right beside your best friend, this was not what you’d anticipated after Gojo had practically begged on his knees asking for you to join him in one of his Bubble lives. Then again, what else could you expect from anything to do with him? “Ah, it’s alright. I don’t mind-”

“I do.” 

Snowy brows furrowed, he’s leaning in closer to the camera to take in every traitorous word- 

satorusxkitten: okay but guys think ab it!! he’s rlly talented but no actor so it’s okay if he’s ass at pretending to not be a simp!! can u blame him??

“Blocked.”

P1BANG: took a shot every time he stares at her thinking he’s slick now I’m at the hospital (this live started 3 minutes ago)

“Blocked.”

Fushidaddy: Pretty girl, blink twice if you’re being held hostage x.

“Blocked and reported what the-” Gojo frowns glancing over at you from the corner of his eyes, (thinking he’s slick, thank you very much). Before catching the way you lean in dramatically to flutter your eyes- “Don’t you dare blink.”

As you’re bursting into ribbing laughter, so are the sheer amount of comments asking about you- and he can’t help but entertain the sneaking suspicion that his own viewers were here simply because of you.

At least, that’s why he would’ve kept watching.

Fushidaddy2: Put us out of this pining misery or end the live, kid.

“I thought I blocked you.”

“Okay then.” You clap your hands once to gain the room’s attention, slightly worried about the blood vessel about to burst near Yaga’s temple. “Satoru, I think you brought me here to do a Q n’ A, right?”

“Well yes…” Gojo’s grumbling underneath his breath - that was the initial plan, to finally introduce one of the most precious parts of him to the fandom. 

He just didn’t account for the possibility that everyone on the livestream would fall in love with you - when that was clearly supposed to be his job! “Alright- ask away, and no funny business. I’m looking at you, user Fushidaddy.”

sugu-rizzed: Are you single?

“How dare you-”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” You’re nudging the towering man right next to you, subtly moving his hand off of that treacherous block button. “Lighten up, Satoru—”

“Yes, ma��am. Correct, ma’am.”

What a sight it was. 

Honestly, you’re sure you hear at least several management staff gasp at just how easily you’d shut up their arguable star. Being the center of one of the fastest bands to sky-rocket into the k-pop world hadn’t made it any easier for an agent to pose authority over Gojo Satoru - Yaga was barely hanging on by a thread and he submitted at least a few resignation letters every week.

Once the on-set whispers break out, you’re squirming in your seat. Rattling off yet another question-

ge.akuge: what do you think about the allegations of him wearing wigs?

“Well-”

“Blocked.”

KunaLuvrr: does he wear wigs?

stanjutsu: will he wear wigs?

Fushidaddy3: Y’know I don’t wear wigs, baby, x. 

“I-”

“You- blocked.”

haibarabias: Did u know he was yapping about you non-stop on the last live?

You’re blinking in slight surprise, turning to Gojo - who’d now stuffed himself into his oversized designer hoodie until you could only make out the tips of his ears. His bright, burning red ears. “Really?” Turning to the feverishly nodding staff at his silence, “Really?”

One of the fresh-faced interns in charge of lighting tries to hold back a squeal, “Y-yeah! We tried to keep a tally of your name to edit on-screen but it went into…the triple…digits- eep!”

“E-hem.” Gojo cuts the newbie off with a slight glare, snitches. The whole lot. “I was just talking to them about what a boor you are and to be prepared-”

realistic.one: liar, you were giggling and kicking your feet the whole time-

“-which you would have known if you actually watched me.” Finishing off with relish, he’s mockingly glowering down at you. The perfect vision of a neglected best friend - if it wasn’t for the way that he was flushed all the way from his cheeks to the back of his neck, that is. 

And then your fingerpads reach out to pat the silky crown of his bangs, soothingly. “I do watch you, Toru. I must have missed that stream, sorry about that.”

He melts. And there’s tens of thousands to watch him.

“Y-yeah?” Gojo’s briefly snapping a scowl at the screen, already knowing that this particular clip of his voice breaking would be making rounds on the internet tomorrow. Crossing his arms with a huff, he acts like he isn’t nuzzling his head even closer for you to caress, “Tch, you make a shitty best friend, my star.”

Somewhere across the room, Yaga puts his head in his hands and sighs. 

sugu-rizzed: My star?? Guys is he…

CandyKento: that moment when you highkey ship them but realize bro has no game

sunflowerboy: Gojo-san fighting!!

Fushidaddy7: I could treat you better, girl x. 

torutoaster: wonder what her type is from our boys^^

It’s as if the room itself had hiked a few degrees in temperature, and you’re darting your eyes away from Gojo’s burning ones. From the staff that was snickering behind their hands, giving you knowing looks. 

Instead, choosing to distract yourself by answering that last question– “Hmm, my ideal type from Six Eyes, huh?”

“Hah- what a silly little question.” Your best friend cocks his head with a smirk, “Why- tell ‘em, my star. Who else has the visuals? The dance moves? The charisma? Of course, it’s-”

“Suguru.” You smile innocently, whilst the flashy idol next to you crumbles. “He’s such a sweetheart.”

returnofP1BANG: five more shots for that wet cat look he gave her

Fushidaddy9: Ouch (lol).

sugu-rizzed: F in the chat

CandyKento: f

sunflowerboy: F

Fushidaddy10: F

ge.akuge: F

“Tch- childish.” Gojo scoffs at the wave of that same letter flooding his comment section, he’s counting about twenty…before typing his own ‘F’ in there. 

Immediately reinvigorated, he’s stabbing a determined finger in the air. “But- but I have something that none of y’all and that stinky Suguru doesn’t have-” And it takes every ounce of will, every shred of shamelessness in his body to wrap two strong arms around you and crash you to his broad chest. Emulating all those hours he’s spent watching k-dramas with you, Gojo’s barking out. “-she’s mine!”

Fushidaddy14: Yeah. Your best friend. LMAO.

“Blocked-”

Masamichi Yaga handed in yet another resignation letter that very same night.

Which was likely why the livestream didn’t last too long after that little catastrophe- and it’s about a few hours later once you’d safely made it home with excuses of work the next day, and Gojo was lying wide awake on his phone, that it happens.

It is sent to him, by none other than Geto - the most unthinkable, unspeakable link to a fan-made YouTube video aptly titled ‘100 Gojo Satorus vs. trying not to make a fool of himself in front of his baddie best friend challenge (failed)”

Edited and clipping every single moment he’d completely n’ utterly destroyed his cool idol façade during the brief live. Every (fine, not-so-slick) glance your way, every blush, every voice crack.

Fuck.

In two seconds he’s sending Geto a paragraph of middle finger emojis, and in one he’s slowly downloading the video…for research purposes. 

.

.

.

As a celebrity hair stylist, Miwa Kasumi had never felt that she wasn’t paid enough - after all, nearly unlimited contact with her favorite idols and she gets to see her work come to life on stage? What could go wrong?

Well…she’s feeling her weary eyelid twitch just about the twelfth time she hears the same repeated meme audio blaring from Gojo Satoru’s phone. 

Headphone-less. On full volume. 

All on the set of one of the most important comeback shoots of this year, the much-anticipated music video for their single ‘Blue.’ Penned by none other than the giggling idiot that was her client. 

And it was only considering all her years of professionalism that she didn’t whack the phone out of his hands the way she’s been dying to for the past hour. “Gojo-san, you are quite the fan of that video, hm?”

Subtle cues- subtle cues!

But Gojo was never one for subtle cues, as she has the misfortune of learning. And he only blinks up from his padded seat in front of her, “Huh? Oh yes-” In fact, increasing the volume of the dramatically edited fan video - one of those crack compilations she had the guilty pleasure of watching before bed sometimes. 

But Gojo didn’t seem to be watching for the laughs, his twinkling sapphire eyes were only locked on one thing on-screen - you. 

Sighing at a short clip of you from the livestream a few days ago, grimacing at one of his bragging monologues. Giggling, he zooms in on you- “Isn’t she gorgeous–?”

“O-oh!” Now, introductions and love for artistry might be two of the main perks of working in such close proximity to idols - but who could forget the gossip. Immediately perking up, she’s setting down one of the curlers and working on fluffing up Gojo’s ethereal white hair for the camera. “Girlfriend, Gojo-san?”

“Not at all.” Dreamily, he’s taking a blatant screenshot of the zoomed-in visual of your face. A man in heaven. “Not. At. All.”

Huh? Maybe all celebrities were just eccentric. What was that one saying about never meeting your heroes? 

Well, it seems that the universe decided that Miwa hadn’t learned enough of her lesson just yet- which is why she’s startled by the swoosh–! of curtains being drawn back in the dressing room, and the heavy footsteps of none other than Gojo’s bandmates. 

Who could mistake them?

Geto Suguru, long inky hair tied back, slow strides almost predatory, is the first to reach the two - one of them shivering in rapt excitement, the other glued to his phone. “Oi- Satoru, they want you for your solo shot.”

Gojo grunts noncommittally, hands gripping his phone. “Hm-”

Irritation gripping the other’s tone, his best friend taps his feet. “Satoru.”

“Mm.”

“Satoru.” 

“…”

“You little-” 

It’s a damn miracle that the thin glass of Gojo’s phone screen doesn’t crack with how swiftly Geto’s snatching it from the other’s hands. Only to get a glimpse of the screen and have his mouth drop.

“Satoru…” 

“…Suguru.”

Pierced brows furrowing, Adam’s apple bobbing with a guffaw at the blatant screenshot of you displayed. Clearly taken from that one compilation video that he had sent the link to a few days ago. Their center gulps. “Satoru, what…the…f-”

“Gojo-san! Gojo-san–!”

The youngest - Haibara’s - sweet, sing-song voice dips through the tense dressing room as he stumbles in - all sunny smiles and the cutest bowl cut. Followed excruciatingly closely by a cameraman recording behind-the-scenes content, “Kento and I are done, so Director Shoko wants you on set now or she said she’ll do some violent things that can’t be said on camera~”

“Of course, of course– you should go, you strange little lecher- I mean, Satoru.” Geto waves the other over, “C’mere Yu, let your elder show you a little something.”

Gojo blanches, “No-”

“Oh? What is it–?”

Gripping onto Geto’s jacket, “No.”

Careful of the rolling camera, he’s mercilessly sidling up to the other and flashing the latest addition to Gojo’s photo album - that soft, slightly blurry screenshot of you. Simply smiling. “Oh.”

“‘Oh’ is right.” Geto’s smizing out such a cat-like grin at the camera- this was sure to have the internet talking. Maybe even screaming. And as the staff with the lens steps closer in curiosity, he’s swiftly covering the screen, “Let’s just say our Satoru is ah- quite the fan of our cute little fans’ creations.”

Haibara titters, “Enough that it’s filling up his phone storage-” Catching Gojo’s groan, ready to jump out of his seat- “Ah, my apologies, Gojo-san~”

Geto nods, “No no, he’s right.”

“He’s not.”

“I am?”

“And remember, kids—” The pierced man calls out, finger hovering over the glaring screen of the phone. 

Gojo gasps- “No-” Realizing. Shooting to his feet. “No no no-”

Registering the way his other best friend was giving particular attention to that bright, burning DELETE button. “-always help your friends in need.”

The scream that Gojo Satoru, most polished idol of the 21st century, lets off is devastated. 

Enough that the cameraman - watching each interaction like a hawk - jumps, enough that even ruthless Geto Suguru himself feels a semblance of slight regret. Almost turning his thumb over to click on the recycle bin before Gojo can cry himself hoarse- until he’s scrolling just an inch - an inch - along the full camera roll and finding…more…screenshots?

About 75,328 in his album, to be exact. Of you. 

He looks at Gojo Satoru - knees cradled in such a pitiful fetal position on the floor, whimpering at the loss of his prized screenshot. And he looks at the 75,328 screenshots. He looks back at Gojo. Then at the screenshots, all 75,328.

Then back at Gojo.

And Geto doesn’t even feel bad about the good kick he’s planting on the other’s back, “Get out.”

If the dressing room was a hellhole made to ruin Gojo’s life - Geto being the devil incarnate, of course - then being on set wasn’t any better. 

The long lens of Shoko’s famed camera stares him down like it knew exactly how he was acting minutes prior, and any false façade of coolness would easily break through. 

“Ugh…” Shoko’s crinkling her nose in slight distaste at the footage playing on her screen, motioning for the rest of the crew to start putting each prop back in place for a reshoot. 

Make-up airy, white bandages haphazardly falling from his eyes, surrounded by sparkling ivory decorations of stars; it was supposed to be something on theme with the song, something romantic, something that didn’t make her want to hack up her coffee in a bad way.

But she could feel her stomach churning already. Leveling a glare at Gojo that’s enough to make the much-taller man flinch- “You- if you can’t do the sparkly idol thing, just try looking at the camera and smiling. It’s all we need for the solo shot today.” Tapping her camera, “Look at the lens like you’d look at a lover.”

Voice octaves higher, “A-a lover?” 

His dignity was scarred! 

“You got this, Gojo-san! Twentieth try’s the charm–!” Haibara’s voice echoes. “Ah- or was this the thirtieth…somewhere along the line I lost count.”

“Thirty-seventh.” Nanami helpfully supplies.

His reputation as a reliable elder ruined!

“Satoru, good luck! Geto called me- I don’t know why but um, good luck!”

He didn’t call himself the king of idols for nothing!

In a split-second, Gojo perks at the slightly-metallic sound of your voice through the other end of the line. Breath hitched, flashing irises widened- it doesn’t take him even a nanosecond to snap his head towards where Geto was holding his phone up for the sound to project.

Your name flashing on the caller ID, Geto’s smile priggish at the reaction wrenched out of his best friend. 

And Gojo can’t help but let the mere sound of your voice make him smile—

“There we go- that’s the shot! That’s the shot.”

The music video is edited and uploaded only a few weeks later, that behind-the-scenes following hastily afterwards. 

It was a hit, of course, as every management and billboard had already predicted it would be. But what was unpredictable were the eagle-eyed comments-

SIX EYES - ‘BLUE’ MV

torutoaster: KYAAA THEY REALLY FED US LOOK AT HOW OUR TORU AND SUGU LOOOKKK

ryomichael: not even a satoru bias but…wow…his visuals…the way he looked at the camera made my heart just go…wow

zbstan: stream this song (and esp Gojo’s bridge) for clear skin guys!!

SIX EYES - ‘BLUE’ MV Behind [All]

getosuggs: Geto and Haibara giggling at Gojo’s phone screen…wonder what they were looking at…

torutoaster: wonder why the filming of toru’s solo shot was muted?? strange but as long as we get more content of my bias oh well^^

sugu-rizzed: @torutoaster I think because they were on a call? Oooo imagine if it was Gojo’s best friend from the livestream…

mahitoe: @sugu-rizzed smh delulu shippers

zbstan: @mahitoe STFU look at that caller ID ik they tried to blur it but like there was an anonymous hair stylist on set who said it was so GUYS IT COULD BE-

Fushidaddy17: I would’ve had no problem looking cool for her aha x.

.

.

.

“Takada-chan! Takada-ch-AAAAAAN–!”

Honestly, what a woman to be able to smile politely in the face of a big, beefy high schooler ripping his shirt off from the stands of the stadium. The Idol Star Athletics Championships were always quite rambunctious considering the star-studded players, especially this year. 

All lined up in their groups, donning flashy colored tracksuits. 

And as the boy starts crying, Geto winces–looking back at their own section of fans invited to attend the annual celebrity sports tournament. Some squealing at the feeling of Geto’s stare, some waving banners hysterically - but thank goodness that none were as bad as-

“MY STAAAAR–!”

Geto takes that back very quickly.

Deadpan, exhausted- the leader of Six Eyes is turning to stare down their infamous center, the exact one who’d been hogging every headline for the past few weeks for his exact antics with you. “Satoru…what are you doing?”

Ignoring him for your figure seated at the very front row–“MY STAR, YOU BETTER CHEER FOR ME.” You pretend not to hear him as he waves frantically, and Geto reaches over to tug Gojo back in line. “Oi- OIII, DON’T LOOK AT NANAMI LOOK AT ME!”

On second thought, he backs away into another group’s line. 

You weren’t the only one looking at him now- so were the announcers. Seasoned entertainers who’ve probably never seen a scene in all their years, “Aaaand over in this row we have Six Eyes. Their center - that Gojo boy - seems to be a little preoccupied, no?”

“With the girl? Oh, when is he not? Have you seen the clips from that livestream?”

“Ahh–you know my wife showed me and-” Seemingly catching the eye of whatever higher-up, or maybe the way that Yaga was swooning in his bench as if he was about to faint right then and there. “Ehem- anyways, welcome all to this year’s The Idol Star Athletics Championships–!”

It goes off without a hitch. 

Well, as much as it could with Gojo Satoru being in attendance. 

Which meant having to wrangle him back by the scruff of his neck every time he meandered off to the shrieking stands to ask you to pet his tired head - “for good luck.”

Which meant having him blow kisses to the stands suspiciously near you as he dribbled expertly during the basketball event, their team tied with yet another idol group.

With only a few seconds on the clock, every eye glued to his sprinting figure - breath stilling just as soon as he does near the netted hoop. Gojo had jumped, and pointed straight at your figure—“This one’s for my star.”

Before he swung. 

And…

…missed.

But that was all water under the bridge.

It didn’t matter that it was a failure recorded in 4K on hundreds of cameras, it didn’t matter that you’d been the one laughing the most while watching his precious shot completely miss the hoop and bounce sadly on the floor. 

It didn’t matter that his ears were still burning red from embarrassment by the last leg of the tournament - the track-and-field events. 

Geto had already won the gold medal in archery, Haibara with silver in football, and even woe-is-me Nanami had snagged a silver in fencing. 

And this time, this year’s new addition - one of those borrowed item races you’d play in middle school, those ones where he’d have to run to a box and pick out something silly to bring over the finish line - was about to be his turn. 

“Ready…”

Gojo’s steadying into position, making sure his back flexed just right so that you’d be able to see from the stands. And if the way that Nanami sighed was anything to go by then it was working, right? 

“Set…”

Azure eyes locked on the small wooden box that loomed a few yards in front of him.

“Go!”

It’s a blur- one moment his expensive designer sneakers touch the ground, and the next he’s one of the first idols to run over to the box. Fighting to stick his hand inside, Gojo’s sure he elbows someone’s dolled-up face to grab the first slip of paper he can. 

Tugging it out with a grin, the neat typing stares back at him mockingly—‘Someone you love.’

Fuck.

Why did it have to be this one?

The announcer’s booming baritone breaks through- “What’s this? Six Eyes’ Gojo seems to have stalled? What could that paper say?”

“Run!” Geto’s voice calls over the chaos of countless other artists bee-lining towards their own missions, their own ‘item.’ He’s waving at Gojo impatiently, “Run, you fool-” 

“Gojo-san, you got this–!”

In a confused hurry, he’s darting a look down at the staff manning the box - some older, dryly deadpan man who merely takes a peek at his slip of paper and gives a thumbs up. And Gojo could have sworn he smirks.

Well.

“Oh- oh, he’s running.” Both hosts gripping onto the edges of their tables, “The legs on that boy- Gojo Satoru is overtaking his peers easily- ah, we promise we’re not biased.”

Yaga and the rest of his overworked PR team would have to forgive Gojo for this later- but his legs are turning towards your direction in an instant, just as they always have. Running. Sprinting. 

“Gojo- Gojo! Is it true you two eloped?”

“An insider source is saying that your best friend was present on-set of Blue- any comment?”

“Are you two dating?”

It’s like he’s running through a tunnel where the only thing he can see is you at the end. Announcers’ voices cotton in his mind- “Oh, we think we know where this is going, ladies and gentlemen.” The only voice his popped ears can hear are yours-

“S-Satoru–!” You’re shrieking, nearly as loud as the throng of fans and cameras surrounding you. Clawing down his beefy upper bicep as your best friend leans his long torso over the barrier of the stands and throws you into an easy princess carry, “Are you crazy-”

“Nah, we’re gonna win, my star.” He has his arms steady, jaw clicking - and you can’t help but feel his strength thrum gently in his arms. Those lucky to be near enough for the entire ordeal would later claim to tabloids that they’d never seen Gojo Satoru this serious.

This…responsible when he’s carefully striding with you in his hold - an easy first place running past the finish line. 

Stars in his eyes, mouth turned up into a smile that twitched when he gazed down at your own. Wantingly. 

But he only hugged you in thanks, and took your half-joking swats with a smile. 

They couldn’t quite blatantly show the cameras what Gojo’s little paper had required him to bring, but you got to keep Gojo’s gold medal after the tournament - it was always meant for you, anyway.

And he gets an earful from Yaga, Geto, Haibara (though that was more grumbling about why those last two weren’t the ones carried like a pretty princess instead), and a few articles speculating your relationship, and a Twitter timeline having a complete meltdown over clips of his race. 

A video of those particular few seconds with you in his arms racked up a solid few million views in only a few hours since it was posted- but honestly, one million of those views might just be from him alone.

@torutoaster: THE WAYYYY HE CARRIED HER OMG- GOD I SEE WHAT YOU’VE DONE FOR OTHERS-

@CandyKento: did anyone watch the isacs? no but i am soooo curious what gojo’s item was-

@chorusito replying to @CandyKento: no but to bring his ehem ehem- “best friend” it has to be something scandalous right~

@CandyKento replying to @chorusito: right??

@mahitoe replying to @chorusito: lmfao idols can’t date. you guys cant handle anything it was obvs just a friend or something. delulu. 

@sugurusshampoobottle replying to @mahitoe: FIGHT ME.

@satorusxkitten: gojo and geto’s arms are so big!! fuck!! 

@sugu-rizzed: That staff-member manning the box saw what the paper said oh what I would pay to know…

@fiendingforsixeyes: AHHHH I BET IT WAS SOMETHING OR SMTH HE LOVED IK U GOJO U LOVERBOY

@Fushidaddy33: She would’ve looked better in my arms tbh…

Gojo reports that last account.

.

.

.

“So, who do you think is the cutest from Six Eyes?”

“Me.”

“And who do you think is the best dancer?”

“Me.”

“The most romantic?”

“Ah…” Regular interviews could be tedious - but an interview with a lie detector strapped to you somehow surpassed even the ninth chamber of hell. And Gojo thinks that anyone would shrink under the beady, unwavering gaze of the hostess interrogating- ah, interviewing him right now.

Not a hair out of place, not a lie she wouldn’t be able to catch.

Damn that management for signing him up for one of those lie detection interviews - part of him already felt that this was punishment for rejecting Yaga’s seventh resignation letter since the chaos of the Idol Star Athletics Championships.

And damn Geto for goading him into going first.

The rest of the group watch leisurely from their comfort of a sofa away from the spotlight - thankfully lie detector-less for now - tittering as their bandmate cowers. Gulping through a slightly-wobbly grin, “Me. I’m the most romantic.”

Nodding as the polygraph examiner gives the thumbs up for truth.

“Not quite humble, but quite honest aren’t you, Mister Gojo?”

Gojo’s cracking his neck in his uncomfortable seat, the sooner he can get this over with, the better. Still strapped with leather buckles, “I think you’ll find that I’m very honest about things I truly feel.”

Geto sputters through faux coughs- “Pfft– Liar.”

Nanami looks away- murmuring just loud enough for the microphone to pick up, “Ehem…fibber.”

And Haibara? Haibara merely snaps his fingers in realization- “Aaaah–! I see, they’re calling you a ‘liar’, Gojo-san, because you aren’t honest about your feelings towards-”

“Ah ah!” He tries to make a motion to shut up, but only ends up rocking the chair from side-to-side. And Gojo already knew he was done for the very second he’s catching the hostess’s eyes gleam at this juicy morsel of information.

“Well, I actually did have…” Trailing off, she’s shuffling through her pack of pre-written questions. Painted nails fingering one at the very back that she seemed to have stowed away for when the interviews took a particular turn, she clears her throat. Saying your name-

“Impressively high heart rate.” The examiner drones out, bushy brows raising at what his screen flashed. Just from hearing your name.

As his self-proclaimed friends cackle - those traitors - the hostess shows off her pearly smile, “Mister Gojo, is it true that she’s your best friend?”

Gojo shifts slightly, “Very true.” Truth.

“And she is very beautiful- correct?”

“Very true.” Truth.

“And smart?”

“Very true-” Truth.

“And you’re in love with her?”

“Very tr-” He gasps, “Wait no-”

To which the older lady cocks her head in genuine confusion, “Despite all the shipping- well, it’s all everyone’s been talking about online these days- you’ve never done anything? You don’t have feelings for her, young man?”

“N…no.” 

Geto raises his hand in a split-second, almost as if he was some model student in a classroom. “You’re mistaken, my lady, he doesn’t have feelings for her. He has a lot of feelings for her-”

“Suguru!”

The final nail on Gojo’s coffin might just have been the way the polygraph examiner tries - and fails - to keep a largely neutral face. Instead raising his fist in the air, into a blatant thumbs down, next word tinged in amusement. “Lie.”

Gojo fights against the belts tied to his wrist, monitoring his heartbeat, his deception. “It’s faulty, I tell you- faulty. Did you know that polygraphs are actually only 80% accurate and–”

“So you honestly wouldn’t mind if your best friend showed up with a fresh new boyfriend to introduce to you?”

“-I would rather die.”

It’s silence.

Gojo basking in the shock of what he’d just blurted out, everyone else squinting at the overtly clear thumbs up that the examiner was gesturing. A truth. Trying to see whether it would change shape whether they stared hard enough.

Clearing her throat, their seasoned hostess is the first to speak- “Ah- well, that was certainly, um.” Shuffling her cards, she stares at the rest of Six Eyes in bewilderment and they stare in bewilderment right back. 

Muttering, “I wish my husband was more like that- anyways.” She leans in close to Gojo, “So if I showed you…” Waving her hand at a few of the tech specialists in charge of the projector behind him, “-this picture with a particular known tattoo artist?”

It wasn’t even a question.

And a damn good thing it wasn’t, because as soon as the screen behind Gojo lights up with a paparazzi shot - one of you, from years and years ago when you were dating that damn tch- asshole Ryomen Sukuna. All bathed in the light of the city at night, pretty hands in his, smile blinding - oh-so-gorgeous that he feels his heart stop.

Literally.

There’s a slight, sharp beeeeep–! that emanates from the lie detector—

Geto stands, “Satoru, what-”

“Gojo-san, are you okay-”

“I know CPR.” Hell, even Nanami was looking on with some degree of concern, “But I wouldn’t do it on you, no offense.”

As the examiner fiddles with his contraption, the hostess is the one to wonder whether she should call over the medical personnel in the studio. Reaching over her lil’ interrogation table to tap Gojo’s pale hand lightly- “U-uh, Mister Gojo-”

Gojo gasps- “Huh? Oh yeah-” 

The steady rhythm of his pulse beeps once more on the monitor, albeit it slightly faster than before after he’s setting his eyes on you. After his poor, pathetic heart had skipped a beat just at the mere sight of you. 

“He’s ruining the picture.” Gojo’s nose bridge wrinkles, gaze straying back to your smile the way an anchor follows a ship to see. No matter how far and deep they may go. The examiner signs out ‘truth’ as the other man continues, “Can you crop the buffoon out and give me five printed copies of that photo, please?”

“Eh?”

“Eh?”

“Gojo-san, eh?”

Nanami rubs his aching temples, “This is why I’d never give him CPR.”

That particular episode easily became one of the most watched of the season. 

Six Eyes’ Gojo Satoru Takes a Lie Detector Test | Heart-stopping Revelations!

torutoaster: WHAT THE FUCK WHEN THEY SAID HEART-STOPPING THEY MEANT IT FRFR-

eathaibara: the pure aura to have your heartbeat stop then the first thing you do is simp over your girl.

100menvsmpreg: @eathaibara wait so are they actually dating?

fluffykento: @100menvsmpreg worse

jennyk10: @100menvsmpreg I meannn-

ButterSixKpop: Need me a real freak like this.

CandyKento: kento is so real ngl

getosuggs: @CandyKento the only thing we love more than satoru is bullying satoru

fiendingforsixeyes: LMAO GUYS HAVE YOU SEEN THAT PERSON GOIN’ ON RANTS UNDER SUKUNA’S INSTA-

Gojo didn’t read these comments, unfortunately, or see any of the edits they were making of him on tiktok. He was too busy spamming comments of his own on Sukuna’s official instagram. 

Very colorfully-worded ones. 

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.

.

“What’s your name?”

“Gojo da strongest.”

“What are you drawing?”

“A star.”

For an eight-year-old, Gojo thinks you had the most pensive expression on your face after that particular answer. Brows scrunched cutely, and your tongue sticking slightly between missing teeth- and it was alright, Gojo wasn’t a stranger to the staring.

He knew how to handle all the cooing from aunties at the marketplace, he was used to all the praises for being the fastest kid in all of primary school. 

So surely the great, wise, nine-year-old Gojo Satoru could give a fellow classmate as much time as you needed to muster up the very best compliment-

“It’s kinda ugly.”

“Wha- huh?” How dare you- Gojo’s pouting, snowy brows scrunching until you’re giggling. “My star is not ugly.” Sticking a thumb proudly between his puffed-up chest, “And I should know because I’m going to be a star.”

You’re nodding, seriously. “Mm, that’s good.” 

And that makes him falter- just a bit, because true superstars never falter. “Y-you think so?” Okay, maybe they falter a bit. But in Gojo’s defense, no one had ever taken his little daydream so seriously, “You don’t think it’s stupid? That I can’t go up on stage?”

“No, why would it be?” Oh. You’re tapping his smudged crayon drawing, “But that’s still an ugly star.”

Stomping, “Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is…” He looks at you - in all you sparkly humor - then back at his fifteen-pointed star. He looks at you, then back at his brown-colored star for “artistic purposes.” He looks at you, then back at his star with a spotty face on it because it reminded him of Patrick Star.  He looks at you and-

“Fine…”

“Let me teach you how to draw an actual star.” You’re stumbling over your words a little, and it offends the great Gojo Satoru that he should be taught by such a child like you, a year younger. 

But he does have to admit that you drew pretty nice stars. 

Crossing his arms with a pout, “Fine then- teach me how to draw stars-” And the grin breaking your tiny face was too bright, too pretty. Suddenly the classroom is too humid, and he’s scrambling for something - anything - to throw back in your face. “-star.”

“‘Star’, huh?” But you only smile, “I like that.”

Only to have it thrown back in his. 

In a way he’s remembering nearly two decades later, your hand in his, your mouth near his earpiece. Quieter than the producers screaming in his ears, but louder than his very own racing heartbeat.

“Take it easy, Satoru.” You’re humming, over the velvety-smooth voice of the MAMA award announcer. The one that was ecstatically saying the name of the very band that Gojo might just have forgotten he was a part of the moment your hands wound ‘round him. 

You lift up his dark blindfold, part of his outfit for the day. “Go up, you fool.”

It wasn’t every day that Six Eyes won a MAMA grand prize, and it also wasn’t every day that the best friend he’d begged to be let in as the group’s honorary plus one (also the very same best friend he’d been in love with since he knew what love was) was in his arms like this.

But you’d been in them when after he’d drawn the first star all those years back that you’d deemed ‘acceptable.’ You’d been in them when he decided to take up dancing lessons in middle school, waiting all those hours after dark to walk back home with him. You’d been in them when he entered high school and told you he’d be a trainee slaving the days away in some dingy company basement. You’d been in them even tighter when they debuted. 

And you’d been in them the very second their name had been announced as artist of the year.

In front of all those cameras. All those gasping audiences.

And Geto who thumps him heartily on the back, “Get a room later, lovebirds- if Yaga doesn’t kill you that is.”

“Come on, Gojo-san, we have to go up for our award–!”

Nanami flashes you what you swear was a slight smile, “I am happy for you.” Before frowning at a shining-eyed Gojo, “Not quite for you, though.”

“Aww Nanamin, you love me~”

“O-kaaay-” Once the 6’4 mess of limbs had finally set you free, Geto was pushing them all to climb up the stage. In time with the blasting background music of their very own Blue, “Let’s have the aneurysms when we’re on stage.”

But what Gojo had on-stage wasn’t anything to make Yaga wish to retire, or to have Nanami’s pounding migraine throb harder. It was a single, sliding tear - and if the lights glaring down on them were bright enough that no one could tell for sure, then all was well with him.

“To our fans, our family-” Gojo’s starting off into the mic in the middle, deep tone dry and hoarse, metal award cool in his hands. He’s looking at you. “-and my star, this one’s for you.”

It’s all. 

And later they’d write articles about the hug, the speech, and what it means that you’re his ‘star’ - but for now, that was for Gojo to know. And for him to step away from the booming mic, letting Geto take his place with much more eloquent words; knowing that in future interviews they’d joke about all the speeches that they had planned.

That Gojo had planned in particular, but nothing came out just right. 

Later, he would also wonder why he waited so long - when you were always there in the audience, clapping louder as if it was just for him. 

And your best friend mouths—all bedazzled in his dangling earrings, white suit starkly handsome. “Meet me after the show.”

That very same clip is made into a gif that gets replayed about twelve million times before the award show actually ends. 

.

.

.

“O-oh fuck-” Your tongue lolls out until it’s hitting midway down your chin, mouth watering with every curly swipe n’ prod of Gojo’s tastebuds. 

His nose hits the edge of your treacly cunt and he whines, watchin’ the cute way your pupils roll allll the way to the back. The front of your chest polishing with a few wads of saliva that he can’t lick up right now- no.

Not when his mouth was already so occupied.

All it took was a single step - a single step - inside Gojo’s personal dressing room after the MAMAs, before he’d crashed your lips against his in a way he’d just been dying to do.

Folding you easily over the armrest of the fluffy pink sofa, door locked, sparkly dress hiked up. Gojo hadn’t even bothered to take off your flimsy panties before he’d started making out with your sweet, sweet pussy from behind.

Lavishing his tongue between the crevices of your cunt like he was a man parched- “Fuck, my star.” With your underwear just pushed to the side and his throat vibrating with a guttural groan once he’s feeling your tight, cozy hole clench ‘round his tastebuds.“Fuck- s’all I want-”

“A-are you seriously- ngh–!” And you couldn’t believe anything your hazed mind was telling you right now - not of those familiar lyrics, and not of the smooth, frigid brush of something metallic studding just the end of Gojo’s tongue. “-quoting your song right now?”

“Mmm– can’t help it. Wrote it just for you y’know…” Voice just a bit hitched, just a bit raspy. 

There was something in it that made you oh-so-much wetter, and Gojo’s summer blue eyes flash as he’s taking in the sappy slick gluing your shivering thighs together. 

“Sh-shit.” Gurgling out the candied taste of you, you were dripping all down his tongue. He’s pulling you close with a hand stuck on your hip, letting your slick splash at the bottom of his throat- and it still wasn’t enough. 

“Shit, my star.” His usual lip gloss smeared all over your pussy, Gojo takes the time to lean in and lick it all clean off. Before pursing his lips to once more spit—“Shit-”

He didn’t know what to say.

Your pretty pussy had him speechless, and it’s a damn miracle that he’s not tearing that suit off of his body. Stained all down the front with a snail-trail of your sappy juices-

“Need- this-” Once his heavy fabric strikes the floor, Gojo’s inching even closer in his kneeling position. Thick fingers slide-slide-sliiiiding teasingly between your swollen folds, before tugging on your poor panties. “-off.”

Ripping.

And his little prize is now finding a home somewhere inside his pocket for later, but right now Gojo has to stop himself from fucking salivating as you’re exposed for him.

It takes one kiss before he pants- “Oh my god.” 

And another- “O-oh fuck- oh my god.”

Fully shoving his face between your legs and letting you shiver at the feeling of his bejewelled earrings. That sunken in. 

Flattened tongue slapping down between your driveling slit, Gojo takes his agonizing time lapping up every inch n’ cranny you have. “My star—” Humming almost drunkenly, his pointed muscle swerves between the insides of your pussylips. 

“F-fuuuck–!” Just where you were most sensitive, Gojo lets the stubbed piercing on his tongue slip inside your hole and streeeeetch you out. Slipping out to draw a wet, sickly sweet star– “Since when did you have a- nghh- a tongue piercing, Toru?”

The first answer you’re getting is a sharp swat on your pussy, “Mmm- ever since you dated that fucking bastard with a tongue piercing.” Sukuna. Gojo croons out, more honest than he would’ve usually been. “Never put it in but…I got it because I thought it was your hah- type.”

Another smack!

Another squeezing inch of his pierced tongue trying to fuck into your entrance, he’s impatient. He’s throbbing in his pants with every tiny clench of your gooey insides, “Got buffer, too- cooler.”

“Oh my…god- your tongue, it’s- hck! going in-” Crying out through whines.

“Wrote so many songs for you, my star–” He’s drawling out, and you can feel the scorching breeze of his hot breath. The way that Gojo’s parting his lips even wider to let his tongue glue against your cunt, grinding all the way inside- “Well- heh- not for her, but…”

You’re still hypnotized by the sensual massage of his ridged taste buds rubbin’ across the front of your dripping pussy. 

So much so that the lecherous sluuuurp–! drawn out into the claggy air almost shocks you. Your cunt’s letting off the most sexual noises once Gojo’s dragging up a hand to tease your wet clit. “-but I’ll write a song for her as well.”

His metal rings are just sparkling with coats of slick, and your best friend doesn’t waste even a second latching onto your sensitive nub. Dexterous fingers drawing cute circles over and over that have your hips lurching off of the sofa- 

“Please- ngh- pleeease-” Your head throws backwards, legs already starting to quake at the utter pressure of having his fingers on your clit. Tongue inside your pussy. 

So lengthy that the slimy tip of it mazes between your walls, and Gojo’s purposefully stirrin’ around your insides with the icy edge of his piercing. Chin rubbing all red with friction as he’s leaning in even closer to dig the muscle of his tongue into your sweetest spots, “Yeah- yeah n’ I’ll have her sing-” Another hand this time, another finger - pushin’ deeply inside you. And the syrupy sound is enough to make him close in on the side of the couch and rut- “-lead…h-heh.”

And if you thought being fucked into the cushy surface by Gojo’s tongue was making your head spin, then you’re being driven positively mad by the wild lashes of his fingertips. 

Two ringed fingers fighting for space right along with his sticky tongue, Gojo glues the thick crowns of his digits to the top of your g-spot and watches as you shrill. “All the reading paid off, hmm–?”

“Y-you read about this?” You’re blinking through your tears, mouth dangling open once he’s pulling back. All the way to the rotund tips of his fingers- and slamming right down to press on your favorite nerves like a button. “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck- just for- for me?”

“You don’t know what I’d do for you, my star.” And it would sound sweet coming from your usual best friend. 

But Gojo right now looked feral - pale eyes half-lidded, hair unruly, light make-up replaced by slimy oodles of your slick. Worn like a badge of honor, he’s gnawing down on your outer pussy, voice turning into something breathy. Octaves higher. “Noooo fucking idea what I’d do.”

Gripping onto the dampening covers of the sofa, you’re bucking animalistically like you don’t know whether you want to pull away or grind back down for more, more, more. Yelping, “T-Toru-!”

“No- no no no- come back.” Gojo panics, beefy arms wrapped enough around your body to haaaul you backwards. 

And when that wasn’t far enough, Gojo’s lust-fogged mind tugs off the blindfold still looped ‘round his neck. Tightly restraining one over your thigh and manhandling you deeper onto his face-

“Sh-shiiit, Satoru–”

“Fuck- haven’t had anything so sweet- so addictive, my star.” He’s murmuring into your pussy, knuckles getting sloppier with all the spanks against the front of your cunt. Tongue lurching in n’ out until his jaw was sore and raw with all the movement- but he’s still rummaging his muscle along your insides. 

Gojo’s eating you out like a man lacking a proper meal for eons, and you swear you could feel the way his Adam’s apple bob with each heavy gulp of your saccharine slick. “N’ now I don’t think I can- haaaah- live without your sweet pussy on my face, sweetheart.”

The furniture creaks with every bump of his ravenous hips against the sofa, because Gojo didn’t even want to spare a single handle to jerk himself off.

Not when he could target the throbbing nub of your clit, rolling over it until the harsh pleasure makes you squeeeal. “Don’t have to- don’t- ngh-”

“D’you think so?” That overeager thumb latched to your clit does a quick circular motion that renders your mouth drier than the Sahara. Swooping. Pressing down. “Really really th-think I can?”

“Yes- fuck- yes-” Whining, back arching into such a perfect curve. “Just make me cum, Satoru-”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gojo huffs out a cloud of breath, long lashes fluttering. The rapid thump-thump-thumps of his two fingers burrowing into your g-spot hasten, “But only if you mmmm– say my name.”

“Satoru.”

“Louder?”

“Satoru.”

With your wailing tone knocking off each corner of the wall, it’s like he’s rattling off all the unspeakable dreams he’s had of you. “Thennn– spit in my mouth?”

Almost like he’s testing it out- and you’re snapping your head over your shoulder. Not knowing whether to give him a piece of whatever’s left of your mind, or whether you would spit in his mouth. 

But you didn’t need to wrack your pretty brain over it any time soon.

Because Gojo’s shaking his bleary head, “Hmm- guess you already have, though- heh.” Partially-closed eyes locked onto your agape cunt every time you’re suckin’ his tongue in- and it’s only then that you realize he’s talking to your pussy. 

Letting your pussy spit out wads of juices that slip n’ slide down his throat, that get fucked back in by his relentless mouth.

Your hands grip the couch, “S-stop teasing– please, m’so close.”

“And then finally—” The tender edges of his fingers scrape your sweet spots in that strangely swooping motion that makes your toes curl restlessly. Dragging it oooon with his lilted bass, “-spell this out, my star?”

Your thighs twitch, the semicircles he’s drawin’ on your g-spot taking the formation of an ‘S’. Then an ‘A’-

“Sa-sa-”

“You got it. You got it, sweetheart.”

With the probin’ deepness of his fingers, he’s flicking his fingertips until your vision flashes white. ‘T’, your favorite dragged-out ‘O’ that makes his pierced tongue swoop in tiny circles, too. “Sato-” 

You knew where this was going. Faster. Harder.

You knew, and yet, you’re still letting him finish off a soppy ‘R’ and ‘U’ - branded in big capital letters from the gooey, heated insides of your pussy until you’re finishing off, too. “Satoru- Satoru. M’cumming, oh fuck, m’cumming…ngh.”

With a slight, stiled sob, you’re being run over by your high - just in time for Gojo to twist the orbed piercing on his tongue over in a S-A-T-O-R-U as well. Sloppily salivating down the sides of your slit, your thighs trickle with every ounce of sap you’re spraying out. 

Whimpering, deep into the cavern of his mouth- “Sh-shit-” Gojo’s hissing in that airy tone of his, feeling hot wetness seeping into his pants the very second you’re cumming - he is, too. 

And yet, the only thing he can think about is dragging out your high. 

To strike the bruised n’ battered areas of your walls until your thighs are shaking with every peak of your orgasm, mouth slobbering everywhere and anywhere.

From the pearly spatters of slick sheening your legs, to the pulsing top of your clit. Fucking and fucking your quivering entrance until your body feels all raw and sizzling. Every thrust of his fat, velvety tongue makes your pupils whirl stupidly in the whites of your eyes. “Sh-shit- nghhh- shit.”

And it takes him such a long time to let go of you - especially when he’s this drunk on your pussy. 

Pulling back with a final push of his piercing on top of your clit, and the loudest squeeelch—!

“H-heheh.” Gojo whispers against your pussy and you mewl, falling onto your elbows over the cushions of the sofa. 

Wearily, you look over your shoulder to take a good, solid look at him - only to feel your heart stutter at the utter grin on his face. Dopey. Glittered with slick. It beads down your best friend’s sharp jawline as he speaks, “Replaced my lipgloss- heh.” He cocks his head to the side, sapphire eyes fluttering priggishly. “Did I ever tell you that was my first time? Been savin’ myself for you, my star…”

Your mouth drops open at his words.

Oh.

Oh.

You weren’t making it out of this alive. 

Within a few bats of your teary lashes, Gojo has you pushed onto your back on top of the springy cushions. His towering form hovering over you-

Pinkish tongue snagging at the end of one glistening lip, “You should know…I’ve never done this before either.” He shivers, top layers shrugged off into a pile, golden clasps of his pants unbuttoned—pop! pop! pop!

With your stringy panties pulled out of his trousers, n’ the rest pushed down until he’d sexily bare in front of you. You can’t tear your widened eyes away as Gojo wraps your underwear ‘round his thick, bulging cock and jerks.

And fuck- did it make your mouth water.

Oh, fuck.

Because Gojo was just so big - in every sense.

From the width of his towering shoulders, all chiseled with bouncy pecs. To the way he was so ripped with lean muscle that you couldn’t stop imagining how it’d feel to have them pressed down against you. 

A feverish blush drifts down the back of his neck, alllll the way down between his pale happy trail. And right up to the fat, pinkened globe of his cock - all heavy and long. So, so long that it had your thighs squeezing in both fear and anticipation. 

You breathe, “Y-you’re so…”

Gojo gnaws down on his bottom lip with a moan, “Mm- yeah, tell me, sweetheart.” Vein-covered fist flying up and down his shaft, the rub of your panties was just so delicious that he’s splurging out a thick wad of precum straight down your slit. “Tell me- tell me.”

“So big.” You’re wondering where he even hid something like that.

Making such a mess. 

And he’s made a mess before too - cumming in his pants just from eating you out. So your cunt was being soaked with a few wires of his ivory sap. 

Being pushed in the very second Gojo slouches over your body and slaps his thick mushroom tip between your pussylips. Rutting his sloppy hips without even realizing-

“You don’t think it’s weird, my star?” Head hunched, white bangs covering his eyesight. The tone in his voice is thick with something primal, “How I was- haaaah-” And so was his cadence, sandwiching between your soppy folds back n’ forth back n’ forth. “-fisting my cock to the thought of my ngh- pretty lil’ best friend for yeeeears?”

Dragging it out. 

Just aaaaaching with a particularly sensual slide of his vein-covered shaft down your cunt, “Just aaaaching.” The knobbled top of his length slips against your oversaturated pussy and plugs up your hole. Hitting it with a damp plop! “For one taste- for anything.”

Your hands claw up to the tufts of his soft hair, pulling and it makes his cock twitch. “Want it in. Please, Satoru?” 

“A-are you sure I- hah-” And fuck- his eyes gape as he looks down between your cute, shivering legs. Marvelling at the sheer size difference between the plump girth of his cockhead, and your tight hole. “If it’s too much, I can just put the tip- oh, fuck.”

But you were impatient, and you’re wrapping your legs ‘round his toned waist to tug him closer. Deeper. Inside. 

To feel the tender underside of his length scrape your walls, each n’ every zig-zagged vein snaking inside your cunt. Gojo was just so big that your vision flashes black and white with just a few inches stuffed-

“I take it back.” He gasps. He heaves - pants so labored that it was like he’d given up on catching his breath. Trying to hold his head up - failing. 

“Take- oh, you’re so big- take what back?”

And the only thing Gojo can do is grab both sides of your waist and use the lecherous leverage to pull and pull you further down his rock-hard shaft. Straining out, his thumb cranes over to push inside a gluey wad of cum. “I t-taaake it back. Just the tip- n-never-” Just one singular taste of your sopping wet pussy on his cock and his voice cracks. “-never gonna be just the tip, my star.”

He’s so untouched, biting down furiously on his lower lip. 

Biting down furiously on your sodden panties just as soon as he remembers they’re still in his hands, muffling every whimpering wail that threatens to leave his maw. 

“Ngh- ngh- what the f-fuck.” Gojo’s ripping from the back of his throat, head falling backwards to bare his attractive throat as he slips deeper in. Fighting against that snug resistance with a few good half-thrusts, not even able to pull out properly. To even move. “It can feel this good?” 

And through your half-closed eyes you’re making out the fact that he’s pinching himself with a free hand. “Or m’I just in heaven?”

You feel his big, bulbous tip swab near your g-spot and start to mewl- “Mmm– and what if you are?”

“Don’t even wanna know if s’real.” Strings of saliva stick to Gojo’s lips as he babbles, still lathered in a layer of your pussy juices from before. And his mouth only waters even more when he’s feeling your hot insides clench around him, “Don’t need to know anything else- ngh.”

Every syllable is punctuated by an almost vulgar rut. 

You’re screaming as he’s bullying his slimy, pre-glazed tip inside. Letting the rotund crown of his cock pry apart your cute walls, harder. Deeper. 

Gojo smears your pussylips further open with one of his thumbs, letting just the top part of his digit fit into your entrance. Just so that he can fit his cock in fully. 

“P-please fit.” Muttering underneath his breath, teeth clenching tight on your panties. Looking up at you ferally through his lashes, “Please- please, didn’t wait s-so fucking long for you not to take it, my star. For this pretty pussy to be left unsatisfied.”

Your nails dig into his back, “Fuck- please- oh my god.”

“It has to fit-” 

“Will it?”

“Yes- yes, you’re gonna take it alll, my girl.”Fucking you furiously, sloppily. No rhythm or rhyme - or even sanity in each of his jagged strikes aiming for the very bottom of your pussy, “Has to it has to it- fuck! It has to-”

And when it does - when it finally, finally does - Gojo Satoru is left gaping, your underwear now dropping from his mouth and cleanly onto the floor. Speechless. 

Shit, if he hadn’t cum just minutes prior then he’d be creaming himself all over again.

Blinking once, twice down wordlessly at the sultry vision of your bloated pussylips kissin’ his pelvis. Bottomed-out until his cock was swallowed all the way up until those tufts of white at his base-

And then it all happens at once.

In a singular split-second, Gojo has your legs thrown over his shoulder, your knees pushed all the way down to your tits. Striking your spongy cervix with a dull thud of his weepy cocktip, before he’s reeling out halfway and doing it all over again.

And again.

And again and again and again-

You’re just shrilling– “Toru- hck!” Feeling your weary throat clog up with so many sobs n’ whines every time his globular head was piercing your cunt, pushin’ all the way into your womb. “Toru Toru Toru-”

“M’on vocal rest after this, y’know?” He blurts, seemingly out-of-the-blue. 

That is, until Gojo stares down at you with such a heady grin, leaned down just close enough that his hot respiration wafts the shell of your ear. And his tongue lurches out to lick up the drooling spittle leaking from each side of your mouth, “So you hafta scream twice as loud f’me, my star.”

Slamming the lines of his chiseled hips against yours, Gojo’s shaft was oh-so-veiny enough that you’re feeling your mind melt at the constant massage of your g-spot. “Like that- nghhh please-”

“Like- like this?” And it’s so difficult to remember that this was still Gojo’s first time– especially when he roams a palm over your tummy to feel for a particular bulging outline and press.

Carnally caressing the cylindrical bump that he was pounding into you, branding the fatness of his length right against your girth. “Shit- you really took it all.” He’s in awe at the feeling of his rotund cockhead pokin’ your very womb, “You wanna be fucked like hngh- this, don’t you? Want it hard? Fast?”

He was speaking utter filth, but his cadence was even filthier. 

Shivering hand pushing down on your stomach, the other slithering between your sheeny legs to toy with your neglected clit. 

“Your legs are shivering, my star- m’in trouble.” He arches his sculpted back to pick up the ruthless pace, throbbing cock stirrin’ within you to bash constantly straight into your g-spot. “S-sooooo much trouble.”

“More- ngh! Satoru, more-” You’re crying out through wobbly lips, “Want it even harder.”

“Fuck-” Hissing underneath his breath, Gojo’s doughy fingertips speedily smack your slope. Making your legs grow all numb, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- then ngh- yeah, open those pretty legs and take this fat fucking cock-”

With a few more strokes he’s holding onto your throat, pinning you down so that Gojo can scratch the rough texture of his happy trail down your clit until you cry. “This fat- haaah- fuckin’- cock-”

You’re so dumbified by the size and sheer pleasure that you can only repeat after him, stupidly. “Fat- ngh- fuckin’...”

A velvety tongue drags over your salty beads of tears, “Atta girl—” Grindin’ the circumference of his thick cock against your g-spot, Gojo’s biting down on your earlobe just to hear the way you sing. “Louder.” The dangly metal of his earrings are frosty against your own clammy face, sensual. “Louder- let them hear, let them know.”

Uncertainly, your eyes drift over to where the door of the dressing room was innocently positioned. Notably closed. Notably locked.

But your moans were reaching a fever point at the rough bludgeons of Gojo’s cock, the way he was swervin’ his hips juuuust right to snag your sweetest spots. 

All those years of dancing helped him expertly target long glides down your g-spot. Leaving a trail of wet mucus from that particular bundle of nerves, n’ straight down-down-dooown to your cute cervix. “Let them all see-”

“S-see?” You’re gasping out in disbelief. 

With what almost sounds to you like a growl, “Mhm- yeah, fuck!” Gojo spanks his hips hard enough against yours that the impact leaves his v-line reddening, the papping sound echoing within the dressing room. “You think I wouldn’t fuck you in front of every nosy lil’ camera out there?”

You don’t even know what to say - what to do.

The only thing your pathetic body is capable of doing is gyratin’ back down to meet his tempo. Letting your limp legs tighten over his shoulders, “Y-you would?”

“Oh, my sweetheart—” Gojo’s crooning, snowy brows scrunching together. Giving your treacly cunt yet another hard jackhammer, “If this pussy wasn’t mine and mine alone, then that door wouldn’t even be- hah- locked right now.”

And he was drilling into you like he meant it - like he was furious with himself for holding out this long on the heaven of your sweet, sweet pussy.

Wailing, your eyes crossing at the sheer pleasure.

Now that he’d slurped up one sip, he was eager for the next- and before you know it, the blindfold that’d been dangling on your thigh was suddenly coiling ‘round your ankles. “You’re not getting out of this- oh.” Gojo’s beefy biceps flex as he’s tying your legs behind his neck, all for him to pull back on—“Gonna- gonna fill you up so we hafta be- ngh- prepared.”

Your salivatin’ chin hits the front of your chest and you whine, “Please- please make me cum, mm-”

“Yeah? Gonna make you cum- hah-” Gojo’s mouth hangs ajar, blush so rosy. He feels your goopy walls tighten on reflex and that makes his hardened cock twitch, “Then- then m’gonna fuck you through that.”

Strike after strike. 

His swollen lips lean down to suckle on one of your fingers - your left hand’s ring finger, to be precise. “Then m’gonna put a ngh- ring on it. Gonna- gonna I swear-”

Push after push.

“Toru—” Your tits jut up as you’re bowing your back off of the drenched sofa, “-not gonna- gonna- fuck!”

You don’t even have the privilege of letting that sentence finish before your orgasm takes you over, thrumming white-hot zaps of pleasure through your veins. Your teeth set on edge at how utterly good it feels to have Gojo’s fattened cock swabbing your tight hole through every peak, “Oh my god- oh my- fuuuuuck, there’s jus’ so much, Toru.”

Toes curled, mouth unfastened.

Pinching your clit until you’re squeeealing- “So- so much.” He’s echoing in a whisper, crushing you tight to him once Gojo’s finishing off, too. 

Abs plastered against your front until you memorize each ridge, his pecs smooth n’ plump against your tits. Your best friend just looked so pretty with his pearly whites grit in a snarl, brows knitted as he’s pumping you with cum until you overspilled. 

With thick, seedy knots of cum that blanketed your pussy - his pointed cockhead nudges every droplet inside until you can feel your walls stretch with the utter size. 

Thighs shaking with your release, his mess sploshing around inside of you. Your vision was still completely hazy- “Fuck- fuck, Satoru.”

And it’s like the sound of his name plummeting from your mouth sends shockwaves down his spine.

Because Gojo’s staring at you - mushroomy tip still leaky, still slidin’ through the sappy puddle he’s formulating at your cervix. For a good few seconds, maybe even minutes until he’s chuckling–“God, they could see right through me. Everyone could.”

More to himself.

Although those next words were entirely for you. 

“I love you.” Gojo’s pale lashes flutter, almost shyly, and you’re speechless at the fact that he was still fucking you. In slow, aching grinds that have him fucking his cum deeper n’ deeper inside you. “I’ve always loved you, my star.”

Your heart quivers, and you can’t help but reach a hand out to run through the sweaty valleys of his locks. Smile dazzling - something he could write songs, ballads, sonnets about some day. But for now it only makes his azure eyes wet, “And I love you, my Toru.”

Something weeps out of Gojo that sounds like a husky, drawn-out groan— and you can feel his thick tip twitch inside of you with a few more beaded dollops of seed.

Cumming for the nth time tonight until all his heavy balls could let out was misty white, just from hearing that you loved him back.

And for once it’s silence.

Calm, warm silence— that is, until Gojo’s pulling his ravaged, red cock just far enough that your cunt lets off the soppiest wet sluuuurp! 

You’re gasping, still feeling the rush of your high make your head whirl. Thighs clenching around his broad deltoids automatically, “Satoru- wh-what are you-”

“Oh, well…” Long, pale hands reach for the pile of fabric on the floor - your boyfriend’s pants. And Gojo has the sleaziest grin on his face as he’s digging his fingers into the depths of his pockets, promptly pulling out a lengthy line of condom foils. One he’d packed just in case, just for you.

You’re mentally counting about twenty before he’s letting his proud stack drop right down to your front. “You didn’t think we were done, right, my sweetheart?”

Oh, fuck.

Neither of you are making it out of this alive.

.

.

.

“There’s the wall of perfume, my books- especially songwriting books. And these clothes and, yeah, that’s really it for my room…” Gojo kicks away the pile of his Digimon socks on the ground with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. 

Something he was sure the cameraman intruding his dorm room would capture, and yet still edit to make something cute out of it anyway. 

Ah- such was the life of an ever-popular idol.

And here he was, up bright and early in the morning to let some variety show stomp all through the Six Eyes’ penthouse as a sort of ‘house tour.’ Well, sure he knew that this was bound to be a hit with the fans that probed into his life, but was it really necessary to not even give the man a heads-up?

Plastering on his most polished smile, he nods politely as the camera records a few more details. The hosts cooing over each little thing - all those fan letters he kept, a pretty crayon drawing of a blue star from years ago, and the-

“Eh?”

“Eh?”

“Eh?” Geto’s poking his head in, grin already plastered just in case there was to be some sort of chaos upheaved in Gojo’s room. And why wouldn’t there be?

Gojo’s following both hosts’ lines of vision, all the way down to his bed, “Eh?” Was it not made properly? Was it an offense to have sheets of his own boyband at this day and his age? Or was- “Oh.”

And then Gojo sees it - that. 

The familiar, gauzy fabric of your panties that he’d stolen all those nights ago. Hidden neatly underneath the puff of his pillows - well, almost hidden.

Because obviously it was exceptionally still in the bedroom right now- fuck, even Geto had gone quiet from his station near the door, realizing what it was. Attracting the attention of two very curious other members that were currently fighting to get a glimpse-

One of the hosts clears her throat, “Um- Mister Gojo, is that…” Eyes dazzling at the possibility of a scoop this big - all in their almost-family-friendly home-touring show. “Is it possible there’s a lady in your life the fans and world may want to know about? Is this that very same best friend everyone says you pine over?”

And the other host cackles, “Well, they certainly don’t seem to be your size, boy. And ones so skimpy- oho, kids these days.” 

Unabashedly pushing a mic into his face, “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Ah-” Gojo coughs out, jumping once the cameraman immediately swivels his lens towards him for his response. “Aha, well- you see-”

Gojo looks at Geto.

“…”

At Haibara.

“…”

At Nanami.

“…Fucking idiot.”

And finally at the camera itself- “Cut the cameras. Deadass.”

Yaga might have bribed the network to never air that particular episode, and Dispatch might have done their best to leak it, anyway.

Right along with a few grainy paparazzi shots of figures that looked undeniably like you two. Hand-in-hand, suspicious blemishes on both your necks, wandering down the sidewalks of Han River. 

And if Yaga was having a tough PR day with just that then it would’ve been too merciful of the universe. Because how could you discount the fact that Gojo Satoru, notorious dodger of paparazzi questions, had proudly held up your joined hands and exclaimed at a few buzzing reporters—“Fuck yeah- my girlfriend now, suckers!”

No resignation letter would ever be enough.

@sunflowerboy: let it be known that I always believed in Gojo-san!!

@eathaibara replying to @sunflowerboy: we bow before you great sunflowerboy (the only one to believe in toru’s loser rizz)

@torutoaster: i luv how #go(jo)outthefriendzone is trending worldwide- LOSER RIZZ ALWAYS WINS 

@fiendingforsixeyes: HE DID IT?? MY BOY ACTUALLY DID IT??

@mahitoe: tch whatever

@zbstan replying to @mahitoe: womp womp

@sunflowerboy replying to @mahitoe: LMFAOOOO SUCK IT YOU LOSER HATER FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK-

@eathaibara replying to @sunflowerboy: omg sunflowerboy??

@sunflowerboy replying to @eathaibara: sorry got a little excited^^

@sugu-rizzed: I just know pr is SCRAMBLING rn but not as much as my boy scrambled to get that cookie.

@satorusxkitten: bi panic is wanting both of them!!

@ge.akuge: idk what she sees in him it must be the wigs

@CandyKento: the ‘my star’, isacs, the awards speech, the PANTIES?? gojo satoru it was always meant to be idk what to tell ya. now get married

@Fushidaddy107: I still think she’d be better with me smh.

@officialgojosatoru replying to @Fushidaddy107: Blocked.

A/N. This was SOOO self-indulgent omg- ALSO DADDY TONY’S BAAAACK!!

Plagiarism not authorized.

[lokissweater]

birds of a feather . ۫ ꣑ৎ .

{olympic figure skater!satoru gojo x olympic figure skater f!reader}

summary: you and satoru have known each other since childhood, two little birds navigating through life together as you shared one dream in common— to win gold at the olympics, you both a figure skating pair as you moved and performed and fell in love as the years went by, both balancing off a trembling tight rope and holding on to keep each other in place, a silent agreement that if you indulged and fell into the depths of the truth of what you were, you’d run the risk of losing your careers and each other, yours and satoru’s biggest fears. but you’re growing, and it’s getting harder to hold back… especially for satoru— that trembling tight rope on the verge of snapping in two.

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, childhood best friends to lovers trope, cursing, DIABOLICAL ANGST BUT WITH HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE!, mentions of death and loss, mentions of injury and blood, FLUUUFFF, satoru loves loves loves you, SMUUUTT, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it y’all), creampie, pussy eating, dom satoru, pussy drunk satoru, DIRTY TALK, pet names, figure skating, the olympics, true love <3

word count: 22.3k (I KNOW PLEASE GIVE ME A CHANCE PLEASE—)

authors note: YYYOOOUUU GUUUYYSSS THIS ONE IS MY BABBBYYY AND IM CRYING NOW WRITING THIS LMFAOAOAO. i hope you all love it seriously i GLADLY worked day and night writing this and i’d do it all over again just to see y’all happy :) THANK YOU for your support it is UNREAL, and like always, I LOOVEEE YOUUU MWAAHHH <333

you first met satoru when you were six at the skating rink.

he was only a year older than you, both of your mothers coincidentally signing you up for the same youth ice skating lessons for beginners, meeting and chatting it up seeing as you and satoru were the youngest in age out of the rest of the parents there and their children, you both automatically put together by your coach and separated from the older kids to do warm ups.

and even though the age difference was only a year, satoru at first treated you like a little helpless tiny thing who needed assistance in everything— the cute pink ribbons in your hair doing you an injustice and further implementing the image of a little girl who had no clue of what was going on around her, thinking you were cutesy and he was determined to be your little knight in shining armor when the time came.

until he saw you skate.

what satoru didn’t know, was that you were a prodigy— related to one of the most famous ice skaters in olympic ice skating history, akira, as her talent was blessedly passed down to you through your fruitful system and the lucky processes of genetics— chosen as you barely even had to be taught, you catching everything right away by the coach without any sort of slip and fall… unlike satoru who was clumsily struggling to even glide through the ice without wobbling.

and little satoru was astonished by you and your talent, his first impression of you drastically changing by the end of the first lesson as he shakily slid across the ice over to where you were, patiently doing little turns on the ice while you waited for your mother to finish up talking to another lady (it was satoru’s mother).

“hi!” he had greeted you, a huge goofy smile on his face as you slowed down and looked at him, returning a shy smile of your own.

“hi.”

“i’m satoru!” he extended a hand, eyes shooting wide as he suddenly lost his balance and slipped forward, on the brink of face planting on the ice as his hands quickly flailed out and gripped the edge of the rink to save himself.

you giggled, tiny hands reaching and holding his arm steady as he tried to regain his balance.

“are you okay?” your shy voice asked, and he grinned through his wobbling.

“yeah! i’m okay! don’t worry!”

but he still couldn’t stabilize himself.

“maybe we should sit on the bench?” you suggested sweetly. “so you don’t fall…”

“okay!”

you gripped him as hard as you could (which really wasn’t a lot for a six year old) and slowly moved with him on the ice, supporting him until you were both out of the rink and seated on the bleachers.

“what’s your name?” he chirped, his hands clutching on the edge of the bench as he leaned forward and looked at you kindly, legs swinging.

“y—y/n.”

“nice!” he cheesed, looking at you. “i saw you skate. you’re really good!”

“t—thank you.” you mumbled, shy and alarmed that a boy was talking to you.

“when did you start skating?”

you looked at him confusedly. “um.. today?”

his eyes bulged.

“hah?! today?!”

you jumped at his outburst, cheeks pink as you quickly nodded.

“wowww!…” he gushed with stars in his eyes. “that’s great! i saw you doing turns and things. i can barely move on the ice… it’s slippery.”

“well—” you peeked up at him shyly. “my—my aunt taught me some stuff… but not a lot.”

“you have someone in your family that skates?” he asked excitedly with huge blue eyes. “how cool! hopefully i can catch up to you and at least move…”

“that’s okay...” you smiled. “i know you will.”

“really?!” he gushed again before leaning back, nodding his head cutely. “if you think so, then i know so!”

and you giggled at him, your timid wall slowly crumbling down at his bubbly and kind personality as he was a chatterbox and talked to you about anything that had to do with olympic ice skating— him knowing so much about it and nearly screaming his head off and panicking when he found out that your aunt was none other than akira, now knowing exactly why you were so good at skating in the first place.

satoru looked up to you. so much so that it was comical— seeking your approval over the following years during lessons and not even listening to the damn coach himself as he listened more to you, wanting you to teach him how to do bunny hops or backward crossovers and giving a big fat attitude to anyone else who tried to coach him, whining and snoring away until you and your little bows skated over to him to teach him.

and because of that you spent a lot of time with satoru in and out of lessons, even more than you ever spent with your own friends at school as you clung to him at all times— him cheering and encouraging you on when you were shy in certain situations, and you teaching him everything you could about skating and bringing him little bags of strawberry gummy puffs since he had the biggest sweet tooth you had ever seen, you both cemented and stubbornly attached to the hip with neither wanting to let go.

and when your mother’s planned a little playdate at the local outdoor ice skating rink on a chilly december day— an enormous christmas tree sitting tall and glorious by the rink with twinkling star-shaped fairy lights and jingle bells surrounding the plaza, you and satoru spinning each other around and dancing and giggling over the murmur of classic christmas songs, they saw the potential… an idea sparking in their heads amongst their cooing and picture taking.

you and satoru were both originally put into the ice skating world to train and be independent professional skaters, olympic athletes to be more specific when the time came.

but that concept quickly changed the second you met.

now— you and satoru were an olympic ice skating pair, the subject materializing when your mother’s pulled you out from those simple ice skating lessons (you both already way past getting the basics down since your skill combined with you teaching satoru had you both surpassing the class) and paying for a professional couples figure skating coach to get you guys started now and early.

and the both of you were over the moon, especially satoru, as he absolutely adored you and begged his mother literally every fucking day if he could go over to your house or over to the ice skating rink with you to dance, you doing the same and the two of you crying and wailing on the floor whenever times wouldn’t work out and plans fell through, your mother’s having to give in and drag you to each other’s houses so you would both stop crying.

when akira found out you were officially figure skating, she nearly drove into the side of a building speeding over to your house from being out of the country for so long competing.

“is it true?!” she burst through the doors, your mother rolling her eyes after being startled half to death over her bizarre behavior. “is my little niece gonna be a figure skater like me?!”

you gasped excitedly upon seeing her, getting up from your spot on the rug and running over to akira’s open arms, leaving your coloring book and crayons behind as she swung you around.

“she started when she was six you know that…” your mother grumbled, folding various kitchen towels.

“but you just told me now that she’s not independent!” akira countered, setting you down and holding you out at arms length, eyes wide and eager. “—but partner figure skating! like me!”

she shook you. “where is he?! your partner! is he here? is he your age? is he nice?”

you perked up and looked over to the kitchen. “oh mommy! satoru should come and meet—”

“his name is satoru? oh my goodness how cuteeee!” she cooed, pinching your cheeks. “is he handsome? do you like him? do you have a crush on him—”

your little cheeks blazed as your mother threw a kitchen towel at her.

“she’s eight aki! jesus christ.”

“love has no limits.” akira wiggled a finger, and you giggled.

your mother called satoru’s place soon after, his mother excitedly conversing over the other line about how the akira was finally back in town and how satoru was gonna lose his mind once he saw her— you knowing he was the biggest fan and sometimes told you facts during lessons that you didn’t even know about your own aunt.

and when they finally did arrive, satoru was stiff— frozen in place with tight arms at his sides by the living room as his alarmed big blue eyes looked at akira with a sickly pale face, you snickering behind him.

“hi satoru!” akira greeted, leaning down with her hands on her knees to look at him at eye level. “it’s nice to meet you! y/n tells me you like my skating?”

“u—uhuh.” he responded dumbly, and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from laughing, knowing satoru would cry and whine about it later if he heard you.

“that’s great! i’m happy you skate too… and with my niece i should say!” she spoke kindly, ruffling his snowy colored hair up and standing upright, placing her hands on her hips and looking like a straight freaking superhero in satoru’s eyes. “you wanna compete in the olympics?”

“uh huh.”

a laughing breath hurled from your throat and your cheeks puffed up like a squirrel, clasped hands still over your mouth and face going red from how hard you were trying to keep it in.

“that’s what i like to hear.” she smiled, a shiny impressive one as satoru still stood there in a stuck daze.

“work hard okay? the both of you. so you can catch up to me someday, yeah?”

your hands slowly fell from your mouth then, eyes filled with admiration and determination as you both eagerly nodded, looking at each other hopefully.

“you think—” satoru stammered, looking at akira. “you think we can… win three gold medals like you?”

“oh absolutely!” she shrugged. “i don’t doubt it at all.”

you and satoru gushed, glittering little eyes as you stared up cutely at akira, her giving you both a silly grin.

“how long have they been doing partner work?” she asked your mother suddenly, watching the way you and satoru chattered then excitedly about the actual possibility of competing for the olympics someday.

“mmm, i wanna say for about a year and a half? maybe two?” she looked over at satoru’s mother, who nodded in agreement. “they’re with a couple’s figure skating coach right now.”

akira hummed and shifted her gaze back down between the two of you.

“i’m training them from now on.”

both mothers froze, eyes wide as they stared at her.

you and satoru hadn’t even realized what she said, still caught up in your little bubble of the olympics and metals and competitions until your mother caught your attention.

“did you hear?”

you shook your head. “hear what!”

“akira wants to coach you and satoru.”

his jaw dropped and he nearly passed out on the floor, you quickly grabbing his shoulders as he reeled over.

“are— are you sure?” your mother continued, looking at her sister now. “aren’t you busy? i thought you were only here for the weekend.”

she waved her off. “i need a break from skating for a little… at least until the next olympics.”

akira turned to you then and smiled warmly. “and i wanna coach my little niece and her new buddy! if that’s okay?”

“yesyesyesyes!—”

both you and satoru bounced up and down and cheered, arms up as you tackled and hung off of akira like a jungle gym, her laughing and smiling big at your enthusiasm.

akira was the most important figure in your life, right next to satoru as she became a mother figure to the both of you as well as your mentor.

and training with her was not easy— your age not an excuse at all whatsoever in her eyes to not learn proper figure skating moves and technique, saying it would only serve you right in the end if you started adapting your bodies to it now rather than later.

and like most things, akira was right. but even though practices were grueling and tough to the point where you had to drag satoru across the ice to get up, she always tried to make them fun in the end— cracking jokes and teaching you guys silly little tricks that you could do with each other on the ice that she figured out over her years of skating with her partner, taking you both out for ice cream frequently after and telling you of her travels competing around the world, the people she’d met, and the titles she’d won— all things that were you and satoru’s ultimate dream as you listened eagerly.

by the time you were twelve and satoru was thirteen, it was obvious you guys were meant to be olympic athletes together.

“you need to pick your leg a little further up on the spin, toru.”

he stuck his tongue out. “says who.”

“says me.” you poked his cheek. “and i’m pretty sure aki told you before she left too.”

“yes ma’am!” he nodded, gliding a bit further away from you on the ice before picking his momentum up and reaching you, him bending his knees and wrapping his arms around your torso as you both went into fast spins, one leg extended for the both of you as your arms gripped over his shoulders— practicing the routine akira had given you for your upcoming competition.

“yeah like that!” you smiled, spins gradually slowing down and satoru coming back up from his bend until you both stood still on the ice. “good job toru!”

he grinned and ruffled your hair. “thanks!”

“mhm!” you responded, turning and skating away to the edge of the rink to hide the blush that was rising in your cheeks.

“what?!” he whined. “where are you going? do i stink?”

“no!” you laughed, shaking your head. “just the usual sweat and B.O.”

“aw no!” he quickly skated to the edge of the rink and out before flying for his duffel bag. “i hate being a man i hate puberty this is ridiculous—”

“i’m kidding im kidding!” you called from across the ice, cackling when he stopped and whipped his head over, glaring at you. “you’re fine toru— not stinky.”

“well you’re stinky for putting me in distress how about that?” he huffed, an eventual smile playing at his lips as he put down his duffel bag and went inside the rink again.

akira was currently on her way to compete at the olympics for her fourth gold medal in partner figure skating, you and satoru having no doubt in your minds that she was going to absolutely clear everyone else there and get it, as she’s never gotten silver or bronze or anything lower than that.

“when do we fly to see aki again?” satoru called from across the ice, gliding to and fro in figure eights. “don’t say tomorrow morning because i haven’t started packing yet heh… oops.”

you giggled. “it is tomorrow morning, dummy.”

“no!” he stopped and shoved his hands in his hair. “i haven’t even started planning my outfits! oh i was gonna take so many pictures what am i supposed to do now—”

you laughed loudly and skated back over to him, hands wrung behind your back as you looked at him cheekily. “you’re silly toru. outfits for what? literally just show up.”

“it’s not everyday we leave the country y/n!” he whined. “i wanted to sport my best and look cool, dang it.”

you playfully rolled your eyes and lifted your hand, patting his head.

“i’ll show up in pajamas and you show up in yours, and we’ll call it a day. hm?”

he grinned.

“matching? or seperate? and what color? plaid?”

“toru!”

he laughed and skated past you, nudging your shoulder with his in the process. “i’m just messing with youuu, matching obviously!”

satoru came back around, reached up and straightened the ribbons in your hair, little white bows sitting pretty as a blush rose to his cheeks when he was done.

“wanna run it three more times and call it?” he suggested. “i wanna make sure i get what you told me down before we go.”

you smiled and quickly nodded, taking satoru’s extended hand and skating together to first position.

watching akira win gold in person for the first time in your life was an experience you’ll never forget.

and she did it fucking beautifully.

with every precise move, with every articulate angle you and satoru screamed and yelled like crazy people in front of the rink while waving around your countries tiny flags, cheering with fat tears rolling down your faces when she successfully landed each time, holding each other so tight with mushed up cheeks throughout her routine with her partner and still in anxiousness when the time came for revealing final scores.

no one could skate like her. absolutely no one as she speedily glided across the ice and spun, prepped herself for the hardest most impressive turns you had ever seen in your life, and performed a quadruple axel rotation in the air all on her own— things that have always earned her the highest scores for three successive olympic years.

and four now— because when akira and her partner stepped up on that podium, you and satoru had to basically be yanked back by your mothers with the way you both tried to jump over the edge of the rink to her, her standing there like a beacon of light on the first place podium, a gold medal hung rightfully around her neck with flowers in her arms as she smiled so so big and happily, her eyes not once leaving you and satoru.

eventually when the ceremony was over, amongst all of the buzz and the crowd roaring and picture taking— akira quickly skated over to the two of you and leaned on the edge of the rink.

“akiiii!” you both wailed and flung your arms around her neck, her giggling and hugging you both back as best as she possibly could despite the mass amount of bouquets in her hands.

“did i do okay?!” she yelled over the noise.

you both pulled back and looked at her like she was insane.

“did you do okay?!” you gawked.

“aki— you won a fucking gold medal!” satoru yelled.

“HAH!” she laughed loudly. “don’t say that word in front of your mommy satoru she’ll chop my head off and kill me!”

you both giggled uncontrollably.

akira leaned her head in then and you and satoru followed through, all three foreheads resting against each others.

“listen to me for a second.“ she started. “you guys are birds of a feather, okay? you need to stick together and fly together as one.”

she let you both go and dropped the bouquets she was holding on the icy floor before placing a hand on yours and satoru’s outer cheeks, bringing you in. “don’t fight. don’t separate. don’t leave each other. you need to keep each other and what you have safe.”

you both quickly nodded, tears funnily gathering at the corners of your eyes at what she was saying, and she smiled.

“yes partner figure skating is about chemistry and technicality, but it’s about love… and sometimes just that. without genuine love, nothing will click.” she let your cheeks go and grabbed her shiny gold medal, holding it up. “this will be yours. i promise you.”

akira put down her medal, wiping both yours and satoru’s wet cheeks. “birds of a feather. stick together. keep each other safe. do you understand?”

the two of you sniffled and nodded.

“and i need to stop cussing in front of you guys during practices, don’t i?!” she smiled warmly, and you and satoru shook your heads frantically.

“no keep doing it!—”

“it’s funny please!—”

ever since akira told you that, it became you and satoru’s thing.

before and after every competition, with every hello and every goodbye at the beginning and end of the day, throughout the hours randomly whenever you both felt like it, you’d lock pinkies and reiterate ‘birds of a feather’ before kissing your thumbs and locking your promise in place— another one of the many other ways you’d show that you loved each other.

but whether it was platonically or romantically remained unknown until you both hit high school.

perhaps it had always been romantically… that you weren’t exactly sure of. but the way you and satoru had been treating each other since you were literally the age of six, made the technicalities of what it was blurry and a little confusing— for you couldn’t even remember when it was that you started loving satoru.

maybe it was that very first day when he skated over to you, wobbly and clumsy with a cheesy smile.

and as if it wasn’t already confusing enough of what the two of you were, the way you acted made it ten times worse.

but you’d been that way since forever— embracing each other a little longer than you should, innocently kissing each others cheeks and heads and hands, calling each other pet names and being each other’s dates to every single school dance—

but it was all harmless. not a single bad thought behind it and doing it like a reflex.

it was like you both were line balancing across the thinnest tight rope known to mankind— flimsy and unsteady, always on the verge of toppling over and falling completely into the darkening depths of the truth of what you were, but catching each other just before you did to regain balance back on the rope.

neither of you said it, but if you and satoru ever dared to be anything more than friends, and if something were to happen where you had to break up— you’d lose your first love, your best friend, and your entire career all in one.

the consequences were too drastic— you both knew that.

and you didn’t want to break your promise… so you acted blind to it.

by the time you were seventeen and satoru was eighteen, akira started training you for the international skating union competition to earn a spot for the olympics.

well— she actually started when you were about fourteen, but as the years progressed, her coaching and critiques got increasingly more difficult and nitpicky as well as the moves she taught you, wanting you both to build endurance to it and perfect it so that by the time you reached the age requirement for the olympics— it would be easier to train for it and be formidable competitors against the other pairs.

you and satoru wanted to be olympians more than anything else in your lives, and akira knew just how important this was for the both of you— making it her absolute mission to help accomplish solely that as she saw herself through the two of you.

your dreams were just like hers, and she respected and nurtured the fact with everything that she had.

“up! aaand up! and take her— throw— land oh shit—”

just as you had landed a semi complex throw jump, you lost balance and landed right on your ass, sliding across the ice on your side.

it was rare when you fell, and you absolutely despised when you did.

“fuck!” satoru quickly skated over to you and knelt down. “are you okay?!”

“why can’t i land that man?” you whined, covering your eyes.

akira smoothly traveled over to you both.

“it’s okay! we just learned it today sweets like— right now… you’ll have it down in the next five minutes.” satoru smiled softly, carefully helping you up on your skates and checking you over.

“don’t overly punish yourself, y/n.” akira reached and pinched your cheek. “i love that you’ve always been so serious about your technique, but you have to leave room for error my love or else you’ll choke yourself out.”

satoru ran a soothing hand along your back and you smiled cutely up at him, his heart jittering so much from it that he had to quickly retract his arm.

you nodded, always taking satoru’s and akira’s words seriously like inscriptions to a stone wall. “okay!”

he grinned and kissed the side of your head before taking your hand and leading you to first position like always.

akira smirked.

“are you guys together yet!” she blurted from across the ice and you both choked as she skated over.

“are we— are we—” you stammered.

“what?” she breathed out, placing her hands on her hips. “are you at least in love?”

satoru’s blue eyes bulged open with a furious pink tint to both of your cheeks.

“aki!” you whined, embarrassed. “stop it—”

“have you guys at least gone on one date?”

satoru pouted. “no.”

“i’m—” you played with your fingers. “i’m going on one today—”

“you’re what?!” he whipped his head in your direction, eyebrows furrowed.

“yeah…” you looked at him. “i’ve never gone on one and some guy at school asked me so i— i just thought—”

you thought it’d do you some good, since the one you wanted you couldn’t really have.

“are you actually..?” satoru trailed off, an unfamiliar strike of something in his chest making him a little upset.

but he knew damn well what it was.

“but—” akira stared at you wide eyed, pointing at satoru. “but it’s— it’s supposed to be—”

“aki!” satoru quickly grabbed her arm and lowered it, eyes snapping to you next. “is it that one guy you told me about? from your english class?”

“uh huh.” you fidgeted. “he asked me again and i felt bad saying no so i— said yes…”

satoru swallowed, nodding.

“oh you big dummies!” akira groaned. “we’ll talk about this later or else i’m gonna go into fucking cardiac arrest from frustration—”

she skated off to the edge of the rink and out, leaning on it from the outside with her head dramatically hung.

you both got into starting position, but you faltered when you noticed satoru was oddly quiet and stiff.

“…toru?”

he blinked down at you. “huh?”

“you okay?”

“oh!— yeah.” he smiled weakly. “i’m fine baby.”

“you sure—”

“what time is your date?”

you gnawed at the inside of your cheek. “it’s a bit after this... i told him to just give me time to shower and get ready.”

“if he can’t accept you stinky then he’s not for you.” he shook his head in distaste. “he’s already failing in my eyes sweets absolutely flunking. maybe you should cancel it? yeah i say cancel it—”

you laughed, heart in your throat as your eyes gleamed up at him. “i can barely accept you stinky so i wouldn’t blame him—”

“hey!” he placed an exaggerated hand on his chest. “it’s not my fault i literally put my heart and soul out on the ice just for you to skate all over me—”

you gasped offendedly. “i don’t skate all over you—”

“do too!”

“do not!”

“do to—”

“you guys!” akira called. “you know i love it when you guys love on each other it makes me so happy and envision your wedding but right now we have to grind!”

you both froze up and snapped your heads in her direction with red faces, whining.

“aakkiii!—”

you practiced what you had of the routine a couple of more times, a few new moves and jumps added after each run until akira called it a day upon noticing you and satoru were practically sweating your asses off and messing up several times out of exhaustion.

“good job today you guys!” she smiled, patting you both on your shoulders. “i feel like the next time we meet we’ll have the choreography down... from there we just need to perfect it and you should be good for the next competish, okay?”

you both nodded and thanked her, sweet smiles on your faces as she reached up and pinched a side of both your cheeks.

“my little babies.” she cooed. “oh how you’ve grown! you guys were so little when we started now satoru is huge man jesus christ—”

she lifted her hand and reached up to measure satoru’s height from his forehead, her passing it over the top of her head and eyes widening at the huge gap.

he laughed and puffed up his chest. “i got big and strong too aki see?” he flexed an arm. “see? eh?”

“that you did!” she laughed brightly, ruffling up his hair. “the strongest.”

you giggled and skated over to the edge of the rink to pack up, internally panicking a little that you guys went overtime and it was almost time for your date.

“satoru..” akira whispered, looking over her shoulder to make sure you weren’t listening. “what’s going on? you still haven’t asked her out? i thought you said you were gonna do it.”

“no..” he mumbled. “but we can’t. and she knows that too so— so what am i supposed to do—”

she gawked. “do you not see what’s happening?! she’s gonna go on a date with someone else! off with this stupid fear you guys have already seriously.”

“we caan’tt aki.” he pushed sadly. “it’s too risky.”

“but it’s not though!” she threw her arms out. “you guys have known each other since practically birth i feel like if it wasn’t meant to be you would’ve separated by now!”

satoru gnawed at his bottom lip in thought, eyes trained to the way your bows moved in your hair as you swung your duffel bag over yourself, smiling softly once he realized you had kindly packed his things for him too as you sat on the bench and waited for him to take you home.

akira sighed.

“it’s not my place to tell you guys what to do… but love has no limits. you know that.”

he nodded, smiling weakly at her as they skated out of the rink and prepared to lock up, akira hugging you both goodbye with a family kiss to your cheeks and you separating ways with her for the day, but not before her reminding you guys of practice tomorrow and that she loved you over her shoulder.

satoru was dreading you going on your date as he drove— the both of you normally talking about random things like always but his mind unable to stray from the fact that you were actually giving some random dingbat a chance.

it was rare when either of you would talk to or date other people, never even as your heads have always been so focused on figure skating and competitions… but also on each other— taking care and loving one another that you never needed anybody else since you were everything to satoru and satoru to you, and you were both confident that absolutely no one could ever step up to that level.

so why were you going on a date?

but he shouldn’t be like this. he knew that. there was a silent agreement between the two of you to never fall off that thin tight rope and keep each other balanced. and you were allowed to see and date whoever you wanted— something that he probably should do as well to try and get over the fact that you’d never really be his.

satoru pulled up to your driveway and shifted his gear into park.

“thank you toru!” you smiled sweetly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“you’re welcome.” he murmured. “can i— can i come in with you? and hang while you get ready?”

you quirked a brow. “i thought that’s what we were already doing silly.”

“okay well invite me woman!” you both got out of the car and walked up the steps to your front door. “you can’t just assume. what if i was busy? what if i also had a date? hm?”

you gave him a sly grin as you twisted in your keys to unlock the door. “do you?”

“… no.”

you giggled and pushed open the door, the both of you immediately clasping your hands over your mouths to keep your laughs in at the sight of your mother sprawled out on the couch dead asleep with drool coming out of her mouth, the tv softly playing in the background as you quietly shut the door, went up the stairs and into your room.

satoru sat on your desk chair lazily while you quickly hopped in the shower to get ready for your stupid date, staring at the framed photographs on your nightstand that all consisted of you and him over the years, smiling softly at his favorite— a picture of the two of you when you were babies, cheek to cheek with huge smiles at the park as you held ice cream cones in each of your hands, satoru more than sure akira was the one who took that picture.

the sound of your door clicking shut pulled him from his thoughts as you walked in, drying your pretty hair with your little fuzzy towel and throwing it in the hamper once you were done.

“oh! i was gonna show you! i got these ribbons the other day—” you got down on your knees and looked under your bed, sticking a hand in and pulling out a white box as you picked it up and shuffled with your knees closer to satoru— sitting back on your ankles.

“—i was running out of ribbon so i got these!” you held up the box and satoru took it, examining the various pastel colors with warm eyes. “some of them are polka dotted and i thought that was cute.”

“it is sweets!” he agreed.

satoru loved the ribbons in your hair, and you’d always wear them without fail because you knew just how much he did.

“i wanna start wearing bows too.” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you giggled.

“are you saying you wanna steal my brand toru?” you picked up a blue roll of ribbon from the box, a color that matched satoru’s eyes. “thought you were an honest man?”

he gasped. “i am an honest man! is it not obvious enough when i help you with your math homework? when i sacrifice my dignity and text you answers during your tests?”

you giggled and unrolled a strand of ribbon. “not when you eat all of my sweets that you actively dig through my room for—”

“but they’re always the strawberry gummy puffs!” he whined. “they make me a slut.”

you playfully rolled your eyes and stood, grabbing your little scissors and snipping off a piece of blue ribbon from the roll, stepping in front of satoru and leaning.

“watcha doing?” he asked, placing his hands on your waist.

“i’m putting a little bow in your hair before i leave!”

he hummed. “don’t think it’ll look as good on me as they do on you.”

you blushed, taking little pieces of white hair from the top of his head and wrapping the ribbon around, tying it the same way you’ve been doing for yourself since you were the age of nine.

you took a step back once you were finished and laughed. “you look cute toru!”

he raised a silly brow. “do i still look big and strong?”

“big and strong and pretty—”

“please don’t go.”

you stilled.

“what?”

satoru looked down, his bangs hiding his gorgeous eyes as he did.

“on your date.” he mumbled. “don’t go.”

you placed your hands softly on his shoulders, and his hold tightened a little around your waist.

“why?”

“because like i said if he doesn’t accept you stinky then he can’t have you when you smell like vanilla—”

“toru...” you spoke sternly, softly. “why not?”

you didn’t know why you were pushing it so much… maybe you were trying to see if you could get it out of him— if he had the will to actually say it unlike you…

and you hoped to god he would say it.

he slowly lifted his head and propped his chin up on your tummy, a sour expression on his face as he puckered his lips to the side like a little fish.

“dunno…” he muttered, his gaze flickering to yours and a sense of guilt swarming his chest at the uneasy look you had, his face relaxing as he sighed.

“sorry.” he smiled sheepishly, pulling back and letting go of your waist. “i’m kidding you have every right to—”

“m’not going.” you mumbled as you slid your hands away, looking down and playing with your fingers.

“huh?” he furrowed his brows. “no baby go you should go—”

“i don’t want to.”

you never did in the first place. you had foolishly thought that letting someone else in like this would be good for you and help you establish some sort of… barrier with satoru so you weren’t always suffering so fucking much.

but you were absolutely stupid for that.

all you’ve ever wanted was satoru, and doing something to pull you away from the type of relationship you had with him (whether platonic or romantic you had no freaking clue), was not only hurting you, but hurting him.

you didn’t need anyone else, truly. all you needed was satoru and his silly smile and dramatic antics— to spend time with just him and skate and eat dinner together after practices every night while watching horror movies, laughing so much over his screams that your stomach hurt while he whined about how you were making fun of him.

that’s all you needed… just satoru.

regardless if there was something more in question.

“you don’t want to?” he repeated softly. “why?”

“you know why, toru…”

you had said it so softly he barely caught it, but he did, his breath hitching in his throat.

that was the closest you two had ever gotten to acknowledging it.

you both were silent for a moment, the soft murmur of your tv downstairs filling the void as you looked at each other, tense and waiting for either of you to say something… anything.

but it was like the gravity of the foreseeable consequences settled onto your shoulders, and the pair of you could only sadly smile.

satoru stuck his pinky finger out towards you then.

“birds of a feather?” he murmured.

you breathed out a little through your nose and looped your pinky with his, nodding.

“birds of a feather.”

he kissed his thumb and you did the same before locking the promise.

for the rest of the night, you and satoru watched a bunch of shitty unknown movies to try and see who would break and laugh first— you feeling bad that you had to cancel so last minute on that guy from your english class, but not regretting it at all as you watched satoru scarf down two slices of pizza in one sitting and nearly throw up, you almost falling off the bed from laughing so much and him having to catch you midway down and pull you back up, saying that he was your hero and therefore you should give him your last stash of strawberry gummy puffs as a reward.

it was nearly two am when you and satoru finally settled down, both sprawled over each other on the bed as you stared up at the ceiling and talked about literally anything that came to your minds— stubbornly fighting off sleep for whatever unknown reason in the dark.

“you know this is aki’s last olympics right?” you spoke softly, your arm propped up as you watched the way satoru played with your fingers.

“yeah..” he replied. “i don’t really know how to feel about that.”

“me neither.” you shook your head. “but she said it came at a perfect time because she’d been wanting to retire for a while.”

and now it was yours and satoru’s turn to try and fill the legacy she had built.

he hummed, delicately interlacing your fingers together as the outline of it through the darkness made you blush and smile, the nooks between his digits blessedly made entirely just for you as your fingers slotted perfectly in each spot every time.

and satoru silently vowed for the millionth time in his life that he would always be your hero and keep you safe, a promise that was already tied into your birds of a feather contract, but needing to repeat it to himself anyways while he listened to the sound of your voice talk about your excitement for the upcoming olympics.

and my god were you excited, the both of you— looking forward to seeing akira gracefully take home her fifth fucking gold medal like she always did with no repercussions, seeing her fans and the mass amounts of support she got every year with bouquets and teddy bears and picture taking, but also looking forward to spending even more time with her— for not just practices… but for forever, even more than you already did now as you two were greedy and just loved akira.

you were looking forward to forever, the three of you.

until akira’s accident.

“oh my god i’m gonna throw up—”

satoru hurled over just as you both stepped onto the bleachers at the olympic arena, you laughing and placing supporting hands on his shoulders as you followed your mother and satoru’s to your designated place by the front.

“toru i told you you’d make yourself sick if you didn’t leave that damn dessert table alone.”

“there were cinnamon rolls baby. cinnamon rolls how on earth could i possibly just walk by a platter of cinnamon rolls—”

“okay!” you giggled, carefully leading him to sit down and ruffling his hair once you settled. “i get it! you love cinnamon rolls.”

“not as much as i love you—”

“yuck!” you stuck your tongue out and pushed him away by his cheek, him laughing loudly as he shooed your arm away and grinned.

“toru— this is the last time we’re gonna be sitting here in the bleachers watching aki.” you mentioned. “isn’t that fucking nuts?”

“now i’m gonna cry and throw up.”

“no!” you giggled and nudged his shoulder. “then you’ll make me cry.”

he smiled and leaned over to plant a quick kiss to your cheek, reaching up and fixing the bows in your hair before looking straight ahead, his sparkling blue eyes staring at the rink.

the crowd roared suddenly and a mix of big and tiny flags of several individual countries waved in the air as you and satoru jumped and screamed when akira glided out with her skates and glittery dress, a huge dazzling smile on her face as she waved at the crowd, her eyes scanning around quickly before they finally landed on you and satoru.

as if she wasn’t already smiling enough, it grew bigger at the sight of you both practically over the fucking rink calling her name, her blowing you both a kiss and connecting her hands together to form a little bird, fluttering it up funnily and making you laugh before spinning around and going to starting position with her partner.

“oh she’s gonna wipe again.” satoru breathed out. “wipe absolute buttcheeks.”

you cackled as you both watched her routine— incredibly fast paced and technical, filled with spins and throw jumps and lifts as she made it known that it was her last year and wanted to leave with a mark, you and satoru absolutely mesmerized by the choreography as a dramatic symphony of a classical piece drummed through your ears by the speakers.

each move was executed beautifully, you and satoru at the edge of your damn seats as akira’s partner lifted her by the arms to settle over his shoulders into a split formation— halfway through the routine already.

“maybe we could do a move like that for when we compete!” you suggested over the music. “i feel like technically it could—”

a hand flew over your mouth as you watched akira topple and slam to the ground upon coming down from her split lift, the spinning blade of her partner slicing through her abdomen as her head nastily collided with the ice— the crowd screaming in terror.

“oh my god!—” your chest moved frantically and you and satoru looked at each other, horrified faces as you watched the backside of her limp body on the ground surrounded by paramedics, her partner hovering over her in complete and absolute distress.

and there was so much blood.

blood that pooled all around her figure and stained her shimmering dress, blood that wouldn’t stop fucking spreading as a stretcher finally made it out on the ice.

“baby.” satoru’s voice shook. “why isn’t aki moving.”

“i— i don’t know—”

“aki!”

you both snapped out of your shocked daze and screamed over the rink and jumped, shoes slipping against the ice as the two of you tried to reach her through your panicked tears and calls, security speeding through and pulling you both back as you watched the paramedics lift her frail body onto the stretcher and away from the rink.

“that’s—” you sucked in a sharp sob. “that’s my aunt please let us go—”

“you need to stay out of the rink—”

“fuck you!”

satoru shoved security away and grabbed your arm, wishing you had your skates on as you both practically crawled over to where akira was being carried out, not giving a single shit about the way your mothers yelling demanded you back as security had to literally pull you and satoru by the ankles, further and further away from the scene and away from akira until the only thing left was her pool of sickly crimson blood in front of you, you and satoru wailing.

akira died at the hospital later that night.

the collision of her head against the ice brought such blunt force trauma that it caused irreversible brain damage, and with the amount of blood that she was already losing from the laceration of the blade— those elements combined didn’t give her a single fighting chance at survival, her fate sealed from the moment her body hit the ground.

it was completely unexpected… an incident like that had never happened in not just olympic partner figure skating, but figure skating competitions as a whole— the severity of the situation so grave that the complex move akira and her partner performed that led to her death was banned from the olympics moving forward.

and you and satoru were fucking ruined.

ruined and crying and clutching over her arms and hands at her hospital bedside, it scaringly cold and stiff and not her usual warmth at all as you couldn’t accept that this was your reality, that akira had left you both all alone after not only her initial familial love that you’d gotten since birth, but after nearly a decade of giggles and skating, her picking you both up from school and cussing up a storm because it made you and satoru laugh as kids, buying you ice cream and taking you out for beach days because she said the sun was good for your skin, harassing you and taking a million pictures of the two of you as she uttered over and over again that love had no limits— your dream of forever with her cruelly severed over the sport you all loved most.

yours and satoru’s mentor, friend, your fucking mother figure— was gone.

your aunt was gone. your own blood.

the entirety of that bullshit situation sort of settled into your minds by the time her funeral came— painfully holding back tears as your family members gave their speeches and final wishes before the lowering of her casket, you and satoru not saying a single word throughout the entire thing until it was just you and him standing in front of her grave site— your mothers waiting for you in their cars.

you both chose not to give speeches. you couldn’t.

“toru.” you sniffled, drowning in your tears as satoru strained to keep his back, lips pulled into a thin line.

“yes pretty.”

“this is so fucked.”

satoru breathed out a weak laugh and let a couple of tears slip down his cheeks, wiping them with the sleeve of his black suit as he grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers, squeezing it.

“diabolically fucked.” he responded.

there really wasn’t much you could say at that moment in time, the two of you staring at the carvings on her tombstone as the wind softly blew over the petals of her flowers and letters, the day cloudy and cold and just fucked as you silently choked back sobs and whimpers, satoru lamely trying his best to stay strong for you— be your hero as he pulled you into his chest and squeezed you with everything that he had, nose buried in your hair as his tears fell and dampened a few strands.

“birds of a feather, toru.” you spoke softly, both of your frames shaking as the saying itself came from none other than akira.

he firmly nodded, lifting his head and kissing your cheek twice hard before looking at you.

“birds of a feather sweets.” his red teary eyes made your heart ache. “you can’t leave me too, okay?”

you scoffed and wiped your eyes, a sad smile on your face. “i could never… you know that.”

it didn’t really get easier from there, as everything in your lives reminded you of akira.

and though your mother was grieving the loss of her sister, she wanted to be left alone, and the only person that really understood the level of mourning you were on was satoru— him always there in the blink of an eye when you would call him in the middle of the night crying your eyes out while he held you, or when broken sobs wrecked through satoru’s trembling body as he cried into your chest while you held him and vice versa, endless amounts of ‘i miss her’s’ and ‘bring her back’s’ as you took turns depending on the day rolling on the floor unable to physically breathe over the loss as you tried to anchor each other back to normalcy, wondering how the world could be so cruel and continue spinning when you’d just lost half of your hearts.

but it did. it continued to spin and turn and carry on as you and satoru day by day tried to patch over what happened, be there for each other and heal each other as you graduated high school and caught up with satoru in college, still together and still in your stupid limbo of ‘is there something more’ except worse, and still inseparable three years later after akira’s passing.

it didn’t hurt any less, but the days definitely got easier… some harder than others as the time you spent with her became cherished distant memories, feeling eternally grateful for the way she raised and took care of you, for the work she had done, and for the legacy she had built for figure skating olympians around the world.

and because akira was so good and taught you both just as so, satoru and you had a little name of your own as you’ve been sweeping competitions since the age of thirteen, ninety eight percent unbeatable and competitive as other pairs always knew who you were the minute you stepped onto the ice, eager and curious to see if you would make it into the olympics when the time came just like your mentor had done.

some deemed it cheating— unfair due to the fact that you had a four-time gold medalist olympian training you since childhood, but that assumption quickly diminished after her passing when you both continued to wipe competitions and take trophies home purely based on your talent.

and you both agreed to continue your careers without a coach, a decision that didn’t even need to be thought twice over— and you were twenty and satoru twenty one when the time drew near to try for the olympics.

finally.

“my legs are gonna fall off and my balls are gonna droop to the icy floor if you don’t give me a kiss right now.”

“toru!” you giggled loudly, pushing his face away as he puckered up his lips and made obnoxious kissy noises, pulling you in by the waist. “toru focus we’re on a time crunch—”

“time crunch where?” he whined, stomping his blade down on the ice. “we’ve been at it for so long already i’m cold i’m thirsty and i think we should go to that cute christmas festival patch thing you told me aboouuttt!”

“right now?” you asked. “i don’t know toru… i had a set goal for us tonight and if we don’t get it—”

“oh you damn perfectionist.” he scowled, letting you go and quickly skating to starting position. “fine.”

you gave him a knowing smile and skated over to his dramatic sulking figure, kissing his cheek softly and wringing your arms around his neck, pulling him in.

“let’s run it three more times and then we can go to the festival, okay?”

he jumped up like a little kid, eyes hyper and wild. “really? honestly? truly?”

you nodded, gleaming up at him.

“is this a prank?”

“jesus toru you’re making me think i’m keeping you hostage here with how excited you are—”

“yiiippeeeee!—” he grabbed your upper thighs and lifted you before spinning on the ice, the both of you laughing as he roughly turned until he gradually came to a stop, big goofy smiles on your faces as he did so.

satoru loosened his hold as you slowly slid down against his body, faces close and lovesick as his half lidded eyes looked at you, lips stinging to plant directly over yours after so many years of hopeless pining and avoidance, still refusing to acknowledge the situation, but it glaringly obvious at this point.

“what?” you whispered, your eyes fixed on his lips as your blades touched the ice again.

he softly shook his head, blue eyes greedily drinking in your pretty face as he retracted a hand from your waist and brushed his palm over your hair adoringly, hand raising to cup your cheek gently.

was he about to…?

you swallowed, hands gripping his black t-shirt as you waited… anxious, hoping that he would do what you thought he was about to do.

but satoru squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace and quickly kissed the corner of your mouth before turning his back to you and skating to starting position— leaving you incredibly dumbfounded and disappointed.

satoru’s skin felt like it was on fucking fire as he looked at your stunning doe eyes blinking at him from across the rink, heart pulsing uncontrollably as you slowly skated to him and got into position, neither of you uttering a word about it as you ran the choreography three more times like you had agreed on.

you and satoru have had plenty of moments like that… but lately?

it’s been borderline dangerous with how close you’ve gotten to breaking your unspoken rule.

by the end of practice you and satoru excitedly packed up for the christmas festival, more or less stumbling out of the doors of the rink and locking up before throwing your things in satoru’s car and speeding off to the main plaza, cheesy dorky smiles on your faces as you babbled on about all of the things you were gonna do once you got there.

“the s’mores stand! the s’mores stand!” satoru whipped his head comically back and forth between you and the snowy road. “we have to go there and get five nothing less and maybe more—”

“wait! i wanna get some of that hot chocolate we got last year!” you quickly reached and gripped his shoulder. “the one with the chocolate bits in it! and the whipped cream! and the drizzle—”

“oh fuck yeah how could i forget?” satoru made a turn, the shining glimmering lights of the festival and christmas trees coming into view and riling you both up in pure exhilaration. “i gulped down like four cups of those and then threw up in a bush.”

you laughed loudly and shook your head. “i forgot about thaaaattt! toru you always shove shit in your mouth and throw up we have got to work on that—”

“no we don’t!” he cheesed, reaching over and patting over your hair— the smooth ribbon of your thin bows sliding underneath his palm. “i love sweets even if they hurt me. what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. where there is no struggle there is no strength—”

“the only strength i see is a man hunched over puking his guts out.”

“hey!” he pouted, pulling into the lot before parking and turning off the ignition, the both of you hopping out of the car and locking it as you walked towards the main entrance. “and i’ll do it again so what.”

you giggled and interlocked your fingers with satoru’s. “silly silly.”

the festival was lively— huge decorated christmas trees everywhere you went as twinkling fairy lights adorned every corner and direction of the lots premises, several open stands that continuously wafted chocolate and cinnamon and vanilla throughout the entire night that had satoru practically floating through the air following the scent, kids giggling and running around as the soft familiar tunes of christmas music hummed in the background.

“what do you want for christmas, sweets?” satoru asked while chowing down a giant s’more.

“a kiss!” you quipped, giving him a cute silly look as you blew a bit of air over your steaming hot chocolate.

he stopped chewing.

“really?” satoru spoke with his mouthful. “i can literally give that to you right now c’mere—”

“no toru!” your cheeks buzzed a vibrant pink, completely flustered. “you’re supposed to say a big fat no!”

“now why the fuck would i do that...” he grumbled, shoulders slumping from disappointment as he took another big bite of his dessert.

you giggled, looking at him apologetically before standing on your tippy toes and licking a bit of melted chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

and he blinked at you, dumb and still as his cheeks copied the same exact shade as yours.

my god.

you were about to turn him into a freak.

“okay now you have to kiss me.”

“why?!” you laughed. “you had chocolate on your face! i was helping you out.”

“yeah right you little minx.” he scarfed down the last bit of his s’more and threw his little paper tray in the trash can behind him, putting his hands together and shaking off excess crumbs. “that’s actually the most torturous thing you have ever done to me.”

“dramatic!” you exclaimed, laughs escaping you and increasing as you watched satoru’s flustered face pout and glare at you.

you breathed in deeply and settled down, standing up straight as you took a tiny sip of your hot chocolate and smiled. “now i feel bad.”

“you should.”

“can you forgive me?”

“not unless you kiss me.”

“toru!”

“what?!” he pushed. “baby it’s only fair! really! just once and that’s it. a harmless peck nothing more we aren’t doing anything crazier.”

you gnawed at your bottom lip in thought.

technically he was right… it was just one little peck, entirely harmless and cute and wouldn’t have you both falling off of that thin tight rope you guys were still balancing off of.

this would only shake it a little… but then you’d be fine! right?

you were too far gone in the considerations of his proposal as you looked at his absolutely breathtaking blue eyes and face, somehow looking even more angelic as his pinky cold cheeks and nose and scarf covered neck did nothing but make you fall deeper in love with him than you already were.

how someone could look as good as satoru was beyond you.

“just—” you peered up at him. “just one peck okay?”

his eyes widened.

holy shit.

“yes!” he breathed out. “yes yes just one.”

“toru.” you spoke sternly. “i’m serious.”

he frantically nodded, arms already snaking around your waist and bringing you in.

you both couldn’t believe it.

you were about to have your very first kiss.

the two of you leaned in then— softly, timidly, afraid as satoru’s chocolate breath fanned against your nostrils and filled your lungs, lips coming closer and closer until they met in a simple, solid, tiny harmless peck.

satoru felt like his veins were about to pop and explode at the feeling of your delicate soft lips finally on his, the feeling actually fucking unreal as his fingertips went numb and his body tingled all over.

but it quickly became clear that it was not just one harmless peck.

because when it was supposed to be the time for you both to pull away, you and satoru only opened your mouths and kissed deeper— eyelids blissfully closed as your lips smacked so slowly and tenderly, the two of you actively relishing in the moment and just drinking each other’s mouths in as they moved and shifted, deep breaths through your noses as you daze-fully made out with the faint fuzzy sound of jingle bells and christmas music growing increasingly distant.

you tasted so sweet. just like he’d imagined.

but the moment came to and end when you both snapped your eyelids open in realization and released lips, pupils frantic and wide as you searched each other’s eyes for any sign of anger since you both had slipped up and did way more than just a peck.

but there was nothing. obviously there was nothing like that as your shoulders relaxed simultaneously and bashful smiles crossed your faces.

“you taste like chocolate.” he grinned.

you bit your bottom lip in a smile. “so do you.”

“twins.”

“uh huh.”

“i love you.”

you stilled.

you’ve told each other that thousands of times for years, since childhood.

you’ve always said you loved each other and have both known it was laced with those unspoken feelings you had, and you accepted that for as long as you could remember.

but somehow… in someway… it just felt different this time around. profound. more serious.

“i love you.” you responded.

satoru smiled softly and leaned his forehead against yours, basking in each others authentic infatuation for a moment before pulling away.

“can i get another s’more—”

“no!”

satoru ended up getting his second s’more, and you surprisingly ended up partaking in satoru activities and downed three fucking cups of that hot chocolate you loved so much, your tummy full and about to literally burst, but not really giving a shit as you and him were having so much freaking fun— buying little christmas trinkets from the santa shop and building tiny snowmen in the snowy play area filled with a bunch of kids (satoru literally making a tiny dick for one of the snowman and you immediately destroying it and wacking him), even skating in the rink but purely just for enjoyment and not a single thought of what you do professionally crossing your minds.

you stayed there until it was nearly closing time, money absolutely spent from all the things you bought, but your souls happy and warm as you happily walked to the car so satoru could take you home.

on the drive there, you showcased all of the trinkets you both had bought, a particular one catching your eye that you remembered you hadn’t shown satoru yet.

“oh! i got this one—” you dug your hand in the white plastic bag and pulled out a little snow angel, beautiful and glossy as the angels face blushed and smiled. “at the santa shop!”

“it’s cute baby!” he smiled. “for you?”

you shook your head. “i got it for aki. for the next time we visit her.”

his heart softened, nodding.

you and satoru tried your best to visit her grave as often as you possibly could, sometimes nearing four times a week to pay your respects and chat with her for a little while, filling her in a bit on your lives to bring back the feeling of what it was like to just talk to her in any way you could, like you had the fortune of doing once before.

“it kinda looks like her.. doesn’t it?” he questioned, pointing to the figure.

“it does right!” you expressed. “that’s why i got it… it reminded me of her.”

“she’ll love it.” he grinned, gently running the pad of his finger against your cold cheek before turning his attention back to the road.

you and satoru didn’t mention the kiss again as you were funnily still in shock over it, but the butterflies in your stomachs and the sole memory of it did more than enough as you climbed into bed with an already snoring satoru, him sleeping over for the night (when was he not) as you nudged your way under his arm and cuddled yourself in his chest, his slumbered state pulling you in like muscle memory.

you both only had two more practices left before the international skating union competition. once there, you and satoru had to land a spot in the top three chosen by the national olympic committee to earn an official spot in competing for the olympics, a task that was already vigorous and exhausting and nerve wracking, but one you both were more than ready for.

general admittance to competing in the olympics was essentially fourteen years in the making, one that wouldn’t have been possible in the first place if it wasn’t for akira.

“i think we should add a spin to this lasso lift.” you suggested, you and satoru taking a break from running the routine and standing by the bleachers during practice— watching a recently recorded take of your choreography to point out mistakes that flew under your radars.

“a spin?” he asked. “how sweets.”

“so when you lasso me around into the lift—” you rewinded the video and pointed. “since you’re holding me up over your head and we’re balancing with our hands, i say you maybe push me up to kind of like— propel me to do a triple rotation spin back down.”

“and then from there i catch you?”

“yeah!” you nodded. “and we’re traveling across the ice.”

satoru pursed his lips. “that’s kind of hard… you sure?”

“we’ve done worse toru.” you laughed. “i feel like this would give us more points.”

“oh it definitely would.” he nodded. “okay baby.”

“yay!” you cheered. “let’s practice the lift and propel on the mats first because if not i’m gonna eat shit.”

satoru laughed and sat down on the bleachers with you, quickly taking off his skates before standing and kneeling in front of you, untying your laces and slipping your skates off for you as you cutely smiled, him feeling like your little hero and knight in shining armor even if it was for something so minuscule.

he loved doing things for you.

in the middle of you and satoru practicing the move on the mats, your mother came in through the front doors of the ice rink.

“hi!” she greeted, holding up two wide rectangular boxes. “your costumes came in!”

“oh thank god!” you breathed out, satoru setting you down on your feet before you both ran to see. “i thought they weren’t gonna come in on time!”

“are they cool?!” satoru tumbled out. “do they scream please let me in the olympics?!”

you snorted and shoved his shoulder playfully as you unwrapped your boxes, your eyes shining in delight at the sight of your rhinestoned pale baby blue dress, a shade you purposefully picked out as it matched the color of satoru’s eyes— you lifting it with your fingertips from the box and gushing.

you turned it around and held it up against your frame as satoru pulled his top out— a white, tight long sleeved low cut v-neck button up that you already knew was gonna hug his yummy biceps so good, the thought of it making you bite the inside of your cheek as he checked over his black slacks.

your mother clasped her hands together, holding it to her mouth as her eyes gleamed over the two of you.

“i can’t believe it’s happening now.” she spoke softly, you and satoru diverting your attention to her and smiling. “for so long it was always just a distant thing you know? but now it’s here. actually.”

“fuck i know right.” you responded.

“language, y/n.”

“but i’m twenty!” you whined, pouting as satoru snickered behind you.

your mother rolled her eyes and cupped yours and satoru’s chins under her hands.

“good luck next week, alright? i know you guys will sweep.” she pushed. “make aki proud.”

the smiles on your faces grew, nodding as she squeezed your chins and released.

“oh! satoru—” your mother picked up her jacket and swung her purse over her shoulder. “your mom won’t be home for the night her trip got extended until tomorrow… you can sleep over at our house if you want so you’re not over there alone? or y/n can stay with you?”

“oh okay!” he spoke kindly. “thank you for letting me know!”

she smiled and nodded, hugging you both goodbye before leaving the rink.

your head whipped in his direction.

“toru if i sleep over at your house we can watch horror movies and actually scream as loud as we want without worrying about waking anybody up.”

his eyes bulged open. “oh my god you’re right! dibs i get to choose—”

“fuck!—”

by the end of practice you and satoru mastered the addition you added into the lasso lift, performing it beautifully on the ice over and over again until it was like simple reflex, calling it a day after a while and packing your things up to drive to satoru’s house.

you both took turns stepping in the shower to get rid of the sticky sweat that lingered on your skin, changing into comfy pajamas after as you tiredly settled in satoru’s big comfy bed— him flicking through his selection of horror movies and debating which one to pick.

“do you wanna watch something gory or just horror.”

“gory!” you perked up. “i need to work on not being so queasy.”

“but you seem fine when i throw up?”

“that’s because i’m used to it.” you laughed, head resting on his shoulder as he picked a movie and threw his remote somewhere across the bed, his arm coming to wrap around your tummy and pull you in.

it wasn’t like the selection mattered anyways, because fifteen minutes into the movie you were already falling asleep, hand resting on satoru’s torso as he continued to watch it— for some reason still wide awake even after skating for hours.

your sleepy sudden movements from your hand made him weirdly stiffen and relax every single time, your brows furrowing at the feeling and eyes fluttering open when he wouldn’t stop doing it.

“toru… are you still ticklish?” you mumbled sleepily.

he stiffened again.

“no.” he answered softly. “why..?”

you lazily grinned.

“youuu suureee?”

terror struck him as he sensed exactly what the fuck you were about to do.

“please spare me please spare me—”

you jumped on him and tickled his entire upper body, satoru laughing and gasping as he smacked your hands away and twisted and turned, his strong grip making it hard for you to tickle him at one point as you stubbornly swung a leg over his waist and settled over his lap, attacking him while he yelped and screamed.

“baby!” he gasped. “baby please! have some mercy is this how much i mean to you?!”

you giggled and finally stopped, hands retracting as you settled them on your hips. “that’s what you get for lying to me.”

“i was lying for my safety.”

“uh huh.”

you both grinned, satoru’s eyes occasionally flickering down to you straddling his lap with your pretty plushy thighs and blushing, trying to keep his gaze on yours to refrain himself from doing something a little too mental and weird.

but it was too fucking late, because it took no time at all for the blood to rush to his pathetic dick and harden.

surprisingly though, you were the one that was mental— the feeling of his cock against your clit undeniable as the uncomfortable shifts of satoru’s waist only stimulated it against your little nub and made you bite down hard on your bottom lip, shaky breaths leaving your mouth as it was getting harder and harder for you to restrain yourself from satoru’s godlike existence.

and your body was just not listening as you timidly rolled your hips over his crotch— your short shorts criminally thin as you felt just how big satoru’s length was, mouth watering as your palms timidly settled over his chest for stability, grinding on his cock harder.

satoru’s eyes were blown out as he watched you do something so— so lewd, his mind wandering if you were fully and properly there as something like this was absolutely breaking your unspoken rule, and you were more strict about it than he was.

but he didn’t want you to stop. god no.

at this point, you and satoru were off that metaphorical tight rope and hanging on by two hands— having both failed at keeping each other balanced as you rolled and rolled your hips deliciously on his dick, his chest quickly rising and falling at the feeling of your warm pussy over his groin and at the sight of you using him to get yourself off.

your little needy mewls made his hands tremble as he threw his head back on the pillow, eyes pathetically fucked out over something so simple.

“fuck me..” satoru groaned, hands coming up to rub over his face as his hips lifted to meet your grinding.

him doing that broke you out of your haze and you stiffened, satoru taking his hands away from his face with pinched brows at the sudden halt.

what happened?

“okay!” you laughed nervously, an alarmed expression as you swung your leg off of his lap and scrambled under the covers, pulling it completely over you as you shamefully looked anywhere and everywhere but satoru.

but he was out of it.

undoubtedly out of it now that you did what you did… wanting more, wanting all of you as he snatched the covers off of your frame and you squeaking as a result.

“why’d you stop.” he whispered, thumb raising to trace your bottom lip.

“i don’t— i don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“yes you do—”

“absolutely not—”

“i want you.” he cut you off. “i want you bad and i know you want me too so let’s just— let’s just do this once, okay? once please just to see what it’s like and it’ll never happen again.”

your eyes remained wide as you looked at his desperate frantic ones, his hands already kneading at your waist and thighs.

he was entrancing you into his proposal again, exactly the same way as when you both kissed for the first time at the festival as he leaned down and nibbled at your jaw, slotting himself in between your legs.

“do— do what?”

“fuck.” he mumbled, rolling his hips down on your pussy rough and you gasping at the sensation of his big cock against your clit again.

you whimpered as he rutted into you, hands flying to squeeze his biceps as his wet mouth moved down to your neck, licking and gnawing as he waited for your response.

“but isn’t that—” you stifled a moan. “isn’t that too far toru?—”

“please baby please.” he picked his head up and looked at you. “just once i swear once so we see what it’s like and get it out of our systems and never do it again. i promise.”

he needs to kiss you right fucking now.

your eyes fluttered closed as he continued to hump you, licking your lips as you weakly tried to look into his eyes.

“you swear?” you breathed out. “swear it just once and that’s it—”

“i swear i swear i swear—”

“okay then fuck me toru please—”

satoru nearly cried as he ripped himself away from you to frantically pull off his shirt and pants, him slapping your hands away when you tried to take off your own clothes as he wanted to do it himself— lifting your shirt over your head and downright tearing your shorts in half as he flung them down and across the room, your little pink bra and panties set actually turning him into a complete mess as he hovered back over you and shoved his tongue in your mouth.

you still tasted just as sweet as he remembered.

“been dreaming of—” mmpf— “kissing you since you let me, sweets.”

“yeah?” your lips moved sloppily with his as you snuck a hand in your panties and dipped your fingers in your pussy, collecting your arousal. “you missed me toru?”

“uh huh.” he breathed hotly against your lips, hand coming to slide underneath your bra to cup your bare tit. “every fucking night i’d jerk my dick dry thinking about it.”

his words made your clit twitch as you pushed him off your lips.

“open your mouth.”

satoru did as told without a peep and opened it with his tongue out, your hands coming out from your panties as you reached up and slipped your fingers in his mouth, his lips closing in and sucking everything you had to give him as he salvaged up your arousal.

“fuck—” he released your fingers. “is this from your pussy baby?”

“mhm.” you moaned.

your arousal was even sweeter.

“my god—” he grabbed your wrist and licked a long stripe up your palm. “you dirty fucking thing m’gonna have to taste for myself and see.”

you gasped. “what?”

satoru sat up and pulled your wet panties down your legs, biting down on his tongue hard at the sight of your angelic bare cunt before him, slick and shiny and pretty as you unclasped your bra and spread your legs for him— eager and ready and not a single other thought in your brain besides the one that was screaming for satoru to stick his dick inside you.

“toruuuu!” you whined. “quit staring and fuck me.”

his cock pulsed.

“patience sweets, i wanna taste you first.”

you expected satoru to just lower himself down and shove his head in between your thighs, but you were dead fucking wrong as he stood, grabbed your waist and yanked you high up, sitting you on his shoulders as you squealed and gripped his hair.

“wait toru isn’t this uncomfortable i—”

he scoffed. “fuck no. i’ve been lifting you my whole life baby this is nothing.”

your speech lodged itself in your throat as you felt his tongue lap at your folds and clit, slobbering and filthy as he ate and scarfed you down just like his usual daily sweets, you by far his absolute favorite as he slurped your little pussy up and made you squeal and moan.

satoru walked over to the wall and leaned you up against it, taking your thighs off of his shoulders and placing his hands underneath as he propped you up and spread your legs wider, your jaw dropping at his slimy tongue flicking and him slabbering his mouth side to side rapidly until your legs shook and you saw stars.

“toru—”

he grunted, tongue prodding at your hole and you jumping.

“i think— i think i’m gonna cum and i—” pant “i don’t wanna—”

satoru separated his mouth from your pussy with a squelch and looked up, smiling big.

“too bad!”

“but—”

he spit on your cunt and you gasped.

“i said too bad.”

he dipped back in and fully devoured you as you mewled, messier as he slushed his tongue all over and you’d never experienced something like this, something that felt so fucking good as you started cumming all over his face in record speed regardless of how hard you were trying to hold back.

“yummy.”

he let go and you dropped down as he quickly caught you, turning and throwing you on his bed as he climbed over you— wrapping a hand around his cock and jerking as he kissed and swallowed your lips up again.

“you want me to make love to you or fuck you?” he slopped against your mouth before pulling back, yours and his eyes fluttering open to look at each other.

your legs were still shaking by the eat out he gave you seconds before, finding it hard to get your words together as his handsome deluded face stared at you.

“i— um—”

he placed his lips next to your ear.

“you want me to fuck you like my wife or fuck you like a little slut? or both?”

“both toru please—”

he grinned, coming back up as he parted your legs further open and lined his leaky tip with your hole.

“i can do both!”

satoru pushed himself in and you choked, hands clasping over your mouth as you felt him bully his big cock through and leave you a blabbering crying mess under him— his chest heaving at the warmth and softness and stickiness of your cute gummy walls, his years of imagining and theorizing how you’d feel wrapped around his dick all completely debunking themselves at the real feeling as you whimpered and clenched your hole.

“jesus christ—” he shivered, swallowing thickly as his trembling fingers settled on your waist, him slowly reeling his hips back before pumping in. “you’re— you’re warm.”

you dropped your hands and wiped your cheeks as you hiccuped, the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of your walls incandescently euphoric as you embarrassingly already felt yourself wanting to cum again when he had just stuck his dick inside of you— you wanting to ride out this moment for a bit longer and not finish so quickly like you had done on his mouth.

“am i being too mean pretty?” he huffed, thrusts now quick and curt as he gripped your bouncing tits and pinched your perking nipples, the sight of your little tears shamefully turning him on.

you frantically shook your head and tried to clear your brain. “n—no!—”

“good.” he smiled, a little crazed as he let go of your boobs, placed his hands on the backside of your thighs and pushed your knees up to your chest, picking up speed as you squealed and whimpered, utterly taken aback by how rough satoru was being considering the fact that he was such a goofy and kind and loving person on the daily.

oh… what years worth of pent up sexual frustration can do to a man.

satoru whined as you milked his dick, wheezing as he hammered his hips up and slapped against your skin, your body jolting and bouncing uncontrollably as his bed squeaked loud and obnoxiously.

thank god his mother wasn’t home.

“i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this—” satoru babbled, his critical thinking out the fucking window as he just tumbled out totally random but honest confessions as your ears eagerly drank up every word and made your hole tighten.

“yeah?” pant “f—for how long baby?”

“for so long—” he whined loudly, fucking you faster as your mouth hung open and you gripped his wrists for support. “you’re everything i’ve ever w—wanted—”

“i— i’ve only ever wanted you toru— fuck! you’re big.“ you moaned, loving the way a huge deranged smile spread across his face as his hips pistoned into you and his hands pinned you down.

“cum on my dick baby please cum on my dick i want it i want it—”

your toes curled and you squealed, vision flashing white as you let out a high pitched scream at the intense buzzing feeling, your bodies hot and sticky and wet as satoru leaned over and shoved his lips in your ear.

“can i— can i cum inside?” he choked through gritted teeth as he came close to spilling his seed. “please i wanna cum inside—”

“but m’not on the pill—”

“please please baby i beg you—” hah! “i don’t wanna cum anywhere else—”

your eyes fluttered shut at his words and you quickly nodded, his hand cupping your face as he thrusted in one last time and pumped his cum entirely inside you without an ounce of hesitation for the consequences, his horny mind actually crazed and solidifying that there was no fucking way in hell he was gonna accept just friends from this point forward.

what a stupid thought.

“mmm…” you slowly moved your hips a little, feeling his cum all inside your ravished walls as you licked your lips. “your cum feels hot toru.”

not even warm, hot as it slushed and moved inside you with every movement you made, some of it dribbling and coating your outer folds as you bit your bottom lip into a smile and craned your head up to his neck, nibbling and giving satoru tiny kitten licks as he trembled and struggled to stay afloat and not give out his upper arm strength— trying to prevent himself from squishing you.

satoru pressed a soft tender kiss to your cheek then before sitting up and delicately sliding his dick out, running a soothing hand over your tummy as he did so and giving you a lazy smile.

he suddenly raised his pinky to you.

“birds of a feather?” he murmured, other hand running from your stomach over to your thighs now as he just lovingly felt you up, you smiling with rosy cheeks as you linked your little pinky with his.

“birds of a feather.”

you both kissed your thumbs and locked your promise, deciding then that you should probably shower once more before getting into bed to officially sleep— but deciding to shower together as you softly and steamily made out under the misty hot running water, body and mind relaxed as you just swallowed in the ambience of each other, you both not only holding on to your metaphorical tight rope with one hand now, but it actually on the verge of snapping as a whole and sending you both free falling.

and for the next couple of days, you and satoru were feral.

years and years of doing fucking nothing with pure restraint and fantasizing did a number on you both as any chance you got you were making out on your bed, his bed, and even in satoru’s car after your lectures— your hand teasingly going lower and lower until you’d shove a hand in his pants to pull his dick out and pump, your body leaning across the console and mouth going down to bob and suck as he moaned and pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail to guide you and your pretty bows and fuck your mouth just to hear the sounds of you choking, eyes from time to time frantically looking around to see if no one was around as you blowed him.

and you did that basically all of the time for the next three days until the final practice just before the international skating union competition, satoru physically unable to leave you alone and unscathed as he constantly pinned you down to eat your pussy or suckle on your soft tits, his hand tightly clasped over your mouth in your room when your moans would get too loud as he fingered you, his long fingers squelching and abusing your cunt until you were finishing all over his hands again and again.

but you two having actual sex didn’t happen again apart from that night— satoru a man of his word since he promised you would only do it once… unfortunately. but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do other things, right?

except by the final practice, satoru was absolutely fucked off at the fact that neither of you had brought up the potentiality of being more than just friends, especially after doing all of those lewd acts.

he was so sick of it.

and so were you, quite frankly, but instead of being completely over it like satoru, you were afraid… afraid of what could happen and the possibility of losing him if you both indulged, if you let yourselves put your freaking careers on the line.

and satoru was the one person you couldn’t bear to lose. not ever.

“we look good sweets!” satoru cheesed, rotating around in the ice rinks dressing room mirrors as you had your costumes on for dress rehearsal and refinements, both of you glittering and shiny and looking like a professional ice skating pair as you examined yourself, readjusting your straps and hugging your torso.

“cold.” you shivered. “maybe i should’ve had it as a long sleeve… shit.”

he laughed and placed his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down quickly to create frictional heat as you smiled at him gratefully. “nah, it’s cute like this! you’ll warm up once we run it a few times on the ice.”

you nodded, the both of you walking out of the dressing room and to the rink, skillfully putting on your skates before pushing yourself on the ice and gliding across.

“can you show me the uh—” satoru looked to the side in thought once he was on the ice in front of you. “the part where we skate in unison and have our arms up in an L? it’s in the chorus of our music—”

“oh!” you nodded and skated a bit away from him to demonstrate.

“i just wanna see if my form matches yours and we look clean.” he smiled. “and then show me the triple axel after that.”

you gave him a cute thumbs up and pushed yourself off, gliding gracefully and smoothly across the ice as satoru was supposed to be watching you to try and fix his form, but finding himself transfixed once again by the way you seamlessly skated with no sense of struggling effort— arms poised and flowy as your dress moved and fluttered with every twist and turn until you gradually propelled yourself up into the triple axel and landed correctly without a slip or wobble.

the level of difficulty and technicality you skated reminded him of akira— but your style, your movement, and the way you carried yourself was entirely your own.

you made figure skating look beautiful.

you were beautiful.

you slowed down on the ice and skated over to satoru.

“were you able to see? did you match me?—”

“you skate just like her.” satoru spoke softly, and you faltered.

he didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about, as you always knew.

“you’re just saying that.” you pursed your lips to keep yourself from smiling, or crying, you didn’t know.

but a compliment like that meant the absolute world to you.

“i’m not.” he shrugged, skating over to you and taking your hands as he glided with you to starting position. “you always have baby. and i know that’s what you’ve always wanted. i’m sorry i don’t say it enough.”

your eyes softened. “toru that’s not something to be sorry about at all…”

satoru was so kind.

you both skated together and ran the choreography a couple of times, spinning simultaneously and satoru lifting you again and again throughout the routine and still performing your lasso spinning lift successfully, arms around his shoulders and faces close as the wind whipped through both of your costumes and hair from traveling across the ice at such a speed before coming to a sudden choreographed halt at the end of your number.

you had slid down satoru’s body to plant your blades back on the ice when he had enough.

“please stick your tongue in my mouth.”

you choked on your spit and slapped a hand over your mouth.

“toru no! absolutely not we can’t anymore okay—”

“what are we.”

you froze.

“huh?”

“what are we.” he repeated, eyes dead locked on yours and hard. “are we together? are we not? are we friends? what are we—”

“we’re— we’re friends toru—”

“oh fuck no.” he let you go and created a little bit of space between you. “don’t give me that shit we’re not friends.”

“w—well we can’t—”

“i’m your man.” he stated firmly. “i’m your man i’ve been your man for years and i’m tired of avoiding this sweets! it sucks!”

“we’re putting everything at risk if we do toru we can’t!”

“i’m your man.”

“no you’re not—”

he cut you off. “your mouth has been on my dick. we’ve had sex. we’ve kissed we’ve made out we’ve told each other i love you if that doesn’t tell you that we’re together then what the actual fuck?!”

“oh my god toru i know i know!” you groaned, hugging yourself as you anxiously looked at him. “what happens if we break up? huh? what do we do?”

he shook his head. “we won’t.”

“you don’t know that.” you laughed bitterly. “if that happens we lose each other satoru understand that. we break birds of a feather, we ruin our careers, and we ruin us.”

“first of all—” he started. “our birds of a feather promise is to stick together, keep each other safe, and not seperate or fight, is it not?”

“it— it is—”

“so do you really think if we continue to keep each other in this fuck ass limbo of friends that we aren’t already breaking that?” he threw his arms out in emphasis. “we have never been just friends. i’ve known you for fourteen fucking years and we have never been just that.”

you blinked back tears.

“i promise you baby—” he slid closer to you and cupped your cheeks. “that we won’t leave each other. i will fight and try every single damn day to make sure that that shit never happens even though i already know it won’t because you’ve been made for me since birth and we haven’t separated since we’ve met.”

satoru wiped your cheeks. “but i also promise you, that if we continue as just friends, we will break. we’re gonna string each other along so fucking much that we’re gonna go absolutely insane and drive each other away. that is for certain.”

“but— skating—”

“i don’t give an ever living fuck.” he spat funnily and you laughed through your tears. “skating is nothing without you. all the trophies and medallions and the god damn olympics itself with that gold medal is nothing without you. i would give that shit up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you in my life in exchange.”

“and i would do the same for you toru!” you sobbed, his arms immediately wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you in as you sniffled and hiccuped into his chest, him kissing the side of your head repeatedly and soothing a hand down your back.

“don’t cry pretty i didn’t meant to make you cry...” he mumbled, cheek mushed up against your head as your shoulders shook, a huge disgusting pit of guilt in his stomach. “fine it’s okay we can be just friends for a bit longer please don’t cry—”

“no!” you sputtered, pushing him back a little to face him. “i don’t wanna be just friends anymore either toru… it hurts me so much.”

“it does?” he asked softly and you nodded.

“it hurts me too.”

satoru wiped your remaining tears again and fixed the little bows in your hair, a soft liberated smile on his face as he reached down to cup your cheeks and bring your perfect lips to his, kissing you lovingly as the both of you felt like you could finally rest and stop ridiculously hiding your love in the shadows after so many years.

the thin tight rope that you had both been toppling over and rebalancing and holding onto to keep the other from falling, had finally snapped in two, and you and satoru were now in the darkest depths of the truth of what you both were.

except it wasn’t dark at all.

it was light and airy and heavenly, and you wondered why you had been so afraid when there was nothing to be afraid of in the first place, since the one you were falling with was satoru.

silly.

he pulled apart and looked at you, his striking blue eyes and white fluffy hair especially beautiful.

“tomorrow—” he began. “we’re gonna absolutely destroy everyone else there and land a spot in the top three, and then after i’m gonna take you out on a nice dinner and buy every single fucking dessert off the menu, and then i’m gonna ask you to be my girlfriend. okay baby?”

you giggled then, the brightest rosy cheeks on display from the both of you as you eagerly nodded and threw your arms around his neck.

and tomorrow could not come soon enough, because not only were you looking forward to making your dreams a reality and competing against other figure skating pairs from around the world and the olympics itself, but also the thought of officially being satoru’s after years of wishing on little stars and day dreaming about what that would be like for hours on end.

until the moment was here. happening.

the indoor arena was electric and rowdy the minute the competition commenced, you and satoru in absolute awe of the energetic atmosphere as many individuals in the crowd waved their banners or screamed their loved ones names, an ambience very similar to the olympics as you both watched pair after pair perform their hardwork and dedication on the ice, goosebumps on your skin as you fidgeted and jittered.

out of twenty of your countries competing pairs, only three of you would be chosen for the olympics.

and you hoped to god you and satoru would be chosen.

“we’re almost up baby.” satoru patted your head, sitting on a bench in your designated area. “i think it’s two more pairs then it’s us.”

you nodded, nerves closing up your throat as your eyes darted over the rink.

satoru frowned.

“hey.” he placed a hand on your thigh, suddenly wanting to rip your nylon tights off so you could actually feel his skin on yours. “you nervous sweets?”

you nodded again, and he gave you a silly grin.

“don’t be! you’re literally akira the second. we’ll be fine!”

you laughed lightly and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“and even if we don’t land a spot, that’s fine too.” he kissed your head. “it’s our first year anyways… we’ll know the game for next time and we’ll try harder.”

you picked your head up and smiled at him, his words settling your nerves just as soon as the last remaining pair took their places on stage, yours and satoru’s turn right after.

what you didn’t know, was that satoru was just as nervous as you.

but he knew you needed a rock and someone to comfort you— wanting to swoop in like a little hero and save you again… so he kept it hidden.

“fuck i almost forgot!” satoru jumped up and dug into his duffel bag, pulling out a roll of pale baby blue ribbon that matched your dress exactly. “you told me you didn’t have ribbon that matched your costume so i went and tried to look.”

he held it out for you cutely on his palm.

“does this one match?”

you picked up the roll, astonished and mushy inside that satoru actually went out of his way to find this specific ribbon color for you because you had expressed how unhappy you were with the darker shade you had, your eyes looking up at him in complete adoration.

“oh my goodness— thank you toru!”

you quickly undid the bows in your hair and slipped off the former ribbon, digging through your duffel bag for scissors and cutting off pieces from the new ribbon before looping them through your hair and tying, not needing a mirror since you’ve done it for as long as you could remember.

satoru’s cheeks went pink as he looked at your new pretty bows.

“does they look okay?”

“beautiful.” he responded, pecking your lips before taking your hand and leading you to the entrance of the rink.

“okay—” you breathed out. “this is it.”

“what kind of food do you think they’ll have at the dinner place we picked—”

“toru!” you giggled. “not now!”

he smiled sheepishly at you before leaning his forehead against yours.

you stuck your pinky out.

“birds of a feather?”

satoru grinned and looped his pinky with yours.

“birds of a feather baby.”

you both kissed your thumbs and once again, locked your promise.

the announcer over the speakers iterated your names and your country as you and satoru glided across the ice poised and graceful with your arms up, waving at the crowd and giving your mothers a special frantic wave before moving to starting position, unknowing of the way several other pairs and the judges themselves murmured about your reputation and your association with akira.

and you hoped she was watching over you both now. somewhere.

the music begun, contemporary and lyrical as you and satoru slid across the rink, already impressive and entertaining as you performed moves and lifts right off the bat, the sounds of your blades scraping against the ice oddly keeping you in time with your choreography as the number went on.

and you and satoru were feeding off of each other, the chemistry undeniable to a strangers eye that had no idea of your story as you conveyed passion through your expressions, each technical movement bleeding with the fact that you both had been olympic level trained since the age of fourteen and fifteen.

you were halfway through your routine now, the lasso lift coming up next as satoru harbored in his strength so he could properly propel you into that newly added spin.

you skated around him and he lifted you up into the air, the crowd cheering and excited at your beautiful remarkable forms.

except satoru’s hands were slippery.

why?

nerves. he quickly deemed it nerves as he had no time to deliberate since it was almost time to propel you up into the spin, his mind already racing over the fact that the slip in his hands was hindering his strength to keep you up there, and he worried that if he pushed you up, it wouldn’t be enough and you’d come tumbling down— hurting yourself.

but satoru had zero time to decide again as he went with protocol and pushed you up as hard as he possibly could and prayed you would go into your triple axel spin successfully and that he’d catch you.

but the minute that he did, the force yanked him back and his skates flew up in front of him, you falling down and your thigh hitting something sharp before you both went slamming to the ground— sliding apart from each other on the ice.

the crowd screamed and gasped in terror, sounds you were all too familiar with to what you heard three years ago filling both your fuzzy minds as satoru struggled to get back up, his head turning slowly around to see if you were okay and just sore like him—

until he saw your limp body on your side, your back to him with blood slowly pooling out on the ice and staining your pretty blue dress.

satoru scrambled up and skated straightaway in a panic to you before sliding on his knees as he reached you, turning you over and paling as he saw you were unresponsive and out fucking cold.

“baby?“ he shook you. “hey— baby—”

nothing.

why weren’t you answering him? why weren’t you awake?

his brain flashed images of akira’s body the day that she died, suffocating deja vu as the way you looked when he saw you like that on your side was a carbon copy of her from three years ago, his chest picking up speed as you continued to lay limp even after he shook you desperately numerous times like a madman.

and why was there so much blood?

blood that looked sickly bright red against the white ice, blood that stained his sleeves and shirt and hands as he held you up and supported your head, and blood that wouldn’t stop fucking oozing out of your leg as he trembled.

“hey— hey can you hear me?” satoru tapped your cheek rapidly, shaking you gently again with horrified eyes and still not getting a response.

“fuck! why is this happening this isn’t supposed to happen—”

how could he be your hero? how could he stop the blood and wake you up? how could he— how could he fix this how could he take it all back how could he fix this—

“no no no baby please—” he sobbed. “not like aki baby not like her man—”

he shook you again, your head lolling to the side as if— as if you were—

no.

“baby— birds of a feather right? birds of a feather we have to stick together you can’t— you can’t leave right?” he cried, chest heaving and vision blurry and you just felt so cold.

“you’re not leaving you’re not leaving me please not like aki please god—” he cradled you up to his chest in his arms and rocked. “you can’t leave me you’re all i know and i don’t wanna know anything else please baby—”

satoru’s frantic repeated heartbroken wailing echoed throughout the arena as the crowd erupted and moved around in hysteria, him still rocking you in his arms as he turned his head with terrified bloodshot eyes to look at both of your mothers, yours hunched over in a fit of screams and cries as his had her hands in her hair in utter disbelief and tears.

“fuck what do i do!” he sobbed, legs shakily standing as he slipped one arm under your back and the other under your knees, picking your limp body up as he saw a huge group of paramedics run over to him on the ice as he carried you over.

“help—” hic! “h—help me please—”

why couldn’t satoru be your hero when it mattered most?

several of them lowered the stretcher and took you from him, laying your lifeless self on it before hoisting you up and swiftly carrying you away, all of it horrifyingly and painfully similar to akira’s inevitable death.

were you gone?

satoru looked down and saw your baby blue ribbons on the ice, wet and stained with blood, once perfect bows in your pretty hair when he had you awake and breathing.

were you breathing? had you hit your head?

he couldn’t remember.

he couldn’t remember anything but your unresponsiveness, the way your skin was colder than the ice itself as he picked up your ribbons and looked at them in his hands— and the way your blood stretched over for what looked like miles and was still there.

in front of him. taunting him.

was the world so cruel as to take you too?

it wouldn’t. it couldn’t.

you’d never done anything wrong. you’d never treated anybody indifferently as you were sweet and beautiful and talented, always in servitude of others— in servitude of him as you taught him how to ice skate when you didn’t need to at six years old, you already kind and gentle at that young age when you could’ve easily shooed him away like a little bug and told him to fuck off.

and throughout your life too, as he was well aware he was an annoying dramatic piece of shit that whined and cried and ate your stashes of sweets all of the time— but you always just giggling and looking at him with adoration in your eyes, with your cheeky smile, with the little ribbon bows in your hair he loved so fucking much.

oh how he wished he didn’t always take your sweets at that moment. how he wished he wasn’t always an annoying blockhead and made you mad at times with his persistent personality and neediness as he stood there frozen in the rink staring at your blood— dark now and dull, wishing it was him instead of you.

you were knocked out for five days at the hospital.

you and satoru also didn’t make it into the top three at the international skating union competition.

you should’ve, as your score was already higher than any other pair there and only halfway through the routine too— but that’s precisely why you got knocked out.

if you had finished your number, you would’ve landed in the top three, but it ending halfway cut off the opportunity for accumulating more points, and eventually another pair surpassed your halfway score by two points.

but satoru didn’t give a shit. fuck the olympics and fuck the international skating union while your body laid still on the hospital bed for hours on end, him refusing to leave your side as he sat there and stared off into space with nothing in his head but hatred for himself as it was his fault that this happened and his blade that sliced you— eyes red and sunken and tired and refusing to eat or drink.

you had hit your head on the ice, but thankfully the trauma wasn’t anywhere near the severity of akira’s, it only inducing a strong concussion and sending you flying out of consciousness upon impact.

but it was the loss of blood that was the problem.

you had lost so much, too much of it.

it made you weak and frail and unable to do much and satoru worried that that’s what was going to take away your fighting chance of survival.

“you should go home satoru…” your mother sighed, standing by the door of your hospital room, her own eyes red and swollen.

he shook his head no silently.

“she’ll still be here… you need to eat something or sleep please. you look awful.”

satoru smiled weakly and shook his head again.

“m’fine.”

your mother pursed her lips to the side and she sighed again, nodding.

“i’ll come by early in the morning, alright?”

he hummed, giving her a tiny wave as she left and closed the door behind her.

satoru had brought a roll of pink ribbon from your little white box in your room, unrolling the pieces he chose and lifting his hands, taking the ends of your hair and trying to tie little thin bows the way you always did, but huffing softly in irritation when they just looked like shit.

he undid the one he was working on and settled for feeling the material of the ribbon between his thumbs instead.

satoru brought you bouquets everyday too.

sometimes three at a time as he continuously swapped out old flowers and replaced them with new ones, changed their water and poured fresh quantities into each vase to keep them alive, and often picked some more from the hospital garden when he went down to get some fresh air for a minute— the least he could do for nearly killing you.

and satoru had a lot of time to think while he waited for you to wake up— bitter and resentful at the world for letting him sit there healthy while you were out, so much so that he started thinking stupid shit like how he wished you would’ve forgotten him and dismissed his yapping dreams about ice skating when you met so you would’ve been an independent skater instead, so you then wouldn’t have gotten hurt by his idiocy and you wouldn’t be laying in a hospital bed like you were now.

or swapped places. him instead of you so he could beat up the fucks that took akira away and beat up zeus or— or aphrodite or whoever the fuck that was responsible for keeping him from you so he could come back to you… unsure if you were doing the same thing as he stared at your resting face.

you should’ve just left him behind.

but he was sleeping when you woke.

arms propped up and crossed next to you on the hospital bed, his cheek mushed up on them and face to the side as you blinked your eyes open and was straight up confused, not a single memory of the incident flitting through your mind… until it did.

and it hit you bad.

your mind reeled with a pounding headache, tears prickling your eyes at the events that plagued through your mind— a part of you knowing there was absolutely no way you and satoru made top three and gutted about it, feeling shaken from the memory alone of you falling and hitting the ice.. but grateful.

grateful to be alive, for you knew akira wasn’t as lucky.

was it because of her that you had lived? had she pulled some strings to change your fate?

your eyes trailed down to a sleeping peaceful satoru, your gaze softening at how tired and broken he looked, bags dark and purple as he snored away next to you, your hand lifting and delicately settling over his fluffy white hair as you smiled that he was here next to you— caressing.

satoru shot up wide awake then as you jumped and retracted your hand, the both of you alarmed and frantic.

“baby?” he grabbed your hand and felt around it, feeling warmth for once as he stood up straight and shoved back one of the sleeves of his hoodie.

“you’re awake? are you actually?—” he pinched his arm hard over and over and you giggled.

you giggled— the sound filling his ears and lifting an undeniable dark ton off of his shoulders as he relaxed, tears automatically brimming his eyes.

“i thought i fucking killed you sweets.” his voice shook, arms gently coming around you and pulling you into an embrace.

“killed me?” you frowned. “toru what are you talking about—”

“oh god you have amnesia—”

“no!” you laughed. “what do you mean by almost killed me? you didn’t do anything.”

“i did everything.” he spoke flatly. “i fucked up that lasso lift. i pushed you up too hard and we fell. i cut you with my blade i made you bleed—”

“toru that was an accident.” you pulled back and your chest hurt over the devastated look on his face, wiping his tears and kissing his nose. “remember— aki’s partner felt just like this and we had to tell him too it was an accident. you can’t control something like that. at all. it’s just unfortunate circumstance.”

“i know but i still feel like—” he wiped his eyes and swallowed. “i still feel like i could’ve done something different. it should’ve been me and not you and i should’ve—”

“toru don’t even don’t think about things like that.” you shook your head. “there wasn’t anything you could’ve done, baby. and that’s okay.”

you gently scooched over on the bed and patted the spot next to yours, satoru immediately climbing and settling in, clinging on to you as he placed his head on your chest with his arm firm but careful around your waist, suddenly feeling how exhausted he actually was from the days he spent restless.

you couldn’t have imagined the pain satoru must’ve gone through waiting for you to wake up. you didn’t know how he even fucking managed as you would’ve been torn into bits and pieces not knowing if he was going to live or not, looking at his limp bloody body the way he had to look at yours and it reminding you of the event that brought you both the most trauma and grief.

you couldn’t believe you almost went out the same way.

satoru confirmed your thoughts later and filled you in on the results of the international skating union competition, rubbing salt into the wound a little more upon learning that you landed fourth, nearly there as you couldn’t help but cry a bit in your hospital bed when he told you that you could’ve had a spot, satoru hugging you and reassuring you that you’d both have your shot at it in the next four years.

your family was relieved that you were awake, tons of people piling in and giving you sweets and food that satoru hungrily eyed and gawked over, you laughing and passing him the ones he particularly enjoyed most as you conversed with your relatives.

and recovery was thankfully easy— doctors orders being just you taking it light and being careful not to bonk your head against anything, as well as taking care of the laceration on your leg— changing the bandage frequently every morning and night, satoru insisting he help you with that and with many other things that you needed as he tried to make up for what he still thought was his fault.

two weeks had gone by of just rest and peace and no figure skating, thinking you and satoru deserved this break, but also secretly petrified of stepping on the ice again after what had happened— neither of you wanting to hurt the other as you avoided the topic of training for the meantime at all costs.

“maybe we should work at a water park.” you suggested one day, the two of you seated on a park bench through the chilly mid january air as you shared a plate of chocolate drizzled strawberries you got from some nice lady and her fruit stand. “be lifeguards!”

“oh hell no!” he spoke with his mouthful before swallowing, readjusting the black round sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “you think i’m gonna be fine with watching random old men savoring after my wife in her little red bikini while i’m off saving some drowning kid? oh no thank you. let the kid drown.”

“toru!” you laughed, smacking his shoulder. “okay then what else?”

“janitors.”

you shrugged. “i like to clean. sometimes.”

“and your entire body is covered in those jumpsuits no stinky old men looking at—”

satoru’s phone buzzed against his jeans and he paused and pulled it out as you giggled, him barely glancing at the caller i.d before answering.

“hello?”

you mindlessly carried on plopping strawberries in your mouth and chewing.

“this is he…. oh hello! yes! how are you?”

you eyed satoru quizzically at his sudden formal change in tone, his eyes glued to the cement below.

“uh huh… really? o—okay! no yes for sure! thank you so much for the opportunity!”

opportunity?

you slowed your chewing and nudged his shoulder gently, wanting him to give you some kind of sign as to who it was on the other line.

“okay, we’ll keep in touch! thank you again!”

satoru slowly removed his phone away from his ear as the other line went dead, staring at his screen and you curiously leaning over only to see his call history log, a random number at the top.

“holy fuck.”

“what?!” you leaned in closer and tried to catch his eyes with yours, his shocked wide gaze slowly flittering to your face.

“that was the national olympic committee.”

you froze.

“shut the fuck up.” you covered your mouth. “toru what did they say what did they say—”

“one of the pairs that made it in the top three got disqualified.” he spat out quickly, shooting up and digging his fingers into his hair as he walked back and forth slowly in disbelief, spinning to face you. “i— i don’t know why i didn’t ask but we got bumped up.”

silence.

“we—” your chest rose and fell erratically, eyes darting around as satoru knelt down and grabbed your hands.

“baby we made it.” he tightened his grip. “we’re competing in the olympics—”

you squealed and jumped up and down and pulled satoru in, the both of you comically bouncing off the walls as you wailed and cried and blabbered on about how you couldn’t believe it and how a chance like this was even given to you, satoru lifting you and spinning you around but stopping and freaking out and apologizing profusely over your injured leg, you shaking your head and laughing, kissing him in return.

“we can’t avoid skating toru.” you spoke once you and him had settled down. “it’s literally what brought us together… and what brought us to aki. and even from you spinning me around like that it reminded me how much i missed skating with you.”

“i feel the same sweets.” he smiled, big and bright and handsome as he leaned over and kissed your rosy cheek. “i miss lifting you up and catching a glimpse of your ass underneath your—”

“toru!”

even though you and satoru were finally on board and accepting of bringing skating back into your lives, it wasn’t to say at all that the fear itself went away when you tried to do lifts or spins in the air with each other— apprehensive and scared as you practiced on the mats way more than necessary before moving choreography to the ice, satoru multiple times chickening out and needing a moment as he was petrified of hurting you again, and you glued in place at the thought of falling and slamming on the ground when you had just survived mostly unscathed.

but this wasn’t the time to be afraid over that anymore, and if akira were here, you both knew she’d smack you upside the heads and tell you to move… to get on the ice and do the sport you both loved and cherished most.

to finalize your dream and make it a reality.

and throughout the month that you and satoru spent before the commencement of the olympics, you trained like never before— no excuses as you worked tirelessly day and night with sweat literally dripping from your faces until every single goal was met and beyond, until every single throw from satoru was perfected and until every axel from you was delivered.

sometime during this month too, satoru finally got to take you out on that romantic candle lit dinner like he promised and asked you to be his girlfriend, him giddy and grinning the whole time and literally spoiling the moment as he meant to give you a chocolate dessert plate that said ‘will you be mine’ in chocolate syrupy letters, but accidentally eating it and smearing the words when he confused your plate with his, smacking his forehead repeatedly on the dining table as the silverware clattered— muttering about how dark it was and how he couldn’t fucking see, but you laughing so fucking much and clutching your stomach that your makeup smudged up at the corner of your eyes.

satoru was reminded again how much he loved you that day, because anyone else would’ve gotten tremendously annoyed and called him an idiot, but you…

you just giggled. giggled and hiccuped like always while he stared at you softly.

the love you and satoru shared stretched far beyond the concepts of what a platonic and romantic relationship was.

the love you and satoru shared was sacrifice. genuine sacrifice and yearn and absolute unadulterated love as you both without another thought would drop your careers for each other, would swap places if it meant the other would be safe from harm’s way, and would endure years of swallowing and pushing back feelings if it meant just keeping one another in your lives forever.

because that’s what birds of a feather was for to begin with.

a promise to stick together. a promise to keep each other safe.

a concept so pure and devoted that it translated onto the ice like no other pair when it came time for the olympics.

“you ready sweets?” satoru breathed out as you both stood in front of each other by the outside of the rink with interlaced fingers, shaking each other’s jitters out. “no matter what happens, we’ve already come so far and done so much, okay? we’ve done what we needed to do.”

“mhm!” you quickly nodded, satoru leaning down before you both rested your foreheads against each other’s with massive smiles on your faces, thunderous cheers echoing throughout the giant arena totally drowned out in your ears as you stared into satoru’s sparkling blue eyes.

“make aki proud.” you repeated softly, and he nodded, you hoping once again she was watching over you both.

you both stuck your pinkies out at the same time and looped them together.

“birds of a feather?” satoru beamed.

“birds of a feather.”

and you kissed your thumbs before sealing your promise.

you both watched the pair that you were going right after perform their routine, beautiful and difficult as you gnawed at your bottom lip in distress.

“toru…”

“yeah baby?”

“some of these pairs are crazy good…” you spoke over the music. “i’d honestly be happy with getting in the top twenty i don’t know if we can—”

satoru scoffed and shook his head, a sly smile as he looked over the rink with his arms crossed.

“nah, we’d win.”

and just like akira had done in her final olympic year— in her final moments, you and satoru made it known that it was your debut, that you had been hungry and desperate for this moment since the ages of six and seven, that you’d been raised and trained by a four-time olympic gold medalist for a decade as you executed the most technical and intricate moves and turns, you and satoru moving as one on the ice and identical as he took your hands and glided on the ice with you, raw emotion in your expressions that read love so clearly that it was impossible to miss.

with each lift, with each time satoru took you in his arms and spun, and with each time he simply held you close and tenderly to his chest as his blades scrapped across the ice with your pretty bows in his view— were all reminders for the two of you that partner figure skating was nothing without satoru and nothing without you.

the privilege of having another way to convey just how much you loved each other through the language of artistic expression and skates and ice, through the feel of each other’s skin, was one you nurtured and looked after and loved as the wind whipped through you and satoru due to the speed of your skates, performing quadruple axels like nothing while dropping the jaws of other figure skating pairs.

and because of this fact alone, how you both truly appreciated each other’s entities and had the indescribable power to correlate that into competitive sport—

was the reason why you and satoru won gold that day.

you and him, on your knees, gripping and hugging one another so hard and crying tears of joy as you both had come so far and gone through so much to get to where you were now, your dream now a complete and total reality as you stepped up onto that podium during the medal award ceremony just like akira had done— representing your country excellently with a big fat gold medal hung over your necks and a big fat kiss from satoru as he lip locked with you up there, flashings of cameras and bouquets and teddy bears scattered all throughout the ice in dismay.

“i love you!” satoru yelled to you over the roaring as you waved at the crowd, your mothers crying and blowing their noses and taking pictures from the edge of the rink as you and satoru cackled and pointed at them.

“i love you, toru!”

“no like seriously!” he put his waving hand down. “i wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. thank you for recognizing that i have love and dreams too baby and for not forgetting about me even when i’ve been the most annoying dipshit of your life.”

“you’ve never been that to me my god toru! where is this coming from?” he hopped off the podium once you two were given the all clear and he held a helping hand out for you to take, you doing so and carefully stepping down.

“reeaally?” he cheesed, cheeky and silly as his big pearly white smile made your cheeks flush. “so you love me then?”

“i literally would not be with you if i didn’t—”

“hooray!” he cheered, throwing his arms up as flower petals flew from his bouquets and around. “my girlfriend loves me! and we’re gonna have rough passionate olympian sex in our hotel room—”

“toru!—”

the love you and satoru shared wasn’t something silly like ‘i like you, you like me.’

it was call me when you get home.

have you eaten yet?

here, let me help you.

whatever you need.

yours and satoru’s souls were exactly the same— blended, intertwined, and stubbornly knotted together as no amount of tug and pull could unravel you both apart, satoru finding over the years that loving you was like muscle memory from the moment he met you, his nerves and reflexes gravitating him towards you on the ice that first time even when he knew there was a huge chance of him slipping and falling, but not being afraid of it at all as long as he just got to you, convinced he knew you in another life as you just felt so familiar the moment he saw your pretty little face.

and you’re so glad that he did get to you… that he stayed with you.

fourteen years of ice cream trips and sleepovers and horror movies from the moment you were teeny tiny babies to adults, experiencing the hardships of your teenage years of loss and grief, to then adulthood and college as you had the privilege of learning to navigate it with another being that was just like you, two little birds with no sense of direction other than to each other.

and it was all thanks to one woman and one woman alone.

“i honestly believe that if she was there, she would’ve brought one of those confetti poppers with dye in it and set it off.” you commented, you and satoru sitting on the grass at her grave site as you leaned your head on his shoulder and his head on top of yours, having literally just come off the plane from being at the olympics— your countries olympic button up thick jackets adorning your figures as your gold medals gleamed radiantly against the sun.

“i wish she was there.” satoru hummed, and you nodded softly in agreement.

“me too… but i’m sure she was! as a little birdie.”

he chuckled, finding your hand and interlacing your fingers as you stared at her tombstone like you’d done so many times before already… except this time it was bittersweet, you having accomplished what the three of you had strived so hard for at last.

“i miss her.” you murmured. “i miss her cussing.”

your eyes flickered down to her peace offerings, the little snow angel trinket you had gotten her still pretty and glossy and her as it sat happily on her stone platform.

satoru picked his head up and kissed the top of your head, propping his chin up on it.

“i miss her too baby.” he responded softly. “everyday.”

“but�� i can’t thank her enough for giving us the bullets to fire with for skating.. y’know..” you ran the pad of your index finger along her tombstone, rough and scratchy as you traced little hearts along the edges.

“and she brought us closer together, did she not?” satoru pointed out.

she did.

a woman who was clumsy and loud and erratic with the biggest potty mouth you had ever heard that was passed down to you and satoru in the blink of an eye… but man did she know what love was as she taught it to you and reminded you both of exactly what it was each and every day.

you and satoru had accepted the fact that your hearts would never be whole again, for akira had taken half of them elsewhere and into the depths of the unknown.

but you were okay with that. completely and utterly okay with that.

for love had no limits.

you wanted her to keep it, as you and satoru stitched the remaining halves of your hearts together to create a new whole, as there was no one else you both would rather have that part of you with them forever besides akira.

and yours and satoru’s stitched up hearts grew increasingly bigger and fonder even after a couple of years later, even after winning three more olympic gold medals, you and him back at the same place in front of akira’s grave like always, sitting and laughing and chatting— but with two little baby toddlers that were half of you and half of satoru as they blubbered on about ‘mama aki’ and her trophies, a delicate twinkling ring on your finger and a golden band around satoru’s as your little family had a picnic over her final resting place.

“papa!” your son exclaimed, satoru immediately turning his attention to him in the midst of scarfing down a turkey sandwich.

“yes my offspring?”

you playfully glared at your husband.

“why do your eyes look scarier in the day?”

“HAH!” you slapped a hand over your mouth to hush your cackling, satoru’s face absolutely taken aback and offended.

“they do!” your daughter giggled. “they do! they do!—”

“baby do something!” satoru whined, shoulders slumping as he threw his head back. “i’m being bullied by five year old’s!”

you giggled and kissed his cheek, his pout quickly turning into a soft little grin as his face flushed pink.

“but your papa’s eyes are pretty you guys! and they match yours!”

“mmm— nope! scary!”

your two twin toddlers giggled uncontrollably as they thought being mean to their dad was the funniest thing in the world, you laughing with them as satoru flopped back dramatically and completely laid down on the grass with his eyes looking straight up at the bright sky.

“s’okay.” he spoke flatly. “if even my pretty little wife thinks my suffering is funny i’ll just burn my eyes to a crisp—”

“toru!” you slapped his knee. “too graphic in front of the kiddies.”

“but my suffering!—”

“mommy mommy!” your daughter tugged at your sleeve and pointed to the top of akira’s tombstone, a cute perfect white and brown bird perched up on the edge and peering curiously at the four of you, the creature not alarmed whatsoever of your children’s sudden movements as they scrambled to get closer to it.

satoru propped himself up with an elbow and stared before you both locked eyes, knowing growing smiles on your faces as he fully sat up— leaning and planting a gentle kiss to your forehead, letting it linger.

aki.

and it was like you and satoru were reminded again of your promise that you still told each other every day.

a promise that consisted of your years together… of your love, of your undying fervor of sticking together, of your need of keeping each other safe…

of birds of a feather.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @umemiaa @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs @drftnzume @k0z3me @k4zivy @dindjarins1ut @starrnai @tinyray-lovesfood @iloveoldermenn @dazqa @applepi25 @aria-chikage @rose-tinted-kalopsia @runfrme @unofficialsapphire

[xoxojisu]

CRASHOUT CENTRAL!

synopsis: katsuki has no idea if you like him or not

notes: bubbly + affectionate reader. umm implied hetero girl i think? but could also apply to not hetero i have no idea im sorry im just writing. idk if men crashout the way girls do but i like to think so. a lot of excessive unnecessary swearing bc it's katsuki. this is so ooc bc lets be fr when does katsuki talk abt *puke* feelings

he’s pacing.

shirtless. agitated. hair all mussed from his own frustrated hands.

kirishima’s lying on his bed with his hands behind his head, watching his best friend spiral for what has to be the third time this week.

“she said i smelled good,” katsuki huffs, whirling around. “who says that? who just..! says that to someone?”

“people who think you smell good?” kirishima offers helpfully.

katsuki glares at him like he’s the dumbest person alive. “she said it while huggin' me. and she said it in that sweet fuckin' singsongy voice.”

“right.”

“and then laughed when i didn’t say anything back. all fuckin' giggly and stupid.”

“you like when she’s giggly and stupid,” kirishima points out.

katsuki makes a noise in his throat. “not when i’m trying to figure out if she’s in love with me or just likes everyone.”

kirishima hums. “well. she is kind of a naturally affectionate person.”

“exactly!” katsuki snaps, flinging his arms out. “what if i’m just one of her little fuckin'.. plushies she likes huggin' or some shit? what if she’s going around being all sweet and smiley with everyone and i’m here thinking she wants to marry me? like, seriously. i've seen her cuddle with fuckin' pinky and round cheeks too, and she's always so.. giggly! and when i think she's flirting, she says it so fuckin' casual. like it's nothing. and i must be fuckin' delusional to think that it's anything more.”

kirishima snorts. “well, ashido and uraraka are both girls. and she doesn’t cuddle me the way she cuddles you.”

katsuki freezes.

“…you think?”

“bro, she lies on top of you like you’re a mattress. more than that, she like really curls in to you. no one does that platonically. that's just not a thing.”

katsuki makes another miserable groaning sound and throws himself down into the beanbag chair like he’s been wounded. he drags his hands down his face, muffling a scream into his palms.

“i don’t know anymore,” he mutters. “she calls me ‘kats’ like it’s just a nickname but then she’ll say it in that soft fuckin' voice like it’s something else. she’s always touching me and smiling and calling me cute but she does it so casually, like it’s just her being her. i don’t know what’s real. i don’t know if i’m hallucinating. i think i’m losing my goddamn mind. like, it's the tone. she goes all 'aweee, thanks kats!' in that stupid fuckin' sing-songy tone. i hate it! fucking..!” kirishima has no idea what katsuki's trying to punch to death. the air, maybe?

after watching him flop around like a dying fish for a moment, he offered gently, “why don’t you just ask her how she feels?”

katsuki sits up. furious.

he says nothing, but kirishima can tell what he's trying to say just from his look.

“well then,” kirishima shrugs. “guess you’ll just have to keep suffering.”

and katsuki does. every time you brush your fingers over his knuckles or play with his hoodie strings or grin at him from across the room with that stupid sweet look in your eyes, he suffers. quietly. dramatically.

because he wants you to mean it so badly.

but he has no idea if you do.

masterlist

[landopoet]

dada's girl.

pairing lando x reader

synopsis an unexpected pregnancy, the journey through milestones and a race day with dada's girl.

warnings just some cute, long awaited norris family fluff <3

author’s note here's the dad!lando i promised heheh, hope you enjoy! special thanks to @clovermoters for always being there to proofread and help me get my creativity flowing with her ideas. highly recommend you check out her dad!lando (and other!!) stuff, it's as great as herself

₊ ⊹

Lando never knew he wanted to be a dad until 3:05 pm on a random Tuesday in June. 

He was sitting on the couch, eating whatever you had started for lunch that day, before you started feeling ill and he had to take over. What you planned to be a delicious pasta dish for that day had turned into a burnt… something… on Lando’s plate. The guilt of ruining your food made Lando promise to buy you some takeout once you felt better.

You had gotten increasingly nauseous and felt weak nearly every day for the past two weeks, but Lando figured it was just the flu so he brought you tea and some chicken noodle soup (ordered in) every once in a while. 

“Lando!”

Your voice echoed down the halls from you two’s bedroom and he paused his show before jogging over, ready to get you the world. What he saw when he opened the door made his heart swell— you looked like a shell of yourself, all pale and weak underneath the sheets. 

“What do you need, angel?” He sat down next to you, gently placing the back of his hand on your forehead to check if you had a fever. 

You sat up, taking his hands in yours before taking a deep breath. “I need you to buy me something.” 

“Anything.” He nodded, paying attention. What he didn’t expect to hear was pregnancy test as soon as he answered you. “A what?” 

“Pregnancy test,” you repeated. “Just in case. I don’t want to scare you into anything, but we also can’t be unprepared if that’s the case.” 

“You mean if you’re pregnant,” he hums, completely lost in thought. “I, uhm, I gotta get a shirt on and I’ll go get you the, uh. The pregnancy test.”

Lando flailed around your bedroom like a headless chicken, looking for a shirt to pull over his naked chest, his hips already covered by black shorts. He tugged on a Quadrant hoodie and looked over to you, about to say something. You raised your eyebrows to encourage him, but he just turned around and ran out of your bedroom, closing the door behind himself. 

He’s not even sure how he got to the pharmacy. All he remembers is calling Max frantically from the car on his way home.

“Dude, are you okay? You look insane.” Lando’s best friend laughed through the screen. When he noticed his curly haired friend simply glancing over at his phone with worry, Max furrowed his brows. “Seriously, what’s going on?” 

“Isn’t it crazy how, like, someone peeing on a stick could potentially change your whole life? Like I know more goes into that and, like, stuff happens before the pee stick, but isn’t it insane to you?” Lando rambled. 

“Mate, pee stick?” Max looked confused. It’s only when Lando held up the little pink box that he finally understood. “Oh, you think she’s pregnant?” 

“No, she thinks she’s pregnant. I was watching Dexter and she just called for me, and then I’m-“ 

“Lando, breathe.” Max cuts him off. “It’s okay, you two are at a great place in your relationship right now to start planning for these things, if this turns out to be just a pregnancy scare.” 

“Are we? I mean, am I even ready to be a dad?” Lando continued freaking out, the car already parked at the garage. “I’ve never even thought about kids, and this is just-“ 

“How about you go inside, go be there for her, and if it turns out that you will be a dad, then you call me and freak out, okay?” 

Lando was about to bite off his whole finger with how aggressively he was nibbling at the skin around his nails. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later.” 

It took him another ten minutes before he got himself out of the car. He was dreading it. He wasn’t sure what you were thinking about it, either, so he didn’t know whether or not his lack of excitement was because he was scared for himself or for you. 

You knew he would never force you into anything you didn’t want to do, but motherhood? That’s not something Lando could imagine was easy to be in or get out of. Hell, he couldn’t imagine what the next nine months would be like for you. Especially with how he’s away for most of the time.

Maybe that’s what he’s most scared of.

He knows you’d be a great mum and he could be a good dad if he tried, but his career could interfere with this. 

Lando liked how you would sometimes pick to come and visit him during race weekends, especially at Silverstone or Monaco, but what if that’ll have to stop and he’ll only get to see you a few days every month? 

The fear of being a present but physically absent father shook him to his core. 

He was still scared and trying to stop biting his fingers as he watched you open the bathroom door. “So?” 

“We have to wait five minutes,” you told him before sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. He noticed your shoulders shake before you let out a quiet sob. “Sorry, I’m just-“ 

“Shh, it’s okay,” his arms instinctively wrapped around your body as he pulled you in, all the fear from his just gone the second you needed him. “I know you’re probably terrified.” 

“Yeah,” you sobbed into his shoulder. “I know I should be happy, but I’m so scared.” 

“You shouldn’t be anything other than you are, babe.” His hand came up to caress your head, like he knew you liked him to do. “I’m fucking scared to death right now, and I honestly feel better knowing you didn’t expect me to be happy.” 

“No, I know. This could fuck up your whole career,” you pulled away, wiping your eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, no, what?” Lando’s face changed from worried to confused. “Don’t even think like that and don’t apologise. It’s kind of both of our fault if we’re having a baby.” 

That’s when he saw you dart up from your seat and practically throw yourself towards the bathroom. He followed you closely, leaning on the doorframe to your en-suite bathroom, his bottom lip between his teeth as he anxiously nibbled at it. 

Lando couldn’t exactly read your expression. He couldn’t tell if you were looking at a positive or a negative, your face was just frozen in the expression you had when you looked at it. “So?” 

Your bottom lip quivered as you turned the little plastic stick towards him. 

“We’re having a baby?” He took it into his own hands, hastily, eyes darting between the two lines on the test and the nervous look on your face.

“We’re having a baby.” You nodded, a sad smile decorating your face as you welled up in tears again. 

Lando’s not sure what changed, but in that split second, he felt an overwhelming amount of joy pump through his system. His face erupted into a wide grin as he picked you up and spun you around. 

“We’re having a baby!” 

— november

The bedroom door opened to reveal your boyfriend with a small smirk on his face. 

“What have you bought this time?” 

He raised his arms in offense. “What do you mean? Why does me entering the bedroom have to mean that I bought something again?” 

“Because you have that look on your face. The one that tells me you bought something, and I won’t know if it's a new car or a tub of ice cream until you tell me.” You rubbed your little bump as a thought came to your head. “Oh, ice cream. Could you get some? Caramel, please.” 

“Yeah, sure, later. And you’re right,” Lando finally revealed what he was hiding behind his back. It was a small, turquoise, paper bag with a pacifier logo on it. “I did buy something.” 

You watched closely as he dumped the content of the bag onto your bed. He lifted up each article of clothing one by one, showing you what he picked out with a proud smile on his face. 

“Aren’t these cute?” He asked, glancing over at the laid out onesies, shirts and socks on the bed. “I got them for like four to six months, cause I heard they grow out of newborn clothes, like, immediately.” 

“That’s sweet, angel,” you smiled at him. “But we don’t even know the gender yet and you’ve already bought the baby their whole wardrobe.” 

“No, I know.” Lando nodded. “That’s why they’re all either green, yellow or papaya,” he said the last colour with a wiggle of his eyebrows, which made you roll your eyes and laugh. 

“You’re lame.” 

He leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead. “And you’re beautiful. What does baby want for dinner?” 

Lando developed a habit of speaking to you through the baby now. It was honestly adorable— he’ll wake up in the morning, a hand softly caressing your belly as he asks how did the baby sleep, which in truth is asking how you slept. It was lame, but cute. 

“Ice cream. Caramel.” You remind him. “And maybe some chicken with rice.” 

“Ew, are you trying to be healthy?” Lando grimaced. “That’s like what I eat for race weekends to be all fit and stuff. You need to eat nutritious and filling meals.” 

“Is chicken not nutritious or filling?” You crossed your arms, challenging him. 

He shrugged. “I don’t think that’s what the baby wants.” 

He knew your little tricks and habits. You would spend a little too much time on pregnancy blogs online, reading into their nonsense about how much or little you should eat, and what you should or shouldn’t eat. 

You had already had some doctor visits and Lando had made sure to ask if you needed any dietary changes, to which your doctor said no. So, Lando knew that you being a health-freak again meant you were in your head, and he wasn’t wrong.

When you finally dropped your shoulders in defeat, he smiled softly. “Yeah. Baby wants fries and nuggets.” 

“Coming right up,” he waltzed out of the bedroom, leaving you to fold all the new baby clothes and put them in the dresser Lando had built for them. It stood right next to the crib, of course. 

Lando was a little over prepared at a really early time, but it made you that much more excited to see him become a father. 

You know he’ll do great, even if he spends about half his money on baby stuff.

— august

It’s a few months after your daughter was born and you have yet to fully get the hang of parenthood. 

She’s amazing— little Maryn Grace Norris, a head full of hair and the chubbiest little cheeks known to man. Lando fell in love with her the second he saw her, his eyes welling up in tears when they laid her on his bare chest for the first time. 

And you fell in love with him all over again seeing how he carried Maryn in one arm and prepared a bottle with his other. He was tired, hair messy and a yawn left his system as often as a breath at this point, but still— fatherhood looked gorgeous on him. 

Lando thought the same about you. His heart grew twice the size when little Maryn was born, and he admired how you immediately knew what to do to make Maryn feel content.

Since it’s already been a few months since her birth, you two decided to let friends and family come visit. The first two people who wanted to see little Maryn were Max and Pietra. 

The pair came bearing many gifts, of course, and you had to put them all in the spare guest room since your bedroom had an abundance of baby products in it already. 

You and Pietra sit on the couch, watching how Maryn slept soundlessly in your arms. There’s distant chatter from the kitchen where Lando and Max are discussing racing stuff and preparing dinner, so you three decided to head to the living room and watch a show.

“She’s so tiny,” Pietra softly tucked her finger into Maryn’s tiny palm. “Is she always this calm?”

“Most of the time, yeah. She gets fussy at night, but Lando’s always up with her.” You look towards the kitchen, a small smile on your face as you watch your fiance stir the pan. He’s always shirtless, because Maryn immediately calms down when she feels the warmth of his skin— something she probably would’ve gotten from you if it was genetic— and his back muscles were on full display.

“What?” Pietra notices your gaze lingering for a while and once she sees who you’re looking at, she snorts. “Are you thinking about another one?”

“Another what?” You snap out of your tiny daydream and turn to her. “Baby? No, definitely not.”

“Mhm,” she gives you a knowing look and takes a sip of her wine. “I’ll give it a year or two before we have another copy of Lando running around.” 

“We’ll see,” you look down at the sleeping girl in your arms. She began to fuss a little, rubbing her nose with her fist and threatening to cry. 

In a few more minutes, Lando waltzes into the living room with a new glass of wine for Pietra and one for you. “Non-alcoholic,” he says, placing the glass down in front of you. “Now gimme my girl.”

You gently lift her up and hand her off to Lando, and of course, the second her cheek lays against his bare chest, she’s calm again. Pietra’s eyes widened. “You weren’t lying.”

“I know!” You pick up your glass and take a sip. “He’s like magic or something.”

As Lando walks away back towards the kitchen, he briefly turns his head towards the two of you with a proud smile. “She’s just a daddy’s girl.”

Both you and Pietra roll your eyes before continuing your conversation.

— march 

It’s the middle of the day and Lando was helping you get Maryn ready to go visit your parents.

The little one was now ten months old, babbling about things only she could understand, but Lando found it entertaining to have full-on conversations with her, as if she could respond in any intelligible way.

He was getting her dressed when Maryn started babbling again.

“Yeah? You like this dress, huh?” He smiles down at her. “I bet your grandma will love it, too.”

You were in the bathroom, curling your lashes when Lando suddenly called out for you. When you walked out into your bedroom, he was holding your daughter with a little glimmer in his eye. “She just said dada.”

“No way,” you gasp. When you’re close enough, Maryn reaches her arms towards you and you pick her up into your embrace. “Did you? Is my big girl about to start talking?”

She starts babbling again, poking at your face and playing with her fingers. In the midst of her babble, she says dada again, and your eyes immediately shoot to Lando. “I told you! I knew she’d be a dada’s girl.”

“That’s just unfair, I spend so much time with her!” You sigh in defeat before turning to your daughter. “C’mon, you got this. Say mama.”

Maryn just looks down at her fingers and how she’s grasping her own hands in an odd way. She babbles again, blowing raspberries as you lay her down on the changing table.

Lando walks up behind you and places a kiss on your shoulder, before harmoniously announcing, “dada’s girl,” as he walks away.

“I don’t know how you do it, Mar,” you look at your daughter again, a wide grin on her face as she continues talking to you in a language only her little mind can understand.

— june

Dulcet sounds of your favourite songs play through the kitchen as you prepare lunch for you and Maryn. Lando’s out to golf with Max, so you two decided to have a little girls day. 

She’s playing in the living room when you turn around to the pans for just a minute. You can hear the pitter patter on the floor and assume it’s her tiny palms as she crawled over.

Maryn was a traveller, she enjoyed playing in the dirt and sand, and crawling through your backyard to find rocks and flowers. And she was a huge daddy’s girl. To the point where she would start crying if she hadn’t seen Lando in more than an hour. 

Today, however, she didn’t seem to be too bothered by his absence.

When you turn around, you see her sitting on the floor in the spot between your kitchen and living room. “Are you coming to mama?” You kneel down and watch as Maryn begins crawling to you.

What you don’t expect to see is her stand up on two feet and steady herself, eyes focusing on you as she held herself up with a hand on the wall. She was determined to make her way toward your outstretched arms, and so she did.

Maryn took one step, and then another, and then three, four, five, until she slumped into your arms with a giggle. 

“Oh my god,” you kiss her head as you pick her up. “Your dada will be so happy.”

As if on cue, the front door opens and Maryn’s head whips to the source of Lando’s cheery voice. He steps into the kitchen with a grin on his face, “my two favourite girls,” he kisses your temple and takes Maryn into his arms. 

You decided to not tell him that she already took her first steps and instead let Lando experience them himself without expecting it. You’re not sure how long it’ll be till she decides to walk again, but you’re sure it’ll spark that same excitement in Lando’s chest as it did in yours. 

It took her a few more days, and a week before her first birthday, to take her second-first-steps.

Lando was sitting on the couch watching an old race of his, you were in the kitchen preparing a snack for your little girl while she sat and played on the playmat in the hall between you two. Lando would glance over at her every once in a while to keep an eye on what she was doing, but Maryn has always been a calm girl so there was no worry there.

“What’s on the menu today?” Lando asks when you set down the plate on your coffee table. He has a habit of stealing a few bites of Maryn’s snack once in a while, which eventually made her understand that he was also hungry when she was, so she’d immediately share her food when he’s in sight. 

You smack his hand away when he reaches over to take a cucumber off her platter. “Leave her food alone, she hasn’t even had a bite yet.” Lando sighs in defeat and looks at Maryn when you call her name. “Maryn, come have your snack.”

Lando’s heart skips a beat when the girl pushes herself up to stand on her legs. He softly touches your shoulder, “babe, look.”

Maryn lets go of the wall, her balance still off for the most part, but she reaches her arms towards you two and waddles a few steps over to the coffee table. Lando’s beaming and jumps out of his seat to pick Maryn up and spin her in the air. “My big girl can walk!”

You watch as Maryn erupts in giggles and Lando kisses her face, a warmth in your chest so big it could replace the sun.

— a year later

The paddock was buzzing with people and Maryn grew more and more anxious in Lando’s arms.

You walked beside them when Maryn tucked her head into the crook of Lando’s neck. “You okay?”

“Loud,” she mumbles, snuggling closer to hide her face from the sun. Maryn was now two and a half years old, and made her first paddock appearance today.

She had already met a few of the drivers and found them all incredibly funny, and all of them adored her. Maryn had grown into her personality— she’s curious, funny, caring and silly. She pulls funny faces when she notices someone’s sad, gives pieces of her food to you and Lando when she’s eating, makes jokes without even realising it and asks questions about everything. 

The three of you make your way to the McLaren garage and all the engineers beam at the sight of Maryn. 

“Alright, you two can stay right here while I go get ready,” Lando pressed a quick kiss to your lips and softly pinched Maryn’s cheek before making his way to where he needed to be. 

Maryn watched as her dad walked away and gently placed her head on your shoulder. “Where is dada?”

“He has to change into his special clothes for the car, remember?” You look down at the curly-haired blonde girl and she nods an answer to your question. “He’ll be back in a bit, don’t worry.”

The little girl just huffs a sigh and takes a look around the garage from where she’s sat on your lap. She can see all the aunts and uncles who work with her dad, noticing how all of them are dressed in the same colour as her— a small LN4 shirt sitting baggy on her torso. Maryn smiles to herself, believing that they are all matching her. 

“Mum?” Maryn glances up at you. You smooth a hand over her curls, knowing that whenever she says your name like that— soft, a little hesitant— she’s about to ask something important.

“Yes, love?”

“Why does dada have to go in the car?” she asks, blinking up at you with those green, wondering eyes that always seem to look right through to your heart.

“It’s his job,” you remind her, “he has to go fast and win the race. It’s kind of like a game.”

She rests her head against your chest, processing, as her tiny fingers play with the hem of her shirt. Then, in the smallest and most sweet voice: “Can I go fast too?”

You laugh softly, wrapping your arms around her, softly tickling her sides. “Maybe one day, but for now you get to sit with mama and watch daddy race.” Maryn giggles at that, leaning into your arms as she tries to wriggle out of your hold. 

One of the engineers comes by and hands her a tiny headset, custom-made just for her. She squeals when she recognizes it— she’s seen Lando wear one just like that. “Look, mum! I match again.”

“You do!” You grin a smile as wide as your daughter and softly adjust the headset to sit more snugly. “You look just like your dad.”

As if summoned by the sentiment, Lando appeared back in the garage, now clad in his orange race suit. Maryn spots him and immediately sits up, bouncing a little in your lap. “Dada!” She waves with both arms and Lando makes his way over. 

He picks her up from your lap with a soft peck to her forehead. “There’s my little racer,” he beams. “Ready to see me go fast?’

Maryn nods, enthusiastically. “Mhm! But, be careful, okay?” She curls into Landos’ embrace, awkwardly laying her head against his chest. 

“Of course, baby,” he softly caresses her back in an attempt to calm her. “I promise only safe speeds today, okay?”

You watch the two of them, softly smiling as the paddock noise blurs in the background. When one of the engineers informs Lando that he has to go, the curly-haired racer hands Maryn off to you and places a kiss on each head of his girls. 

“Go win this,” you tell Lando, smiling as he prepares to walk away. Maryn raises her arms in support, “go win, dada!”

“For my girls,” he nods, flashing the two of you a smile before tugging on his balaclava and disappearing further into the garage. 

Soon after, the race is about to begin and the garage springs to life—monitors flicker with telemetry, voices crackle through the headsets and engines roar as the cars exit the pitlane. You pull Maryn closer on your lap and adjust the volume on her headset, making sure it’s just low enough not to startle her, but high enough to hear her dada’s voice filter through. 

Her big, green eyes track every movement on the screens—all the colourful cars are displayed but she’s only looking for orange. When a McLaren appears on the screen, she narrows her vision to notice the helmet. She knows that uncle Oscar has a blue one, and her dada’s got a fleuro green. 

Excitement erupts in her whole body when she notices the green helmet, “there! That’s dada!” She squeals with such awe, as if she can’t believe that the superhero on the screen is the same man who tucks her into bed and sneaks her cookies when you’re not looking. 

You brush some curls away from her forehead and plant a soft, but proud, kiss on it. “Yep, that’s him. Look at him go.” 

For the next laps, Maryn sits still, as if her movement could, in any way, make a difference in the race. She thought that if she sat still, her dada could focus and win, so she did just that. In all truth, she was completely captivated. Maryn didn’t understand a thing about racing just yet, but she knew enough to know that when the aunties and uncles in orange start leaning forward, narrowing their eyes at the screen, her dada’s doing something incredible. 

And he was. 

Lando gains a position, going from p4 to p3. A cheer breaks out in the garage and Maryn shrieks with joy, mirroring the smiles on everyone's faces. 

“Did he win, mum?” she asks, looking up at you with curious eyes. 

“Not yet, love, but he’s getting there.” 

A few more laps pass and she begins to fidget, tired. You lay her against your chest and her thumb slips into her mouth like it does when she’s sleepy— a habit she formed soon after you took pacifiers away. Still, despite the noise of the garage lulling her to sleep, Maryn’s little eyes stay glued to the screen, watching Lando in quiet admiration. 

Then, in the last few laps, when Lando’s another position ahead and fighting for pole, the energy shifts. The entire garage sits still— hopeful, waiting. Maryn’s eyes flutter shut, no longer fighting the sleep as your eyes stay focused and your heart pounds, watching as the gap between Lando and the car ahead shrinks corner to corner. 

“Come on, Lan,” you whisper under your breath as you subconsciously caress the back of Maryn’s head. 

And on the very last lap— through a risky overtake and a perfectly timed sector— he does it. He gains the position and lands himself in first place. 

Maryn jolts awake at the noise of engineers cheering around her, and she quickly glances to the screen. “Mum, he won!” She grins widely, still sleepy but happy to be included once you tightly squeeze her into a hug. 

“He did!” You laugh, blinking away a tear or two. 

The cooldown lap passes in a blur of shared hugs and smiles, and Lando’s voice plays in the headsets, light and breathless. “This one’s for the two loves of my life waiting for me. I love you.” 

You feel your daughter sigh happily in your arms, waiting patiently for when her dad joins you two. Once the team helps him out of the car, Lando makes his way back to the garage, flushed and sweaty, but beaming. He barely gets his helmet off when Maryn starts running in your lap, her feet not even touching the ground yet. 

She wriggles out of your lap and sprints across the floor, arms raised for her dad to pick her up. Lando catches her mid jump, lifting her high in the air and twirling the two of them around before bringing her close. 

“You went so fast!” She beams. “And you were so brave!”

“I had to be,” he mirrors the same smile that’s on her face. “You were watching.” 

You join them when Lando walks over to you, heart full and eyes welled with happy tears. Lando leans in to kiss you and you meet him halfway. 

“She didn’t take her eyes off of you the whole time,” you murmur against his lips. 

“She's just like you, then.” He gives you a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes but still wrap an arm around his waist, hugging the two most important people in your life, surrounded by victory and love. 

Maryn tucks her head into the nape of Lando’s neck, cheek pressed against his race suit as she softly mutters, “I want to be fast, too. Just like you.” 

“You will be, princess. One day.” 

— 

It’s late by the time you get home. 

Your little girl is barefoot the second she gets through the door, padding down the hall to her bedroom, in search of her stuffie and blanket. You and Lando follow more slowly, shoes off, bags dumped at the door, the post-race adrenaline now wearing off, but still faintly buzzing in your limbs. 

Lando yawns as he drops down to the couch, one arm draped over the backrest as the other lays across his belly. “I think I aged six years today.” 

“You say that after every race,” you laugh, making your way to the kitchen. You grab a glass of water and lean your back against the counter, watching as he runs a tired hand down his face. 

Maryn returns with her blanket trailing behind her on the floor and a half-eaten bag of popcorn she must’ve hid somewhere in her bedroom. “Movie time,” she declares and plops herself down next to her dad like she owns the house. At this point, she kind of does. 

Lando raises a brow at you, helping her pull the blanket over her legs. “You approve of this?” 

“She’s almost three. She doesn’t ask for approval.” 

Maryn hums contently as she rests against Lando in her usual manner— one arm draped across his stomach, cheek pressed against his chest. “You won today.”

Lando kisses the top of her head. “That’s right. And who cheered the loudest?” 

“Me,” she mumbles through her best battle against sleep. 

You cross the room and join them, tucking your legs beneath yourself as you sit next to the two of them. None of you say anything for a while, letting the TV play a replay of the race on low volume as you closely observe every move. Maryn eventually stills completely, asleep, face soft and peaceful. 

Lando’s still absentmindedly playing with the ends of her curls when he says, “I used to think winning was the best part of this,” he nudges his chin at the TV. 

“And now?” You raise a curious brow. 

“Now it’s this,” he leans his head back against the couch, eyes half-lidded as exhaustion tugs at his features. “Coming home to you two. Even when there’s popcorn crumbs all over me and my back hurts.”

You shake your head with a laugh, softly nudging his thigh with your foot. “You’re getting soft, y’know.” 

“Probably am.” He looks at you— tired but content—and adds, “still wouldn’t change a thing.”

[delugyu]

by a string

summary: Yeonjun’s got a lot on his plate. Not only does he have to worry about being a star student, but he also has to be the city’s web-slinging hero. And a lab intern. And a semi-decent roommate. And a little bit in love with you.

pairings: yeonjun x fem!reader

word count: 18.9k

tags: fluff, smut (mdni), some angst, spiderman!yeonjun, his webs shoot from his actual wrists like tobey maguire’s spiderman, college au, yeonjun is a cute awkward charming nerd, inaccurate science stuff sorry, blood, physical violence, lots of spidey shenanigans, campy weird action scene teehee, small arguments

smut tags: making out, heavy petting, webs as cuffs LOLLL, thigh riding, edging, fingering, praise, unprotected sex, cum eating, oral (f rec.), yeonjun is so playful and such a tease

notes: omg she’s finally here!!! i am so excited to get this out to u guys hehe<3 tysm for all the love on the teaser, i hope spideyjjun steals ur heart. enjoy the fic !!!

Saving the city can suck sometimes. Homework sucks significantly more. If Yeonjun had the option to zip through the city chasing some bad guys instead of sitting here trying to finish his calculus assignment, he’d be flying out his window in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, responsibility is a virtue, and Yeonjun cannot swing through the city for no good reason.

The one good thing about this tedious, awful calculus homework is that if it’s hard enough, he always gets a text from you. His body springs to life when he hears his phone buzz, rushing to pick it up and check the notification.

[you] have u done the calc homework

[you] how do you solve #4 :(

Do most of your conversations revolve around your shared class? Yes. Does Yeonjun ever get tired of teaching you the concepts? No, never. In fact, he stretches out his explanations as long as possible to keep you talking to him longer. Yeonjun never knew before that math talk could make his heart flutter.

“So, does that make sense?” he asks after a long-winded explanation. He’s almost out of breath after spewing out so much math jargon, but being on a call with you for ten minutes has similarly breathtaking effects.

“Yeah. Thanks, Yeonjun.” He bites back a giggle upon hearing your words. “You should seriously be teaching this class,” you say with a laugh.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t—I mean, I’m—I’m more of a science guy,” he stammers out, lips tightening into a thin line at the embarrassment of stumbling over his own sentence. “Our professor’s pretty cool, too,” he adds as if that saves him at all.

“Is he? Maybe I should start going to his office hours,” you muse.

Oh. Well in that case, your professor sucks. Yeonjun can’t have you stop coming to him for math help; you’d never talk to him at all if it came to that!

“He’s not that cool,” Yeonjun says. You laugh, and he huffs out a short chuckle too.

“Noted. I’m gonna go now, but thanks for helping me. You’re the best.” Your praise goes straight to Yeonjun’s head, making him feel like the greatest man to ever live. He doesn’t even feel this accomplished after going out on his little spidey-missions.

He’s a beat too late to say goodbye or good night to you, the call already hanging up as he opens his mouth to speak. He melts into a puddle over his desk, sighing out as he plays back his conversation with you in his head. He thinks you have the prettiest voice he’s ever heard. You’re so smart, too. He never has to over exert himself to get you to understand, though he would happily do that for you.

He jolts up as his roommate walks into his dorm. Yeonjun glances at him quickly as he straightens out his posture, picking his pencil back up and returning to his homework.

“Hey,” his roommate, Soobin, greets quietly. Yeonjun didn’t know Soobin prior to this semester, but he’s been pretty nice. He’s very quiet, but very respectful of Yeonjun’s space. It’s much appreciated, considering Yeonjun’s hiding a few of his red and blue spandex suits in his closet.

“Hey. How was your day?” Yeonjun asks, only half-interested in the conversation.

He watches Soobin shrug from his peripheral as he slides off his shoes. “Normal,” he answers.

Yeonjun nods. “Cool.” The conversation kind of dies after that, which is fine. Soobin isn’t the most extroverted person, and Yeonjun doesn’t push him to talk more than he’s willing to. He sometimes forgets he even has a roommate with how quiet it gets in the room.

Yeonjun regains his focus a minute into the silence. His eyes widen when he realizes that there’s now a doodle of your face on his calculus homework—when did that get there..? His face heats up as he grabs an eraser from his desk’s drawer. Thank god he didn’t do this assignment in pen.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Yeonjun’s not really paying attention to the professor, finding more interest in taking quick glances at you. You’re wearing a different bracelet today. It’s really pretty—maybe he should compliment you on it. Is it weird to lean in and tell you that? Are you close enough where he can compliment you without looking weird and creepy?

He rests his head in his hand and starts doodling in his notebook, mindlessly scribbling on the page while he waits for the lecture to end. He thinks of quick conversational things to say, something to discuss in a few minutes when it’s time to pack your bags and leave. Interesting class, right? Who would’ve thought—Yeonjun looks up at the projector to see the professor’s notes—the shell method… would be so cool… Maybe he shouldn’t say that, actually.

He’s honestly better off not trying to strike up a conversation with you at all; the chances of it leading to total and utter embarrassment lean greatly towards one hundred percent. He just wishes he had a little more spine, or that he was naturally a little cooler. The only interesting thing about him is something he can’t even talk to you about, or with anyone at all.

Yeonjun barely registers it when the professor dismisses class. He steals one last glance toward you, lips parting like he finally built up the courage to speak, but the words build up in his throat and die on his tongue. He seals his lips and focuses his gaze back on his own things, closing his notebook and shoving it in his bag. It’s not worth it. He decides he’ll just keep his mouth shut.

“Hey Yeonjun?”

Yeonjun almost jumps out of his seat, and he has to fight away his nerves as he turns to you. You’re packing your things back into your bag, not even looking at him. A part of him thinks he might be hearing things until your eyes meet his, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah?” he responds, voice coming out strained. He clears his throat.

“We’re friends, right?” you ask. He blinks, feeling like this is some kind of trick. He analyzes your face, making sure there’s nothing snide or teasing hidden in your question. You look honest enough, which puts him at ease.

“Yeah, for sure.”

“I hope that’s not sarcasm,” you say, getting up from your seat and adjusting your bag over your shoulders.

“It’s not! Really, we’re friends,” he reassures. You walk past him and he follows, leaving the classroom and entering the busy hallway.

“Well, good. I wanted you to go with me somewhere.” Your statement is wildly cryptic, and it leaves Yeonjun’s mind whirling with the possibilities of what you might offer.

“Right now?” he asks. “I-I have class…” As much as he likes you, he really can’t risk dropping his grade due to missed attendance.

You laugh, “No, tonight. There’s this party, and I”—you keep talking, but Yeonjun barely registers it. He’s never partied in college before. What would he even do at a party? He can’t handle his drinks well, and he’s not sure how well he’d blend into that kind of environment. He’s scared he’d make a fool of himself.

As you leave the academic building, you turn to Yeonjun, raising a brow in question. You must have asked him for his confirmation. Yeonjun forces his brain to rack up a response.

“Could you text me the details..?” Yeonjun asks. You relax a little at his words, nodding happily. You pull out your phone, ready to text him now. Yeonjun feels his heart pounding. He catches sight of the time on your phone, noticing he’s only got five minutes until his next class. The hall he’s supposed to be in is at least a three minute walk from here.

“There,” you say, awarding Yeonjun with a grin so bright that being late to class might just be worth it. “I really hope to see you there.” You tilt your head a little, and Yeonjun feels starstruck.

“You will,” he promises mindlessly.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Yeonjun feared he might’ve been in trouble when his professor asked him to stay after class. Turns out, it’s something much worse.

“Yeonjun, do you think you could help in the lab later today?”

Yeonjun doesn’t think much before he nods. “Yeah, of course, how much later?”

“Around 6 this evening,” his professor answers. Yeonjun’s heart drops. That would be perfectly fine any other day, but he promised to go out with you today. Of course the party would start at the same time Yeonjun’s professor wants him to stop by the lab.

“I’m not sure I have the time,” Yeonjun says quickly, suddenly fidgety and feeling antsy to leave the room. “I’ve got this… thing to do.” His professor doesn’t look too convinced. Yeonjun wants to facepalm himself. Yeah, great excuse.

The professor sighs, but Yeonjun starts up again before his professor can say anything. “I can come in earlier! I’m free right now, so I could just go over after this.”

“The cells we’re working with need a full 24 hours in culture for the sake of our research. Are you sure you can’t push your plans forward? Or back?” he asks.

Yeonjun’s stomach twists with guilt. He knows he shouldn’t let his professor down. Yeonjun’s kind of counting on him to write his recommendation letter for a graduate program, too.

“I’ll push the plans back,” Yeonjun says, giving in. He hopes the dejection isn’t too evident in his voice. His professor smiles and pats Yeonjun’s shoulder in thanks. He half-listens as his professor gives him the usual rundown of what to do during and after the process, nodding along and holding back the frown that tries to tug at his lips.

When Yeonjun finally leaves the building, he lets out the heaviest sigh of his life. His shoulders sag, and he feels like he might be the unluckiest person in the world. You finally give him attention outside of just asking for homework help, and the universe just had to intervene. This is laughable. It’s also stupid. Annoying. Frustrating.

There’s a pout etched onto Yeonjun’s face as he walks back to his dorm. He’s got a couple hours until he needs to go to the lab, so maybe he can take a nap or tidy up his room a little. His head hangs low, gaze transfixed on the sidewalk, kicking along a small pebble that keeps him company on the way.

He only picks his head back up as he walks past a certain field of grass, one he often finds you sitting in. Sometimes you’re on your laptop, sometimes you’re taking notes in a textbook, but most of the time you’re just lounging and doing nothing. It’s almost inspiring. Yeonjun would probably benefit from relaxing and decompressing more.

You’re there, sitting cross-legged on the grass, peaceful and silent. You look up suddenly, making eye contact with Yeonjun. His face flushes, but before he can turn his head in embarrassment, you raise your hand and wave. Yeonjun almost stops in his tracks. You’re waving at him, acknowledging his existence yet again.

He smiles and waves back, failing to tame his heartbeat as he takes the sight of you in. He’s forced to look away when he nearly stumbles over the pebble he’s been kicking around—“Oh, shit!” he utters, quietly enough to not draw attention to himself.

He glances back at you casually, making sure you didn’t witness him tripping. Fortunately, you’re on your phone, no longer paying him any mind.

Back at his dorm, Yeonjun stands by his closet, contemplating what exactly to wear tonight. He also has to make sure his outfit is lab-friendly, so the loose sweater he’d been eyeing is a no-go. He sighs, looking at himself in the mirror. Maybe the t-shirt and jeans he’s wearing now will suffice.

Time passes slowly, slow enough for Yeonjun to clean his half of the room, make himself a small meal in the communal kitchen, and even read a chapter ahead in his calculus textbook. He almost feels relieved when his alarm sets off to go to the lab, eager to get his work over with.

He’s determined to get this done quickly enough to still see you tonight. The thought of letting you down the one time you ask him to hang out is almost painful. He imagines the frown you’d wear next time he sits next to you in class. He can’t let that happen; he has to make sure he gets to you.

He throws on his lab coat and adjusts the goggles to fit onto his face. He sighs as he grabs containers of various chemical compounds from the cabinet, leaving them on the counter as he fetches the other materials he needs. With everything set out in front of him, he grabs the petri dish of cells and glances at the procedural note his professor left.

Yeonjun’s done this enough times to get into the swing of things, so he’s not too concerned with double checking his every move. His bigger priority is getting this done as fast as possible so that he can get to you. Lab work is never particularly fun or interesting, so he passes the time thinking about you.

The smell of the chemicals burns Yeonjun’s nose a little, and he wonders for a second if he’d been zoning out too much. He picks up the procedural note and glances over the measurements again, making sure he’s been adding the right amounts of everything. If he does something wrong and messes with the cell culture, he risks not being allowed back in the lab. He should probably slow down a bit, even if it means making you wait longer.

He’s more careful throughout the rest of the process, pushing back the worries that he might’ve messed something up. He continues to reassure himself that everything’s okay as he finishes up his work, placing the lid back on the petri dish and storing it away. He writes the date and time on a piece of tape that he sticks onto the lid, then finally lets his body relax as he steps back.

He cracks his knuckles to alleviate the stiffness that had been building there and rolls his shoulders back, groaning at the soreness of his muscles. All the fine motor movements from working in a lab does a number on his arms and fingers.

He hears a rattle, and he turns quickly to make sure he didn’t knock anything over in his haste. His eyes scan the room, but nothing looks amiss. He shakes the feeling and sheds himself of his lab gear, eager to head to you at the party already.

It’s been over an hour, and the thought of you waiting so long for Yeonjun’s arrival strikes guilt inside his chest. He opens his phone to find the path he needs to walk to get to the house the party’s being held in, eyes bugging out when he sees that it’s a twenty minute walk from the lab. Shit, by then you’ll have been waiting an hour and a half for him to show up!

He groans, trying to think if there’s a better way to get to you. The buses around campus don’t stop at the street he needs to get to, and it’s not like he has one of those electric bicycles or scooters that everyone seems to love. He wonders now if it might be a worthy investment. He pouts and throws his head back, totally drained from everything happening today. His eyes land on the tops of the academic buildings and the tall trees overhead. Maybe there is another way to get there after all.

No, he shouldn’t. That would be way too reckless. He’s already gone through the whole power and responsibility spiel, and he’s not in the mood to get himself in trouble for acting rashly. But if no one sees…

He turns his head and scans for people in each direction. No one’s around. No one would know, and he really needs to get to the party before he makes himself look like an asshole. He checks for anyone one last time, then aims his wrist towards the sky.

“Yeonjun! What’s up!”

Yeonjun startles and brings his arm back to his side hastily. He whips around to see who’s talking to him and lets out a breath when he sees his friend who had just exited the lab building. “Taehyun, hey man,” he says, ignoring the anxious pounding of his heart. That was way too close. Lesson learned.

“Didn’t catch you at the physics meet last week. Everything alright?” Taehyun asks. Yeonjun really hopes this conversation doesn’t take too long. The last thing he needs is another ten minutes piled on top of how late he already is.

“I’m good, I was just”—controlling a fire set by some idiot arsonist, then trapping said arsonist with his webs until the cops arrived—“uh, kind of sick.”

Taehyun hums and nods. “Well, we missed you bro, hope you’re feeling better. I’ll see you around!” Yeonjun waves and returns the smile his friend gives him, then walks as fast as he can to the location you sent him. He manages to get there in fifteen minutes instead of twenty, only at the expense of heavy breathing like he just finished a marathon.

When he gets to the entrance, there’s two men Yeonjun has never seen in his life guarding the door. He almost scoffs. What is this, some kind of nightclub?

“You got the money?” one of the guys ask.

“What?” Yeonjun scrunches his brows and leans his head forward a little, thinking he might have misheard him.

“No money, no entrance,” the other man says.

“Dude, come on!” Yeonjun whines.

“House rules. Stop wasting our time and get out of line.”

“No, no, I’ll”—Yeonjun sighs, reaching into the back pocket of his pants to fetch out his wallet. “How much?” he asks. The men tell him, and he bites back the complaints that almost push past his lips. Yeonjun slaps the bills into the guy’s open palm. They finally open the door for him, and Yeonjun steps inside.

He’s taken aback by how many people are cramped into this place. The house is pretty big, but there’s at least a hundred people mingling around, which makes space tight. He squeezes past the crowd with muttered apologies, but no one seems to pay him any mind. He scans every room for you, but it’s a little hard to do it efficiently when there’s so many faces to check. A part of him fears you might’ve left already.

He pulls out his phone, ready to text you and ask, before he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns at the action and smiles when he’s met with your pretty face. “Hey, you!” you exclaim. “I thought you bailed on me.” There’s no real bite to your words, but it still makes Yeonjun frown.

“I’m sorry. I had to do this lab thing, and”—

“It’s alright, don’t explain. You’re here now!” you say. “Did you have anything to drink?”

Yeonjun shakes his head. “I don’t drink much.”

“Me either,” you say. You look out the window, then grab onto Yeonjun’s hand. His brain short-circuits, and he has to stop his eyes from going all dumb and wide. “It’s kinda stuffy in here. Let’s go outside.”

Yeonjun puts up no fight as you lead him out the back door, walking out into the yard. There’s almost as many people out here as there are inside, but the lack of walls means there’s more space to move. It’s much more breathable.

He takes quick glances at your face, trying to decipher what you’re staring so hard at. Your gaze is fixed on a small group of people just sitting and laughing. All the guys have girls in their laps, and a few girls stand around them, sipping their drinks. They all look happy. And drunk.

“Did you want to join them?” Yeonjun asks. He doesn’t know any of those people, but he’ll go if that’s what you’d like. It’s not like there’s much else to do when you’re not drinking or dancing.

The LED lights that line the house reflect in your eyes, making them dazzle extra bright. Your eyes dart to the group one last time before you shake your head. “Nah. Let’s just sit down and talk.” Yeonjun gladly obliges.

You find an empty spot to sit at, looking up at Yeonjun after you situate yourself. He laughs a little, “You really like sitting on the grass, huh?”

You smile at him and pat the ground next to you. “Don’t act like you’re too good to connect with nature.”

“It’s more about getting grass stains on my pants,” Yeonjun says, but sits beside you anyways.

You turn your head to him, and something about seeing your face this close makes it hard for him to keep eye contact. It’s quiet for a few seconds before you speak up, “So how come you said yes to the party?”

Something about your question strikes fear inside Yeonjun. Did you find him out? Do you know he likes you? Maybe this is some kind of humiliation ritual you’ve set him up for.

“Cause you asked,” he answers, voice a little meek as he fidgets with his hands in his lap.

“And if it was someone else who asked?”

Yeonjun thinks for a second, but he can’t come to an answer. “I don’t know. Like who?”

You hum and look into the crowd of people. Your head turns back to him after a couple seconds. “Like Yerim,” you say.

Yeonjun laughs as if the scenario is ridiculous, mostly because it is. Yerim would never even give him the time of day. She’s notorious for being cold to anyone who she isn’t interested in. Somehow, that seems to attract a bunch of guys to her. Not Yeonjun, though.

“No chance I’d go,” he says.

“So what makes me different?” you ask.

A lot of things. You’re nice, and you’re smart, and you’re down to earth, and you’re a beacon of warmth. Everything makes you different.

“Cause we’re friends,” he says instead. He wants to punch himself after the words leave him. This was his chance to flirt with you, yet he couldn’t even muster up the courage to give you a single compliment.

You nod. “I’m just asking cause… well, I guess I’m just surprised you agreed to come.” Your eyes meet his, warm and kind. “Thank you for that, by the way.”

Yeonjun’s stomach does flips when you look at him like that. “You’re welcome.” It goes quiet for a moment, so he continues, “I think this was worth handing over the last of my cash for.”

You burst out laughing. “They made you pay?! Why didn’t you just say you’re here with me?”

���I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he says. He bites his tongue after the words leave him. Who is he to assume there will be a next time? He hopes you don’t call him out on it.

“We should just go somewhere else next time. There’s a lot of places downtown that I want to visit,” you suggest, bumping his shoulder with yours. Yeonjun almost explodes.

“We should do that then,” he agrees. He’s not sure what suddenly drew you to him as more than some kind of tutor, but he thanks the universe for bestowing him with all this luck.

“There’s that bakery that opened a couple months ago,” you mention.

Yeonjun lights up. “Oh my god, I’ve been wanting to go there too!”

You squeal in excitement and clasp your hands together. “Let’s do that next. Tell me you’re free on Sunday,” you say.

“I don’t know, things come up last-minute sometimes. I’ll let you know.” It’s hard to make plans when he’s basically living a double life. Then again, he did agree to going out with you tonight on a whim. He’s not very consistent with his rules. He pushes the thought back.

Your eyes land back on the group of people hanging out and laughing. Yeonjun frowns, and he wonders if he’s not entertaining you enough. He doesn’t want to keep you from having fun.

“Why do you keep looking at them?” he asks, curious and soft. He hopes he’s not prying.

“They’re just some friends,” you answer.

“Oh. Why don’t we go say hi, then?” he offers.

You pull your lips into a tight line. “I’d rather not.”

“That’s alright,” Yeonjun says. You give a small smile in appreciation.

“What about you?” you ask. He tilts his head, not knowing what you mean. You continue, “Who’s in your friend group?”

Yeonjun laughs awkwardly and shrugs. “I mostly hang out with the physics honor society,” he admits.

“That’s cool. You must have a good bond.”

“We do,” he says. “How’d you meet your friends?”

You smile at him, and something in your face tells Yeonjun that it’s a complicated story. You sigh dramatically and lean back a little, “I met them at parties. Does that surprise you?”

Yeonjun’s not sure if that’s a rhetorical question. “No. You’re friendly. I can see why people come to you,” he answers.

“Thanks,” you say, voice a little quieter.

“Are you friends with your roommate?” he asks.

“I don’t have one. I live in a single dorm.”

Lucky. If Yeonjun had the extra money to spare, he’d be dorming alone too. It would definitely make heading out as Spider-man easier; he’d just be able to change in his room and jump out his window. Assuming no one is around to see, that is.

“That must be nice,” he says.

You shrug. “It’s alright. What about you? You got a roommate?”

“Yeah. We’re…” Yeonjun struggles to find a word to describe his relationship with Soobin. They’re not exactly friends, but they’re peaceful with each other.

You laugh and finish the sentence for him, “Roommates and nothing more.” There’s a lilt to your voice when you say that, and you wiggle your eyebrows like that’s supposed to suggest something.

“Ignoring your insinuations, yeah, pretty much.”

“I’m just kidding,” you say. He’ll let you make jokes at his expense all you want, it doesn’t bother him. Especially not when it means he gets to see you all giggly and happy. He thinks that you look the prettiest like this. Yeonjun would stare at you smiling up at him forever if he could.

The sound of a guy calling your name pulls Yeonjun from his stupor. He blinks at the man standing before the two of you, then looks at you with scrunched brows as if to ask who is that?

His unspoken question is answered the next second. “Hey, Kai,” you say. When Yeonjun gets a better look, he realizes that this is one of the dudes in the group you kept looking over at.

“Who’s this guy?” Kai asks, jutting his chin toward him.

“I’m Yeonjun.” He goes to hold out his hand for Kai to shake, but quickly puts it back down upon realizing that might be weird.

“Oh, Yeonjun from calculus. I know you,” he says.

“I didn’t know you’re in that class too,” Yeonjun muses.

Kai laughs, “I’m not. Y/n just talks about you.”

Yeonjun nearly melts. You talk about him. This is the best day of his life.

“Anyway,” Kai continues, looking at you again. “I need a couple more people on my beer pong team. You guys down?”

Yeonjun turns to you to gauge your reaction. He can’t really tell what you're feeling, not even when you face him as you contemplate your answer. Yeonjun shrugs, as if to tell you that he’s down for whatever you want to do.

“I think I’m good,” you say.

“Ah, alright, you bummer,” Kai jokes, stepping back and sending you a bright smile. “Continue your convo with the calc lord, I insist.” He’s gone after that, jogging off to the rest of his friends, setting up the game.

“Calc lord?” Yeonjun repeats, amused.

Your laugh is accompanied by a roll of your eyes. “He means it nicely, I swear.”

“Well, depending on how well he does in this game, I might start calling him beer pong lord,” Yeonjun says. You push at his shoulder as your laughter continues.

Yeonjun already knew he likes you a lot, but as the night goes on, he finds out that you’re even better than he thought. Conversation unfolds easily with you, even if Yeonjun’s answers are dorky and awkward at times. He feels exactly how he thinks you look when you sit in the grass alone: content and peaceful.

He’s not sure how many minutes or hours have passed when you ask him to walk you back to your dorm. All he knows is that tonight could have stretched into infinity, and that would’ve been fine. He follows you into the building, then into your room. He’s not sure why. It just feels right.

“Thanks for bringing me back,” you say. Yeonjun smiles and nods. He leans against the wall and stares out the window. You live on the top floor of your building, so the view’s pretty different from Yeonjun’s second story view. This would be a fun room to swing out of.

“Do you need anything else?” Yeonjun asks. A smile slowly takes over your face, and you cross the room to stand in front of him. You blink up at him, and something about it feels flirty. If he wasn’t biting his tongue so hard, his thoughts would have slipped right past his lips: you look cute.

You break the short moment of silence with a giggle. “Just for you to promise me we’ll hang out again,” you say, voice barely over a whisper.

Yeonjun has to remind himself to breathe and be normal. “I promise,” he says. He even holds out his pinky to seal the deal. You curl your pinky around his, accepting the playful gesture.

“Did you want to stay?” you ask. You look out the window, then back at him. “I’m okay with sharing my bed.”

That definitely flusters Yeonjun. “Oh, no, I’m—I was gonna just walk back to my dorm or something. Or take a bus. I don’t know. Thank you, though.”

You laugh. Hopefully not at his sputtering and rambling, but Yeonjun has a feeling that might be why. “Alright, then. Good night, Yeonjun.”

Your soft voice has Yeonjun wanting to backpedal and say he’ll stay the night, but he swallows down the words. He smiles at you as he backs away toward your door. “Good night,” he says, standing in your doorway.

“Yeonjun,” you call, stopping him before he could leave. He turns, waiting for your words. He’s surprised to see that you look a little shy. “I’m really happy I asked you to come with me. Tonight was fun.”

Butterflies erupt in Yeonjun’s stomach, and he feels like he could float from how giddy he is. “I’m happy too,” he says.

He steps out into the hall, thoughts lingering on how overwhelmingly good his time with you was. His mind is clouded with rosy memories of his night with you, and he finds himself repressing the urge to twirl around and jump for joy. He’ll probably be skipping all the way home, imagining all the possibilities of what could come next between you.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

It’s Sunday, and Yeonjun knows exactly why you’re calling. He stares at his phone, then back at the man in front of him tangled up in webs. Yeonjun shoots another web over the guy’s mouth.

“Sorry, gotta take this,” he says. “Stay right here.” He slings himself onto a branch of a tall tree nearby, just to make sure no one can listen in as he accepts your call.

“Hey Yeonjun!” Your voice is so cheerful that it makes Yeonjun giggle. He even swings his feet in the air as he sits on the branch.

“Hi Y/n,” he greets, hoping his voice isn’t too muffled through the mask of his suit.

“Did those last-minute plans end up showing, or are you down to try out that bakery?” you ask. Yeonjun frowns, hating to let you down when you sound so happy.

“I’m really busy today, I’m sorry,” he says, shoulders sagging from how awful he feels. He’s got a whole lab procedure to write once he’s done sorting out the crime scenes of today.

“No worries, maybe we can go after class sometime.”

He frowns. “I wish I could, but I got another class right after ours. Let me check my schedule, I might be able to”—

“Are those sirens?” you interrupt, and Yeonjun looks out to the street. He’s grown so accustomed to the sound of those things that it didn’t even register. “Where are you?” you ask.

“I’m… uh,” Yeonjun stammers, focusing on the cops getting out of the car and making their way towards the criminal.

He tunes into the cops’ conversation. “Looks like Spider-shit’s been here already,” one of them comments in a gruff voice.

The other cop huffs out a laugh. “He’s always meddling in with petty crimes. What do you think this guy did?”

“Jaywalking?” The cops chuckle.

“Not like he can explain with that over his mouth.” He points to the web Yeonjun placed on the man a minute ago.

Yeonjun scowls. He’s not sure why the cops hold so much scorn for him, but if they’d like to know, then the petty crime that Spider-shit helped stop was an armed robbery. If these guys were a little better at their jobs, he wouldn’t have to meddle in all the time.

“Hello?” you ask, and Yeonjun reels his attention back to his conversation with you.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just coming back from the store. Crazy stuff going on today.”

“Oh. Well, stay safe,” you say.

“Thanks, I will.” He sees the cops looking around, probably trying to spot him, so he flattens his back against the tree and tries to talk a little quieter. “I’ll see you in class, I gotta go.”

“See you!”

Yeonjun sighs once the call ends. His suit doesn’t even have pockets, he just carried his phone with him today in case you contacted him. Stupid? Mildly. Inconvenient? Very. He had one less hand to work with when dealing with today’s crime culprits. To hear your voice, though? Worth it. He smiles like an idiot as he swings over to the next nearest building, making his way back to his dorm.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Yeonjun’s professor accompanies him to the lab today, overseeing the procedures for the day. The feeling of his professor watching over his shoulder is more nerve-wracking than any day spent fighting crime on the streets. He’s usually careful with his work in the lab, but he’s extra, extra careful on these days.

He pauses when he retrieves the petri dish of cells. He briefly considers the possibility that he’s crazy and just seeing things, but Yeonjun’s pretty sure that the clump of cells just moved. Like, uncanny movement. He holds his breath.

He stares at the clump, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. It doesn’t jerk around anymore, so maybe it was just his imagination. Fear still creeps up his neck at the idea of the research going wrong. He remembers feeling like he messed up at some point last time he was here, and the realization is making his skin grow clammy.

“What is it?” his professor asks, taking a step closer to Yeonjun.

“Nothing, I was just thinking,” he quickly responds, keeping his voice calm and steady. He brings the petri dish to the table and does his best to forget what he saw earlier. Yeonjun fears how his professor would react if he told him something unprecedented might be occurring. It happened so quickly that he can’t even tell if his mind was just playing tricks on him. Maybe he’s just extra nervous today.

He wipes the sweat off his palms onto his lab coat, bringing the necessary materials to the table to continue the research. His professor reads off the instructions slowly, and Yeonjun pretends he doesn’t feel his stomach twisting as he works with the cells.

He tries to calm down as he walks back to his dorm, but there’s a permanent chill shooting down his spine. There’s no way the clump should have moved like that—it shouldn’t show any observable motion at all, not without some kind of electrical stimulation.

Maybe he just jerked the dish too harshly. He was pretty nervous, so it would make sense. He must have been shaking and just didn’t realize. That would explain it. That would put Yeonjun at ease.

He can try to convince himself that everything’s fine, but he can’t stop the anxious thrum of his heart. Apparently the fear reads on his face, too, because Soobin’s quick to notice it when Yeonjun enters the dorm.

“Are you okay?” Soobin asks. Yeonjun’s not sure what must have given himself away. He pays more attention to breathing slowly and talking casually.

“I’m good,” he answers. He doesn’t expect Soobin to push the subject considering how quiet he always is, but Soobin’s gaze isn’t leaving Yeonjun. He must be really concerned.

“Did something happen?” Soobin asks. Yeonjun sinks into his desk chair, covering his face with his hands as he groans. “Sorry,” his roommate apologizes, turning away from Yeonjun to look at his laptop instead.

“No, you’re good, it’s just…” Yeonjun sighs. He might as well get this off his chest. “Some lab thing.”

Soobin nods, not asking any further. Now that Yeonjun’s started though, he doesn’t feel like stopping.

“I think I might’ve fucked up,” Yeonjun admits.

“How?” Soobin’s playing some video game on his laptop as he talks, which actually puts Yeonjun at ease. It feels less pressing, less like an interrogation or a confession and more like a normal conversation.

“The cells I’m working with are being weird. I don’t know. I don’t even know if I saw it right. I just feel crazy now.” Yeonjun rubs his palms against his eyes in frustration and exhaustion, soothing the headache he’s got building up.

Soobin hums. The little shooting sounds and animated voices coming from Soobin’s game fill the room until Soobin speaks again, “Did anyone else see?”

“No. My professor was there, but he didn’t notice.”

Soobin shrugs. “You’re probably fine then.”

Honestly, Soobin’s nonchalance to the situation eases Yeonjun’s worries a lot. He knows he can get in his head sometimes, especially when it comes to doing everything right, so to hear he’ll be fine lifts a weight from his shoulders.

“Yeah, probably,” he agrees. He basks in comfortable silence for a minute now that his heart isn’t beating so hard.

“By the way, have you bought more laundry detergent yet?” Soobin asks.

Ah, shit. “Tomorrow, I promise.”

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Being Spider-man is tasking, but it’s usually pretty cool. Not everyone gets to zip around the city and restore peace in people’s neighborhoods. Not everyone, however, has to worry about getting stabbed by a criminal in the middle of the night.

Yeonjun always stays until the cops arrive. It almost feels essential, just to make sure justice gets served. This time, he can’t.

He has to stop himself from groaning too loud when he feels the knife pull out from his side. The man in front of Yeonjun is already stuck to the side of a building, held there with a thick layer of web, so there has to be someone else. He turns around to look at the perpetrator, but the world moves a lot slower than normal.

Yeonjun blinks hard, focusing on breathing and staying conscious. The coward who stabbed him is wearing a ski mask, and he’s running away quickly. Yeonjun can’t let him leave. He moves forward and ignores the searing pain that sets his body alight. He straightens out his shaky arm and aims his wrist at the man, but the web that shoots out is just as weak as Yeonjun is.

Frustrated, Yeonjun growls and forces himself to move faster. It burns, he’s never felt any kind of pain like this, but he can’t let this man walk free. He can’t let this man stab another innocent person. Even with his staggered pace, limping as he tries his best to catch up to the man, he advances quickly.

He breathes hard and holds the air in his lungs as he aims again at the man, brows furrowed with angry determination beneath his mask. He lets out a loud grunt as he shoots his web out, and finally, it lands. The criminal falls as the web captures his ankle, keeping his leg stuck to the ground.

Yeonjun huffs as he traverses the rest of the way toward the man, nothing but fury in his veins as he shoots another web out. This one’s bigger, covering the man’s back and securing him to the pavement. He picks up his head and looks at Yeonjun with fear in his eyes, but he doesn’t care. He can’t. All he feels is pain and anger and pain and pain and so much fucking pain.

Yeonjun’s not the vengeful type, but getting stabbed really tests a person’s limits. He shoots more webs over the guy, making sure he won’t be able to move a muscle until the cops arrive.

Yeonjun doesn’t waste his breath making snide comments, though he does have a few choice words for him. He takes off the man’s ski mask and resists the urge to deck his face. He’s got fear etched into his expression, but Yeonjun finds it hard to feel sorry for him. The man starts begging for his life, and Yeonjun scoffs. Of course he’s not going to kill this man—no matter what, he doesn’t end people’s lives. A city’s hero shouldn’t get to decide who lives and dies.

Yeonjun stumbles away after finding a passerby to call the police. Now that the adrenaline’s gone, Yeonjun feels less mad and more scared. He’s really bleeding now; his hand comes up soaked when it presses against the wound. What the hell does he do? He can’t die like this.

He can’t go to the hospital with a stab wound. There’s no way for him to make up some alibi that wouldn’t just trace Spider-man’s identity back to him. He hisses through gritted teeth as he frantically scans his surroundings, looking for somewhere to go. The only thing that’s coming to mind is you, and it’s aggravating. He could be dying right now, and all his useless mind can do is think of you. Maybe it’s all the blood loss, and he’s just getting delirious, or maybe it’s a sign. It’s not like he has many good options right now.

There’s not enough time to think about it. He zips through the city and back onto campus as fast as he can, ignoring the splitting pain in his side that shoots up his body every time he moves. It’s getting harder to breathe, suddenly feeling suffocated by his mask, but he has to hold on. He’s not far away now.

He remembers the view from your window. He remembers exactly which room to shoot himself up to. He adheres himself to the wall outside your room and pulls his mask off, leaning his forehead onto the cold glass of your window with a sigh of relief. He catches his breath and knocks with a shaky fist. He’s really sorry for having to wake you up at this hour, but he has a feeling you’ll understand.

He doesn’t wait long. You're trudging out of bed and making your way toward the window, tired eyes blinking slowly. You look really cute. Everything is spinning around him, but he focuses on you. You’re still groggy and out of it until you meet Yeonjun’s eyes through the glass. As soon as you see him, it’s like you wake up immediately.

He watches your jaw drop, your frantic hands racing to open your window. His vision is nearly blacking out, and he tries to blink away the dizzy feeling in his head the best he can.

“Yeonjun?!” you squeak as he drags himself through your window and into your room. He can’t even hold himself up anymore, weak body collapsing to the floor. He groans and leans against the wall, clutching his side. He ignores the sickening feeling of blood dampening his hand, sticky and warm against his palm and between his digits.

You pick him up by the underarms, grunting as you heave him toward your bed. He notices how shaky your arms are, and he tries his best to pick up his own weight, even if it hurts like hell. He’s burdening you enough as is coming here so late.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to go to,” he says, catching his breath as you guide him to lay on your bed. He’s half-aware of how bloody and dirty he is, but you seem fully ready to let him stain your sheets. Concern and confusion fill your wide eyes, and Yeonjun can hear every word that you don’t say.

Luckily, you save the unnecessary questions for later. “What do I do?” you ask. Your hands tremble as they peel the shirt of his suit up, just enough to expose his midriff and the nasty damage to his side. You gasp upon seeing how bad it is, hardly able to stomach it, opting to look into his eyes instead.

He wants to respond to you, if not to answer your question then just to comfort you, but breathing is enough of a chore on its own right now; talking seems almost impossible. Watching you panic about this is shattering him. He makes an effort to move his arm out toward you, just to hold your hand and reassure you, but he doesn’t have enough strength.

You lift from the bed and open up a bottle of water, pouring some of the cool liquid over his head. It’s relieving against his burning skin and keeps him from losing consciousness. It also makes him realize how dehydrated he is.

“Please sit up,” you beg, placing a hand underneath his head to lift it a bit. He comes up just enough to drink some of the water you feed to him, swallowing down the rest of the bottle. He collapses back against your pillow once he’s finished, feeling much better just from that.

You come back with another bottle of water and pour small bits at a time over the gash in his side. He hisses and tenses up each time it hits his skin, but he knows you have to do this. He doesn’t want to make it harder by thrashing around and complaining, so he bites his tongue and keeps his body stiff.

The sheets soak beneath him as you continue emptying the water bottle over the wound. He should help you clean up after this; he doesn’t want you dealing with his mess all alone. A few minutes pass before you discard the plastic bottle and grab a t-shirt from your dresser.

You press the bunched up cloth against his injured skin gently, and he holds back any grunts that threaten to slip out. It’s like you can sense his pain despite his efforts to hide it, because you keep murmuring apologies to him.

“I’m okay, don’t be sorry,” he reassures. He doesn’t think you believe him, judging by the way lips stay tugged into a frown.

A quietness falls over the room. You pull your t-shirt away from his body and observe the wound, and your fingertips on his torso send electricity throughout his body. It doesn’t hurt so much now.

“You’re not bleeding anymore,” you point out.

He hums. “That’s good.” Your hand grazes the skin just outside the gash. There’s a soothing effect in the way your fingers glide against him, pressure so light that it’s barely there.

“You need stitches,” you say quietly, like you hate to break the news to him.

Yeonjun doesn’t mind. “You got a needle?” he asks. You fidget with the fabric of Yeonjun’s suit as you sigh and look away.

“I do,” you say. You don’t sound too confident, though. He doesn’t know what to do to make you feel better.

You grab his hand like it’s second nature to do so, and the action would be romantic if only you didn’t have that nervous look on your face. He can practically feel your heart pounding, and he’s dying to let you know that everything’s okay.

“I trust you,” he breathes out. He makes sure he’s looking you in the eye so you can see how much he means it. He’s risking everything by trusting you, but he’s not scared. He feels safe even with his life in your hands, his secret identity in your knowledge. If there was something more sacred and dangerous to give up than that, he’s sure he’d be okay lending that to you too.

It feels much more real when you have your needle and thread in hand. Yeonjun can’t contain his noises anymore, whimpering in pain when he feels the sharp tip pierce his skin.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you say quickly and desperately. “I’ll do it fast.”

He hisses as he feels the thread start to tug his wound shut. He throws an arm over his eyes, as if not watching you treat him will stop the piercing feeling. All his muscles are tensed up no matter how much he tries to relax, but he keeps his breathing steady and lets you do your work.

It’s not too long before you’re tying off the final knot and discarding your needle onto your nightstand. You run your thumb over the stitch, gentle and slow. Yeonjun takes his arm off his face and fixes his gaze on you, watching you scrutinize your work with scrunched brows.

“It feels fine. You did perfect,” he says, wanting to keep you from judging yourself too harshly. He wants to thank you, but the words feel so awkward building up in his throat.

“I don’t have a big enough bandage to put over this,” you say, still fixated on his injury. Yeonjun tries to sit up, but your hand on his shoulder eases him back down. “Don’t move too much.”

“Y/n…” he starts, but you give him a pointed look, and he decides to shut up and listen. He relaxes against your mattress.

“I wish I had some clothes to change you into,” you mutter after he pulls the shirt of his suit back down. The spandex isn’t super comfortable against his fresh stitches, but it’s easy to ignore in comparison to the searing pain of the open wound. He’ll have to throw out this suit; it’s bloodied beyond repair, and he has plenty of back-ups anyway.

“It’s alright,” Yeonjun says. You shuffle on the mattress until you’re laying down beside him. “Aren’t the sheets wet?” he asks, surprised at how unfazed you seem.

You let out a small laugh, and that frown finally leaves your face. “I don’t mind. I wanted to lay down.”

“I’ll buy you new sheets,” Yeonjun promises. “And a new needle. And I’ll explain everything to you, I swear. Please don’t”—

“Yeonjun,” you cut off. He shuts his mouth. “That stuff doesn’t matter. Are you okay now?”

He nods. “I’m okay.”

“That’s all I care about.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence. Yeonjun stares at the ceiling and wonders how much this is going to change things between you. He has some hope that this will make you two even closer, but a small part of him fears that you won’t want to associate with him anymore. He wouldn’t blame you; it’s not like being close to Spider-man isn’t a riskless situation. He doesn’t regret coming to you tonight, though.

He feels your eyes on him a moment later, and he can only bring himself to look at you for a second before returning his gaze to your ceiling. You must find that funny, because he hears you chuckling beside him.

“You know, I wasn’t expecting this when you said you’d hang out with me again.” There’s a softness in your voice that makes Yeonjun feel lightheaded. Not the losing-too-much-blood kind of lightheaded, but the oh-god-I-really-like-her kind—this one’s much more preferable and much more welcome than the former.

“I’ll have to make it up to you,” he says.

“How do you plan on doing that?”

He turns his head to face you, and something feels awfully domestic about getting to lay this close to you in your bed. It’s hard to breathe when you’re smiling at him so eagerly, when there’s a glint in your eyes that tells Yeonjun you’re having fun. There’s an itch all the way down to his bones that begs him to push forward and kiss you already, but he resists.

“I’ll find a way,” he whispers.

The room gets quiet again, and Yeonjun supposes he should leave. It’s not like he can wait for the sun to rise and walk out of your room in his bloodied Spidey-suit glory. He’s not sure what time it is right now, but he knows that if he doesn’t leave soon and get some sleep, he’ll be passing out in his classes.

“Thanks for fixing me up,” he says, pushing himself off your bed and stretching his limbs. He feels beyond sore, wincing at the pain that shoots through his body. You sit up immediately, scrambling to stop him.

“You’re leaving? Are you crazy? Stay here!” you insist, trying to drag him back to the bed. He turns his head to you and smiles, and something about the silent plea in your eyes lights up his heart. He keeps his feet on the ground and resists your efforts, even though he wants nothing more than to spend the night with you. It’s just not smart and not worth the risk.

“I can’t,” he says. You pout and stand before him, blinking up at him so prettily that he almost changes his mind. “It’s dangerous.”

“I know. I just wanted to keep you.” That makes Yeonjun giggle.

“Sorry. Maybe next time.”

You swat his chest. “Don’t let there be a next time. You almost scared me to death.”

“I’ll make sure to tell the next knife-bearer you said that,” Yeonjun jokes. It gets the laugh that he was hoping for out of you.

“Well…” you start, eyes darting between his own. He barely has time to register it when you press a kiss against his lips, your movement so hesitant and shy. It’s soft. It’s sweet. It’s over before he knows it. He blinks at you dumbly—it’s all he can do to not pass out like a dork in front of you. Your smile is just as soft and sweet as your kiss was. “Just stay out of trouble,” you finish, patting his chest gently.

“I’ll try.”

“I guess I’ll see you in class, then,” you say.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He should go now. He should make use of his feet and back away, but he stays planted in his spot. You sway girlishly in front of him, hands clasped behind your back.

“Good night,” you whisper. Yeonjun can’t help it—he pulls your face in so he can feel your lips on his again, more properly this time. They’re pillowy and dreamy, and Yeonjun could just melt into you. He doesn’t linger longer than he has to, backing up just enough to see your face. You mirror the glee that he feels in his own expression.

“Good night,” he echoes. He backs away and grabs his mask, slipping it back on. He opens your window back up and slings himself to the nearest tree. Each time Yeonjun looks over his shoulder, he sees you leaning at your window smiling right back at him. His heart does a little flip. On second thought, maybe getting stabbed is kind of cool.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Despite how well last night went, Yeonjun wakes up with a heavy weight on his shoulders. Every ounce of confidence that his interaction with you last night might have given him is completely gone the moment he remembers it, and sheds away at itself further when he notices you skipped class. A dreadful thought creeps up his spine: are you avoiding him?

Maybe you woke up regretting it all. Maybe you realized how ridiculous and stupid getting involved with Spider-man is, and you’re just protecting yourself before you can be burdened further. The classroom feels hot and suffocating, and fresh air sounds really nice right now, but Yeonjun stays put in his seat. He doesn’t want to make a scene and start freaking everyone out. To the best of his ability, he pushes his fears down and saves his panic for later—preferably for after he talks to you and gets some answers.

He doesn’t even open his notebook in his last class of the day. He shows up just for attendance purposes, then zones out staring at his desk for the rest of the hour. Time passes far too slowly; Yeonjun’s itching for the lecture to end so he can talk to you already. He’s practically running out of class as soon as it’s dismissed, but finds himself slowing down the moment he’s outside the building.

He’s pretty sure he knows where to find you. The bigger issue is figuring out what the hell he’s going to say. Is there any way to start this conversation without being awkward? Hey, thanks for saving my life last night. Also I am indeed that hero or whatever taking care of criminals in the city, hope you don’t mind! He feels so lame.

It’s wishful thinking to hope that you won’t care about what happened last night—well, except for the kissing part, but that’s probably not as important right now. He’ll push aside that conversation until the more important one happens.

He wants to run away the moment he sees your figure in the distance, sitting exactly where he thought you’d be. His tongue suddenly feels like lead, too heavy and useless to try talking to you. He gathers his breath and walks across the field, not letting himself back out now. You deserve to be given a little peace of mind. He’s sure today must have been confusing for you, that clarity hit you like a train this morning the same way it did to him.

You look over your shoulder when he reaches you, staring up at him and squinting your eyes from the sun. “How’d I know you’d come find me?” you ask, half-amused.

Yeonjun gives you a short laugh, unsure of himself as he sits on the grass beside you. It feels a little like he’s invading your space. He’s seen you sitting alone on this field as if it was all yours so many times.

“I thought I should thank you again,” he says, a little shy. He feels like he owes you a lot for last night. The whole city probably owes you a lot for saving him, honestly.

You look at him with a small smile, leaning your head on your bent knees. “Mhm. Shouldn’t I be thanking you, Spider-man?” There’s a teasing quality to your voice, and it makes Yeonjun laugh nervously. He should probably address that.

“I really hope you won’t tell anybody.”

“I won’t. I’m still finding it hard to believe anyway,” you say. Your sentences are all laced with a tiredness and exhaustion that Yeonjun can’t help but to feel at fault for. “It’s just weird to know it now.”

Yeonjun hums. He can sympathize with you on that—it must be really bewildering to know your classmate is the one swinging around town shooting webs at criminals. He just hopes you can forgive him for dragging you into this.

“Spider-man’s a little less cool now, huh?” he jokes, keeping his voice quiet even though no one’s around.

Your smile is full and genuine, and Yeonjun’s heart skips a beat. “I always thought he was a little lame,” you answer. Yeonjun’s ego bruises at that. You continue, “But I think he’s kind of interesting now.”

He can only hope that you don’t see the blush that takes over his face. He looks away to hide it, but he feels your gaze on him. “I don’t know if I’m that interesting,” he says, acting all humble. It’s clearly bait, and he hopes you’ll catch it.

“I can be the judge of that. Let me get to know you more,” you offer. Yeonjun bites his cheek to stop himself from grinning at this massive win.

“Well, we still have that bakery to go to,” Yeonjun mentions, and judging by the way your eyes gain a new sparkle, you seem to like the idea.

“You don’t have any more classes today, do you?” You already look ready to go.

Yeonjun doesn’t bother hiding his excitement anymore, letting his smile take over his face. “I don’t.” You’re standing up the next second, and Yeonjun’s quick to follow.

The bakery is a cute, cozy little place near some other restaurants downtown. There’s no seating inside due to the lack of space, but that’s made up for by the giant row of sweet selections to choose from. Yeonjun’s stomach rumbles in anticipation as his eyes jump around to look at each confection.

After buying your treats, you lead Yeonjun to a nearby bench. You both open your pastry boxes and bite down on the baked goods eagerly. You hum in satisfaction, nodding at the taste. “Wow, we should go here again,” you say, going in for another bite.

Yeonjun chose a sweet cheese bread, which he completely devours within a couple minutes. You don’t eat as fast as him, but he doesn’t mind waiting for you. He makes conversation in the meantime: “How come you skipped class today?”

You laugh a little around your mouthful of food, swallowing before you answer, “I barely slept. There was no way I could’ve focused if I went.”

Yeonjun hums in understanding. “I barely slept too,” he says.

“But you still went,” you add. “I guess you’re better than me.”

Oh god, he hopes you didn’t take it that way. “Not at all!” he rushes to say.

You smile and pat his shoulder. “I know. You’re just a star student, that’s all.”

Is that a compliment? Yeonjun blushes anyway. “I like to do well,” he says.

“I mean, considering everything you’re balancing, yeah, you are doing pretty well.”

Yeonjun laughs awkwardly in response, barely able to take your praise. He’s pretty sure you’re alluding to what you found out about him yesterday. “Thanks,” he mutters, all humble.

“Do you wanna talk about last night?” you ask, finishing your last bite.

“Sure,” Yeonjun answers, feeling a smidge of nervousness returning to him. It’s quiet for a few seconds. “Did you have any questions?” he asks. He feels more bashful than anything else, but it’s better than coming off as braggadocious.

You hum in thought, pouting your lips while you conjure up some ideas. “Was that your first kiss?”

He’s completely taken aback by your question—and a little embarrassed, quite frankly—and he scrambles to spit out a response. You’re stifling your laughter before he can even get his defense out. “No! I had my first kiss in, like, high school!”

“I’m just teasing,” you admit. “You’re a good kisser.” The compliment goes to Yeonjun’s head, playing in a loop while he floats on cloud nine. You liked kissing him. He should do it again and again, just to keep you happy. And for more selfish reasons, too.

Your voice breaks through his thoughts when you speak again, “Do you feel better today? Are you healing alright?” The joking tone leaves your voice, replaced with genuinity and care.

“I feel fine,” he answers. He pulls up his shirt to show you the wound, all stitched up and starting to heal over.

You wince. “Good thing I finished my food already. That killed my appetite.” Yeonjun laughs at your grimace and releases his shirt, falling back into place. “You should really put a bandage over that,” you suggest.

“I don’t have any.”

You shake your head in disbelief, though your amusement reads on your face. “You should be more prepared.”

Your concern is cute to Yeonjun. “I know,” he says.

“So who stabbed you?” you ask.

He shrugs. “No clue. He’s probably in a cell now.”

“Did it hurt?” you ask, though the answer is obvious.

“Like hell,” he says.

“How’d it even happen?” Honestly, Yeonjun’s not too sure about that either. He can usually sense imminent danger before it comes, but maybe he was too focused on the crimes he’d already been dealing with.

“He came up behind me while I was handling another criminal,” he answers.

You hum, getting off the bench and tossing your trash in a bin nearby. You start walking off then, and Yeonjun follows mindlessly. “Must be tough being Spider-man,” you say.

“Careful how loud you say that.” Yeonjun tenses as someone walks past the two of you, praying they were out of earshot when you said that. He sighs in relief when he sees the person had headphones in.

“Right, sorry. There’s just so much I wanna know now.” You turn a corner, taking a path leading back to campus.

Your curiosity excites Yeonjun, and he’s ready to answer whatever question you come up with. Some of his stories have serious entertainment value to them.

“Ask me, then,” he invites. You twist your head to smile up at him for a second.

“How’d you get like this? Were you just born this way?”

Yeonjun laughs at the idea. He swings his head around to make sure no one’s around when he answers, “No, a radioactive spider bit me.”

“When did that happen?” you ask. Yeonjun reminisces the first few weeks after the bite, thinking back to those initial feelings of fear and dread when he realized something had happened to him.

“In high school,” he says. It was super bewildering back then to change so drastically, yet be forced to act so normal. It’s much easier now—he’s had years to adjust—but he was a teenager when it first happened. That’s a lot for a kid to take on. He had to act like he was the same Choi Yeonjun his classmates had grown up with, and not some mutated superhuman dealing with the stresses of his new identity. Of course, he did that whole Spider-man thing to himself, but it was the right thing to do. He doesn’t regret it.

“Does anyone else know?”

“My uncle did, but he’s gone, so now it’s just you.” He looks at you, lips twitching upward.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you apologize, voice growing soft. He realizes that you’re in front of your dorm building now, and he supposes this is where he should leave. His eyes dart between yours, like he’s waiting for you to tell him to go. To ask him to stay.

“Are you doing anything today?” he asks. Maybe he sounds desperate. He doesn’t really care.

“Catching up on some work,” you say.

“I’ll give you my calculus notes.”

You smile. “That would be nice.”

Yeonjun didn’t even take notes in calculus today. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

“Can I stay?” He’s teeming with hope and bravery today. You open the door to your building and signal him inside, and he has to hold back the victorious giggle that almost escapes him as he trails behind you.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of questions and answers. Yeonjun’s never talked so openly about being Spider-man before, and a part of it feels healing. You study hard while he rambles about stories of the little things he’s done throughout the years. Some are funny and make you cackle, and some draw your attention away from your textbook so you can look at him in shock. It’s impossible for Yeonjun to wipe the grin off his face—not when he bids you good night, not when he walks back to his dorm, not even when lays in bed to sleep. His heart never lets up on that jittery rush it has for you.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

A quintessential part of the college experience, Yeonjun’s come to find out, is trying out all the different ramen brands to see which one is the best. He’s a fan of whichever one he’s chowing down on right now, and a 5-pack of this barely puts a dent in his bank account. Seems like a winner.

He glances over at his dorm’s door when it opens, curious to see that Soobin brought someone over. Yeonjun isn’t bothered by that, though; if this guy is anything like Soobin, he’s not worried about getting annoyed.

“You can remember to buy ramen but not detergent?” Soobin asks, chuckling. Yeonjun chooses to read that as a joke instead of a passive aggressive comment.

“Ugh, dude, I keep forgetting, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. Yeonjun points at Soobin’s friend and continues, “This your friend?”

“Yeah, I’m Beomgyu,” the friend introduces. Something about him looks a little familiar.

“Nice to meet you,” Yeonjun greets with a nod.

Soobin grabs some clothes from his closet then turns to the door. “I’m gonna go change and then we can head out,” he says to Beomgyu, then heads off to the bathroom.

When the door shuts, Yeonjun returns his attention to his ramen and ignores Beomgyu’s presence as best as he can. That doesn’t last too long, though, cause soon enough, Beomgyu’s breaking the silence: “Are you still hanging out with Y/n?”

Yeonjun turns in his seat to face Beomgyu. He’s not sure how Beomgyu would know that, but Yeonjun entertains the question nevertheless. “Yeah. You know her?” he asks.

“She’s my friend,” he says. “Kind of.”

Yeonjun already feels something weird in the air. He’s waiting for the turn that this conversation is bound to take. He finally pieces together why this guy looks so familiar; he’s one of the boys at the party in the group that you kept looking over at. Now Yeonjun’s really curious.

“Why do you ask?” The question comes out a little hesitantly.

“I’m telling you this man-to-man, I think you might be getting played,” Beomgyu says.

Yeonjun’s immediate reaction is only confusion. How would you be playing him? You’ve been nothing but sincere with your feelings—or, that’s what it seemed like, at least. Now Yeonjun’s doubting himself. A part of him doesn’t believe it and doesn’t want to indulge in this conversation any further, but he’d start spiraling whether or not Beomgyu explains himself now. Worry swirls in Yeonjun’s stomach.

“Why?” he asks despite himself.

“This is just what I’ve heard, but apparently she had a thing with Kai, and he started talking to another girl, so she wanted to get back at him. I don’t know, though.”

Kai. That boy who came up to you at the party. Yeonjun remembers him.

He doesn’t want to show how much those words affect him, but shit. Hearing that hurts. His body feels weightless, like he’d be falling over if he wasn’t sitting at his desk. He nods as he exhales slowly, keeping his heart from going haywire.

“Huh,” is all he says. Soobin comes back the next second, and Beomgyu heads out with him after that, and the world keeps spinning on, but Yeonjun feels trapped in that moment. He waits to wake up in a sweat, hoping this is all some nightmare that’s going to end, but the wake never comes. He’s forced to deal with his whirling thoughts instead.

None of this can be true. It wouldn’t make sense. You kissed Yeonjun. You said you were interested in him. If this was all a lie, how will Yeonjun ever trust anyone again? When he came to you bleeding out, you saved his life. When you found out his secret identity, you kept it safe. Yeonjun miscalculated something that night—there is something more sacred and dangerous to trust you with than those things: his heart.

He doesn’t even want to finish his ramen anymore. His fingers brush against the wound that’s healing pretty well thanks to you, and a thought crosses his mind. The night that you kissed him was the night you found out he was Spider-man. An especially sickening question starts to haunt him. Did you only start liking him because of that?

Yeonjun feels played. He’s always known that he was a fool, so he doesn’t know why he’s so surprised, but really? Beer pong lord?

Five minutes is hardly enough to process the information Beomgyu dumped onto Yeonjun, but that’s all he gets, because now his alarm is going off and telling him to go over to the lab. He drops his head to his desk with a groan. It’s like an anchor’s been tied to his heart, sinking further and further until it makes him his stomach churn.

The fresh air feels good in Yeonjun’s lungs as he walks over to the lab. A permanent pout is etched onto his lips, unable to stop thinking about you. Good things. Bad things. Everything. Each memory hurts now.

He probably looks like some depressed college kid, walking around with his hood up and head down. He should be less pathetic, pick himself up and get himself together. It’s not like you two were really anything anyway. A kiss doesn't always mean something to everyone. Maybe it’s his fault for assuming that for you, it did.

It’s not just that, though. Yeah, kissing you made Yeonjun feel alive in a way that only swinging through the city could compare to, but there’s so much more to you than that. It’s the way you talked to him, the way you cared for him, the way you looked at him. How the hell do you fake that kind of connection? Hurt splits him at the seams like he’s being torn in two, but he keeps walking like nothing’s wrong.

“Yeonjun!” He recognizes that voice immediately. He pulls his eyes off the sidewalk and catches sight of you walking up to him. He almost forgot that he walks past your little field on the way to his lab.

It feels like he’s the one keeping a secret, palms clamming up as you stand in front of him. He stops in his tracks to allow you the conversation. “Hey,” he says.

“What are you up to?” you ask. He fidgets with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Should he just act normal? Should he let you get away with using him? When he thinks about it like that, it puts a sour taste in his mouth.

“I’m headed to the lab. Got some stuff to do, and it’s time sensitive, so…” he trails off awkwardly, looking off into the distance instead of at you.

“Oh, okay,” you say, sounding a little dejected. Yeonjun shouldn’t be feeling bad for you right now, but he can’t help it. It makes his chest clench to hear the joy leave your voice. “Maybe we can hang out after? Just to study or something,” you offer.

Yeonjun sighs, “Maybe.”

You’re quiet for a second as you assess him. “Are you okay?” Concern fills your voice, and when he brings his vision back to you, he can see it in your eyes too.

“I’ll talk to you about it later,” he says.

You frown, taking in his flat expression. You must gain some insight from that, because then you’re asking, “Did I do something?”

He wants to hold his head, feeling defeated and frustrated and sad and a million other different things. He’s not sure how to label it. He’s never felt emotions this complex before, probably because he’s never liked anyone this much before.

“Oh god, did I?” you repeat, more fear in your voice at Yeonjun’s lack of a response. It strikes him and deflates his will to be dismissive about it, not wanting you to sit here worrying for the rest of the day. Curse his soft heart.

“Just come with me,” Yeonjun says, continuing on the path to his lab building. You follow beside him, taking long strides to match his quick pace. He notices you struggling to keep up, so he slows down, even though it might make him a few minutes late.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. He can feel you looking at him, but he keeps his eyes ahead.

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” he mumbles.

“Tell me then,” you plead. The thought of having to talk about this with you makes him feel sick. He doesn’t know if he can even choke up the words without getting nauseous.

“Let me clock into my lab first.” The rest of the walk is silent; you keep quiet even as you enter the room with him, watching him take off his sweatshirt and put on his lab coat. You’re quiet even as he goes through the study procedure, not even lingering near him to see what he’s doing. He feels a little cruel for it, wondering if he’s just torturing you by forcing you to stand silently and worry about what he must be upset at you for.

He steals a glance at you. You’re leaning against the wall by the door, so many steps away, keeping so much distance. He bites his lip and looks away, figuring it’s time to start the conversation.

“I want to talk to you, but I don’t want you to lie to me,” Yeonjun says, breaking the long stretch of silence. He walks toward you, stopping before he gets too close.

“I won’t. I’m not gonna hide anything from you.” It’s funny you say that.

“Do you like Kai?” His question catches you off guard, your frown leaving your face.

“No,” you answer.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay. So why did Beomgyu tell me you used me to get back at him?”

He watches you stiffen at the question. “How do you know Beomgyu?” you ask.

“Please just answer me,” Yeonjun says. He doesn’t want to run around in circles, he just wants to hear the truth from you.

“I don’t like Kai anymore.” Something about that sentence hits like a stab to the gut. Yeonjun would know the feeling.

He tsks and shakes his head, ready to walk away and end the conversation, but you continue, “Please let me say the whole story.” Yeonjun sighs and meets your eyes. He decides to hear you out, only because a part of him is dying for you to make this right.

“Go ahead,” he says.

“I invited you to the party because you’re my friend, and I think you’re cute, but also for really petty, stupid revenge. It was so dumb and I’m so sorry, I feel so fucking bad for that now,” you explain. Yeonjun thinks back to how excited he was when you asked him. He remembers the rush of butterflies, the nervousness that pooled in his stomach, the adrenaline through his veins when he realized he finally had your attention.

You continue, “But I swear on my life, Yeonjun, the second we went outside at that party, I realized how unfair it was. I wanted to make Kai jealous, but when we were standing out there, I couldn’t do it. You’re a good person, and I felt fucking awful, and I didn’t go through with anything, and I’m glad I didn’t. You gave me one of the best nights of my life that day. I mean that. Seriously.”

There’s sincerity in your eyes, so Yeonjun knows you’re not lying. The ache in his chest is dull now, but still there. He can’t believe you planned to use him as some pawn to get back at Kai.

“Why’d I have to hear it from someone else? Why couldn’t you tell me yourself?” he asks. It’s pathetic how his voice carries more heartbreak than anger.

“Cause I didn’t want you to misunderstand and leave!” you explain, desperate. “Yeonjun, please. I don’t care about Kai anymore. I haven’t even talked to him since the party.”

Yeonjun wishes he could feel comforted by your words, but all he feels is hurt. He has this terrible thing where he can’t stop asking questions that will only batter him worse. “So you didn’t really like me?”

You take a step closer to him, placing both hands over your heart. Yeonjun’s not blind; he can see the fear in your eyes, the worry that he might walk away. He doesn’t have it in him to relieve your stress right now.

“I always liked you. I like you more every day,” you answer. There’s honesty in your words, which Yeonjun appreciates. It doesn’t quite melt away his insecurities, though.

Yeonjun can’t bear looking at you any longer, dropping his gaze to the floor and stepping back. He’s ready to leave, thinking he needs the night to himself to stare at the ceiling and contemplate this whole situation.

You stop him before he can get too far. Your hand hooks onto the sleeve of his lab coat, shaking as you cling to him. It’s so pitiful that it ruins the monstrous image Yeonjun’s trying to fit you into in his mind. Against his better judgment, his eyes meet yours again.

He’s about to speak—maybe to console you, to get some of that sadness out of your eyes—but the sound of glass breaking behind him makes him turn with wide eyes, searching for the damage. He’ll be the one stuck replacing any broken equipment; he can only pray that it wasn’t a more expensive piece.

His eyes flit across the room, but he finds nothing. Is he seriously losing his mind? Every time he’s in this lab, there’s something new giving him a mini heart attack. He brushes this off as some kind of paranoia. He considers talking to his professor about taking a break from the lab, just until he can restore his sanity.

“Let’s just head out of here,” Yeonjun says, unable to rid himself of the chill down his spine.

“Do you still like me?” you ask, unable to move on from the conversation. You stay planted in your spot as Yeonjun takes off his lab gear. He groans internally at your question—of course he still likes you. Do you think his feelings are so malleable? His adoration for you feels like an immovable boulder. He can’t even stay mad at you for as long as he wanted to, though he tries not to let you win too easily.

He sighs out your name instead of answering. He waits for you at the door as he throws his sweatshirt back on, and you trudge forward with a pout. Once his sweatshirt is slipped over his head, he catches sight of something behind you, heart stopping entirely.

“What the hell—?!” he emits, eyes growing wide as the cell clump he’d been working with expands out past its storage spot, spilling out onto the floor. The broken glass earlier must’ve been from the petri dish—shit, he should’ve checked. It’s discolored now, so dark it’s nearly black, and growing more rapidly than it should be able to.

You spin on your feet to see what Yeonjun’s looking at, yelping when you see the growth. You back up quickly and bump into Yeonjun’s chest. “What’s happening?” you ask, turning your head back to look up at him.

“I don’t know,” he answers. He has to think fast, because it doesn’t look like the cell replication is stopping any time soon—if anything, it looks like it’s growing exponentially. The clump is a goo-like substance, slowly spilling out further and further onto the floor, looking something like tar as it expands out. “We’ll have to trigger rapid apoptosis,” he says.

“How do we do that?” you ask. Yeonjun’s not sure either, so he doesn’t bother to answer. He opens one of the cabinets and pulls out all the different liquid chemicals he can find. One of these is bound to do something.

You hold yourself and watch him carefully, still looking shy and desperate and nervous from your argument. Yeonjun’s not sure why you seem to be more bothered by him not reassuring you that he likes you than by the clump that grows behind you. Your attention remains on him the whole time.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask.

“No,” he answers sharply and quickly. He has bigger issues to be worried about than staying mad at you.

“I promise I wasn’t lying. I won’t talk to Kai ever again.”

“Why are we having this conversation right now?!” Yeonjun asks, frustrated.

“Because it’s important to me that you know!”

He ignores you in favor of unscrewing the lid to one of the acids, hoping it could digest the cells. When he pours it onto the clump, a loud hiss rings through the room and smoke comes up from the mass. It doesn’t seem to dissolve the cells, though.

He emits an exasperated groan, opening the lid to another chemical substance, and you rush to do the same. He can’t stop to think about how dangerous this is, too focused on controlling the problem before it gets irreparable. You and Yeonjun pour chemicals onto it at the same time, and it seems to react. The tar-like blob thickens now, erecting itself up from the floor languidly.

You and Yeonjun back up, watching with fearful eyes as it stands. It moves like it’s alive, like it’s a living organism. It’s eerily silent for a room as you two stare at the mass in shock. Then, rapidly, it comes charging at you, attaching itself to your cardigan as you shriek. Yeonjun acts fast, running to you and grabbing your waist, adhering his feet to the floor to keep you from getting dragged any more. You shed your cardigan quickly before tugging it back from the blob. It tears from how harsh you pull it, but you don’t seem to care, chucking it to the opposite side of the room.

This is an unfortunate time to see you in a tight-fitting tank top. Your chest heaves from the panic of being grabbed by the organism, rising and falling as you start to steady your breath. You look over at him, and he finds himself blushing and removing his gaze from you in embarrassment. God, now he’s the one struggling to focus on the bigger problem.

Yeonjun directs his wrist at the blob, shooting a web at it to keep it from charging at you again. The web sends the mass flying back until it collides with the wall. Though it can’t remove itself from the confines of the web, it still slowly grows, and it will be able to expand enough to attack again soon. Still, this should buy you two some more time.

“You should leave,” Yeonjun says, coming to you and cupping your face. His eyes beg you to go, strung up on the possibility of you getting hurt.

“I won’t,” you say, grabbing onto his wrists.

“Please. You’re too important.” His hand strokes through your hair like you’re something precious.

You take his hand and kiss it. “You are too. I won’t leave.”

He sighs. He knows he’s not winning this, there’s too much determination in your words. Before he removes his focus from you, he thinks he should tell you one last thing. “Just so you know, I like you too.”

You’re barely able to hold back your smile, but Yeonjun can’t stay and watch your reaction. The mass continues to grow over the confines of the web, and he has to find a way to control it before it overcomes the binds. He opens the binder that holds the descriptions of all the lab materials, hoping he can find something useful in there. His eyes flit across the words, scanning for the chemicals that will be his saving grace.

He stops when he reads the description for nitric acid. The words digest and dissolve kick his body to life, hope stirring inside of him. “Come here with the nitric acid!” he shouts over his shoulder.

“Which one is that?” you ask hurriedly, scanning through the different bottles of chemicals.

“It’s in a brown translucent bottle. Quick!” Before he can panic further, you’re racing to his side with a bottle of the acid. Yeonjun quickly pours it over the mass, watching it shrivel when the liquid hits its surface. A weight lifts off Yeonjun’s shoulders when he realizes he finally found something that works. The bottle doesn’t hold nearly enough, though, because Yeonjun empties it out before he can melt the organism completely.

He turns to you expectantly, and you’re rushing back to the counter where all the chemical substances are held. You’re turning each to read the labels, growing more aggravated as you fail to find another container of nitric acid. You curse as you swing the cabinet doors open, checking if there’s any stored away in there.

You pull out a bottle from the cabinet, reading it quickly. “Would sulfuric acid work?” you ask, looking at Yeonjun like you need him to say yes.

“It would react with the nitric acid,” he answers. You groan.

“You think I know any of this stuff?!” You go back to searching through the cabinet.

“Yes! You’re, like, the smartest girl I know!” Yeonjun exclaims, equally as frustrated.

“You must not know a lot of girls then,” you huff. You finally pull out a bottle that seems to match, running over to Yeonjun. He takes it from your hands and pours the liquid over what remains of the clump, watching it dissolve until all that’s left is a murky puddle on the floor. He plops the nitric acid onto a table, finally letting himself take a full breath. He tastes the chemicals swirling in the air, but he can’t bring himself to care about any toxins filling his lungs. He’s worn out, crouching down in exhaustion with a groan.

When he picks his head up from between his arms, he searches for you. You’re bent over one of the tables, head tucked between your arms as half your body rests over the surface. You must be just as drained as him. He stretches his body out as he stands back up, then approaches you at the opposite side of the table. He rests his elbows onto the tabletop, leaning forward to be closer to you.

“You get feisty when you’re working under pressure,” Yeonjun teases, breathless laugh escaping him. You lift your head to look at him, and he can see how you hold back your amusement.

“I could say the same about you,” you respond. You seem winded, still breathing hard as you push yourself off the table and pick up your cardigan from the floor. You hold up your cardigan and examine the damage. It’s stained and ripped and looks disgusting. You pout. “This was my favorite one…”

“Don’t worry, you’re pretty good at stitching things back up,” Yeonjun says, coming up to you and taking the cardigan from your hands to tie it around your waist. You look up at him, something fond shining in your eyes.

“I guess I am,” you say, tugging on Yeonjun’s sweatshirt to pull him closer to you. You wear a dopey smile as you stare at him, hands resting on his shoulders, and Yeonjun really hopes that you do what he knows you’re both thinking about right now.

You don’t leave him waiting long; your hand comes to his jaw to bring his face to yours, and the next second, Yeonjun’s having the best kiss of his life. It feels like a reward after the shitshow that today’s been. For it to come to this, he’d relive it a dozen more times.

“Wait,” Yeonjun says, pulling back. “Are we dating now?”

“Haven’t we been dating?” You look at him like he’s a fool, and it endears Yeonjun endlessly.

“I mean, boyfriend-girlfriend dating,” Yeonjun explains.

“Oh, I’ve already told, like, three people that you’re my boyfriend.” There might be real hearts in Yeonjun’s eyes right now.

“Good,” he says, coming in for another quick kiss. “I’m all yours.” His words are uttered against your lips, since he can’t seem to pull himself away from you.

You gladly accept his kisses, and he has to keep himself from getting too drunk off your taste. He has to remember he’s still in a lab with a bunch of chemicals filling the air—it’s probably a good idea to get out. Even though he doesn’t want to, Yeonjun steps back and looks around at the mess throughout the room. Given everything that happened, it’s not awful. A mop would take care of ninety percent of the problem.

“We should clean this up,” he sighs.

“Yeah,” you agree. Neither of you make a move. You start laughing after a few seconds, and Yeonjun returns his attention to you with a cheeky grin.

“No, let’s just leave,” he suggests. He’s exhausted. He’ll explain everything to his professor tomorrow, he can’t take any more of this today.

“Should we go back to my place then?” you ask. Yeonjun does a very poor job of hiding his excitement. He wants more than anything to hold you to his chest and zip across campus to get to your dorm, but alas, he does the smart thing instead. A ten minute walk has never felt more like ten hours in his life, and seeing your dorm building finally come into view has his heart racing in anticipation.

Yeonjun’s all over you the minute your door closes behind him. He doesn’t let your lips disconnect for a second—not to talk, not to breathe, because nothing’s more important than tasting your lips on his.

Your back falls to your mattress, and Yeonjun’s mind briefly wanders to the last time you two were here. Having you sprawled out beneath him is quite different than you patching him up above him. In a way, that moment felt like the start of something bigger between you. The initial spark came long before it, but that night is what caused fire to catch. He feeds the flame now, fingers untying the cardigan at your waist and throwing it to the floor. Your shirt’s the next thing to go, and he only pulls away long enough to shed the cloth off of you.

His mouth on yours is ravenous and unwilling to waste any more time. He feels up your stomach, cherishing the warm flesh with eager fingers. He trails his hands up to your chest, feeling your breasts over your bra. You gasp when he squeezes experimentally, and it encourages him to continue, movements growing hungry.

You break away from the kiss, panting for air while Yeonjun latches onto your jaw. He’s insatiable, sucking your skin and placing kitten licks over the mark after. He hovers his face over yours, biting back his grin when he sees how hazy your eyes have become.

You catch his face in your hand, cupping his jaw and thumbing his cheek. The action makes his heart soar, and he leans into your warm touch. Your smile turns from soft to wicked when you push your thumb between his lips, and he engulfs the digit without a fight.

“I like you,” you say as he sucks your thumb, blinking up at him adoringly like he’s not doing some lewd act right now. He swirls his tongue around you before popping it out of his mouth, kissing your fingertip then taking your hand in his own.

“I like you too.” His free hand goes behind your back to search for your bra clasp, fumbling with it clumsily until he gets it to disconnect. You pull the material off, and Yeonjun’s cock twitches in his pants when he takes in the sight of you. A part of him feels wrong for doing this, like this is too dirty, but a larger part of him can’t wait to indulge in you. He’ll just make sure to take you out for dinner after.

Yeonjun throws his sweatshirt and shirt to the floor, pride swirling inside him when he sees the way you ogle at his skin. You lay your hand over his chest, trailing your fingers over the expanse teasingly. He takes your wrist and drags your hand away.

“You don’t deserve to touch me. I’m still upset about Kai,” he says. It’s a lie, but he’s in a playful mood. Your hand makes its way back to his chest despite that, so he grabs it and brings it to the bed, shooting a web over your wrist so you can’t move it. He giggles. The whole web-slinging thing comes with some perks.

“Oh, come on,” you sulk as he does the same to your other wrist. He leans back for a moment, looking down at you all proud. A few different sights flash through his mind, endless possibilities of how he could make the most of your hands being restrained. Maybe he should punish you for ever liking Kai in the first place, keep you on the edge until you’re chanting apologies into the air. He could also just indulge in your body greedily, taste every inch of you without your hands pulling him away. The ache in his pants grows at the thought.

You sigh in satisfaction when his hand meets your clothed core. Your hips grind against his hand, and he allows you to use him to find your pleasure. Your hands close into fists as Yeonjun lets you ride his open palm, still fighting against your restraints.

“How much do you like me?” Yeonjun asks. His free hand holds your waist, fingers brushing against your skin gently.

“So much,” you answer, never abandoning your rhythm. “You’re so smart, and handsome, and funny, and—nngh—and good to me…” Yeonjun’s hand travels from your waist to your chest in reward, thumb rolling over one of your nipples.

“Yeah, I am good to you. I stay with you even though you’re mean to me.”

You shake your head at his statement. “I’m not mean to you,” you say.

He laughs at how you try to control yourself, how serious your tone gets. Your hips slow, so he takes measures into his own hands and moves his palm against your cunt instead. If he presses down hard enough, he can feel how wet you are even through your pants.

“You are,” he says. “You use me to get other men.” He knows that’s not true now, but a part of him is still a little bruised by the idea. He figures that airing out his insecurities like this might help him, and it makes him feel less vulnerable.

“No! That’s not true!” Yeonjun ignores you and takes off your pants, letting them join the other articles of clothing on your floor. He short circuits when he sees the wet patch on your panties. A sense of shame must fill you then, because your legs clamp shut to block his view.

“Hey, be nice,” he says, opening your legs back up. He holds you open as he presses his knee to your folds, and he can feel your arousal even through the fabric of his sweatpants. He’s squealing internally, overjoyed to have you soaking for him, but he keeps his calm on the outside.

Your hands push against the webs again, shaking the mattress a little. You pout at him. “I want to touch you,” you whine.

“Sorry about that,” he says. He matches your pout as his hands smooth down your legs, lazily exploring your flesh. He grabs your hips and positions them up a little so that you’re pressing into his thigh. He hears the moan that gets caught in your throat as he drags your cunt against him, holding back a satisfied smirk.

“Should I tell you what I like about you?” Yeonjun asks, something silky and smooth in his voice. You nod, rolling your hips over his thigh. “Say pleaseeeee,” he prompts.

“Please,” you echo. He giggles.

“Again.” He’s having fun.

“Please, Yeonjun,” you beg, sweet voice dripping with need.

He releases your hips so he can pull off your panties, tugging you back onto him once you kick the cloth off your ankles. He can really feel how wet you are now, and it makes a knot form in his stomach. He wants you more than anything.

“I like how pretty you are,” he starts, leaning over you to press kisses against your neck. “And I like how cool you are.” His mouth travels a little lower, sucking at your collarbone. “And I like how I can talk to you for hours and never get bored.” His lips smother your chest, just above your tits, familiarizing himself with every inch of your skin. Your hips buck against him when he presses his thigh more firmly between your legs. “And I like how wet you get,” he laughs.

His mouth finds your breasts then, tongue swirling teasingly around one of your buds. Your nipples perk up, begging for his attention. He drags his tongue over to your other mound, sucking at the swell of flesh, moaning against you. The taste of your skin in his mouth makes him feel high.

You whine, hips rolling more fervently against him, chasing your approaching high. Yeonjun busies himself with delivering kitten licks to your nipples, watching the way they glisten with his saliva after he runs his tongue across them a few times. He peels himself off of you when your rhythm gets unsteady, not wanting you to cum yet. There’s a look of betrayal on your face as he disconnects from you, not touching you at all anymore.

“Yeonjun,” you moan, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in. “I need to cum.” Your needy cunt grinds against the tent in his boxers, hungrily trying to get yourself off. He lets you have your fun for a minute, enjoying the feel of your warm, wet slit coating his clothed cock, before holding your hips still and keeping you from moving. That doesn’t stop you from digging your heels into his back, pushing him harder against you.

He removes your legs from him, holding you open as he plunges two fingers into your cunt. Your heat takes him in so nicely, the slide of his digits inside you made so easy from how slick your cunt is. You arch your back, moaning out as he curls his fingers inside you.

“Tight girl, gotta stretch you out,” he says, scissoring his digits to prepare you. Your arousal pools out of you, dripping onto the mattress as Yeonjun fucks you on his fingers. “Need to get you ready for me.”

“Mhm, need your dick,” you say. You look so helpless like this, laying back and letting Yeonjun fuck his fingers into you however he wants. He increases his speed just because he can, knowing you can’t pry his hand away, grinning when you emit a surprised gasp. Your walls start tightening around his fingers, a warning of your orgasm, and Yeonjun pulls his hand away before you can get there.

You’re whining his name again, thighs clamping shut to relieve the pressure. He shushes you as he tugs his boxers out of the way, stroking his cock as he watches the way you tremble. Poor thing.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asks. Your legs spread open immediately in invitation. He watches as a glob of arousal drips out from your core.

“Yes,” you breathe out. He pumps his shaft a few more times before bringing it to your folds, letting your wetness coat his tip. “Put it in,” you beg, jerking your hips up. He ignores your plea, bringing the head of his cock to your clit to tap on it a few times. The stimulation sends a buzz through you, and Yeonjun coos at you sweetly.

“Want you to feel so good,” he says, aligning his tip to your hole and starts pushing in. You throw your head back and groan, and he gives your neck a wet kiss. “Wanna be the best you’ve had.” He sinks in slowly, letting your walls adjust to him inch by inch. You feel like heaven around him, and his fingers dig into your hips to keep himself from losing his mind. He wants to meld himself into you.

He grinds his pelvis against you when he bottoms out, steadying his breaths so he doesn’t lose himself too quickly. His moans are deep and airy, while yours are whiny and pathetic. He trails a hand up your body until he’s cupping your face, bringing your attention to him. You look dazed, and he wants to watch you fall apart. He needs to see your perfect face scrunched up with pleasure, eyes glassy and mouth open, going stupid from how fucked out you are.

He presses a light kiss against your lips, then leans his face into the crook of your neck. He finally starts pulling back, slamming back into you with a whimper. Your cunt takes him so readily despite how tight you are, your arousal making him glide in and out of you so easily.

“Gonna be perfect for you,” Yeonjun promises. “Be a good boyfriend. Fuck you every day. Keep you happy.” He lifts himself up to watch your mouth fall open as he thrusts into you. He presses against your stomach to feel himself inside you, moaning whorishly when he does. It makes him fuck you harder, desperation coursing through his system.

You can barely speak from how far gone you are, stuttering out curses and whimpers of his name. He brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing at the swollen bud to get you clenching around him. He groans at how tight you get, sucking him in like your body was meant to take him.

“Need you to cum now,” Yeonjun says, feeling his high looming over. “Gotta feel you milking my cock, let me see it.”

“Kiss me,” you say breathlessly, mouth hanging open as you wait for him to take it. He obliges eagerly, shoving his tongue into your mouth with a needy whine. He licks into you as if this will coax your orgasm out, and it does. Your walls clamp around him, and he’s barely able to move from how tight you get. He circles your clit diligently, only letting up when your body jolts in overstimulation.

He pulls out soon after, only having to stroke himself a few times before he’s spilling his seed onto your stomach. He groans as he milks himself for every last drop, hand shaking as he releases the last of it. You look hot painted with his cum; he bites his lip and squeezes your thighs, needing more and more of you.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he says, making you turn your head away shyly.

“Thanks. You are too.” His stomach flips, feeling proud that he earned your praise. He lowers himself to your torso, lapping at the milky strands of his cum. He cleans you nicely, swallowing down his own release until your stomach’s coated in only his saliva. He brings himself to your slit to lap at it languidly, loving the little whines you emit at the sensation.

“Did so good for me, thank you,” he murmurs into your cunt. He pushes his tongue into your entrance, slowly fucking the muscle inside you. You sigh and roll your hips against his face, relaxed and melting into the feeling.

“Y-you’re good too,” you praise. He licks his way up to your clit, taking it into his mouth and letting his tongue roll over the bud. He likes to hear that he’s being good for you, it makes him feel like he’s worthy of you. He thrives off your happiness, so he feels content as he pleases you with his mouth.

He never wants to let you go. He wants you in his arms forever, he wants to stay in this room and live the rest of his life with just you by his side. This much is enough for him. He glides his hands down your thighs, letting his fingers lightly drag along your skin. He opens his mouth a little more to taste more of you, to kiss your folds more hungrily. He presses the tip of his tongue to your bud, focusing the pressure right against it until he hears you mewl.

“Right there!” you gasp out, pressing yourself further into Yeonjun’s face. He hooks his arms around your thighs to keep you in place, making sure you don’t jolt away when your orgasm creeps up on you. He flicks his tongue over your clit repeatedly, feeling your thighs shake in his grasp. He doesn’t stop until you’re releasing on his face, coating his mouth and chin with your essence.

He detaches himself after a minute, licking his lips and letting go of your legs. He sits up and smiles at you, taking in how pretty you look. He holds your jaw so he can kiss you, and he can’t help but to giggle into the kiss. This is so surreal. He would have fainted if he knew one month ago that this would be happening to him.

“Hi,” you say when he finally pulls his face from yours. This feels like a dream.

“Hi,” he echoes, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He cherishes the smile you give him.

“So when does this dissolve?” you ask, tugging at the webs holding your arms in place. Yeonjun scratches his neck bashfully. That's enough of an answer for you. “Yeonjun…” you sigh, body deflating.

“Less than two hours!” he rushes to say.

“Two hours?!”

“It’s not that bad. I think we can pass the time,” he says, failing to hold back his smile.

Your eyes flit down to his stirring cock. “I guess I have nothing better to do,” you give in. Yeonjun sees right through your nonchalant act, but he lets you get away with it. He has better things to busy himself with than arguing about that.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

You bring Yeonjun to the market after learning about the laundry detergent debacle. You place the item in your basket, shaking your head at him as you do. “I can’t believe your roommate had to tell me to get you to buy this.”

Yeonjun raises his hands in defense. “I get busy sometimes,” he says.

“With coming to my dorm every other night?” you ask with a raised brow, walking into the next aisle.

Yeonjun drops a candy bar into the basket alongside the detergent. “No, with lab stuff, and class stuff, and Spidey stuff,” he corrects. He picks up a bottle of your favorite drink as he passes by it on the shelf. “And with girlfriend stuff,” he adds sweetly.

“Right,” you say unconvincingly, smiling as you nod your head.

Yeonjun grabs a pair of sunglasses off a rack, placing them on his face and turning to you with a grin. “How cool are these?” he asks, pointing at himself.

You laugh and lift the sunglasses up so they rest on his head. “So cool,” you answer. You tilt your head to check the price on them. “You should totally spend the last of your money on them.”

He pulls the glasses off his face to check the price tag, eyebrows raising in reaction. He puts them back on the rack. He can’t get rid of the smile on his face as he watches you shop, endeared and swooned by every little thing you do. It’s small moments like these that make him feel like the luckiest guy on earth.

“We should get bandages. I can’t believe you don’t have any,” you say, looking for where the item would be in the store.

“There’s a lot of things I don’t have. I’m operating on a limited budget,” he explains. It’s not like he can tackle a job on top of everything else he does. He’s grown accustomed to his ways of living, accepting that he’s become the male college student stereotype.

“I’m glad I stepped into your life then,” you say, throwing a box of bandages into your basket. “I’m actually scared you’d die without me.”

Yeonjun can’t help but to laugh at that. “I would die without you,” he agrees. He follows you as you continue walking around the store, aimlessly searching for anything you might need. You stop when you feel your phone buzz, pulling out your phone upon receiving a notification, checking it curiously. He reads the message over your shoulder; it’s an alert from your local news station about some rescue mission for a bunch of dogs that ran loose from their shelter just now. You turn to him with a knowing smile.

“That’s your cue, Spider-man.”

notes: god i loved writing this so much…. i hope u like spideyjjun just as much as i do<3 i would love to hear ur thoughts if u have anyyy!!! tysm for reading hehe

taglist: @ambsphoria @bananasdiary @beaabz @beomgyusluver @beomsdoll @brrytears @bumgyuz @dawngyu @enhastolemyheart @estrnrea @fancypeacepersona @fatbixchwithanopinion @heejamas @heesmiles @insanityz @i4tzy @jellyyjn @kejingken @lilbrorufr @lovesickchoi @mrsjohnnysuh @raspberrii @sanscupid @saraalovestxt @soobinieswife @starrynightgyu @starstrucktae @taebatu @taysfairies @tubatukimoa @tyongyuta @usuallyunlikelyfox @verco @vvjolyneee @xylatox @younbeanz @yourenzoo @yunverie 🤍

© delugyu 2025, do not translate or reupload

[kurapikasidewife]

You hadn’t expected the call.

Who calls someone at 3 in the morning to check in on them? Especially when they’re on the other side of the world with a 12 hour time difference.

Bakugou Katsuki. That’s who.

You stared at the caller ID for a solid couple of seconds before eventually answering the call. Not wanting to worry Bakugou you decided to fake being sleepy and put on your best groggy voice “hey suki.”

A hearty “HA!” came from the other line “you are not meant for voice acting baby, you’re shit at faking it.”

You can’t help the giggle that escapes your throat “I thought I could get away with it, why are you calling so late?”

“It’s storming there”

Of course you already knew that, since it’s what’s keeping you up. “Yeah, why do you care?”

“Tell me why you’re up this late,” his commanding tone seeping through the phone.

“You know why, you literally said it was-ohhh” the realization hit you; the man was worried about you. “Kats, I’m fine.”

“Don’t bullshit me. How bad is it?” His voice a gentler tone now, he’d known about your fear of storms since the beginning of your relationship.

“Could be worse,” you said sheepishly “it would be better if you were here.” He would always hold your hand, rub your back, play with your hair, anything to distract and relax you from the storm. Without him here you found it much harder to sleep, not that you were planning on telling him that.

“I know. I’ll be home soon baby. You need sleep tonight so here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to run yourself a bath, put on a movie, and listen to the voice memo I sent you.” His matter of fact tone left no room for argument.

“What voice memo?” Almost as of on cue your phone pinged with a text from Bakugou. Sure enough there was a voice memo attached, and what the fuck? It was SIX HOURS long????

“What the fuck did you just send me and why is so fucking long?” Your mouth hung open as you looked at the size of the file.

“Just put it on when you’re going to sleep ok?” His gentle tone returning to his voice.

“Fine.“ he was being weird but you trusted him, and you were really curious. “Goodnight my love”

“Night, love you.” He hung the phone up and immediately you started doing as he told you to. The bath was really relaxing, and it’s hard to hear the storm with the sound of Toy Story playing in the background. Finally once your head touches the pillow you have your phone in your hand, audio at the ready. You close your eyes and listen:

Look, I’m not always gonna be able to be right beside you when it’s storming, but I can sound like I’m close. I recorded myself sleeping a couple nights ago and that’s why this thing is so fucking long. I know you like the sound of me breathin’ even if it’s super fucking weird. Maybe this will help your strange ass sleep. Goodnight sweets.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the introduction, god he knew you so well. The audio continued and you could hear sheets shuffling followed by muffled breathing. A warmth spread in your chest as the gravity of his thoughtfulness finally hit.

Of course Bakugou was right and you were asleep in no time. You texted the blonde when you woke up.

Y/N: The audio actually helped…. I think you should send me more to be safe.

Bakugou: You wish.

Y/N: Seriously thank you I wouldn’t have gotten any sleep last night without your help. Your loud ass snoring blocked out all the thunder.

Bakugou: I don’t snore.

Y/N: you gotta listen to the audio.

Bakugou: Listen to myself sleep? Fucking weird. I’m not like you.

Y/N: Says the guy who checked the weather for the other side of the world.

Bakugou: Last time I try to be nice.

[morganbritton132]

Continuing from this (starting here and here)

Hopper doesn’t want to think about Steve.

He doesn’t really want to even see the kid or his broken arm or his wide gap-tooth smile where he’s starting to lose baby teeth. Every interaction is a reminder that he’s not doing anything to stop this clear case of child neglect.

He’s failing Steve and if he’s failing a kid whose problems are so blatantly obvious, then he could fail Sarah when the problems are close to home.

So no, Hopper doesn’t say anything when he walks into Melvards and sees Steve at the check counter. He nods to Joyce and continues on.

He’s got a list from his wife and that’s all he’s here for.

Sure, he noticed that on the check out counter is a tube of toothpaste, a box of cereal, and a pint of milk. Sure, he clocked Steve with his chin resting on the counter, pushing coins across it to Joyce and asking, “How ‘bout now?”

That’s just good observation. He’s a cop. It’s his job.

“That brings you to $2.54,” Joyce tells him. “You need 1 dollar and 0.32 cents more.”

Hopper is not listening to Steve sigh. He’s not standing next to a shelf of sunscreen watching Steve push the toothpaste to the side like, “I don’t need to brush my teeth. Is it enough now?”

“How about this,” Joyce whispers, leaning on the counter like they’re going to share a secret. Hopper is sure she’s crinkling her nose when she pushes the money back over to him, “How about you take all your quarters and I let you take your cereal, and your milk, and your toothpaste.”

Whereas he can’t see Joyce’s face, he can see the instant suspicion on Steve’s face when he steps back from the counter, “That’s stealing.”

“Yeah, silly, if you steal it. You’re not doing that,” Joyce concedes. “I’m letting you have this stuff.”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to do that, Miss Joyce. You’ll get in trouble.”

“Well, how about a trade?”

“Like a Quick Pro Skrull?”

“Sure,” Joyce says easily. “I will trade you $2.54, one box of cereal, one pint of milk, and a tube of bubblegum-flavored toothpaste….if you let me sign your cast.”

Steve’s voice is soft, considerate the way kids aren’t supposed to be when he says, “Miss Joyce, that’s not a fair trade.”

“It’s the only thing I want, baby.”

“Fine,” Steve agrees, laying his casted arm on the counter. “I get my allowance in two days and I’m going to buy you a flower.”

“That sounds lovely, sweetheart.”

Hopper leaves the sunscreen- it’s not even on his list - and goes to the canned goods in the next aisle. While there, he has a better view of Joyce writing her name on Steve’s cast.

“You know, Steve,” She tells him. “I’m going to put my phone number right here because I have little boy about your age. His name is Jonathan.”

“I know Jonathan from school.”

“That’s good! Maybe some time you two can play together.”

“Oh, no thanks, Miss Joyce,” Steve shakes his head sadly. “My dad says you’re poor an’ I’m not allowed to play with poor people ‘cause poor people are lazy and don’t work hard even though you have a job…”

Steve pauses like he’s contemplating that before continuing, “And Tyler - that’s Tommy’s big brother. Tommy is my best friend and I wish I lived at his house - he says that sometimes people are so poor that they can’t a’ford food and they eat babies. He says that happened in Ireland and he would know too ‘cause his great-great-great-ate grandpa is from there.”

“I’m not a baby,” He tells her seriously, “But my Nonna says I’m a sweet boy and one time I was playing with a kid from the trailer park and he bit me.”

He tells her, “I don’t wanna be eaten.”

Joyce blinks at him.

Hopper blinks too where he’s listening in.

Steve doesn’t blink at all but instead gathers up his stuff. He gives her a big smile and says, “Thanks, Miss Joyce. I love you. Bye.”

Then he’s gone.

The store is empty except for Hopper in the baby food aisle and Joyce at the counter. She asks aloud, “Did I just get accused of cannibalism?”

Hopper has never laughed harder.

[froggibus]

— Grayson's Girl - Dick Grayson & Wally West

Pairing: Dick Grayson x f! reader (has a pussy + she/her pronouns) x Wally West

Genre: smut/nsfw, angst

Word Count: 11.8k

Summary: Wally swears he’s fine with you and Dick’s new relationship… and if he says it enough times, maybe he'll actually believe that

CW: established relationship (Dick x reader), fem reader, wally is the flash here, plot w porn, jealousy/insecurity, masturbation, sex fantasies, fear toxin, yearning, mutual pining, threesome (mmf), fingering, oral (m! receiving), p in v, cuckolding, outdoor/semi-public sex, unprotected sex, eiffel tower (kinda), aftercare!!

the longest thing ive ever posted on tumblr, by far the most detailed/complicated...and it was the dick/wally sandwich of all things that brought this on. also HUGE thanks to my fellow gotham pothead for helping me brainstorm + for listening to me yap about this for days. anywaysss enjoy!! (banner stolen from Nightwing #90 (Tom Taylor) title may or not be a rick springfield reference (im so corny) yes my nerd ass made special dividers for this

“Wally, help me!” You shout, playfully hitting your fists on Dick’s back. “Dick, put me down!”

The former Robin ignores your pleas, continuing his path straight to the pool. You squirm on his shoulders, kicking your legs frantically, but he’s simply too strong. 

Wally watches, suppressing a sigh. He’s not jealous—how could he be jealous? His best friend is dating his other best friend, and he’s in love with both of them. What’s there to be jealous about? 

You look at him with sparkling eyes and a glittering grin, the sun on your face. You’re gorgeous, practically ethereal, and you always have been in Wally’s eyes. And Dick? Years of training with the Bat and being a vigilante have left him looking like a Greek god. It doesn’t help that the summer heat has him rocking a glowing tan. 

Wally can’t help but think back to that night a little over a month ago. When you and Dick had showed up to his apartment for your weekly game night, and broke the news. You seemed so happy together, and it’s not like either of you knew about Wally’s feelings. All the boy could do was smile and nod and congratulate the two of you, no matter how bitter the word tasted on his tongue. 

“Dick!” You slap his shoulder, “come on! If you throw me in there, I’m not swimming back up! Enjoy your homicide charge!”

Wally laughs at your stupid joke. “Don’t worry, Rob. I’ll help you hide the body.”

You put on a fake hurt face and flip him the finger before erupting into giggles. Wally returns your gesture, grinning back at you. Dick makes it to the edge of the pool and tosses you in, giving you a half-assed salute as you fall. 

Of course, Wally can’t let this stand. He’s on his feet in a microsecond, dashing towards the two of you at the edge of the water. He shoves Dick into the water, tugging his phone out of his pocket before he falls in. Wally manages to grab you just before you hit the surface of the water, lifting you into his arms. 

He stands still and watches his best friend surface, the water droplets on his tanned skin making him look even more god-like. 

“I’ll get you back for that, Wally.” Dick threatens, but with the grin on his face and his sopping wet hair, it’s hard to take him seriously.

You hate to admit it, but you secretly enjoy the feeling of Wally’s warm skin on yours. His bare abs and strong arms glisten with sweat and banana scented sunscreen—you swallow hard and force yourself to look away.

“Thanks for the save,” you flash a grin at him and hop out of his arms. 

“It was worth it,” he shrugs. He looks down at the melted rubber of his flip flops and sighs, “good thing these were only $3.”

Dick hoists himself out of the pool, his biceps dripping wet and glowing in the sunlight. He grabs his towel off of his foldout chair, towel drying his hair. The ends curl where it’s started to dry, and you want to tug on the strands with your fingers. 

Wally retreats back to the chair he was laying on. “That’s enough sun for me for the day,” he jokes. “One more minute and my skin would’ve matched my suit.”

“You and your delicate ginger skin,” you smirk. “Poor, delicate Wally.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “I’d watch it, unless you want a swim in the pool.”

“Okay, okay, I surrender.”

Dick comes up behind you, pressing his wet body to your warm back. You shiver and attempt to shove him off but he clings onto you. 

“What?” He pouts, “you don’t want me, baby?”

Wally scrunches up his nose without meaning to. He wishes he was either one of you right now, in the middle of you two. Anything but this.

Dick spins you around, keeping his hands on your waist, and pulls you in for a kiss. The water from his hair drops onto the top of your head and runs down your temples but you don’t care. You’re too focused on tasting him, his familiar flavour muddied with the taste of chlorine and lemonade.

It takes a minute for either of you to notice that Wally’s gathered his things and left.

You frown. “He didn’t even say goodbye.”

“He’s had a long week.” 

Dick offers you a half-hearted smile but you can’t help but look beyond that to the steely look in his eyes. The same one he gets when he knows more than he’s letting on.

—

Wally’s scorching by the time he gets home from the pool. Running mile after mile in the blazing summer heat is not for the faint of heart—especially for someone who already runs hot. 

The heat is only made worse by the ache in his groin. He’s never felt more relieved in his life than the relief he feels at dropping his swim shorts and letting his cock spring free. 

He spits in his palm, smearing it up his shaft along with his precum. A shiver runs up his spine. God, he needed this. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and falls into an easy rhythm. Up and down, up and down. And then the images of you and Dick come flashing through his mind and he knows it's wrong and he knows he should stop—but he doesn’t. 

He thinks of your mouth, how warm and wet it would be. Lips wrapped around his cock, pretty eyes looking up at him. He thinks of how Dick would be by your side, a hand in your hair to guide you and the other hand petting Wally’s thigh. 

He could make you feel so good, he could make both of you so happy. Why didn’t either of you think of him, why didn’t either of you want him? 

The frustration gets to him, his fist clenching his cock tighter. He imagines his hand fisting Dick’s cock while you ride him, soft moans slipping from your lips with every bounce. With his eyes closed, he swears he can almost feel your pussy around him. 

It’s wrong, it’s so wrong, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to look either of you in the eyes after this. But he keeps going, imagining it going further while his cock twitches in his hand. 

The heat consumes him and his hand only moves faster. He can’t help but think of how you’d squirm beneath him, how you’d whine about it being too much. He pictures Dick being beneath you, his cock stilled in your walls, talking you through it while Wally fucks you so good. 

A gasp slips from his throat, his mouth dry with the heat of the day. He needs you so bad, and for one torturous second, he contemplates calling you. Throwing caution to the wind and confessing to you and Dick. 

And then he’s finishing, hot ribbons of cum bringing him back to reality. It coats his abs, his thighs and his hands—but he wishes so badly it was you instead. 

He hasn’t even had a chance to wipe up his fluids when his phone is buzzing and your contact is popping up. Even the sight of your smiling photo in his phone has his face burning in guilt. 

He lets it go to voicemail, and the reality of his situation washes over him. 

He can’t help but stare at himself in the mirror while he washes his hands. A million thoughts race through his mind but more than anything: what can Dick give you that he can’t?

He’s tall, he has abs, and he’s funny, or at least, you laugh at all his jokes. So why don’t you like him? 

And though Wally puts up such a confident front, he crumbles before himself in the mirror. He’s all that, and maybe more, but one thing he will never be is Dick. He’ll never be that confident, trustworthy leader that you’d follow anywhere. 

While Dick is a hero through and through, Wally can’t help but think he’s a cheap copy that could never compare. 

-

Dick stills inside of you, the hand he had between your shoulder blades relaxing. Your walls clench around him in need but the vigilante remains still as stone. 

“What—“ You swallow, your voice breathy with unspoken moans. “What’s wrong?”

His voice is raspy with sex. “You’re distracted.”

You open your mouth to protest but suddenly his hands are on your hips and he’s manhandling you onto your back. A giggle slips from your lips, your knees automatically folding into your chest. 

Dick watches you with a smirk and resists the urge to make a joke about how well-trained you are. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

“I’m worried about Wally.”

Dick rolls his hips into yours. Whether he’s satiating his need or yours, you’re not sure. 

“Why’s that?”

You reach up and tangle a hand in his curls, a frown forming on your face. “He’s been distant lately. I-I don’t know. I’m worried.”

He offers you a few lazy thrusts, tilting his head into your chest so you can knead your hands deeper into his scalp. The head of his cock bullies its way through your walls and forces a gasp from your lips.

“He’s been busy.” Dick plants a kiss to your collarbone, “but if you’re really worried, why don’t you give him a call?” 

“I don’t want to pry.”

“Don’t get shy now.”

For emphasis, he snaps his hips into yours again and an embarrassingly loud moan rips its way from your throat. Heat rushes to your head and you find yourself burying your face in your hands. 

“Okay, okay,” you concede, and reach for your phone on Dick’s nightstand. “I’m calling him, so pipe down.”

“With my cock still inside of you? That’s bold.”

You playfully slap his arm before shushing him, pressing dial on Wally’s contact. It rings once, twice, three times, and then you’re greeted by his voicemail. 

‘Hey, you’ve reached Wally. I’m probably busy right now, so shoot me a text and I’ll get back to you in a Flash.’

You purse your lips and drop your phone in frustration. You look at Dick seriously, “do you really think he’s fine?”

“Wally might bite down his feelings sometimes, but when he wants to talk, he’ll talk. Just let him come to you.”

You sigh. He has a point. Wally may seem confident and brazen, but you know that beneath that suave surface, there’s an entire undertow of emotions waiting to be uncovered. 

“You’ll see him for game night this week, anyway.” 

“I know, I know. You’re right, I’ll leave it alone.”

“Now,” Dick grins and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, “can I fuck you, or what?”

You tangle your fingers on the back of his neck and tug him into you, letting his taste distract you from your concern. 

-

Dick’s away helping family by the time game night rolls around, leaving you no choice but to change it to a movie night instead.

Wally tries to protest that Catan is totally playable with two players but after some light pushing, agrees to come over and watch movies for the weekend. On the condition he gets to choose the movies, of course.

“You’re gonna love this one,” he says through a mouth full of popcorn. “It’s like Groundhog Day if it was a horror movie.”

Wally plops onto the couch next to you, slinging an arm across the back of the cushions. He doesn’t even think about how close he is or how there’s only inches between you two. You’re best friends, you’ve been best friends for years—this is totally normal, right? The memories of his evening after the pool flash through his mind as if to say no. 

You press play on the remote before reaching across Wally’s lap to set it on the side table. Your arm brushes his chest and you swear you see him blush but suddenly the movie is starting and your attention is carried away. You settle back into your spot next to him, so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body.

Wally tries to keep his cool and focus on the movie but his attention keeps drifting back to you. You’re gorgeous, he can’t help it. And it doesn’t help that you’re so reactive to the movie—jumping into his side, gasping at the gory parts, laughing at the jokes.

Every time you move, it’s like a stitch in his side. You’re so close to him that he could just wrap his arms around you and pull you into his lap. It takes everything in him not to. 

At some point, you rest your head on his shoulder, the soft skin of your cheek brushing the spot where his tanktop meets his skin. He swallows hard, taking shallow breaths like he’s afraid you’ll move away.

“Is it—” He scratches the back of his neck, “is it hot in here?”

You sit up and Wally bites back his disappointment. “I can turn the air conditioning on if you want. I know you run hot.”

He nods, fanning his face to keep his ears from glowing red. When you pull your legs out from under yourself and stand, Wally can’t help but miss the feeling of you against him.

No, he berates himself. She’s not yours.

Wally forces himself to his feet, following the familiar path to your bathroom. He only feels like he can breathe again when he locks himself inside. He runs the tap on cold, splashing the frigid water over his face and into his hair.

Through the water on his lashes, Wally makes eye contact with himself in the mirror. For the first time since your day at the pool, he lets his thoughts wander to a place he’s been refusing to go. What does Dick have that he doesn’t?

He wonders what would’ve happened if he’d asked you out first, or if he’d been open to either one of you about his feelings. Maybe things would’ve been weird as he’d always feared—but that what if in the back of his mind wonders if it could’ve turned out better than he could possibly imagine.

He dabs his face dry with a nearby towel and hates the way he can recognize your scent on it. He hates even more the way it has heat rushing to his groin, his cock shifting awkwardly in his boxers. Calm the fuck down, man.

When he settles back down on the couch, concern riddles your features. “Are you okay?”

“Just hot,” he lies. “Speedster genes and all.”

You squint at him and though you don’t believe him for a second—especially given it’s a brisk 18 degrees celsius in the apartment—you nod slowly. Wally presses play on the remote and forces himself to focus on the movie.

You can’t focus, though. Your mind runs laps, thinking of his odd demeanour at the pool, his distance this week and now his sudden jumpiness today. You glance at Wally, who’s keeping a generous six inches of space between you two, and frown.

“Are you sure everything is okay?”

He pauses the movie, drawing in his legs to sit criss-crossed on your couch. He opens and closes his mouth, the gears turning behind his green eyes. He doesn’t know what to say to you. He knows he can’t keep lying and avoiding his feelings, but what the hell else is he supposed to do?

“You’ve been…off lately.” You pick at your cuticles. “You didn’t even say goodbye at the pool and honestly, it felt like you were trying to blow me off this week. Did I—did I do something wrong?” 

Wally’s heart cracks inside his chest. He wants to hug you and kiss you and tell you that you couldn’t possibly do anything wrong in his eyes, but he doesn’t. He sits on the couch like a fucking statue, his mouth falling open in shock. 

He’d considered that Dick might’ve noticed something was off—the insightful bastard—but never for a second did he think you would notice. It was stupid, really. You’ve been friends for years, and he knows you can read him just as well as he can read you.

His voice cracks when he speaks. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You sit in silence, waiting for him to elaborate. Every feature on your face, every movement of your body tells Wally you’re listening. Waiting.

It’s a trap, every bone in his body screams. Don’t do it.

“I just—” He swallows, knowing the dam is going to break and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. “You guys started dating and I-I feel so awkward. We hang out and I watch you be so happy together and I wanna—I wanna be happy too. I know I could be happy with you guys if you just gave me a fucking chance and—”

He stops himself before he can take it any further. The blood rushes to his ears and for a minute he questions if he really just said all of that out loud. The stunned look on your face tells him all he needs to know—he fucked up.

“Wally…”

He shakes his head, messy red strands bouncing off his temples. He shuts his eyes, hoping if he hides long enough, this whole mess will go away. 

“Sorry, I should go.”

He goes to stand but you catch his wrist tightly in yours, beckoning him to stay. He turns on his heel, watching you with careful eyes. The adrenaline barrels through him, your fingers on his skin only edging it along. 

“Stay. Please.”

The words send electricity up his spine like a bolt of lighting. Blood roars in his ears and suddenly he’s a man possessed. He’s dropping to his knees in front of you on the couch, hands cupping yours. And then his hands are wandering, trailing higher.

They brush up your arms, to your shoulders and linger on your neck before cupping your cheeks. You don’t dare breathe, don’t dare make a sound. And then he’s leaning in and his lips are crashing against yours and you’re stuck there in shock.

He squeezes his eyes shut and with your soft lips against his, he can almost pretend like this is normal. Like this is something he’s allowed to do and not something he’s taking. 

Reality hits him like a brick wall. He forces himself away from you, arms falling flat at his sides. He looks at you, his mouth fallen open in shock. 

You stare at him, his green eyes darkened. You’re not sure what to say, what to do. Your heart hammers against your ribs. What the fuck just happened?

“Wally—”

He’s running out the door before you finish saying his name, a trail of lightning in his wake.

-

It takes an hour from when Wally kisses you for you to call Dick.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice is hushed and it’s only now that you realize he’s probably on patrol with one of his brothers.

“Wally,” your voice shakes, “Wally kissed me.”

There’s silence on Dick’s side and you brace yourself. You just shared a worryingly passionate kiss with your mutual best friend, and even though Dick rarely gets jealous, you expect the worst.

There’s an amused undertone to his voice. “How was it?” 

You blink. “How was it? How was it?”  You can’t help but laugh—what the fuck is he going on about? “You’re not seriously asking me that.”

“At least you know now why he’s been distant.”

He says it so casually that it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You think back to that day at the pool and that look in his eyes. You knew there was more than he was letting on. 

“Did you know?” Your voice is quiet, “did you know he had feelings for me—us?”

“I suspected it.”

He’s using that annoyingly calm voice that makes you want to throw your phone at the wall. Your heart races with barely suppressed frustration. He knows, and he’s possibly known this whole time, and he hasn’t said a damn thing?

“And you said nothing?”

“I knew he’d say something eventually. It wasn’t my place.”

You swallow back tears of frustration. Wally’s been hurting this whole time, hurting because of you, and Dick didn’t say anything. He let you continue on being happy knowing Wally was miserable—knowing you could do something about it.

“How could you?”

“Y/n,” the phone crackles with his sigh. “It’s not like that.”

“I don’t—I can’t hear it tonight, Dick. I’ll talk to you later.”

You hang up before he can protest.

Your apartment is impossibly quiet when your phone call ends. Conflict lines every cell in your body—frustration with Dick and sympathy for Wally battling it out. Even after you curl up back on the couch and start the movie from where you left off, silence seems to blanket the apartment.

You don’t even realize you’re dialling Wally’s number until it goes straight to his voicemail.

‘Hey, you’ve reached Wally. I’m probably busy right now, so shoot me a text and I’ll get back to you in a Flash.’

You can’t remember the last time you heard his voicemail, and yet you’ve heard it too much this week. Wally always, always answers your calls. The sound of his prerecorded voice is only a monument to how fucked up things have gotten.

With nothing else to do, you turn off your phone and watch the rest of the movie.

- 

Wally’s never felt guilt like this before. It weighs on him, hangs over his head like storm clouds. The sight of your shocked face—all swollen lips and wide eyes—stays burned in his mind. The fantasies he’d once had about you have faded away and all he can feel is your shock and sadness when he’d pushed his lips onto yours. 

He’d called you the second he’d got back to his apartment only to hang up before the first ring. He’d done the same to Dick, only to realize there was no one he could talk to about his. At least, no one he wanted to talk to about it. With nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, Wally suited up and hit the city, hoping to burn off some energy. Unfortunately for him, it’s a horribly slow night in Keystone city.

After running a dozen laps around the city, he settles down on the tallest building he can find and opens his phone. He stares at his lock screen—a photo of the three of you at the beach from last summer—and sighs. He considers calling you again, or calling Dick.

Then his phone lights up with your contact and panic swells in his chest. He slams his finger on the decline button. He can’t bear to face you right now.

While any other day he’d be grateful for such a slow night, the evening passes achingly slow, and he can’t help but be grateful when the burglary alarm sounds at a nearby bank.

Finally, something he can’t fuck up tonight.

-

Your week passes agonizingly slow. 

On a good week, your evenings are spent with either Dick or Wally or both. Your apartment is filled with laughter and stupid jokes, and your fridge is found emptied of its contents more often than not. 

It’s not a good week, though.

Dick calls you almost every day. It’s typical of him to try and fix things before they’re ready to be fixed. He’s always forcing the pieces back into place before the glue has had time to set.

Wally also calls you. Only once and you declined the call as soon as you saw his contact. Regret filled you the second your finger had touched the decline button but that stubborn side of you couldn’t bring itself to let go and allow you to call him back.

So you sit in silence every night, wondering if when Friday comes Dick will show up with board games and Wally with pizza. 

When Friday does roll around, your group chat is a ghost town. You type out a message on your lunch break, just a quick ‘hey, we still on for tonight?’ before immediately deleting it. No matter how bad you want to, you can’t bring yourself to send it.

You buy yourself takeout after work and settle in at your apartment for a quiet night. You queue up Wally’s other choice of movie despite the bitter taste it leaves in your mouth. 

A part of you still wants to call him back and ask him if he really meant what he said. If he really meant to kiss you that night. Another part of you is too scared to hear the answer—scared he’ll say it was nothing.

And that part scares the hell out of you.

You think about calling Dick, too. You want to ask him where you go from here, why he was so okay with another man—his best friend of all people—kissing you. Still, you don’t, because you’re not ready to hear Dick’s answer, either.

You’re only part way through the movie when your front door is slamming open so hard dry wall rains from the wall where it impacts. You cringe—your landlord is not going to be happy. You rise to your feet and grab the heftiest book off your coffee table, ready to face your intruder. 

The Flash stands in your living room, his chest rising and falling so fast you’re worried he’ll go into cardiac arrest. Nightwing is draped over his shoulder, half limp and breathing just as fast. You freeze at the sight of them, the book clattering from your hand onto the floor.

Dick’s hair is matted to his forehead with blood, a trail of it leading down to his mask. His muscles are tense and twitching, and his pupils are almost entirely blown out. You take a step towards them only for him to flinch, cowering in Wally’s arms.

“What the hell happened?”

You glance from the costumed men to your broken door, unsure of what you should tend to first. Wally rips off his cowl, taking a deep gasping breath. His cheeks are nearly as red as his suit, his hair coated in sweat and his pupils nearly as big as Dick’s.

They can’t be seen like this, you decide, and make your way to the door. The deadbolt is broken and the door makes a horrible screeching noise when you force it back into the frame, but at least it closes. You frown and make a mental note to have them fix it when there’s not a crisis on hand.

Wally coughs, muscles twitching in pain. “Got ambushed with—” He’s cut off through another coughing fit, adjusting his grip around Dick. “Fear gas.”

Your eyes shoot wide. Though you’d never had any run-ins with the substance, you knew just how volatile it could be. The last time Dick had encountered it, his nightmares had lasted over twelve hours and it took him days to recover. You can only pray this dose wasn’t that potent.

You rush to Dick’s other side, wrapping his arm around you to help Wally bear his weight. He trembles against you and you can feel his heart hammering in his chest. At this rate, he’s going to faint.

With Wally’s help, you manage to get him to your couch. Dick weakly protests as you lay him among your plush blankets and throw pillows but in this state, there’s not much he can do to fight back.

Wally stands on shaky legs by Dick’s side and you can’t help but notice he’s still hanging onto Dick’s hand. Though he’s better off than Dick, it’s not by much. You see the way he cringes at the shadows on the wall cast by passing cars, the way fresh guilt floods his eyes.

You frown at the thought of him running all this way here with Dick. His enhanced metabolism is enough to fight off the worst of the effects but not fast enough to keep the nightmares from setting in.

You nod to the couch. “You too, Red.” 

“I’m fine.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” You rest a hand on his shoulder, your other hand cupping his to gently coax him onto the couch, “just sit down for a minute while I bring you water, yeah?”

Wally’s too tired to protest, something you’re secretly thankful for. While you fill up two glasses with water, you can’t keep yourself from wondering what he’s seeing right now. You know that in the past Dick’s nightmares have ranged from horrible monsters to the zombified corpses of his loved ones.

You only hope that with some rest, Wally will at least be up and running again soon. 

Wally greets you with a weak smile when you hand him his water. His hands shake as he takes it from you and greedily gulps the entire cup in one go. You can’t help but stare at the wetness around his mouth and the bob of his throat as he swallows. 

It’s terrible, really, to stare like that. He’s your best friend and he’s hurting and your boyfriend is right there—but clearly the kiss has left you with some unresolved feelings. 

“Something wrong?”

You snap back to reality to find Wally staring at you with a lopsided grin. He knows you’re staring. Shaking your head, you gesture towards Dick. “Are you feeling up to helping me give him water?”

Immediately, you feel guilty for asking because you know he’d never say no to you or Dick. Wally nods and rises to his feet slowly, following you to Dick’s side. He stands next to him, cupping the back of his neck to raise his head just enough so he won’t choke.

You raise the glass of water to his lips and gently pour in a couple millilitres. His eyes snap open and fear lines his features. The usual blue of his eyes has been almost completely washed out by black, a heart-wrenching sight.

His arms thrash out to fight you off but the toxin has made him sluggish and Wally catches his wrists before he can touch you. “Dick,” he says seriously. “Dick, it’s just us. We’re trying to help you.”

He only fights for a few more seconds before his arms relax and his eyes flutter closed. With Wally still holding him, you slowly peel his mask from his face and set it on the side table along with his glass of water. 

You’re tempted to grab a cloth and try to wipe the blood off but you know it’ll only cause him to fight harder. Besides, Wally needs rest almost as much as Dick does and it would be unfair to ask him to wrestle his best friend again.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Do you need anything? More water?”

“I can get it.”

You level him with a serious look. Sweat still beads his temples and though his breathing has slowed, it’s still not at his normal rate. “You need rest. I’ll grab it just…hang tight for a sec.”

You can feel Wally’s eyes on you the whole way to the sink. Even when you turn around to fill up his empty glass, you feel him watching. A shiver runs up your spine, your hand clenching the cup tighter.

“Y/n, watch out!” He shouts.

You spin around, expecting Scarecrow himself to be behind you. In your panic, you drop the glass of water. You don’t even finish your turn before Wally’s arms are around you and suddenly you’re in the corner of your living room.

Your heart is frantic in your chest and your eyes dart to the place you’d just been standing only to find…nothing. Wally clutches you tighter to his chest, defending you from unseen monsters.

“Jesus, Walls.” You press a hand to your chest as if that will slow your rapid heart rate. “You scared the hell out of me.”

His grip around you loosens slightly. “Sorry, I—I thought I saw something.”

It’s his tone that really grips you. Relief. True, genuine relief. Like he really thought someone was about to hurt you, to rip you right out from under him, and he’d gotten to you in the knick of time.

You rest a sympathetic hand over his and it’s only now that it dons on you how close he is. His body heat feels so nice against your skin and you can smell his deodorant with just a hint of sweat, and—God, has he always been this tall?

“You really should rest, Wally.”

In spite of your words, you make no move to leave his arms. It’s comforting and warm and familiar, and though he’s hugged and carried you before, it’s never been quite like this. Wally makes no move to let you go, either.

“I’m fine like this.”

You’re not sure how long you stand with Wally pressed behind you, his arms around your waist. It feels like only seconds but based on the waning darkness outside, you know it’s been much longer.

“You guys are cute,” Dick rasps out.

You swear Wally flinches behind you. He drops his arms from your waist and you force your face to remain neutral despite your disappointment.

You tear yourself away from him and immediately miss his warmth. “How’re you feeling?”

Dick’s eyes are open now, most of the blue having returned. His breathing’s returned to normal, too. Shit, how long were you guys standing there?

Dick ignores your question. “Would’ve been so cute to see you guys kiss.”

Scratch that—he’s clearly not back to normal yet.

Wally goes white as a sheet, green eyes darting between you and Dick. “Shit, you told him? You know?”

“Of course I told him. I tell him everything.”

A million emotions flash across his face. Confusion, guilt, betrayal. You reach for him but he shuffles back, his gaze suddenly steely. You see him glance at the door and realize he’s planning his escape route again.

“I‘m not mad,” Dick mumbles. “I’ve kissed her too.”

If you weren’t so concerned, you’d probably laugh at that. Instead, you step directly in front of Wally, sizing him up. “Don’t leave again.”

Wally’s not sure what prompts him to stay—whether it’s the sad look in your eyes or his sick best friend—but he does. When you reach a hand to guide him to the couch, he has no choice but to take it.

Your apartment falls into silence once more. Not the comfortable silence you’d grown used to this week. No, this silence is thick and awkward and threatens to choke you at every turn. 

Dick just sits there, staring ahead and processing how he got to your apartment. Wally taps his feet like he always does when he’s uncomfortable or has too much energy. You play with your hands, trying to think of anything to break the ice.

It’s not you who gets the first word in, though. It’s not even Wally. 

It’s Dick who speaks first. “She’s a good kisser, right?”

You laugh, if only in shock and embarrassment. “Okay, that’s enough for me for the night.”

You glance at Wally whose face has turned an impossible shade of red. His brows furrow at your statement, his mouth falling open as if to speak but no words come out.

“You two should get some rest. Come and get me in about 8 hours, okay?”

“But—” Dick protests, stopping in his tracks when you shoot him a serious look. “Okay, goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Wally parrots.

“Goodnight,” you say. “No one die in my apartment, please.”

-

You’re thoroughly unsurprised when you wake up sandwiched in the middle of your bed. Sweat coats the back of your neck, heat seeping into every pore.

Dick lays on your left, having traded his sweaty Nightwing suit for a pair of old sweatpants you’d stolen from him months ago. There’s a gash on his forehead and the skin along his torso is lined with bruises but the blood is gone. He must have showered. Wally lays on your other side in nothing but a pair of Calvin Klein boxers. He has an arm slung over your waist, his freckly skin glowing in the early morning light streaming through your window. There’s a massive, purpling bruise on his side that makes you wonder what, or rather who, had been able to hit him that hard. 

You can’t help but lightly trail your fingers over it, as if your touch alone could heal him. Goosebumps raise across his skin where you touch him and suddenly his eyes are opening, the sight like grass on a foggy morning.

You withdraw your hand before he can notice, pressing it tightly to your side. Wally blinks a few times, his eyes adjusting to the light, before he notices his arm draped over you. Pink dusts his cheeks.

Wally takes in slow, deep breaths. At one time he had dreamed about this—being in bed with you and Dick. But now that he’s actually here, he’s exhausted and his heart is beating way too fast, and man, do you have to wear that to bed?

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and pulls his arm back. 

“It’s okay, I’m just gonna—” You keep your voice a whisper as you untangle yourself from the mess of sheets and limbs. You gasp in relief when the cold morning air hits your skin. “I’m gonna go sleep on the couch.”

It’s too much. Between the heat of their bodies against yours and the events that’ve transpired this week, it’s enough to leave you dizzy and confused.

You shimmy your way out of the bed, stopping only when Wally rests a hand on your shoulder. 

“I can go,” he says. “I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed.”

You risk a glance down at his bruised abs. “No, you’re hurt. I’m not gonna make you run all the way home.”

“And I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch.”

“Then neither of you go anywhere.”

Both your attention snaps to Dick laying perfectly still with his eyes still closed. There’s a knowing smirk on his face and the morning light gives him an ethereal glow. 

Wally narrows his eyes. “Have you been awake this whole time?”

“What can I say, I’m a light sleeper.”

Wally watches you nod slowly in agreement. He feels dizzy with whiplash, thinking of all the nights he’s spent alone in his bed, thinking about a moment just like this. He lets himself fall back into the plush sheets of your bed, fighting the rising blood rushing to his face.

You stay sitting up, staring at the window just behind Dick’s head. “I’m too hot.”

Without another word, Dick reaches over and blindly feels around for the latch to your window. It takes a few tries but then he’s clicking it open and the room is flooded with fresh air.

“No excuses to leave now,” he says.

You press your lips into a line, knowing he’s right. You’re hesitant to lay between them again, as comfortable and safe as you felt. Something about it feels off, like you’re doing something you’re not supposed to. 

You’re torn between pretending to use the bathroom and just going back to sleep when Dick wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you back into the bed. You hit the pillows with a soft thud, shifting on top of the sheets until you’re comfortable.

Well, that settles that.

-

Wally is gone before you wake up, Dick following suit not much later. At least the latter kissed you goodbye—Wally couldn’t even be bothered to send a text. You hate how much the thought upsets you.

You go about your Saturday morning the way you normally would. Coffee and breakfast somewhat soothes your racing mind from the confusing, dizzying blur that was your Friday night. Still, the events from last night echo in your mind.

For a moment, in the fog of the early morning, waking up between Wally and Dick just felt right. There was no uncertainty, no shame—just you and two men you love resting after a considerably long night. 

And then the weight of your thoughts hits you and your stomach drops because you love Wally, in the same way you love Dick. You remember the way your heart hammered in your chest when he kissed you, the butterflies in your stomach when he held you. God, what have you gotten into?

You force yourself into the shower before you can think about it anymore. Your skin still smells like Wally’s cologne and Dick’s sweat. The water runs across your skin, washing away their scents and the associated feelings that flood and threaten to drown you. 

You stand under the water much longer than you mean to, only getting out when your phone starts buzzing enough to send it tumbling off the counter.

Shit, you’re quick to rinse off and hop out of the shower, dripping water all over the floor on the way to your discarded phone. You grab it, your wet palm smearing water all over the screen, and squint at it through water logged eyes.

Batboyfriend: Pool day? 👀 Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: OMG YES.  It’s hotter than me out here and that’s saying something.

Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: dibs on throwing her in the pool this time

Batboyfriend: what? you literally saved her last time

Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: and? I contain multitudes bro.

Batboyfriend:  y/n? you in? I swear I won’t let him drown you 

You can’t help but smile as you flip through the messages. After a week of silence, the normalcy feels good—even if you are still worried about Wally.

You: sure, why not

Batboyfriend: great, see you in an hour?

Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: YAY!! 💪😎 👊🤠✋

Batboyfriend: what??

You: what??

Speedy + Clingy = This Guy: ⬆️ that’s literally me rn

With your afternoon spoken for, you go to get ready.

-

You’re nervous when you pull up to Dick’s, wringing your shirt in your hands. You’ve been here a thousand times, swam at the pool more times than you can count, but still your heart flutters in your ribcage. 

You thought you were ready to face them again but then the memories of Wally’s hair messy and glowing in the early morning light come bleeding back. Dick’s voice echoes in your ears with every step you take: She’s a good kisser, right?

You’re tempted to duck away, to go back home and pretend like you got caught up in something. And then Wally is calling your name and Dick is coming skipping down the parking lot. 

You swallow at the sight of them—this pool day is going to be the death of you. Wally is shirtless and wearing only a pair of green swim trunks and cheap flip flops. Sweat glistens across his bare chest, highlighting the dark bruise on his side.

Dick offers you a wave, tan skin peaking out from under his tank top. A pair of aviators sits on top of his head and holds back his mess of dark curls. Your heart wrenches at the gash on his head.

Wally grins at you from behind his sunglasses. “Took you long enough.”

Dick comes right up to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and kissing the side of your head. You glance at Wally nervously but the redhead looks completely unbothered. 

“How long have you guys been here?”

Wally checks an imaginary watch. “Pretty much since Dick texted.”

You glance at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows who only nods to confirm. Despite their lighthearted attitudes, you can’t help but feel hesitant. Suspicious, even. 

“You guys aren’t actually planning on drowning me,” you glance between the two, “right?”

“No,” Dick says. 

“Only if you deserve it.”

You roll your eyes only for sweet relief to hit you when Dick unlocks the gate and gestures you into the poolyard. The water catches your eye, sparkling as if to say hello. 

Dick and Wally have already set up the tanning chairs, the cooler, and laid out towels for each of you. You smile at the sight, shimmying out of Dick’s reach to sprint towards your favorite chair.

“You guys have been busy.”

“Duh, we’ve been waiting for you.” 

You settle in on the chair, dropping your stuff and claiming your territory. It’s already warm from being in the sun—prime tanning real estate, as you always called it. You sprawl out across the chair and bask in the afternoon sunlight with no intention of getting up anytime soon.

“Straight to the chair as always,” Dick laughs. “There’s drinks in the cooler. I got your favorite.”

“Ugh, you’re speaking my language right now.” 

You slowly strip out of your shorts and t-shirt, letting the sun rays wash over your almost naked figure. You try to ignore the way Wally looks at you, instead focusing on Dick digging through the cooler to grab you a drink.

-

“What’s the point of going to the pool if you don’t go swimming?” Wally teases.

“I’m tanning.” You glance at his pasty figure, “you should try it sometime.”

“Hey, you know I burn easily!”

“Poor, delicate Wally.” You tease.

“That’s it,” he says, and suddenly he’s grabbing you from the chair and tossing you over his shoulder. “You’re going in.”

“No, wait, Wally!”

“Nope, bad girls get thrown in the pool.” 

You hate the way that phrase has heat pooling in your core. You glance to Dick, currently floating on his back in the water, for help.

“Don’t look at me,” he shrugs. “He literally told you ahead of time this would happen.”

Some help he is.

You look at Wally pleadingly. “I concede. I apologize. I surrender. Just—please, do not throw me in.”

It must be the way you’re looking at him or the desperation in your voice, but Wally actually puts you down. Relief floods you when your bare feet meet the concrete lining the pool. You’re inches away from him, you can see every bead of sweat, feel the heat radiating off of him, see the burn forming across his neck and shoulders.

“You and your delicate skin,” you say quietly, reaching out to touch the bruise along his ribs. You stop yourself from touching him.

Wally just stares at you. No retort, no threat to throw you in the pool. Just pure unabashed staring. You shrink beneath his gaze, pulling your hand back to your side. 

“You guys gonna kiss again?”

The sound of Dick’s voice has you realizing you’re standing entirely too close to him. You risk a glance only to see him smiling wickedly in your direction. Oh god, you know what that smile means. He’s planning something.

You take a step back only for Wally to catch your hand in his. “Don’t,” he breathes.

You look at Dick once more, though you’re not sure why. Are you waiting for him to rescue you, to tell you what to do? To give you permission? You shy away from the thought.

Dick takes a sip of his drink. “Well?”

He’s looking at you expectantly, like he somehow thinks you’re going to kiss Wally right here in front of him. The very idea has your face going hot—and not from the sun. You try to meet his eyes from here and it’s only then that you find he’s not staring at you at all.

He’s looking directly at Wally.

You snap your head up only to find the redhead blushing, his mouth set in a hard line. Your gaze follows the length of his arm—his skin turning pink in the sun—all the way down to where his hand rests on yours.

You’re entirely too hot, now. 

“Don’t you remember what we talked about?” You look at Dick again as he speaks.

What we talked about? You frown, suddenly feeling vindicated at your hesitancy earlier. Something isn’t right here.

Your voice cracks when you go to speak. “Am I about to be drowned?”

Your attempt to lighten the mood falls on deaf ears. Dick smirks, looking at Wally with raised eyebrows, while Wally’s eyes are entirely focused on you. Oh god.

“We had a deal.” Dick prompts, and that undertone in his voice sounds eerily similar to the one he uses when he’s commanding the Titans. An order—not a request.

“Fuck it,” Wally mumbles under his breath, and suddenly he’s tugging you into him, closing the gap by gripping the back of your neck.

All of the breath leaves your body as you collide with him, the warm skin of his palm beckoning you closer. His other hand wraps around your waist and before you can even think to question him, his lips are slamming against yours.

There’s no hesitancy, no soft shyness. You can’t feel guilt and anger radiating off of him the way you could last time. There’s passion, now. Intent.

You fall into him, letting all of your own confusion and fear melt away. Your hands trail up his spine like they have a mind of their own. They run up against his bare skin, flickering like lightning until they meet at the back of his neck, tangling up in his hair and tugging him closer to you.

Wally gasps, his hand on your waist tightening until his fingers dig in hard enough to bruise. The sting of it all doesn’t phase you, it only drives you to want more.

And then there’s a different hand on your back and you’re brought back to reality. You pull away, lips swollen and eyes wide, dizzy with lust. You look behind you and meet Dick’s eyes and your vertiginous new reality falls over you.

“I—”

Dick’s hand trails down to the small of your back, rubbing circles on your bare skin. “How was it?”

“How was it?” You repeat, your voice barely a mumble. 

You press a hand to your chest. The world is too hot, your heart beating too fast. If it weren’t for their hands on you, you’re sure you would’ve passed out by now.

“Good.” Wally takes the words right out of your mouth. “You were right.”

It’s the way he says it that catches your attention. His words are void of bitterness, just pure breathless curiosity. 

He looks at Dick, his green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Can I—can I do it again?”

“It’s not me you need to be asking.”

His eyes fall on you and you swear your heart hits terminal velocity. You look at him through your lashes, the whole world bright and dreamlike. 

“Can I?” He swallows, “please?”

It’s the sheer need in his voice that makes you nod, not trusting your voice to be any sort of stable right now. Wally doesn’t waste a second to pull you against him and press his lips against yours. It’s less desperate this time, but just as needy, just as passionate. 

For a second, it almost feels like the world is shaking. Like the ground beneath your feet is vibrating at the exact frequency you are. And then Wally rips himself away from you to take a deep breath and you realize the world wasn’t vibrating—he was.

“Fuck,” he says through a laugh.

“Easy, Wally.” Dick lays a hand on his shoulder, clasping tight until the speedster slows down. “You alright?”

He blinks a few times before offering a weak thumbs up, his hand still shaking. It’s only now that you realize what a number you’ve done on him. His red hair is tangled and messy, his cheeks and ears a shade of vermillion you’ve never seen before. It would be laughable if you didn’t feel equally as frazzled.

“And how are you feeling?” Dick asks.

“I just kissed Wally,” you say slowly. “Twice.”

“And?”

“And you watched.” 

Dick just laughs. “It was definitely a sight, I’ll give you that.”

You’re not even sure what to say to that. Dick’s never been considerably possessive but you never pegged him as the kind of man to share. You think back to that first night Wally had kissed you and the initial worry you’d felt while waiting for Dick to pick up the phone.

You never expected it to turn into this.

“Was that really okay?” Wally’s tone is serious in a way you’ve rarely heard before.

“We had a deal,” Dick repeats. 

The statement has your eyebrows raising. You open your mouth in question, ready to ask your boyfriend what the actual fuck is going on, but stop dead in your tracks.

You blink a few times, making sure the sight isn’t just a heat-driven mirage. But no, what you’re seeing is entirely correct. Wally West is kissing your boyfriend, and Dick’s kissing him back.

You watch in surprise, your jaw hitting the floor. Is this how Dick felt when you kissed Wally? Are you supposed to feel this turned on by it? It feels like the world around you is on fire and you’re caught right in the middle of it all.

Dick pulls away entirely unphased and wholly unaware of the state he’s left Wally in. Meanwhile, Wally looks like he’s about to faint. And though you’ve done such a good job holding in your incredulous laughter up to this point, Wally’s messy state finally drives you over the edge.

“What the actual fuck is going on?” You cackle, “what are we even doing?”

“We’re helping Wally.”

Dick states it like it’s the simplest thing in the world and it’s enough to have you doubting your own overcomplicated thoughts. You glance at Wally, hoping for some insight.

“Do you not want this?” He asks.

You’re not even sure what “this” is but something in the way he asks it has you saying you do. It’s Dick and it’s Wally and they’ve always taken care of you, so why wouldn’t you trust them now? 

“Good,” he says and then he’s closing the gap between you, his fingers finding their way to the nape of your neck as if they have a thousand times before. “Because I do too.”

Then Wally’s lips are on yours again and you swear the world falls away from your feet. Your knees shake and your body threatens to tumble forward but then Wally’s holding you, bracing you against the perfectly strewn muscles of his body. 

You gasp into his mouth when you feel Dick press himself against your back, his lips attaching to the side of your neck. One of his hands rests over Wally’s on your hip, the other trailing up your spine to fiddle with the string of your bathing suit top.

It’s almost too much, being between them this way. You’ve never felt so contained, you’ve never felt so free. Wally’s tongue slips into your mouth at the same time Dick unties your top. You barely have time to cover your chest before the useless garment falls limply to the ground.

You pull away gasping, an unbearable heat in the pit of your stomach. “Dick.”

For a moment, both men just stare at you like deer in headlights. You tighten your arms around your chest, awkwardly shifting to cover your bare tits from their prying eyes.

Dick finally hums in acknowledgement. 

“You took my top off.”

“I know.”

You look over your shoulder at Dick, and then to Wally, and you’re not quite sure who’s staring harder. All you know is that Wally’s shorts suddenly look tighter and you’re now a little too curious about what he’s packing beneath them. 

Dick rubs himself against you, the bulge in his shorts catching on your skin. You take a deep breath and brace yourself. 

His mouth brushes against your ear. “Why don’t you move your hands, hm? Let Wally take a look.”

He’s using that damn voice again. The ‘I’m not asking, I’m ordering’  voice that he uses when you’re being a brat. You don’t even think twice before you force your arms away from your skin, letting them fall limply at your sides.

Wally coughs like there’s something stuck in his throat, reaching a hand down to adjust his shorts. His mouth falls open, a hand reaching out and stopping midway as if he’s about to ask permission.

Dick rests a hand under each nipple, cupping your boobs like he’s putting them on display. “Well?”

“Hot,” he breathes. “Fuck—gorgeous, I mean. Pretty.” He cracks a smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m gonna stop talking now.”

Your heart flutters at his praise like you ever thought he’d say otherwise. He reaches out again, more confident this time, and brushes a hand across your nipple. You shiver, backing up into Dick without meaning to.

Your boyfriend holds you still, planting soft kisses on your shoulder to keep you calm while Wally’s hands explore your chest. Goosebumps raise in every place he touches, the heat of the day soothing them down almost as quickly as they form. It’s a tantalizing cycle.

Heat pools in your centre and you’re grateful that you’re wearing something waterproof. You clench your legs together without meaning to, hoping for some friction. Dick knows what you need before you even ask for it, dropping a hand down to rub slow circles on your clothed clit.

Wally dips his head in, flicking his eyes up to silently ask for permission—met with a curt nod—before attaching his lips to your skin. His hot mouth leaves a trail of marks wherever he kisses you, your skin turning shiny with his spit.

“How’re you feeling, baby?” Dick asks while he slips his hand into the front of your bathing suit bottoms. 

“G-good.”

Wally laughs against your skin and for the first time in a while, you see sunshine behind his eyes. His happiness almost feels better than the combined pleasure they’re giving you. 

A whine slips from your lips when Dick’s fingers meet your bare pussy. Wally’s quicker than that, though. He presses his mouth against yours and greedily swallows up your moans.

Dick crouches behind you to get better access and pulls your bottoms down to your knees. You stumble slightly but Wally catches you, his mouth moving away from your lips down to your jaw. He kisses lower and lower, sucking dark marks against your neck, your shoulders, your chest.

It’s his way of claiming you, you think. You may not be his girlfriend and he may not be your boyfriend, but it’s his small way of saying Wally was here. 

Dick slips a finger inside of you, pushing it up to the hilt, and another moan is ripping through you. You grip at Wally’s shoulder, trying to keep yourself stable while the two men ravage you. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to focus on the moment—on the way Dick’s finger curls inside of you, the way Wally’s teeth graze your nipple, the way you can feel your juices running down your thighs.

He dips another finger inside of you, pumping them deeper. You press your body fully against Wally’s, his cock pressing against your stomach through his shorts. If it wasn’t for him, you’d probably be tumbling to your knees by now.

You run your fingers across his abs as a way to distract yourself from Dick’s fingers inside of you. You dip your hand lower and lower with each pass until you’re just barely grazing the top of his swimshorts. 

Wally gulps and that’s the only reaction you need before you’re sliding your hand into his pants to grab his mostly hard cock. He’s solid in your hand, a little longer than Dick but not any thicker. You give his cock a playful squeeze before collecting the precum from his tip and using it as lube to glide along his shaft.

“F-fuck,” Wally gasps. He glances at Dick kneeled down behind you, “she’s good.”

Dick nuzzles his face between your thighs, drinking up the slick that drips from his fingers. “You haven’t even tasted her yet.”

The way they talk about you like you’re not even there just turns you on more, that pressure in your lower stomach building with every thrust of Dick’s fingers. You tighten your grip around Wally’s cock, trying to match Dick’s pace inside of you.

Wally brushes a finger under your chin, tilting your head up so he can kiss you again. His lips slam against yours and you part yours to welcome him. His tongue dips into your mouth and suddenly his taste is everywhere.

A familiar heatwave hits you and suddenly you’re finishing all over Dick’s fingers, your orgasm washing over you in waves. You squirm, your knees shaking and your pussy fluttering around his fingers. Dick pulls his face out from your achy, needy pussy, watching you with hearts in his eyes as you cum all over his hand.

Wally pulls away from you too, watching the spectacle you’ve become. His hand reaches for yours, stroking his thumb along your knuckles in a way he hopes is soothing. It only takes a few seconds before you come back to yourself, panting and messy and hot.

“God, that’s a sight I’d pay to see.” Wally laughs.

Dick rubs a hand up and down your thigh before rising to his feet. “Good thing you don’t have to.”

He wraps an arm around Wally and tugs him in for a kiss. You watch them through bleary eyes, your ears perking up when Wally moans at the taste of your pussy on Dick’s lips. Then Dick is turning to you, beckoning you in and pressing his lips to yours. You swear you can taste Wally on him, too.

“Let’s get you over to your chair, hm?” Dick mumbles against your lips.

You don’t even think, you just obey. You shuffle over to your chair on shaky legs, laying on your back. “Like this?”

The two men follow you over, Dick settling on the chair next to yours while Wally shuffles over to you. You watch him through half-closed eyes while he shimmies out of his swim trunks, letting his cock spring free. 

He’s rock hard, his tip glistening with precum. You trace his body from his muscly thighs to his throbbing cock to his kinda-but-not-really groomed hair. It’s almost exactly what you were expecting, and so incredibly Wally.

He gives himself a few strokes before kneeling on the chair with you, testing his weight. “Man, I hope this thing doesn’t break.”

You gently hit his arm. “Don’t say that, now I’m gonna be paranoid.”

“Don’t worry, baby.” He tests out the nickname, watching you for a reaction. “I’ll protect you.”

He grabs your legs, hooking them around his waist on either side. You take a deep breath and brace yourself, your eyes finding Dick’s for a glimpse of comfort. 

He smiles at you reassuringly. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, sweetheart.”

“I-I want to.”

“Then let us take care of you.”

Wally hums in agreement, rutting his cock through your folds. The head of his dick catches on your clit, eliciting a gasp from your lips that brings a smile to his. You shift lower in your chair, trying to close the gap between his tip and your entrance.

He leans into you, bracing a hand on the chair behind your head. His lips ghost over yours, “you ready for me?”

You mumble a quick yes and then his lips are pressing against yours, his hand guiding his cock inside of you. A moan falls from your lips the minute his length splits you open. You squirm beneath him but Wally’s other hand presses into your hip, holding you against the chair.

He’s surprisingly slow to bottom out, like he’s savouring every inch he pushes into you, every second he gets to be inside of you. He moans shakily once he’s all the way in, the warmth and wetness of your walls almost has him finishing then and there.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and draw him in closer as he starts to thrust. His hips move out painfully slowly before snapping back in, forcing his length into you all at once. The breath leaves your body, his motions leave you gasping for more.

He falls into a steady rhythm, his movements fast and to the point. His head moves away from your lips to nuzzle into the crook of your shoulder, his breathy moans directly in your ears.

You can’t help but dig your nails into his skin, marking him the same way he marked you earlier. Your eyes flutter open, glancing over to Dick only to see him staring straight at you guys and stroking his cock. You clench at the sight, reaching out a shaky hand to beckon him closer.

He shakes his head, holding up a finger as if to say “give me a minute.” You nod weakly in acknowledgement, letting your head lull back and eyes close again. The pressure in your stomach only builds with every thrust, Wally’s hand only adding to it.

“Is he watching?” Wally rasps.

A cross between a moan and a yes is all that you manage, but Wally seems to get the picture. He snaps his hips harder into yours, each thrust punctuated with a sort of showiness that only Wally himself could pull off. You cling to him tighter, holding on for dear life.

And then there’s a tap at your shoulder and Dick’s cock is next to your face. You don’t even think to question it, only opening your mouth to give him access.

He’s gentle to start, slowly pushing his length into your mouth and letting you get used to it. You hollow your cheeks, letting the saliva build up in your mouth as you bob your head up and down his length. Dick’s thumb rubs the area beneath your lips and brushes away any of the drool leaking out.

Wally shifts his grip on you, his hand almost completely resting on your tummy now. The sudden change has you crying out, arching your hips into his which only drives his cock deeper. You whimper onto Dick’s length, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Doing so well,” he says breathlessly. “Taking such good care of us.”

His praise is what keeps you going, clearing your fuzzy head just enough to keep bobbing on his cock. His salty, somewhat chlorinated taste keeps your tastebuds on their toes, each inch you take of him driving you further and further.

Wally’s thrusts start to get slower and sloppier and your pussy aches with your impending orgasm. Wally pushes a little harder—whether on purpose or not, you’re not sure—and then you’re coming undone beneath him. Wave after scorching wave of pleasure rolls over you, your pussy spasming around him.

Wally is hard pressed to pull out but somehow manages to tear himself away from you, cumming in spurts on your pussy and tummy. He watches you writhe beneath him, your mouth still full of Dick’s cock, and thinks he can cum again from the sight alone.

You pop your mouth off of his cock and finally catch your breath, opting to jerk him off instead. You only get a few strokes in before his hand is covering yours.

He looks at Wally. “Mind switching places?”

Even though he phrases it like a question, you all know he really isn’t asking. Wally’s up on shaky legs and taking Dick’s place at your head before you can even process what’s happening. And then Dick is crouching between your legs and sliding his cocks into your slick, overstimulated folds.

It’s hot and you ache, but Dick feels too good inside of you to stop now. He leans closer to you, pressing his lips against yours while he thrusts lazily inside of you. While Wally felt amazing, Dick just feels right.

The speedster stands beside you, mesmerised by the sight of you two. He can’t help but rub at his half-hard cock while he watches—the two of you are just too sexy. 

It doesn’t take long before Dick’s finishing, only pulling out enough to have his cum pooling at your entrance. He dips his sweaty forehead into your chest while he finishes, mumbling curses against your warm skin. 

“Fuck,” is all he says.

“Fuck,” Wally agrees.

Dick takes his sweet time getting off of you but when he does, Wally is waiting next to you with a towel. You smile and thank him, sitting up and wiping his drying cum off your stomach the best you can. 

Dick, dressed back in his swim shorts, grabs fresh water out of the cooler and sits at the end of the chair. “Here,” he passes it to you. “You’re dehydrated.”

You nod in agreement. Two orgasms in the summer sun would leave anyone dehydrated. You gulp down half the bottle in one go, surprised to see Wally waiting for you with your discarded bathing suit.

You frown at the sight of it. The thought of putting on something so restricting right now is enough to overstimulate you.

“You can wear my t-shirt if you’d prefer,” Wally offers when he sees your face. “Might be comfier.”

“I—” Your voice cracks. Yep, definitely dehydrated. “I’d like that, thanks.”

Dick rubs soothing circles on your back. “Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head. Honestly, what you need more than anything right now is some clarity on what just happened and some time to process.

You wait until Wally is out of earshot, rooting through his messy pile of stuff to find you his t-shirt, before you speak. “What happens now?”

“What do you want to happen?” Dick mimics your quiet tone.

“I want Wally.”

You don’t need to clarify any more—Dick knows exactly what you mean. He laces his fingers with yours just as Wally comes back with an old band t-shirt.

You expect him to hand it to you but instead he gestures for you to put your arms up, helping you tug it over your head. The cotton feels amazing on your feverish skin.

“So, uh,” he says awkwardly. “Should I go?”

You grab his wrist. “Stay, please.”

He offers you a half smile before turning his attention to Dick. The two lock eyes, partaking in one of their silent conversations that you’re not privy to.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll stay.”

You fight the urge to celebrate, instead springing to your feet and wrapping your arms around him. Wally’s shocked, for just a second, and then he’s pulling you closer to him, holding you the way he did in your living room.

He rests his chin on your head. “Not to ruin the moment or anything but,” he looks at Dick over your head, “do you guys wanna get something to eat? I’m starving.”

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@4-ann1e since u wanted to be tagged >⩊<

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