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tonycries · 1 year ago

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Go For It, Gojo! [Part 2] - G.S.

Synopsis. Just two weeks ago you could barely stand him - so, really, why is your heart beating so loud? Surely, it’s just the way he’s got you pushed against the wall, face stuffed in your cunt - right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, academic rivals to lovers, student president! reader, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, slight angst + comfort, vibrators, banter about physics, cunnilingus, Yaga is tired, oral sex (male + female), college! AU, both reader and Satoru do some growing up, overstimulation, super sappy actually, pet names (sweetheart, hardass), swearing.

Word count. 10.5k

A/N. Passed out five times, here’s Part 2 (joke). PART 1 HERE. Art by @_3aem on X.

Gojo Satoru likes to think he’s hilarious. A real connoisseur of the fine art of comedy. The fifth member of Impractical Jokers, if you will.

Which is probably why, for someone who didn’t know the definition of shutting the fuck up, he sure was intent on staying quiet about whatever this was.

It’s been exactly 2 weeks, 5 days and 17 hours since you and Satoru had entered this weird limbo, and there still wasn’t a peep out of the man about what the two of you are to each other.

Friends? Acquaintances? A booty call that he happens to argue way too much with? You’d smack that pretty nose of his if that was the case - as soon as you admittedly stopped being a pussy yourself…

But, semantics.

And right now, his fingers intertwined with yours as he practically drags you through the aquarium ticket counter - you couldn’t help but wonder - was this a date?

Not exactly lovers, but definitely more than friends, a tense understanding crackling in the air between you two. Something prickly and jittery that pooled in your stomach and made your head spin.

And as someone used to having the answers to everything, it bothered you that you didn’t have the one to this.

You haven’t been to an aquarium since you were a kid - quickly having outgrown it at the ripe age of seven. So, really, it made sense that the 6’3 manchild beside you insisted it was the perfect spot to celebrate finishing your assignment.

“That damn quantum entanglement hell.” you’d called it - and ranted about all the way inside - more so to fill the charged silence than anything. His fingers still tight around yours despite the dissipating crowd, burning into your skin.

“You know for someone who loves the elegance of science, you’re an extra hardass about quantum entanglement.” he titters in-between worried mutters of “doesn’t that old lady look like the mafia queenpin from the café.” as you two try to navigate your way through the aquarium.

You desperately cling onto his remark - a sense of normalcy you could finally breathe in.

“Well, Satoru, for someone who treats life like an improv show, you sure have a knack for avoiding scientific precision,” you retort, some strange part of you delighting in the way his fingers tighten around yours.

“Precision is for pussies.” he chuckles, bringing up a hand to your face, fingers wiggling in a ludicrous attempt at hypnotic suggestion. “Besides, sweetheart, life is a cosmic joke, and quantum mechanics is the punchline.”

“As expected from a Pilot-Wave theorist, that just sounds like an excuse to be lazy. ‘Oh, let’s embrace uncertainty and blame it on quantum mechanics!’”

“It’s also the punchline.”

“At least my punchlines make sense.”

He lets out an exaggerated whine, “And here I thought we were bonding over shared disdain for the hard-headed laws of physics.”

“Shared disdain? I actually respect the laws of physics. They’re the backbone of our universe.”

“Maybe.” he responds, voice a bit uncharacteristically somber. “But, quantum mechanics, uncertainty, whatever. In the end it doesn’t matter the universe, aren’t we all just wandering through a sea of unpredictability? It’s exciting.” he weaves through the crowd with you, gaze flickering between you and the vibrant schools of fish.

And maybe you’re an overthinker - you’ve always been told you were - but it felt like his words carried a heavy tone that went beyond your stupid little debate about quantum entanglement. This was not about physics.

“That excitement often leads to chaos, no matter the universe.”

“Embrace the chaos in every universe then. It keeps things interesting.”

“You’re incorrigible.” you scoff, meeting his intense gaze head-on, skin flaring at the sheer intensity of it. “I bet in every universe you’re an unchangeable hell-raiser.”

“Maybe.” He leans in, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, gaze now locked on you, his lips dangerously ghosting your ear. “Or maybe I’m just more of a hands-on learner?”

It might never have been about physics.

It’s innocent fun, right? Two classmates celebrating the end of an assignment? Innocent, innocent fu-

“Y’know with the way you’re so dripping wet f’me, I’m starting to think our lil’ arguments are just foreplay, prez.”

Sleek plastic cold against your back, Satoru’s mouth hot on yours - hungry and insistent. Lips tangy with the taste of minty toothpaste and the thrill of the forbidden as he cages you against that heady bathroom stall.

“You’re the one that riles me up. Got a degradation kink, Satoru?” you shoot back between gasps as his greedy hands map every curve and dip of your body. Groping. Kneading. Such a fucking tease.

“Mhm~ Love when you talk dirty to me, sweetheart.” he hums into the heated skin of your neck. White-hot tingles of electricity running along your body. “Though, I really prefer when that smart mouth is choking around my cock instead.”

“I’m gonna hah- drown you in the fucking clownfish tank.”

“Kinky, but that’s not that’s not the magic word, sweetheart.”

You grit your teeth - in both pleasure and irritation, but most importantly the need for more more more. He always did drive you insane. Words choked, “P-please.”

A sharp moan rips from your throat as long fingers graze your swollen folds through your soaked panties. Teasing the dainty hem. Pulling it down. Delving in. Curving deftly upwards, easily pressing into that one spot inside. Over and over. In and out in and out in and-

“Teasing hah- teasing bastard.” you hiss, even as your traitorous hips buck into his touch.

Satoru chuckles darkly, breath warm against your ear, sending shivers running down your spine. “Your teasing bastard.” Your heart pounds in your ears, mind caught on the “your”, drowning out the distant hum and bustle of the aquarium outside.

And before you can open your mouth - maybe to say something so utterly stupid - he falls to his knees. Pretty lips ghosting your inner thigh, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. A stark contrast with the cool air of the bathroom stall.

Mindlessly, your legs press together, a bead of slick trailing enticingly down them - aching for an ounce of friction. Down, down, down-

And Satoru notices - of course he notices - because his tongue darts out urgently, tracing the seam of your swollen folds. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, pooling your juices on his tongue before letting them flow down his throat - groaning as if it was his favorite taste.

Shit, you really were his favorite taste.

Nose-deep in your cunt and on his knees in that cramped aquarium bathroom, all he can do is lap up your juices. Cock aching, tasting you, breathing you in like a man dying of thirst.

Pulling down his trousers just enough for his throbbing erection to spring free. Leaking tip smearing against his toned abdomen, trailing down the prominent vein in the middle. A large hand firmly gripping the base, pressing his heavy balls so obscenely on your calf, pulling in sinful little tugs to you.

Blood rushes straight to the throbbing erection in his hands at the way your breath hitches, pretty little mewls of his name leaving those kiss-bitten lips. Such a shame he had to muffle them, two fingers in your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself.

Ah, he didn’t get to see those manta rays yet, but it’s alright - right now, hips bucking helplessly into him, your hands knotted in his hair - you’re his favorite view anyway. His pretty girl.

“Hngh- Jus’ like that, Satoru.” you moan.

He groans into your dripping pussy, vibrations sending a jolt of electricity shooting through your veins, making you clench further around the tongue pushing its way into your heated hole. Cunt aching for release, and his leaking cock not far behind as he fucks his fist urgently. Grinding into you like a fucking dog in heat.

“Please.”

Granting your unspoken request, he moves purposefully. Nose catching on your clit, rubbing it over and over as he alternates between gentle sucks and rapid thrusts of his tongue dipping into your entrance. Satoru’s unspoken pace sends you spiraling into insanity - and the edge.

Almost there.

You lock eyes with him, seeing just as much need for you reflected back in his own eyes. Flitting between his hungry gaze and the thumb teasing his flushed slit. Jerky, desperate strokes of his hand along his veined length - up, up, up - just the way you do it.

Time seems to stand still as with one two three thrusts you shatter all over his tongue. Choked-up cries of his name bouncing off the walls of the empty bathroom as you chase peak after peak on his pretty face.

Your vision blurs at the edges, blood roaring in your ears. Torn between wanting to scream in pleasure and not wanting to be arrested for public indecency. Breathless whispers of pleasure slurring together as your mind clouds with only Satoru Satoru Satoru-

As the haze clears slightly, you realize you’re cradling his head, stroking his silky locks soothingly. Pulling away - embarrassed more at this than what just transpired - you let Satoru rise to his feet, towering over you.

“On your knees, sweetheart.”

Still delirious from your orgasm, you mindlessly drop to your knees before him. Wordlessly, he guides himself into your mouth, precum salty on your tongue and cock glistening in the dim light of the bathroom.

His hips begin to thrust, matching the pace from before as he fucks your hot mouth. You relax your jaw, letting him take control as he plunges deeper and deeper. Fighting the urge to gag as he hits the back of your throat. Saliva drips down your chin so lewdly, smearing on his cock,

Satoru’s breathing grows heavier and heavier as your nose hits the tufts of hair on his pelvis, already wet with precum and spit. Grip searing on your scalp, you look up to meet his gaze - eyes half-lidded and tears clinging to your lashes.

Maybe it was the carnal look in your eyes, or the way your glossy lips stretch so prettily around him - because with a guttural groan, Satoru spills his load down your throat. Grasp steady on your hair, making you sputter and drink every drop as his cock twitches on your tongue. Cum dribbling down the corner of your lips, the tap! tap! tap! of it ringing in your ears.

As his high passes, you feel as if you’re in a daze as Satoru helps you up. Voice shot and throat burning as he cleans the both of you up.

Gentle hands on your cheek, a thumb caressing your lips. Your face burning at the way he looks at you. Why does he look at you like that.

A soft smile plays on his lips - kiss-bitten and prettily glossed with your juices. Wordlessly, he leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, sending a sudden tug at your heartstrings.

“I bet in every universe we sneak around and choose the worst lil’ hideouts.”

Yeah. Yeah, maybe you did.

And you don’t know why it hurt.

It’s almost like you’re on autopilot as you quickly smooth down your clothes and follow Satoru outside, back into the bustling aquarium as inconspicuously as possible.

As you walk side by side, you can’t help but feel the previous euphoria inside you coiling into something more. Something uncomfortable.

Passing by a group of kids excitedly pointing at a giant tank of tropical fish, you feel a wistful ache as you’re reminded of simpler times. Back when you didn’t analyze everything interaction. Maybe back when things were better.

Pulling back, “Satoru…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“About what happened…about us-” you sputter out, uncharacteristically inarticulate. “I don’t want-”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, y’know.”

Your head snaps up. Unspoken words lingering in the air - is it me or you that doesn’t want to talk about it.

Your eyes catch on the shine of his hair in the cool light. The subtle flex of muscles beneath his shirt as he leads the way through the mesmerizing corridors of the aquarium, the soft glow of the tanks casting an ethereal light on his silhouette.

His hand warm in yours, and that little dimple at the corner of his grin as he turns to you. Devastating.

It was like something snapped. And it hits you with a pang. All glory and beautiful.

He wasn’t yours.

And he probably might never be.

Somehow that terrified you.

Because in the end, weren’t you just playing along in his elaborate cosmic joke? Just part of his unknown?

But why did that hurt so much?

“Gojo, I’m going home.”

Fear.

---

There have only been three times in his life that Gojo Satoru has truly felt fear. The first, of course, was right after kissing your pretty lips in that dingy closet - if there was ever a true “ah, if I live I’m making this my legacy” moment then that was it.

The second was when he accidentally walked in on Yaga practicing his interpretative dance routine in the faculty lounge. The man had some moves - but it was something that Satoru saw nightmares about for days.

And the third time? Well, that’s the ongoing saga of trying to decipher you and why the hell you were sitting in another row during Advanced Quantum Physics, so gorgeous and unbothered ignoring him.

No texts, no calls, no snarky debates on anything since the aquarium a few days ago.

Almost as if he was back to square one - worse even.

So yes, Gojo Satoru is scared. In fact, some might even say he’s utterly terrified.

But even more than that, he’s so so stupid.

Because for the life of him he couldn’t remember what he’d done to mess up that fragile little connection that you two had formed.

Maybe you just liked seafood too much to visit the aquarium? That couldn’t be it…

Did you find out he accidentally knocked over that stack of books in the library and blamed it on you? No, he’s heard you blame worse things on him to his face.

Have you finally gotten sick of him?

…

Nahhh.

He steals a glance in your direction. Eyes mapping your ramrod posture, the way you’re hanging off of Yaga’s every word, and that slight frown marring your features. Ah, you looked so beautiful there even when you looked like you’re about to have an aneurysm.

It’s as if you’ve erected an invisible fortress around yourself, and he’s outside looking in. Desperately calling for you.

Satoru sighs inwardly, realizing he’s going to have to pull out the big guns. With the subtlety of a sledgehammer, he clears his throat, shifting his chair a little too loudly to yours in the row in front of him.

Paying no mind to the irritated glance that Yaga (and you) shoot at him, he whispers loud enough that it probably carries to the entire classroom. “So, prez~ Did I accidentally stumble into an alternate universe where you still hate me or have you just been avoiding me like I’m a contagious disease.”

You flinch - probably both at the audacity and at him addressing you. Eyes still firmly trained on the now-disgruntled Yaga, you reply curtly, “This is not an alternate universe, Gojo. And I haven’t been avoiding you, I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy ignoring me? Space might’ve worked for Neil Armstrong but it won’t work for me, sweetheart. Just tell me what I did so I can get on my knees and beg for forgiveness.”

Your brows furrow, eyes rereading the same sentence on your textbook over and over. “Just focus on these causal dynamical triangulations, Gojo.”

“Oh yeah, I had one of those once.”

“Satoru. I swear to-”

A sharp call of your name - followed by his. Professor Yaga’s irritation, now palpable, hangs in the air like a storm. “If you two can't maintain some decorum, I suggest you continue your discussion outside.”

Satoru grins unabashedly, batting his long lashes, “Why, Yaga, I thought you enjoyed our discussions.”

“Out, both of you.”

Each word clipped and shattering your dreams of becoming Professor Yaga’s protégé into tinier and tinier pieces.

“You heard the man, prez. Let’s take this show on the road.”

Hastily, you gather your belongings, shooting an apologetic glance at Professor Yaga, who gives you a sympathetic look in response. As the door slams behind you, noise ringing in your ears, you stand frozen in a mixture of shock and disbelief.

Satoru, however, seems unfazed. “Well, that was an unbridled success.”

Irritation spikes as you hiss out, “What?”

“I mean, you called me Satoru for the first time in days so I consider that an unbridled success.”

A strange stab at your heart, and maybe for the first time since working together on that quantum entanglement assignment, Satoru’s joke doesn’t land.

Your eyes narrow at him, “This isn’t a joke, Satoru. I needed Professor Yaga’s guidance - how else am I going to get a research position with him?”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

Following your weighty silence, Satoru lets out a heavy sigh. The expression on his face looked more serious than you’d ever seen it as his eyes search yours. “Look, prez, I didn’t mean to mess things up for you - though Yaga basically worships the ground you walk on so-”

At your raised eyebrow he gets back on track, “Anyway, something’s wrong and I just wanted to understand what’s going on between us.”

A humorless laugh leaves your lips, “Now you want to talk about us?”

You clench your fists, frustration and confusion boiling over within you. You know you’re part of this too. You know you’re not blameless in this tangled mess. And right now, the sheer warmth of his gaze made a strange little part of you consider just giving in and running to his arms. Fuck what he wants of you. Fuck all the uncertainty.

And that’s exactly what scared you.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of thoughts within your mind. “I don’t even know what ‘us’ is, Gojo. And I don’t think you do either.”

Your voice is surprisingly steady - as are your feet as they carry you away from Satoru. You’d caught one, final glance at the slump of his shoulders, and the silent plea in his eyes.

Purposeful steps sound in your ears as you walk to God-knows-where. Yet, they still stutter - as does your heart - as Satoru’s voice rings in the hallway behind you, “Take all the time you need, prez. I’ll win you back with my world-renowned Gojo charm again~”

Light words following a heavy admission, his humor attempting to bandage over the cracks of what you two had not too long ago. The echo of his words accompany you down the corridor, and despite yourself, you find your lips tugging into the slightest beginnings of a smile. The slightest.

It’s okay. This is okay. Things can go back to whatever they were now - normal, steady.

“World-renowned Gojo charm.” you repeat under your breath, ready to find a quiet corner of campus where you can throw yourself into causal dynamical triangulations.

Gaze unwavering, Satoru stands still, searching for any signs of you looking back. Turn around. Turn around turn around turn-

“Mr. Gojo, are you going to find the building exit with the same enthusiasm you exhibit when spouting lines from your imaginary romance novel?”

“Ah. Yaga, I was just- wait imaginary? I can assure you that my charm is as real as quantum mechanics - just ask your star student! Although these days even quantum mechanics might have trouble explaining why she’s-”

“Mr. Gojo.”

“Understood. On my way.” A comical salute, “May your lectures be as riveting as my girl when she’s threatening to drown me in clownfish tanks~”

“Good. And please, spare us all from any more ‘unbridled success’ in the future.”

---

The following week turned into a delicate dance, a waltz of cautious side steps and tense half-glances - all of which were met by that fond gaze that made your heart clutch so involuntarily. Like a silent drama where neither of you knew the next line.

The sprawling campus now seemed so tiny, a tension connecting the two of you like an invisible thread. From Professor Yaga’s class - now so dull without that usual bickering - all the way down to that café just off-campus where the stuffy air hums with old banter and unspoken words.

Yet, the routine remained unchanged, you still found yourself visiting there time and time again - by that little booth in the corner, right next to the window. Just without your familiar companion.

You never realized how quiet the café could get without someone talking your ear off about everything from the Pilot-Wave theory to why the little girl at the grocery store who mistook him for a Kakashi cosplayer is definitely conspiring against him.

It’s thrown you off - and you’re sick of thinking of that stupid smirk when you’re trying to meticulously sort through the overflow of student archives.

Ugh, you’ve been losing sleep over these for days. Feeling hot under your temples, you try to push away the pressure behind your eyes - If you don’t get this categorized before the next meeti-

“Whatcha reading, sweetheart?”

Speak of the devil.

Startled, you look up from your sea of paperwork.

Ah, there he was. All nonchalance and grace, eyes twinkling with mischief and an easy grin curling his lips. And for a moment - a brief, fleeting moment - you’re filled with a familiar warmth, tension from the past few days melting into nothingness.

“Oh, just some archives.” you blink, with a measured calmness.

“Absolutely fascinating.” Satoru chuckles, sliding into the chair across from you with the casual elegance of someone who’s completely unaware of the mess he left in his wake. “What’s next, a riveting analysis on the historical significance of paperclips?”

Ignoring his banter, you focus diligently on the task at hand - Gakuganji would have your head. “If only. Now what do you want, Satoru? I’m busy.”

His grin widens, undeterred. “Busy with what? Cataloging the thrilling history of staplers and notepads?”

You shoot him a pointed look, “The secret lives of archives can be more scandalous than you think, Gojo.”

“Just how do you contain your excitement, prez?”

“I don’t.” you drone out. Shuffling your papers, gathering them with a deliberate focus. “Now, if you’re done with your stand-up routine, I actually have work to do.”

Satoru straightens up, the playfulness in his eyes dimming ever so slightly. “Wait wait, sweetheart, we need to talk.”

You let out a sigh - there it is. And maybe you were being petty. Maybe you were slightly scared. “Oh, now, we do? How convenient.”

“Can’t we just go back to the way things were? I don’t want things to be weird between us.” He runs a hand through his silky locks, a gesture that usually accompanies his frustration.

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Weird? Gojo, things have been weird between us for a while now. You just never bothered to notice until it got inconvenient for you..” You stand up, your archives now neatly organized. “I have to finish seven files of these now, excuse me.”

A subtle ache takes residence in your bones as you walk away, his gaze hot on your back. The barista, a friendly soul who had witnessed countless interactions between you and Gojo, offered you a sympathetic smile as you made your way out.

The café's atmosphere, once cozy with laughter, now suffocatingly laced with unease. That invisible thread connecting you both feels strained. Hanging by the thinnest of threads - on the verge of snapping.

And, yet, through it all one thought rings clear.

You missed him.

Satoru didn’t know what hurt more - the way you called him “Gojo” or the way he didn’t even get a giggle out of his paperclip joke.

“Gojo, things have been weird between us for a while now.”

Yeah, definitely the way you called him “Gojo”.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the cloud of doom himself. I can barely enjoy my Earl Grey. What’s eating at you, young man?”

Satoru’s head snaps up at the curious croak, tone a mix of concern and amusement. His eyes meet sharp, perceptive ones that seem to cut through his sulky haze. Oh, it’s the mafia queenpin.

At his wordless staring she plows on, taking a seat opposite him, “Oh c’mon, boy. Don’t think I haven’t seen you lurking and moping about. You’ve got as much subtlety as my late husband - and he once tried to hide a mistress by having her disguise as a potted plant.”

A half-hearted grin makes its way onto his face, “No potted plants here, just the usual existential crisis. You know how it is.”

The old lady snorted, unimpressed. “Please, spare me the theatrics. I’ve seen drama queens with more subtlety. Now spill.”

Satoru hesitated, wincing at the stare that seemed to cut right into his soul. It reminded him of a little someone.

Finally, he sighs relentingly, “It's complicated. Things with someone... changed. I miss the way it used to be, you know?”

A sharp cackle, echoing in the empty space around them. “Ah, love troubles. You youngsters make it sound so dramatic. Look, boy, if you want something, go and get it.”

He huffs in defeat, now way more into impromptu love counseling than he initially thought he’d be. “I tried but-”

But the old lady cuts him off, sharp and incisive, “Trying isn’t the same as doing, kid. And let me tell you, I’ve seen enough guys like you wasting time pondering instead of acting.”

It seems this mafia queenpin brought out all the childish, petty sides of him. Because Satoru whines in a way that he definitely wouldn’t if you hadn’t been avoiding him and if you hadn’t called him “Gojo” and-

“But she hates me, and she’s sick of me.” A rare vulnerability creeping into his voice. “Maybe things were better the way they were.”

“Life’s too short for that crap. And trust me, that girl does not hate you, you’re just scaring her off. I would have smacked you after that first dumb comment about paperclips.” The old lady snorts, dismissing his complaint. “Uptight academics, always scared of their own feelings. Afraid that if they acknowledge them, the world might end.”

Satoru blinks, taken aback by the unexpected insight. “Scaring her off? I'm just being myself.”

She leans in, sharp eyes drilling into him - picking him apart. “Being yourself doesn't mean avoiding the real conversations. You’ve got feelings, boy. Instead of playing the joker, try being sincere for once. Maybe you’ll be surprised.”

Taking a patient sip of her tea, “Now, go and fix whatever mess you made. Or better yet, just grab the girl and give her a damn good kiss. Works wonders.”

Satoru blinks, taken aback by the unexpected advice. The old lady cackles again, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

“Now, scram, and let an old lady enjoy her coffee in peace.”

He nods, more to himself than her, feeling a strange mix of determination and embarrassment at being given advice by the same lady he had a silent bet with you about being an underground overlord.

Immediately standing up, he salutes her goodbye before rushing out - only to stop abruptly halfway out the door. Turning and speedwalking back to the table, with a mix of curiosity and urgency.

“Hey, granny, I have a question.”

“Anything as long as it isn’t my age, boy.”

“Would you happen to have any mafia connections by chance?.”

Ah, you think you’re dying.

Or maybe that’s just what the towering stack of papers on your cluttered desk want you to think…

It mocks you. A painful reminder of the mundane world you were now in. That invisible thread connecting you to that little booth in the corner of the café now feels like a noose tightening around your neck.

What’s done is done. And right now you have bigger fish to fry - fish shaped annoyingly like the unresolved chaos of these archives.

You rub your eyes, room swaying slightly as you squint at the tiny print, letters melting into one another and conspiring against you. Rereading the same sentence over and over, sweat beading on your forehead.

God, was the heater on too high?

The documents on the desk seem to dance, a mocking waltz that laughs in the face of your feeble attempts to restore order. Chaos.

Stop it.

An incessant pounding on your temples, blood roaring in your ears.

You reach for a pen, your fingers fumbling as it slips through your grasp. Falling onto the floor with a clatter that reverberates in your throbbing head. Chaos.

The room is stifling, walls closing in on you. Breaths hot and labored. Temples drumming louder. And louder. Urgent and insistent. Chaos.

“Open up! It’s Satoru!”

Satoru.

Body acting before your brain, you stagger out of your seat, the world spinning dangerously as you clutch onto the desk for support.

Satoru?

Your unsteady feet carry you towards the door - almost subconsciously. You wince at the stab of pain in your temples as it throbs in time with the urgent knocking.

Hands unsteady on the doorknob, vision bleary, yet you’d recognize that shock of cloudy hair anywhere. His words hit you before the realization that Satoru was here, and why was he here looking so adorably disheveled like he’d run here and what was he rambling about now-

“I'm so so sorry. I messed up, I should’ve noticed. I know I’ve been avoiding the real conversation and I didn’t realize how much-”

His voice, tinged with a vulnerability you’re not used to hearing, is abruptly cut off as Satoru looks up from where he was fumbling with his fingers in nervousness - wide blue eyes taking in your glassy eyes and clammy skin. In your hazy vision you make out the deep concern creeping its way onto those pretty features.

“Sweetheart?”

A sudden wave of dizziness hits you. The room tilts, and for a brief, disorienting moment, you feel like you’re floating in space. Ah, didn’t know you could breathe in space. Wonder if you’ll win a Nobel for this discovery?

A sharp call of your name cuts through the haze, the last thing you register before the world folds around you like a delicate paper. Fading to black., and perhaps the warm arms around you are the only thing grounding you right now. The chaotic waltz has won.

Now, the great Gojo Satoru usually calls his mother for only one of two reasons - 1. His beloved ramen shop is closed, or worse - out of his favorite special spicy sauce, and 2. A dire and life-threatening emergency.

“Mama! I’ve got an emergency and no it’s not the ramen this time.”

His mother’s voice crackles through the phone, a mix of concern and amusement. “Satoru, are you sure it’s that dire? I’m at a work meeting, y’know”

Dramatically, “Of course, mama. Someone I care about is sick. Yes, I have a heart under this fabulous exterior. A real one.”

A brief pause, “Oh my lil’ Toru~ You mean you finally confessed to that student prez you’ve been swooning over for months? The one with ‘a brilliant mind like a quantum computer’ and ‘eyes like-’”

Squirming in embarrassment, “Well- not exactly, but-”

“Spill.”

“I need the recipe to our secret family chicken soup, like, urgently. It’s a life-or-death situation.”

His mother’s laughter echoes through the phone. “Life-or-death, huh? Alright, my little drama king, I’ll send it right away. But you owe me a detailed account of what's happening.”

“Deal!”

With a click, the call ends, and Satoru is left in your hallway, holding you in his arms, desperately awaiting the secret weapon - his mother’s legendary chicken soup.

In the meantime, he shifts you in his arms, steady hands carefully lifting you off the ground, cradling you to his chest.

Face burning at the practiced way his feet carry him to your room. “Come on, sweetheart. Wake up. Don’t make me regret not calling an ambulance. Should I call an ambulance? No, chicken soup first, then maybe an ambulance. Ugh, I should've paid more attention in first aid.”

Slow, deliberate steps through the corridor. Heart dropping as his eyes catch on the mountains of scattered papers and files. Next time he passes by Gakuganji’s office he’s gonna swap the keys on that fossil’s keyboard.

The soft click of the door closing seems too loud in the quiet room as he lays you gently on the bed. Heart clenching at the way you bury yourself mindlessly into the covers, pretty eyes still screwed shut, he mutters to himself “What am I going to do with you?”

His gaze drifts to the scattered papers on the floor, starting to gather them, creating a semblance of order amidst the chaos. Satoru glances at you, noticing the creased lines on your forehead even in your unconscious state. A pang of guilt hits him.

“Avoiding the real conversation, huh?” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. He risks a glance at your sleeping figure again, “I’m sorry, my sweetheart.”

Finishing his impromptu cleanup - and after taking maybe one picture of you all snuggled up - he gets up determinedly to make the legendary chicken soup. “I’ll make it right, prez. First, chicken soup. Then, we'll have that real conversation, no matter how scary it gets.”

You wake up to the cacophony of pots and pans, and a voice…cursing bad cooking for being genetic? The aromatic smell of chicken soup hits you - as does the cold sweat beading on your forehead.

Joints aching, you try to sit up, the room still spinning - but ever-so-slightly less than before. Recollections from earlier slowly come to you, you don’t even have to look at the figure now standing at the doorway to know who it is.

“Whoa, there, sweetheart. Lay back.”

Your weakened smile is met with a worried frown. Satoru’s gentle tone, masking his franticness, rings in your ears like a song you loved but haven’t heard in a long time. He rushes to guide you gently back onto the bed, a thumb wiping away the sweat trickling down your temple. “Soup’s on the stove. But first, let’s get you cleaned up. Is that okay?”

Before you can protest - as if you had the strength to - Satoru scampers off to your bathroom. You lay there in the deafening silence as he does. You had an image to uphold, archives to categorize, and a Satoru to distance yourself from.

But right now, your eyes meeting his like constellations aligning in the night sky as he returns with a small basin filled with warm water, a soft cloth draped over his shoulder, you think that you wouldn’t mind falling apart for him.

Sitting down beside you, his gaze never leaving your face, “Just relax, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” A tenderness in his voice matching the warmth of the damp washcloth gently dabbing your forehead.

A heavy feeling settles in your gut. You want to shy away from the fondness in those blue depths as they never leave yours. You want to block out the hushed whispers of reassurance as his fingers trail lightly across your skin, uncomfortably hot. You want to cry.

And you don’t realize you are until Satoru’s hand stiffens, eyes widening with emotions you can’t name.

Oh.

Satoru has seen you strong, capable, and fiercely independent. He’s seen you turn his elaborate equation into a doodle of a ramen bowl with the caption, “Even my ramen has more substance than this theory, Satoru.”

But Satoru has never seen you like this.

“Hey, hey, c’mon. It’s okay, prez. I’m here. I’ve got you.” Satoru whispers, as if afraid that speaking louder might shatter the fragile reality you both find yourselves in.

His words hanging in the air, and the sincerity in his eyes coax you to unravel the knot of emotions you’ve been suppressing ever since you were pushed into that damn closet with him.

“Satoru.” And it spills out. “I’m scared. And I missed you. And I’m scared that I missed you - scared of what that could mean, and scared of where this might lead. Because I missed you and you’re here.”

His brows furrow in concern, but he remains silent, urging you to continue.

“I've built walls, convinced myself that I can’t afford to be vulnerable out of fear of the unpredictable. Yet, here we are. I can’t escape it, and it terrifies me.” you confess, eyes flickering away from the intensity of his gaze as if avoiding the reality of your words.

Satoru inches his hand closer to cradle yours. “You don’t have to be scared, prez, I’m not going anywhere.” His voice a steady anchor, “Though, I was scared too. Scared that if I confronted these feelings, you’d run away. So, I waited, telling myself that I was giving you time, but honestly it was just a shitty excuse.”

His thumb caresses the back of your hand, a gentle rhythm matching the beating of your heart. “Because for all I spout about chaos and uncertainty, facing these feelings head-on is scarier than any angry Yaga.”

A fresh wave of tears - both at his admission and at that familiar attempt to lighten the humor. “You’re an idiot you know.” you sputter.

“I know.”

“And your theories on life and the universe are stupid.”

“Absolutely.”

“And your overpriced glasses make you look like the fourth blind rat from Shrek.”

“Now that’s too far, he’s a mouse, sweetheart.”

A watery chuckle as his fingers interlace with yours. Satoru leans in, his forehead resting against yours - no care in the world for how contagious you might be. Because fuck if the sickness might not be then these feelings sure were.

“You scared me, y’know.” he confesses.

“I’m sorry. I should have taken care of my-”

“Not that.” Satoru’s unspoken words echo in the small, charged space between you two.

Your heart clenches, understanding. “For that, I am sorry, too.”

Disappointment spikes your heart as he withdraws slightly, hand feeling cold at the sudden absence. But before you can question the impending doom at his mischievous glint, Satoru produces a pen from your top drawer.

“What are you up to now, Satoru?” you drone, raising a brow at his antics.

“Just a little insurance policy.” he smirks at your confused hum, taking your left hand back in his. Pen poised over your ring finger, ink cold on your skin.

“Insurance policy against what?”

“A promise.”

A delicate infinity sign, it draws your gaze and locks it there. You almost miss the flush creeping up on Satoru’s ears, “Just a symbol, y’know- We can get an actual ring if you want, my mother is actually best friend’s with-”

The sight of him makes something bloom in your chest. It hurt. Not because of fear, but because you felt so full.

Cutting off his rambles with your lips on his. Steady, and electric, molding together as if they were meant to fit perfectly. A lingering promise.

When you finally pull away, he huffs out an euphoric laugh. “I was gonna say you look like you wanted to kiss me so bad, but you already did.”

Rolling your eyes, “Think if I tell you something now you can write it off as me being sick and delirious?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Satoru, I love you.”

And that’s all Satoru ever wanted to hear.

“And I love you, in every universe.”

---

The sleep that follows Satoru’s “world famous Gojo family chicken soup” - and that heavy conversation - is the best you’ve had in days. You dream of manta rays in tuxedos, the guests of honor at yours and Satoru’s Nobel prize ceremony.

And, 12 full hours later and finally clear-headed, you find yourself groggily standing in the middle of your room. Blinking in disbelief at the perfectly categorized files of archives, and the sparkling organization of your once-scattered space - Satoru, peacefully snoring at your desk, pen still tightly gripped in his hand.

He…finished all of it?

Your heart clenches, warmth flowering all over your body.

As you approach, Satoru stirs, those familiar blue eyes slowly opening to meet yours. A dazed smile stretches across his face as he sheepishly scratches the back of his head.

“Got a bit carried away. Guess you really are rubbing off on me, prez.” he chuckles, his voice still laced with sleep.

“Good then, soon your brain won’t be a black hole of theoretical abstractions.”

Eyes sparkling, he throws his head back to laugh, carefree. “There’s my girl. Feeling better now, hm?”

Your face burns at his words, and his proximity as he stands from his chair to tower over you. Heat radiating off his skin. “Yeah, all thanks to your mother’s recipe.”

“And my charm, of course.”

“Oh, yes, the begging on your knees.”

“Hey it worked, didn’t it? Don’t insult the world-renowned Gojo charm that way~!”

You raise an eyebrow, unable to suppress a smirk. “Yes, yes of course. That world-renowned ‘Gojo charm’ strikes again. Is that why Yaga sent me a gift basket apologizing on your behalf?”

“Listen, sometimes collateral apologies are inevitable. And I learned the hard way that wishing Yaga’s lectures are as riveting as my girl when she’s threatening to drown me in clownfish tanks does not go well.”

A startled laugh escapes your lips, sound bouncing off the once-heavy walls, and you almost miss the captivated expression on Satoru’s face. A tender smile spreads across his lips.

Laughter bating, you throw your hands around his waist in one, fluid motion, relishing at his flustered expression. “We should go to the aquarium again sometime.”

“Mhm~”

A beat of silence. One. Two.

“Satoru?”

He leans in, minty breath fanning your face. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thank you.”

Body moving almost subconsciously, your lips crush against his. Hungry and yearning. Kissing each other with a desperation that eclipses the need for air. He didn’t mind dying if it meant suffocating by your lips anyway - both of them.

You let out a muffled moan as he pulls on your lips, hands snaking down to grip your ass, squeezing possessively. His tongue was sloppy, intertwining with yours with matching urgency. Trapping yours between his ruby lips, sucking so lewdly.

Large fingers bruising on your waist, pulling you flush against his body till you could feel the incessant banging of his heart against his ribcage - or maybe that was yours.

His shirt is all but ripped off of him - as is yours, and if you were in a clearer state of mind you’d feel sad at the tattered state of your favorite Steins;Gate t-shirt. But all that flies out of your mind at the creamy skin of Satoru’s chiseled chest.

You raise your hips to meet the throbbing erection now straining against his pants, fabric stretched and precum forming a pool right at the tip of his leaking head. A low groan is stifled into your mouth, almost as if it hurt to be apart.

Satoru’s fingers dig into your hips, moving you to grind against his achingly hard length at a maddeningly sensual pace. Up and down, up and down, up and-

A white-hot jolt of electricity runs down to your cunt each time the prominent vein down his side catches on your covered clit, thin panties now soaked with your slick and his precum.

You almost don’t recognize the disappointed whine that leaves your lips as he pulls away, delicate strings of spit snapping.

“You drive me insane, sweetheart.” he murmurs, breathless with lust.

“The feeling’s mutual, Satoru.”

And it was like something snapped - maybe his sanity, probably you by the end of this.

Because with a low, carnal growl, Satoru picks you up as if you weigh nothing. Seating you roughly onto your nearby desk and pinning you down. Papers scattering everywhere in the heat of the moment, rendering his earlier hard work useless.

Satoru crowds your space, ravaging your mouth, grinding against your heated core till the only thing you can see is him, the only thing you can feel is him, the only thing you can think of-

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. The friction is maddening, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Yet, Satoru, as always, disrupts your plans. Breaking the heated kiss, he trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You cry out - both in pain and pleasure - as he continues his assault, digging your nails into his sculpted back.

“I won’t be the first one to cum.” he mutters into the crook of your neck as a hand roams up your thigh, deftly pulling off your shorts. You writhe beneath him as lithe fingers tease the hem of your dripping panties, relishing in the choked gasp that leaves Satoru’s mouth as your swollen lips catch on his tip.

“Oh yeah? Damn well won’t be me either.”

You’ve barely gotten the words out before he tears off your panties, pocketing this pair as well for a lonely night - though, with the way your cunt quivers at his touch, he doubts it’ll be any time soon. “Wanna bet, prez~?”

He plunges his fingers inside you with a savageness that steals your breath away. Easily finding that magical spot, thrusting inside to hit it with scary accuracy over and over. Your plush walls convulse around him, crying out his name. Ah, he missed this.

But you weren’t gonna sit there and be one-upped. A trembling hand moves down to urgently tug down his tight boxers. Rock-hard cock springing out, glistening with precum, your favorite shade of pretty pink. It made your mouth water.

Satoru’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he feels your tight grip on his length, thumb swirling deftly under the sensitive slit. Spreading his precum along his flushed head. Torturing him. Warmth pooling at your core at the way he fucks your fist in mindless, shallow thrusts.

“Fuck. You really do drive me insane.” he groans, voice strained with desire as he keeps up the punishing pace of his fingers in your dripping cunt. Both of you unrelenting. Both of you in a fight for the other’s release.

It’s a close tie.

“Oh- oh, sweetheart I’m-”

And Satoru spills into your hand in thick, hot spurts and pornographic moans. Your fist still pumps up and down his twitching length, milking him for all he’s worth as you tip over the edge as well, walls fluttering around his merciless fingers.

“I win.” you challenge, eyes half-lidded as you still reel from the intensity of your orgasm. Satoru’s fingers quiver inside you as he pulls out with a hiss. Pupils blown-out, the look in his eyes feral.

A slow grin spreading across his lips, words breathless and tinged with a bit of insanity that made your pussy clench, “Best out of three?”

“Always knew you were a sore loser.”

“Nah, I’d win.”

“You’re on.”

Before you know it, you’re being thrown onto the bed, bouncing at the sheer force of the throw - cut short as Satoru looms over you, pinning you down onto the mattress.

His lips graze yours with a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his hips as they grind on yours. You moan as his still-painfully hard erection throbs against your wall, head falling back in surrender as your swollen folds envelope him in his favorite heaven. Sensitive - so sensitive.

Hands moving to your breasts, cupping them, teasing. Rolling your nipples between his deft fingers as your hips buck wildly into his. Precum and slick smearing obscenely. Faster. More desperate. Absolutely filthy. Racing towards the end.

And your voice cuts through the heady air, “W-wait, Satoru, wait. As the winner last time…” Words trailing off enticingly, a hand reaching hastily underneath your pillow.

Oh, just when Satoru didn’t think you could surprise him any more.

A jolt goes through his body at the thick, pink vibrator that emerges from beneath the pillow. Sleek metal catching the light, his eyes trailing up, up, up, intimidatingly large in your hands.

Eyes widening, Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat as he watches you handle it with practiced ease. Flip, switch - bzzzzz-

It rings in his ears and resonates through the room. A surprised smile stretched across his lips, despite himself. “Oh, who knew the esteemed student prez was such a little minx. Shit, sweetheart, gonna give me a heart attack.”

“You’re not the only one with lonely nights.” You nod pointedly at his pants - strewn across your bedroom floor and panties stuffed safely in his pocket.

You bite your lower lip in a way that has probably all the blood in Satoru’s body rushing to his pulsing cock. Aching for something. Aching for you.

Sensually, you press the buzzing toy against your clit, hips bucking at the immediate and intense stimulation. A jolt of pleasure making you gasp.

Satoru watches, spellbound, as you writhe beneath him - eyes locked so dangerously with his. He can see the slick beading at your folds, pooling onto your bed sheets.

Impulsively, he reaches out, wrapping a large hand around yours, guiding it to your dripping hole. “Now…” your eyes light up in excitement at his predatory tone. “That’s just playing dirty, prez. I might just cream myself.”

Agonizingly slow, Satoru eases the vibrator inside you, walls clamping down so deliciously. A clever hand draws tight, little circles on your throbbing clit.

You arch off the bed at the sensation and the stretch - full. So full. Full and so in heaven.

A fresh wave of slick coating the already-glistening metal, Satoru begins to fuck the toy into you, matching the rhythm of the vibrations. Relentless, he was absolutely relentless. Base meeting your swollen lips, tip kissing your cervix.

It drives you insane. He drives you insane.

“Fu-fuck Satoru-” Breathing ragged, tears pricking your eyes at the sensitivity, it only takes one two three more thrusts of the vibrator stuffing your cunt before you’re cumming with a loud cry of Satoru’s name, till you see stars behind your eyes.

“Ah, I’m so glad we made it to the bed this time.”

“Idiot.”

“Love you too~” Satoru continues to fuck into you mercilessly with it over and over, drawing out your high until you’re left limp and boneless beneath him. The only thing you can do being to take it.

As the shocks of electricity in your body fade, Satoru carefully removes the vibrator. You whimper at the sudden emptiness.

“Round 2 goes to me.” smugness evident in his words, slightly muffled by your lips.

“Shut up and kiss me. It’s the tie-breaker.”

His lips capture yours in a deep kiss. You can taste the salt of your sweat on his lips, and the desperation of the moment. It’s intoxicating. More addictive than any drug in the world.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him against your body - sticky with sweat and cum - till you can feel his rock-hard cock once more. Eager and aching for you. Teasing your folds with his leaking tip, readily spreading for him.

Finally, after what feels like hours - maybe even weeks - of buildup, he sheaths himself in your snug cunt the way you’d been dying for these lonely nights with just your vibrator. And with the way Satoru lets out a low, desperate moan - head thrown back - you think he might share the sentiment.

“God. Hah- Ah you look so beautiful under me, sweetheart. Hngh- wouldn’t get used to this in my lifetime.”

“Then hngh- find me in the n-next.”

He presses in slowly, languidly - a sensuality that envelopes you and makes you keen at the stretch. Finally bottoming out, he savors the heavenly feeling of being completely inside you. You really were heaven on Earth.

Pulling back, prominent veins grazing that spot just right, he rams back into you with purpose. Savoring you. Torturing you. “Satoru oh- f-fuck me like you hah- mean it goddamit.”

But it’s not long before the great Gojo Satoru loses his handle on himself. Maybe it was the tears clinging to your lashes. Maybe it was the way your legs wrap so tightly around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust. Or maybe it was the fucked-out whines of his name spilling from your mouth.

Because he’s fucking into you desperately. Feral, deliberate strokes that make you ass sting at the smack of his heavy balls. The harsh slapping of skin on skin echoing in your heady bedroom at his unforgiving cadence.

The air charged so tensely that you could barely breath - or maybe that was the way Satoru’s furious tip kissing your cervix over and over knocked the air out of your lungs. Every nerve ending in your body felt alight with white-hot pleasure, electrifying you from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head - filled only with Satoru Satoru Satoru-

Vision blurry, head dazed so lustfully, you barely notice the way Satoru reaches down between you, his fingers familiarly finding your clit to rub harsh circles on it in time with his thrusts. It’s too much. Ah, you were going to pass out.

Instead, you cum - all over his twitching cock. The sensation almost too much as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. Especially when your walls clamp down, milking his cock so sinfully as Satoru spills into your snug cunt.

Balls tightening as he thrusts thick ropes of seed into your dripping pussy, your juices mixing with his as he thrusts animalistically into you, fucking it deeper and deeper. Decorating your plush walls white, cum spilling out of your sloppy hole as it overflows.

Flashes of light behind his eyes at the sensitivity - pain, pleasure, yearning all melting into one, gooey mess that mirrored his heart right now. Desperate calls of your name leaving his lips like a prayer. Because maybe you were his salvation.

With a moan of pure ecstasy at the feeling of being so full you think you’d explode, you pull Satoru to you, nails dragging down his shoulder and every part of you wrapped around him so impossibly tight. As if you never wanted to let go - and you didn’t.

You don’t, even as you both gasp for air - and sanity. Even as he collapses his sweaty body onto yours, careful to not crush you with his weight. And you especially don’t let go as those dazed eyes bore into yours, a tender moment in the weighty silence.

Because right now, no words were needed.

“I love you.”

“And, I love you. In every universe.”

Except maybe those.

It’s only once reality is setting in, exhausted and intertwined so tenderly in his arms, that a sense of familiarity permeates the heavy air.

“I win.”

An agitating, grating voice that you loved so much.

You let out a dragged out groan, rolling your eyes. “That’s only because I went easy on you.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’d love to prove you wrong, sweetheart, but I think my dick is out of commission for the next week at least.”

A sharp bark of laughter startles its way out of your lips as he bounces you two on the mattress, laying on his stomach and swinging his feet as if he was at some slumber party.

“Soooo~ Now that we’re finally dating, I can finally stop holding back on the quantum entanglement puns, I’ve got a list on my Notes app that-”

“I’m gonna entangle your face with my fist.”

“Jokes on you I’m into that.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“But you love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

---

Gojo Satoru likes to think he’s hilarious. A real connoisseur of the fine art of comedy. The fifth member of Impractical Jokers.

So, of course, he had to barge into the hell that was his new 8am class with style. Bursting in through the swinging doors, imaginary cape flowing in the wind. Sue him, so what if he’s an attention-whore?!

His bright gaze sweeps over all the students barely keeping their eyes open, before finally landing on you - on the edge of your seat, brows furrowed so adorably and eagerly drinking in every word Yaga droned on about. Who the hell found advanced quantum physics that riveting?

Intrigue piquing as he makes a beeline to you, Satoru’s heart lurches at that weird little part of him that wishes your attentive gaze was on him instead. Strange.

Sliding into the empty seat beside you, of course he immediately turns on his world-renowned Gojo charm. You’ll be putty in his hands in no time~!

“Any closer to Yaga and you’d be fucking his wife, y’know.”

“...”

Okay, maybe that didn’t come out as suave as he expected, but damn, not even a giggle?

You couldn’t blame the guy for getting nervous in front of a pretty girl! Nor could you really blame him for plowing on despite that - not after the jolt of electricity that ran through his body the second your irritated eyes met his.

Oh wow. So that’s what it’s like to have your soul pierced and buried six feet under.

It was sort of addicting.

And if Satoru thought his knees were weak at just a glare from you - well, he was not ready for the way you snapped at him and told him to shut the fuck up. Ah, truly a woman of his dreams.

Not even half an hour into the lecture and if you asked Satoru to recall a word spoken by Yaga then he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. The words went in one ear and he couldn’t even remember if it went out the next - too focused on getting your attention on him at least once more.

He just wished you’d look at him - let him see all the shades of your eyes, and the exact degree at which your lip curls in annoyance. What would that smart mouth say to him next?

“Now, would anyone here be able to discuss the interpretations in the debate between the Copenhagen interpretation and the Pilot-Wave theory?”

Which is why he positively jumped at the chance to show off his academic prowess to you. Only to find…you teetering on the edge of your seat as well?

Your voice is even, a fiery glint in your eyes. He’s entranced.

“The Copenhagen Interpretation uses Heisenberg's uncertainty principle and emphasizes measurement to state that quantum-level particles can act as both waves and particles. It’s the most widely accepted and pragmatic theory.”

Oh. This was going to be interesting.

Heart banging against his ribcage, voice slightly shaky, “Not to be the devil’s advocate but the Pilot-Wave theory makes way more sense practically.”

Thus, Gojo Satoru, in his failed attempts to flirt, starts a rivalry with you that shakes the entire physics department - and his heart.

He was sure if he told Shoko and Suguru the real reason why he was suddenly spending hours poring over his physics textbooks then they’d definitely laugh their asses off - after giving him a good smack for being so ridiculous.

It’s not that he didn’t like being on the receiving ends of your snarky remarks and death stares - but it’s just that he also wishes you’d kiss him silly while you do it. God, for someone voted campus hottie three times in a row, why was it so hard to just ask you out?

Which is why, seeing you being dragged into their little circle at that off-brand frat party, he thinks - ah, this might just be fate.

Silently thanking Shoko for her accidental wingmanning, Satoru watches in amusement as you reluctantly scribble your name on that crumpled piece of paper. And if he slipped in a couple extra with his name on it, well, he was only glad you were too busy cursing his entire bloodline out to catch him.

The smell of cheap beer filling his senses, strobe lights matching the banging of his heart against his chest. Even if he did cheat at the game a little, Satoru didn’t think he’d end the night with your soaked panties burning a hole in his pocket - and the whisper of your lips on his searing even more. He was dazed.

Was that…a dream?

It must be, right? There’s no way the gorgeous student prez who hates his guts would suddenly be in the same proximity as him - let alone let him tonguefuck you into insanity.

You tasted so sweet.

Yeah, must’ve been some hallucination.

Months later, your soft grumbles in his ear, and your hand warm in his, swinging playfully between you two in the buzzing aquarium - a part of Satoru still thinks he’s hallucinating.

“Slow down, Satoru! The fish aren’t going anywhere.” you huff as he flits excitedly from tank to tank, eyes sparkling like a kid in a candy store. Yet, you couldn't help the beginnings of a smile curling at the corners of your lips at his childlike excitement.

“Can’t! I couldn’t show you this last time, even a hardass like you’d love it.”

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue is cut off by the breathtaking sight before you.

A grandiose tank - a kaleidoscope of an underwater world that stretched beyond your field of vision. Hues of blues and greens glimmering before you. Marine life you wouldn’t be able to name - no matter how many hours of watching NatGeo - in an ethereal dance across the water.

“Last time we were here we talked about multiverses. I know now, I hope that in every universe, we’ll be here together. Standing side by side, watching the deep blue and arguing about physics.”

Eyes widening at the beauty - and his words - you turn to Satoru, only to see his piercing gaze already on you. Satisfied grin bathed in a soft blue light from the tank, his twinkling eyes reflecting you and the lights and you. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

“See? Didn’t I tell you you’d love it? I’m always so great at these thi-”

You shut up that big mouth - with your lips on his.

Tender and weighty - as if you two had all the time in the world. And, your hands electric under Satoru’s touch, cold metal of the infinity sign searing into your ring finger - you think you probably do. Because Satoru’s tastes like candied apples and everything you could ever want. A promise.

“T-told you I was irresistible.”

Confident words, muffled by your lips. You pull away with a disbelieving huff of laughter, and you’re glad you did - because you catch a glimpse of the nervous twinkle in his eyes and the flushed cheeks betraying him.

“You wish.” you chuckle, brushing your fingers over his cloudy white locks. That familiar, easy grin tugs on the corners of your heart, and for a moment - just this moment - it feels like just the two of you in this bustling aquarium. In this uncertain world.

“Sure do.” he whispers, as if a secret - meant for just the two of you.

“Now, my prez, wanna go to our little booth at the café and debate the Copenhagen interpretation and the Pilot-Wave theory?”

A/N. Can you tell the title was inspired by Go For It, Nakamura?

Also so sorry for posting only sporadically this week, for some reason my posts refuse to show up under any tags and as a creator that’s really discouraging. But here’s to next week being better hopefully!

Plagiarism not authorized.

Taglist:

@bbyxxm @maskedpacific @mrs--imperfect @dunixxd @scarammouch

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

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moeitsu · 9 months ago

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Explaining the James Logan Howlett (Wolverine) Lore for the new fans :)

I made this as a little cheat sheet for all the new Logan/Wolverine fans, in case you’ve never seen the movies or read the comics. Hopefully it’ll help with your fanfics and understanding his character better <3

Logan is my favorite of the Marvel superhero’s, and he and I go way back….so far back that my Dad dressed up as Wolverine and I as Rogue for Halloween in 2006. So he holds a very special place in my heart.

Lore - Part 2 Wolverine Comics

If you’ve seen X-men Origins: Wolverine, I hate to break it to you, but that backstory is not canon to the X-men universe. The later movies really screwed up the timeline. So the information here is strictly from the comics.

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Pre-Adamantium Binding:

His real name is James Howlett, ‘Logan’ is later used as an alias to distance himself from his past.

He was born sometime around 1880, in Alberta Canada.

He is the illegitimate son of Elizabeth Howlett and Thomas Logan. He grew up on the Howlett estate and believed John Howlett was his real father.

His mutant powers first appeared when he was a child. He has accelerated healing, heightened senses, and retractable bone claws.

The trigger was caused by Thomas Logan killing James Howlett. The overwhelming fear and anger made his power manifest, blinded with rage he kills Thomas.

As his biological father dies, he reveals to Logan that he is his true father. The event is deeply traumatizing, and Logan runs away from his family estate. His mother commits suicide shortly after.

Logan has a half brother known as Sabertooth (Victor Creed) who has similar powers to the Wolverine but is more ‘animalistic’

The details vary across the comics but the brothers are always seen as rivals. And often pitted against eachother.

Logan served in WWI, WWII, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War.

He also served in a Canadian military force known as ‘Department H’ that specialized in superhuman affairs. (This was after the experiment, I’ll go into more detail later)

Sometime before the Weapon X program: On Earth-616, Logan had a wife (Itsu) and son in Japan where he was training at the time. They were killed by the Winter Soldier (Bucky Barnes)

Weapon X Program - Adamantium Binding:

The Weapon X program was run by multiple people working in secret for the Canadian government. Originally beginning in 1845, their goal was to experiment on mutants and create their own super-soldiers.

Logan was deceived and manipulated into undergoing the Weapon X experiment. He did not consent to being a test subject.

For some reason the X-Men Origins movie makes it out to be that Logan willingly chose to undergo this process, only to later reveal that he was tricked into doing so.

Before being captured, he was still struggling with his identity, he was close to 100 years old at the time. His life was filled with violence and loss. Making him physically and mentally vulnerable.

He was a prime target for exploitation.

Part of the experiment was to completely erase his memories and replace them with false ones. This allowed them complete control over him.

This also made it difficult for him to recall how he ended up in the program to begin with.

I repeat: they completely wiped his memory. His whole identity was gone.

100 years of memories were gone.

The bonding process turned his entire skeleton and bone claws into indestructible metal.

Due to his regenerative nature, Logan was not given anesthetic or put under for the procedure. It was excruciatingly painful.

Logan worked as a mercenary for private military contractors. He took on these assignments without fully understanding their implications because of his fragmented memory.

Sometime later he became a member of X-Force, a private military unit (affiliated with the CIA) that dealt with incredibly violent operations.

The purpose of the project was to create an unstoppable killing machine. With their end goal being to erase his humanity all together. However Logan’s mental fortitude allowed him to resist the conditioning and make his escape before it was too late.

After escaping, Logan developed a mistrust with authority. And just people in general. He felt deeply betrayed by the Weapon X program. And he struggles with the fear of being used as a weapon.

The escape and aftermath of Weapon X:

After everything Logan went through, the intense trauma and confusion significantly impacted his actions and mindset.

He was left with extreme psychological damage, and behaved more as an animal than a man for the first few years of his freedom. Living in the wilderness of Canada.

Quite literally a feral man. He lost touch of his humanity. Embracing his animalistic abilities, turning him into an apex predator.

Logan has the ability to enter something called “Beserker Rage” which he becomes entirely driven by animalistic instinct. Turning him into an unstoppable force and exerting himself for very long periods of time.

Think of when you see him running on all fours…

Over time, Logan began to regain bits and pieces of his humanity. He was later discovered by Heather and James MacDonald Hudson who took him in and helped him recover physically and mentally.

(Logan actually fell in love with Heather, and James became his best friend. They were the closest thing he had to a family)

After he recovered, he was recruited by the Canadian governments ‘Department H’. They were responsible for a lot of his training and became a key member in Canada’s superhero team: Alpha Flight.

This is where he took on the code name “Wolverine”

His time with Alpha Flight was short lived. And soon he was approached by Charles Xavier, who was looking for mutants to join his X-Men. He recognized Logan’s potential and offered him a place on the team as well as the promise to help him regain his memory.

Logan accepted, and his time with the X-Men marked a critical and significant moment in his life. Under Xavier’s guidance he was able to rebuild his identity and gradually piece together his past. All while fighting for the rights of mutants.

Being part of the X-Men gave him a sense of purpose and direction. Although his main goal had always been to uncover what he had lost, which was himself. He still struggles with trust and relationships, but eventually forms strong bonds with the other X-men.

His past with Weapon X still haunts him. And he has vivid and terrible nightmares about what he had done and what was done to him.

I won’t go into detail about his time with the X-men because that varies a lot across the comics. Just know that he had a love-hate relationship with them, but he ultimately loved them in the end.

Some sad facts about Logan that actually haunt me:

Logan has outlived everyone he ever loved. Family, friends, even his own children. He is so so so lonely.

Immense amount of survivors guilt. He feels unworthy of the life he continues to live.

He suffers from chronic nightmares. Often waking up in a violent and panicked state.

Deep-seated fear of abandonment that goes all the way back to his early childhood. He isolates himself to protect himself from more pain.

Tons of self-loathing. He believes himself to be nothing more than a killer. He thinks he is unworthy of love and happiness.

In the “Old Man Logan” storyline, he is tricked into killing the entire X-Men team. This event haunts him for the rest of his life.

Logan had a long, unrequited love for Jean Gray. He has watched her die multiple times, and each time a piece of him dies with her. On one occasion, he even had to kill her himself.

When he succumbs to “beserker rage” he loses control of himself. And the aftermath horrifies him. He is even afraid of himself at times and one of the reasons why he distances himself from others.

Some happy/soft facts to make up for everything you just read:

Logan is incredibly fatherly at times, often taking younger mutants under his protection and guidance. He becomes a mentor to them and looks out for their well-being.

In one of the comics he takes a young girl (Jubilee) to the mall and followers her around carrying her bags. He loves doting on her and I find it so adorable.

He also teaches another mutant named Kitty how to dance.

In one mission he is tasked with taking care of an infant, Hope. And he is incredibly gentle and tender with her. Cradling her in his arms and being fiercely protective.

He has a deep love and connection with animals. Especially ones that have been mistreated or misunderstood.

Caring for an injured wolf, he nurses it back to health and releases it back into nature.

He also adopts a stray, abused dog at one point.

In one of the timelines, he funded and ran the ‘Jean Gray School for Higher Learning’ He was the headmaster, and was dedicated to protecting and teaching young mutants.

In one scene he literally makes pancakes for all the students. I love him so much.

His relationship with Nightcrawler (Kurt Wagner) is very brotherly. They share alot of respect and understanding for each other, and Nightcrawler often serves as Logan’s moral compass.

His happiest memories are when he was training in Japan. And he has a deep appreciation and admiration for the culture. Taking on the samurai code of honor, and respecting its discipline and humility.

His entire relationship with Laura Kinney (X-23). Essentially his daughter. Taking on a father-figure role for her.

In one of the comics he organizes a birthday party for her, knowing she never had one. He goes all out and it shows just how much he loves her.

Logan has a great sense of humor. Often dry and sardonic, he’s known for his quick wit and playful banter. Which adds a layer of warmth to his otherwise tough persona.

He is very fond of life’s simple pleasures. Which reflects his inner desire for peace and normalcy. He values the little things that make life enjoyable.

His numerous acts of kindness towards strangers. Logan is compassionate at heart.

He doesn’t comfort others with his words, but rather his presence. Logan has a very unique understanding of grief and tries to give others relief in knowing they aren’t alone.

WOW okay I wrote way too much. Tbh I actually cut a ton out of this but if anybody wants a part 2 I’d be happy to share more. Shoutout to my brother for helping me source all this with his comics lol.

If you read all this, you’re a real one. And I’m so glad we’re all witnessing the Logan Howlett Renaissance

#logan howlett xmen #james logan howlett #x men comics #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman #logan howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #marvel

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evilminji · 1 year ago

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You know what would be both Cool(tm) AND Pants Shittingly Terrifying? Eldritch Space Whale Danny!

Except NOT! Because he's not a whale! Just snoozing and Giganto-Fuck-Off HUGE!

Imagine it! Danny. Joint Custody Child of The Ancients Of Time And Space. Space is SALTY AF because their BITCH OF AN EX has used his FUCKING POWERS, AGAIN, to CHEAT. Clockwork how DARE YOU.

You knew he'd be our Son in advance!

YOU SNUCK IN AND STARTING BONDING WITH OUR CHILD BEHIND MY BACK!

YOU [REDACTED]!

Danny? Sitting off to the Side as a Sentient Everything and Nothing made of galaxies and starlight, howls expletives at their Ex, who is being... REALLY snippy back? WOW, Clockwork. I mean, JESUS, man. Danny's from "oh bless their heart" Nowhere, Midwest. And even HE thinks that last one was both backhanded and cold af.

......he should take notes. *continues to eat his popcorn*

Anyway! APPARENTLY, Space Parent has taken him in the divorce. With much huffing. Tucked under their arm Like The Football(tm). And honestly? This is kinda hilarious, so he's cool with it. Byyyyyy~ Clock Dad! See you on weekends~☆!

*Exasperated Time Noises*

It's pretty cool! He learns a lot. Learns he's probably? Gonna be SOME variation of Space Ghost. Might even take over Space's... well, EVERYTHING, should the unforeseeable occur. So obviously, gonna have to learn The Family Business, as it were!

Which?

UNSPEAKABLY HYPED, YES PLEASE.

SPACE AND STAR STUFF! HECK YEAH!

Unfortunately? Still a Halfa. Bleh, squishy need to eat and sleep. Why they get in the way of Hyperfixation? Why no more space dust? Nooooo, don't drag him away from the controls! He can still learn! Sleep is for quitters! Cowards! *whining in Give Me Back My Blorbos, You Monsters*

But, no. He apparently has to "take care of his body" and "not burn out". Eat "real food". A protein bar counts! He probably ate one of those! Give him back his STARS! He doesn't CARE if he sounds like a toddler! That's DIRECT ACCESS TO THE SECRETS OF SPACE ITSELF! He'll BITE, so HELP HIM-! *Is scruffed like a cranky infant being carried off to beddy bye*

Injustice! D:<

But, none the less, body's require sleep. He shovles down his food, washes up, and flops down in his bed. In the nice lil cozy "Safe For My Half Apprentice Who Is Also My Adopted Son" corner. He passes out in that corner. Starts to float, as he has done countless times before, when agitated before bed. Floats OUT of that corner.

That Safe Little Corner.

IN THE CENTER, THE BEATING HEART OF SPACE.

You know... the place ALL OF SPACE connects too. Where Universe Form and Die. The Grand Recycler. Dust to Dust, from the ashes of old, to the creation of new. Where PORTALS are randomly assigned. So that the Omniversal Ectoplasmic Levels may always be balanced at near to perfect levels, allowing free flow of Souls through the various Reincarnation cycles.

Space, of course, doesn't MANAGE the Ectoplasm itself. Nor the Souls! Different Ancient for THAT, but they DO manage the PORTALS. We live in a SYSTEM after all. Everyone has their "departments" as it were. So really, it's quiet... Danny? Honey? Awful quiet back there! You, uh, fallen asleep, Starlight?

*empty room*

(O.O)

*inhale* AAAAAAAAAAA-!!!!!!!

Meanwhile! He be Snoozin'! And Ghostin'! Ghost Snoozin'! Is extra comfy, cause he weightless and got not booooones~☆!

But! He? Is not a child anymore! Has learned to... for lack of a better term, Let Go. To finally ACCEPT his Death. His inhumanity. His Amortality. Death no longer holds him, can no longer let him go. He is... not immortal. He is disowned, by his own doing and his own choice, at his timeless moment of Ending.

When Life let go of his hand and Death kindly offered theirs, he did not take it.

And that's okay.

It took awhile. Talking to older ghosts. Most vague and vast, near formless. Because it's... it's scary. And it's all you know. All, really, you've EVER known. Inherent to your identity, even after you leave that part you behind.

You are "human". "Martian" or "Xy'xeruian", something else, and you never question it. Even when you've left behind everything ELSE. Your name, your eyes, your history and skin. Yet you fly around and pretend. Still alive, still human.

But is that YOU?

Or just the form you found your start in?

And like? It's okay if it IS! Sometimes, yeah, you ARE. You look down deep and find a "don't know what you were expecting, buddy" sign stapled to a mirror. But more often? It's that last hurdle. The final step in Letting Go.

Everyone mourns at their own pace.

And they are the ghosts of who they were.

It helped. Mourning for the kid he was. Who was fourteen and wanted to be an astronaut. Who died and will never have a grave. The longer he exsists, for he can't technically be called Alive, the more painfully young that child seems.

It was okay.

To cry for Danny Fenton.

Then? To let him go. Let his memory, be memory. And his Past be the grave that child rests in. Loved dearly and remembered, but no longer binding his soul.

He doesn't have to wear that face anymore.

No tributes to the Dead.

He got? Kinda... BIG. Like REALLY big. Spiraling, serpentine, cracking ice, and burning galaxies. Like a fourth dimensional dragon, of ice and stars, somehow forcing its way into a three dimensional space. Atop it all, between two vast, impossible horns? Made of glacial ice coating the warping hearts of black holes, who's shape themselves seem to shift in unknowable ways? There burns, like comet trails, with super novas, compressed to decorative gems beneath glittering morning frost, a Terrible Crown.

He? Thinks? He MIGHT have wings.

He can't tell.

Because APPARENTLY he's a fuckin tesseract! Oh, no, sorry. He might me a Zone DAMNED PENTERACT!!! Is THIS what he gets for hanging out with Clockwork all the time? He just liked the quiet! Now his "true form" is PHYSICALLY PAINFUL for most people to look at!

Clock Dad WHAT THE HELL?!

(You see, now, why Space broke up with him? An ASSHOLE)

So! Danny stays, usually at least, in his "Hi, yes, I am Normal Human Man" Ghost form. But NOW? Now it PINCHS. Because it's TOO SMALL. But hey, that's fine! It's not like he has an ingrained habit of transforming when super tired and stressed! To float sleep for Maximum Restfulness(tm).

Ha ha!

Why does that feel like foreshadowing?

BECAUSE IT IS!

Danny? Snoozing! Space? Has LOST THE BABY! Portals? Have done a Jood Gob in Portalling, something they are vaguely sure they are supposed to be doing! Yay them! They have no brain cells but still enjoy helping! They moved a thing! That's helpful right? Yay! Probably!

And on DC's planet Earth?

They? Just choked on their fuckin coffee. One moment? La dee daa~ oooh~ look! Stars! Deep space! Oh, hiiii~ Watchtower! The NEXT? *every alarm in the building starts LOSING ITS SHIT* Giant World OBLITERATING SHAPE completely takes up the screen.

From near PLUTO.

There are NO WORDS TO DISCRIBE HOW FUCK OFF BIG THIS THING IS, MR. PRESIDENT. It will eat our nukes and LAUGH. Call! EVERYBODY!!!

Obviously? Superman. I mean really, OF COURSE Superman. Frankly, all the Supers. Because we would like to KEEP having a planet, thanks. Only? The more reports that come in? The more everyone is getting "oh fuck. This is a Workd Eater" vibes.

A massive, massive, Sleeping Titan of a Planet Destroying World Eater.

That MIGHT BE MAGIC.

*highly stressed Everyone noises*

And WORSE? Superman? Can't TOUCH it! Oh sure, at FIRST he could! But then he apparently pushed too hard in just one spot! And it felt POKED AT. So now, after flicking superman HALFWAY BACK TO EARTH to make him stop? No one can physically touch it!

But! There is hope!

Because? The creature is GREEN. Bright, luminous, Lantern Green! And Earth's Lanterns have already sent for back up. Combined? The were able to move a... hand? Paw? Something. But! With the combine forces of several nearby sectors of Lanterns? They promise the power to either relocate the creature or at least hold it in orbit until FURTHER forces can be deployed!

They refuse to harm the creature until it proves actively hostile, as it could have been seeking a place to nap and chosen one inconvenient to established planetary life. Frankly? Earth doesn't CARE where you relocate the giant Eldritch Space Dragon. Just NOT IN OUR BACKYARD, PLEASE.

....YES WE ARE SURE! We don't CARE if the scientific community of our planet is begging you to set up an area for them to place an "observation satellite"! No giant Eldritch Space Dragons in our solar system! It might WAKE UP!

Naturally, about half way THROUGH this Highly Delicate Operation?

Danny Wakes Up.

@hypewinter @hdgnj @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @mutable-manifestation

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #minji's writing

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sweetdispatch · 18 days ago

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5 cinnamon buns with raspberry and salted pretzels pls 💕💕💕💕💕

Just friends - Q. Hughes

v' bakery pairing: Quinn Hughes x fem!reader summary: You knew Quinn since you were kids, you tried to be couple but you realised that you work better as friends but everyone around you knew that you're made for each other warning: making out

Between you and Quinn was a complicated relationship. You two had a lot of ups and downs since you were kids. You met him in primary school when he was assigned to do a project with you. At first, you didn’t want him as your partner because you knew that you’ll do the whole project and he will be only watching. To your surprise, he was helping you with everything.

This project bonded you to him. Quickly you became friends and everything you did together. It wasn’t only school related. Quinn was taking you to the ice rink and he taught you how to skate. Your parents became friends with him and his brothers were treating you like a sister they never had.

In high school, you and Quinn started dating. At first, everything was looking great between you two but months later, you noticed that you’re working better as friends and you broke up. The feelings you had never disappeared and throughout the whole high school, you were going on and off with the relationship.

It ended up for good when Quinn went to the university. He stayed in Michigan when you decided to move to England. You were keeping in touch but soon, you moved on with each other’ lifes. He put all his focus on hockey, especially after the draft and you started partying in different pubs and bars in London.

During summer, you were hanging out like in old times. Maybe you were far away from each other for most of the year but you still had the spark. Two of you were always joking that you barely talk in the academic year to have topics of conversation for summer.

After your graduation, you returned to Michigan. At that time, Quinn was in Vancouver. You were happy for him that he made it and always tried to go on his game when he was playing in Detroit. The feelings never disappeared and you loved each other but believed that you’re better as friends, especially after this on and off relationship in high school.

None of you were in a relationship since your break up. You were going on dates with different people but they never were like Quinn. He felt the same when he was seeing other women. You and him were too good match for each other to have partners.

When Quinn was coming back home, the first thing he was doing was seeing you. He was repeating to his family that you’re just friends but no one believed it. You were acting like a couple and only you two were too blind to try again.

You were always kissing Quinn’ cheek as a greeting. During nights out in clubs, Quinn was always holding his hand in yours. When you were watching a movie, you were curled up at him. Even when you were staying at his house for the night, you were sleeping in his bed and he was hugging you.

Jack organised a party in their house and he invited you. Quinn was all the time by your side to make sure you’re safe. You were sitting in the kitchen when the alcohol started talking through both of you. Quinn kissed you and grabbed your ass to squeeze. You were making out in the kitchen not even bothered by people walking in.

Your hands were running through his hair when his hands were roaming your body. It wasn’t anything new for you to have an intimate moment. Your first time was with Quinn and he knew your body perfectly. You weren’t ashamed of sleeping with him and he wasn’t ashamed to sleep with you. Quinn lifted you up and sat you on the counter. He was kissing you like there was no tomorrow.

“Fuck me Quinn. Fuck me like you mean it. I don’t want any sweet love making, I want the dirty and messy sex” You told him and kissed him again trying to get his shirt off.

“It’s so hot when you talk like that” Quinn told you and bit your bottom lip. “Let’s go to my room so I can fuck you like you want”

Quinn grabbed your hand and led you upstairs. It wasn’t unnoticed by Jack and Luke who shared looks between each other. They saw Quinn’ messy hair and your lipstick all over his lips.

“Whom do they lie that they are just friends?” Luke asked Jack.

“They’re lying to themselves because for my liking friends are not doing shit like that” Jack told him.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes oneshot #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #vancouver canucks #v' bakery

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sungiescheotluv · 4 months ago

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champagne supernova ⭑.ᐟ park jisung

pairing: park jisung x gender neutral reader

word count: 4.2k

tags/warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, emo(ish) jisung, non-idol au.

summary: making friends as an adult is difficult. luckily for you, the rock/alternative online community welcomes you with open arms, one person in particular catching your interest.

notes: hi thereee! 😁 back again with another jisung fic, one that i actually came up with myself lmao. since getting back into the dreamies, i've been a bit surprised by (but absolutely loving) jisung's taste in music. hence this silly fic, which i do hope you enjoy! thank you so much for all your recent support, it makes my heart smile whenever you like or comment on a post! anyways, happy reading! much loveeeee! <3

The concept of internet safety is lost on you. How else could you explain sharing a hotel room with someone you’d never met before in real life?

Perhaps, you should retrace your steps. See how you’ve managed to find yourself in such a dangerous position, the front door locked and your body pinned to the bed.

Making friends as an adult is difficult. On par with counting every grain of rice in a field, you’d say.

You underestimated how easy maintaining friendship was when younger, third places like school, daycares, extra-curricular activities demanding your presence, inadvertently strengthening your social life. Not that you were the most social, you had a hard time approaching people actually, but maybe that was a part of your charm. Bringing you out of your shell, like all your friends did before your bond was cemented in tree trunks or sandy beaches. University is the last place you take this ease for granted, exposed to all different kinds of people and relationships, some platonic and not-so much. Either way, despite the barge of assignments and countless nights out, you’d make it into adulthood relatively unscathed.

Adulthood, however, doesn’t turn out as you expect. You’d been sold a dream, one eight-year old you envisioned dabbling with the stars accompanied by a lavish life and all the ice-cream you could get your hands on. Unfortunately, no star would be rubbing shoulders with you anytime soon and any that would, you’d have to pay a large sum of money to even see. A large sum you did not have. So, yeah. Just that, toxic work culture, endless bills and a whole host of other obligations linger above your head like a grey cloud.

What helps is finding the small joys in life. Slow mornings when the city is asleep, the scent of coffee at the crack of dawn, the sunshine against your skin, friends who despite their busy schedules carve out time to see you. All pieces of your life that make it worth living. Music is in there too, the art of melodies and lyrics strung together having the strange ability to carry you throughout even your worst days.

Your moods refuse to stick to a certain genre and in the midst of dark afternoons and frost covered roads, you find yourself gravitating towards alternative music. Slow, steady and aching. Like how your life moves with the severe lack of sun. It’s not a genre your circle of friends dabble in as much as you do. It’s to be expected, anyone who deviates from a standard of ‘normalcy’ was outcasted, one too many examples found in your high school days where kids got called weird and satanic for wearing a Green Day t-shirt to school. The thought makes you laugh now, but back then, when all that matters is fitting in, it was sad and suffocating. Seeing a part of yourself denied before your very eyes. Sometimes you’d hang out with those kids, bond over your collection of CDs and even go to a few gigs together. However, when Monday came around and they’d approach you and your friends, raving about the concert - you froze. Confronted into either owning yourself and being outcasted like the rest of the emo kids or ignoring them, deny yourself for the sake of social standing.

You pretend like they’ve grown two heads, feigned confusion knitting your eyebrows together while your friends laugh and hurl insults at someone who you considered a friend - a better one than the ones at your side. And yet, you let the laughter continue, a coward with its tail between its legs as you depart, the taste of iron on your tongue.

Maybe this is payback for those poor decisions. A dead-end job, a successful but shitting ex and enough inner turmoil to make a therapist clutch their pearls.

You abandon those friends when you get to university, getting better ones that wouldn’t make someone feel small due to their own insecurities. You make amends with the emo kids, your apology marking the true end of your friendship. You search online spaces for like-minded people, showing up as yourself and being embraced as. Everyone in the Reddit community is unbelievably sweet, sharing their music recommendations, concert wishlists and pictures of their cats. Some members, including yourself, form a closer bond, taking your conversation to a Discord server that becomes your escape in a way. A channel for heartfelt discussion that extends past your love for music. You’re not as active due to work obligations, but whenever you pop up, one member in particular always greets you with a warmth like no other.

Linkin.parkjisung is his user, his icon the rock and roll hand sign over his face. Likes Blur, Green Day, Oasis and of course, Linkin Park. He’s like you, dips in and out, types a few responses before he’s gone again. It’s a scenario where other members grow closer, and your anxiety around speaking in the group begins. They’re already close, it seems almost futile to interrupt, right?

What if you’re ignored? What if you’ve missed your window of opportunity?

It’s a line of thinking that crosses your mind when you send in an apology for being inactive, moments later your phone pinging with a notification.

Linkin.parkjisung: no need to apologize! life gets busy for everyone, myself included. hope you’re doing ok (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

Other group members echo his message, sending in their own real-life obligations that the group ends up bonding over, complaining of rising car insurance and overly demanding bosses.

It’s the start of it all, really. That one message, a hand extended to yours that breaks you out of your shell and kick starts your friendship with Jisung. From that day onwards, you move more freely throughout the server, making good friends with everyone but better friends with Jisung. Somewhere down the line, you end up privately messaging each other. What starts out as simply giving each other music recommendations (since he apparently always loves the songs/artists you send into the server) becomes sneaking into the bathroom during a busy family reunion to call Jisung about how your grandmother wore a catsuit to impress her ex, your grandfather. You grow that close, no details spared on life events. How else is there space for secrecy when you’re video calling drunk, watching festival performances of Fontaines D.C.?

In any case, you’re close. You text everyday and call every week like clockwork, namely because you live some hours away from each other. During your calls, he’s shrouded in a low darkness, self conscious of the way he looks, he says. You’re unconvinced, slivers of his features in photos he sends you with his roommates’ three cats or on call saying otherwise. Regardless, you let it slide because Jisung becomes more than his face - he becomes a source of comfort, someone who makes you laugh as much as brings you calm, someone you slowly can’t imagine your days without. In hindsight, this is where your romantic feelings develop. And with convenient timing too because one of the bands you recommended to Jisung, Wunderhorse are on tour, set to perform in a city two hours from the both of you.

“Tickets are going onsale at 10 am on Thursday,” Jisung murmurs, the clicks of his cursor coming through your laptop speaker. “Remember to set your alarm.”

“Will do. Lemme set a remin-” opening up your calendar, you see an unwelcome surprise. “Fuck.”

“What’s up?” Jisung’s voice echoes with sincere concern.

“I forgot I have a shift that day,” you groan, already knowing by the time your lunch break came, the event would be sold out. “We’re understaffed as is, so there’s no way I can get someone to cover for me.”

A deep hum vibrates from Jisung’s chest, a few more clicks of his cursor sounding before he asks in a small voice. “Well, I could just get the tickets for us both.”

“You would?”

“Yeah, I’m meant to be working from home that day anyways. And not to flex, but my internet’s pretty decent.”

You laugh. “Is that for your job or your crippling gaming addiction?”

“A bit of both,” he chuckles back, the sound blooming a warmth of happiness in your chest. “Working in CompSci has its perks.”

“So, I’m finding out,” you smile, an underlying layer of discomfort shifting you against your desk chair. “Are you sure, though?”

“Of course. I’d hate if you lost out on this knowing I could’ve done something to help,” Jisung explains. “You were the one to introduce me to them anyways. Plus we’d have a better chance of sticking together in the pit if we get them together, right?”

You swallow a lump in your throat, something taking flight in your airy chest. “Yeah, you’re right. Just send me your bank details so I can transfer you the day of.”

“Coming right up!” he jokes, and you laugh, however lame he claims himself to be.

On Thursday, he sends you a photo of his solid black high-tech set-up, a PC he’s constructed himself with more monitors than you can count. The side of his face is included in the picture, silky black hair, a brown eye and a beauty mark on his cheekbone you dream of kissing later that night. You find out he secures the tickets on your lunch break, your debt towards him being booking the hotel you’d be staying at. Due to the limited funds you’re working with, you end up getting a shared room, an option that gives him pause before he agrees in a tremored voice. You’re a bit apprehensive yourself, but you booked for two beds, so it should be fine. If worst comes to worst, and something happens between you two – like him turning out to be a sexist neckbeard loser he couldn’t take no for an answer - you’d sleep in your car (or kick him out, actually). At any rate, you had options (and a friend tracking your live location).

In no time, weeks fly by and Wunderhorse drops their latest album. It’s the best thing you’ve experienced since sliced bread, an opinion Jisung shares as you two listen to it over call late one Friday night, speaking about your favourite songs amongst other things. You don’t know how it starts, perhaps it’s a lyric that sticks out to him that he mentions or something else entirely, but suddenly, you’re reminded of high school you. How deeply you wanted to be accepted by others, and how that satisfaction depended on the person you got it from. That you preferred conformity instead of individuality, because being seen with popular shallow kids meant something to you.

“I wasn’t a good person in high school,” you find yourself admitting, your body hollowed out with guilt. Regret like ash on your tongue. “I hurt people because I valued other people’s opinions over my own. I know I was young, but-”

“You said it yourself: you were young,” Jisung comments, the serious intent in his voice catching you off guard. “The fact you recognise your behaviour and feel remorse for it shows how much you’ve grown. I mean, high school can be very unforgiving because nobody really knows who they are or what the fuck they’re doing, so it’s only reasonably to make choices you may regret. What’s important, I think, is how you’ve chosen to move forward,”

“You said it yourself, you’ve apologised to those you hurt. Not many, if any person in your position, would do the same, which shows how much you genuinely care to make things right,” you sniff, vision blurring with tears of relief and sadness. “So, if you ask me, I think you’re being a bit hard on yourself. It’s all a learning curve, you were doing what was best to protect yourself then. And now, you’re a better and kinder person because of it.”

Another time you should’ve known you’d fallen for him. Yet, you remain none the wiser. All the way until concert day, getting off work early that Friday afternoon and making the journey down to the bright city lights of Seoul. Everything twinkles and dazzles, a 180 from your modest living in your hometown. You suppose your excitement for the concert has some role in this too, but considering the lack of vibrancy in your life, you allow yourself to sink your teeth into this. Feel the goosebumps against your skin, the lightness in your limbs and the uptake in your heartbeat.

You check into the hotel first since Jisung has a last-minute team meeting at work, setting yourself up on your side of the cosy room of wooden and white hues. As you slip on your Hello Kitty headband to do skincare, a knock rasps against the door, audible above the sound of your music.

With furrowed eyebrows, you approach the door, revealing a sight that stops your heart in its tracks.

On the other side of the door is who you should’ve expected: Jisung. What you don’t expect, however, is his sharp features, black smooth hair with matching formal clothing to contrast so beautifully with his porcelain skin. The dark, ocean blue contacts he wears with a pretty pink lip tint. Not to mention that beauty mark you’ve been thirsting over for the past few months? Yeah, that’s all in eye-view now, close enough to touch and it’s this fact that sends your brain into overdrive.

While you malfunction, Jisung dips his head, a large fist curled to his lips to hide his sheepish smile. Chuckles in a bit of an awkward and embarrassed way.

Oh my god?!

“Nice to finally meet you,” he greets, black leather overnight bag clutched to his side. A fluffy blue and pink keychain of Little Twin Stars hangs off the zip, a cute juxtaposition to his intimidating outfit. And height. God, he really wasn’t lying when he said he was nearly 6 ft.

“I texted you I’d arrived, but you hadn’t read them,”

A forceful blink out of your trance brings you back to reality, one where you’re not openly drooling over how handsome your internet best friend is. “Yeah, sorry. I was busy getting ready.”

“I figured so,” his eyes scan your clothes - your ripped baggy jeans, leather platform shoes amongst what you have on - and his lips curve, admiration in his eyes. “You look great.”

If there weren’t societal ideals of an inappropriate reaction to that compliment, you would’ve tattooed it to your forehead, or on your lower back. Maybe ripped off your shirt and kissed him before combusting because what do you mean, this very handsome man, thinks you look great?!

“Thank you,” you blush, your body running hot like a furnace. Even so, you decide to take advantage of the situation, leaning in for an embrace that he reciprocates as you mumble into his shoulder. “Nice to finally meet you too.”

The rest of the afternoon blurs, the few moments of scattered glances and awkward silence incomparable with the ease of conversation that flows between you once his favourite song, Poppy, comes on. Catching up to speed with each other’s day as you two get ready, it’s not lost on you how domestic the scene is - how familiar, or right it feels. Jisung, in all aspects of the word, is endearing - flustered by the compliments you send his way, brightening up at the new additions to the setlist and best of you, timid with pink cheeks when he hands over a ‘first meeting’ gift - an assortment of snacks, a Hello Kitty plushie and a card that makes you coo. It takes everything in you not to sink your teeth into him, overwhelmed by the sweetness that laces his actions and words, riding the high he and the music gives you as you make your way to the venue after you’re both finished.

Long lines snake around the arena, grey clouds permeating the area as rainfall clatters to the pavement. Jisung, ever so prepared, brings along an umbrella that you share, squeezing underneath so much you feel the warmth of Jisung through his bare, very defined bicep. How someone looks so good in a silver sequin top under a tattered sleeveless black vest is beyond you. Then again, him being single is beyond your comprehension too. Considering his calm and thoughtful demeanour, coupled with his good looks, you would’ve expected people lining up by the thousands to plead their case. However, whenever you two talked about this, he’d simply say his go-to phrase and change the topic, his phrase being:

“I’ve got my eye on someone. Just working up the courage to ask them out.”

Whoever managed to catch his eye, you’d thought to be lucky. Maybe they’d saved a small village in their past life because as people push when the doors open, Jisung shields you from any damage, reminding you how good of a romantic partner he could be. Especially so when you’re inside and he snaps all your photos, accompanying you to the bar and merch table where you get matching t-shirts before he keeps them with him so you’re free throughout the concert. Dimmed red lights and chatter fill the spacious hall, a flood of warm bodies surrounding you as you peer at the stage, the band all set up and ready to go come showtime. You sing along to the host of songs the venue plays beforehand, enough nudges in the shoulder to get Jisung to sing along and of course - of course - he has a beautiful voice too. At this point, you were convinced he either had a missing toe or had weird opinions about the order of cereal because the more you spent time with him, the more he shines in your eyes.

Eventually, the chatter dies down and all lights go off, screams rising through the crowd as Wunderhorse comes onto the stage. Buzzing at a frequency unheard of, you bounce off the balls of your feet, hand holding Jisung as you exclaim, “It’s them! It’s really them!”

Missing how flushed Jisung becomes at the contact, you sing with all your heart - offkey and all - to their opening song, Midas. The energy is through the roof, a dizzying world of flashing lights and music that retches the lyrics straight out of you. In a moment’s chance, Jisung and you turn to each other mid-song, smiles bright as the stage lights outline your damp faces, chest heaving with a mouthful of lyrics in their wake. It’s the happiest you’ve been, holding his hand like this, and as the night winds to simmer, you sway to slow songs and thank your lucky stars for finding your way back to this.

After the show, you two chatter with other adoring fans before trekking to your nearby hotel, stomachs growling for food. Jisung finds a great Chinese place that delivers until 2 am, a gesture you simper at, unaware he’d even remembered you’d liked the cuisine. At this point, you’re drained in the best possible way, a dull ache in your feet but riding a high of something you’ll remember forever.

Now, you’re all up to speed. Great. Let’s get back to your current dilemma.

Somehow, someway, your unlaced and stubborn platform shoes cause a stumble, one that Jisung tries to save you from but ends up caught in the mix. How, you might ask? Well, you’re not entirely sure but what you definitely know is that you’ve fallen on one of the beds, Jisung’s body caging yours as he braces his own fall. Face-to-face. With you.

Ok.

You’re close enough to share a breath, within reach to see his long lashes and shaky pupils that dart from your eyes to your lips, back to your eyes again. Suddenly, the room temperature dials to an unprecedented heat, walls closing in on you two as you lie in waiting. Waiting for the other to make their move. To lean in or pull away, heads or tails on a coin.

His phone rings, cutting through the tension-filled air with a knife. The moment, gone.

“You okay?” he rasps, a knit in his eyebrows as if he’s holding himself back. You blink wordlessly, your answer in an absent nod. “I’ll, uhm…get the food.”

It’s not a suggestion, nothing that you can object to, particularly when he’s long gone and you’re clutching at your chest, months of infatuation knocking the breath out of you.

When Jisung returns minutes later, you’ve turned the TV on, preparing to fill the silence if need be. It proves necessary, only groans of pleasure and compliments to the chef shared between you two as you eat your weight in noodles. Not much is said when you’re getting ready for bed either, brushing your teeth together as if you're a couple and settling into separate beds, all the lights turned off.

Still reeling for the fall, and convinced his shallow breaths allude to his slumber, you’re startled by the call of your name, head turning towards Jisung beside you.

“Yes?”

“You sure you’re ok?” he asks before clearing his throat. “That was…some fall.”

You can say that again.

“I’m ok,” you lie. You’re on high alert, frazzled at every end with a heart you’ve just realised longs for the man not even two metres away from you. “Are you?”

Silence. The only feedback you hear is the crinkle of his duvet as he shuffles in his bed.

“Ask me another question.”

You turn to him, shrouded in darkness. “Like what?”

He doesn’t speak again, lets the silence devour the space between you before he says. “Ask me about the person I’m interested in.”

Water that rivals the arctic pours down your back, a harsh call to reality as you remember. Right, he has someone he’s interested in. Someone who he’ll devout his time to, listen to their music recommendations and hold their hands at concerts. And you? Well, you’ll still be friends, just not as close. Maybe not even friends at all.

The thought closes an iron fist around your heart.

“Why haven’t you asked them out?” is what you manage, because it’s on your mind - what time and place he’ll find himself in when he confesses his feelings.

“Because I’m scared,” he admits, small and in a whisper. “Considering we met online, it’s kind of hard to gauge their interest or read any signs. You don’t give me much to work with,”

You still. “I don’t?’

“I mean, I haven’t been too obvious, but I’m crazy about you,” he confesses. “I love the light in your eyes and the kindness in your heart. You’re so deeply human and live life like it’s your first and last. There’s no one like you and I think the idea of knowing how special you are triggered my fear of rejection. Because what would my life be without watching festival performances drunk with you? What would it be if you didn’t laugh at my lame jokes and didn’t command my every thought?”

Jisung shuffles again, a flicker of dim light in between you two at a lamp source as he stares over at you, wholehearted and vulnerable. “It’d be an empty one - not worth living.”

Slowly, your body brings you upwards, the two of you hanging off the edges of your bed. So close if you’d reach out, your hands would touch.

“When?” you croak, unable to meet his eyes. “When did you…start feeling this way?”

His eyes lower, a slight curve to the corner of his lips. “Around November?”

Electricity zaps your back straight. Five months ago? “When we joined the server?”

“Shortly after that,” he admits, a coy grin breaking out against his flushed features. “I was having a really hard day and you’d recommend a song in the chat, Favourite by Fontaines DC, and said how nostalgic and hopeful it felt to you. I gave it a listen and…it was like a battery in my back. I cried, but I also smiled too because I understood what you meant by it all,”

He threads his fingers together, peering up with shining eyes as he adds, “it felt like a peak into your soul, and mine too….I think that’s where it started.”

Your hand finally reaches out, overlaying his as tears fill your sight. “You know you’re my favourite, right?”

“No one stood a chance after that drunk video of you singing along to Champagne Supernova,” you share a laugh, reminiscing of the video he accidentally sent into the server one December night. A die-hard Oasis fan till the end. “I mean it. There’s no one I’d want to spend my days with, listen to music with and discover all there is to life. No one but you.”

His bottom lip gives a wobble, hands unearthing from yours as his thumb grazes your knuckles, bringing the hand up in a searing kiss. One he looks you right in the eyes for as he says, “Can we push the beds together please?”

You bark out an unexpected laugh, fondness shaping your smile as you speak with all of your heart. “I would love nothing more.”

#nct dream fic #jisung x reader #nct jisung #park jisung #park jisung x reader #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct dream fluff #nct dream fanfic #park jisung imagines #park jisung fluff #jisung fluff #jisung x you #nct jisung x reader #nct jisung fanfic #sungiescheotluv fics ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱

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patscorner · 1 year ago

Note

kate fic idea ! okay so you and kate have been best friends since you can remember, but something happens around third grade were you had to move away. a few years later (towards college or so) you guys reconnect (bc yall decided to apply to the same college) then it ends up on them going on a date and kissing 🙏🏽

will do! 🫡

ALL OF THE ABOVE

Summary: You and Kate grew up together, but when you move across the country, you lose contact with her forever. Or so you think.

wc: 2,339 (she's a long one, buckle up folks)

Contains: mentions of alcohol, nothing...?

______________________________

For as long as you can remember, you have always had a best friend. Whether it was your first imaginary friend, your dog, or your brother. One of the most memorable of them all, though, was a short, dirty blonde girl in your third grade.

Kate was assigned as your table partner in art. Even as an eight-year-old, you knew she was the prettiest girl you’d ever laid eyes on. You both instantly clicked, bonding over favorite colors and working on your math problems together.

You both would play outside in recess together, swinging on the swings, or you’d play in the dirt while Kate played with a basketball. You guys were instantly each other’s ride or die, going to one another’s houses for sleepovers almost every weekend. Even throughout the seventh grade girl drama (canon event), and even after both of your friend groups crashed and burned, you two stood strong.

But sometimes things happen that you can’t control, like your parents separating in the middle of your eighth grade year. When you thought it couldn’t get any worse, your dad decided to return to his hometown and move across the country to Iowa, taking you and your brother with him.

You’ve never fought anything harder. You spent most of your time screaming at your dad and begging him to let you stay. When he kept refusing, you eventually accepted the fact that you were leaving. Leaving everything behind, your childhood home, your memories, your best friend.

At the time, the hardest thing you’d ever done was tell Kate you were leaving. You were in tears the whole time, even before you told her. She’d looked at you with worry and concern before embracing you, telling you that no matter what it was, she’d be there for you.

That’s the moment you knew you had fallen in love and that there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

After you told her, you both cried together, vowing to write everyday (this was before you guys owned phones), and promising to never forget each other.

And that’s exactly how it started out. You wrote to her everyday, filling her in on everything that was happening in your first year of high school. And she’d write back, telling you about how she made the basketball team.

But soon, she started getting busy with all the media attention on the sophomore star, and your letters every day turned into nothing at all. You kept writing to her, but you never got anything back, even after you told her you got a phone.

You figured it was because you both got busy, but you couldn’t help but feel a little hurt that she didn’t write to you back. Eventually, you distracted yourself with finding your love for soccer and her, creating her future in women’s basketball.

You wouldn’t say you forgot her, because how could you? But you didn’t think about her much anymore, and she fell to the back of your mind. You’d moved on with your life, and you were certain she did, too.

Eventually, you graduated and got a full ride to the University of Iowa because of your amazing talent in soccer. Little did you know that a year later, so would Kate. Of course, hers was for basketball, but the same campus nonetheless.

You lay on your bed, watching old soccer highlights, trying to see if you could predict the plays and the fouls before they happen. You look up as you hear your dorm door open and watch as your two roommates drunkenly stumble in. One of your roommates, Sarah, fumbles with the keys before dropping them and leaning on your other roommate, Devon, doubling over in laughter. You roll your eyes and close your laptop. Guess we’re done with that for now.

“What happened to ‘not getting too drunk’?” You asked with raised eyebrows, helping Devon, who is much more drunk than Sarah, to the bed. She mumbles incoherent words, so you look up at Sarah to translate as you take Devon’s shoes off.

Sarah shrugged. “The football team showed up. They’re the life of the party.” She slurs the last bit and then covers her mouth before rushing to the bathroom.

You shake your head as you turn back to Devon, who’s staring down at you. “You’re hot as fuck.” she mumbles.

“You’re drunk, and you have a girlfriend.” You say. You’re far too familiar with Devon when she’s intoxicated. All she does is flirt with people, whether her girlfriend is in the room or not. Luckily, most people on the Iowa campus know her and who her girlfriend is, and they know to stay away, not engaging or encouraging any of her behavior.

“Cait is so annoying.” Devon whines. “She didn’t wanna come to the party with me.” she throws her head back on the pillows, flinging her legs on the bed when you finish taking her shoes off.

“Or.” You grab her a water bottle from the fridge before opening it and making your way back to her. “She has a game tomorrow and doesn’t wanna play hungover.”

You’d been to a couple of Caitlin’s games, and it’s even more amazing to watch her play in person (she’s also fine as hell, but you’d rather keep your life, so this one stays in your head). And with your brother being on the college baseball team, he’d go to many sports events, whether it be basketball, football, women’s basketball, or baseball itself.

Devon sighs before taking the water from you, practically drinking all of it before handing the mostly empty bottle back to you. You put a blanket over her before making your way to check on Sarah.

Opening the door, you notice that she’s taking her makeup off and her hair down. “Oh, shit, you’re all good then?” you say, surprised to see her standing. She turns to you and nods. “Unlike Ms girl in there, I can hold my liquor.” You laugh and turn to leave.

“Oh, you comin’ to the game tomorrow?” Sarah asked, turning to look at you. You sigh deeply before shaking your head. “Nah, I gotta study.”

“Bitch, you’ve studied for like three days, you’re gonna burn yourself out. You’re allowed a break.” Sarah says in a light-hearted manner but you can tell she wasn’t all the way kidding. She wasn’t all the way wrong either. You’d been studying relentlessly for a test in your business class, and gave yourself little room for a break.

“Come on, a small break isn’t gonna kill you.” Sarah persisted. You sigh defeatedly. “Fine.”

She grins widely, already planning outfits to put you in. You shake your head at her antics, when in reality, it was one of your favorite things about her.

Guess you're going to a game tomorrow.

Big mistake. You completely forgot that it was the first home game of the preseason, so the stadium was packed. The people looked like little bees, swarming around in their yellow and black jerseys.

But you and your roommates made sure to take shots before you left the apartment, so the alcohol eased your nerves a little. Since your brother was a baseball player and your roommates girlfriend was Caitlin fucking Clark, you guys had scored courtside seats, right behind the coaching staff.

You shuffle into the aisle, pulling your short black dress down as you settle in. You sit down, and turn your attention to the court. The teams are doing warm ups, and you watch as they do layups. One girl catches your eye, her dirty blonde hair tied back into her signature braid. She looks painfully familiar, but you can’t put your finger on it.

That is until she turns around to sit on the bench , and you get a good look at her last name.

Martin.

Your jaw drops in shock, as your brain tries to process all the emotions that hit you at once. On one hand, you’re pissed that she left you in the lurch, but on the other hand… she’s Kate, and Kate is your best friend, someone who you once didn’t think you could live without.

She’s sitting in front of you, conversing with Caitlin. You obviously couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you’re an expert at reading lips (thanks to your parents), and you make out the word ‘single’, to which Kate nods her head at.

For whatever reason, this made your heart tingle, hope flashing through your mind. Maybe things could go back to how they were.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by Sarah nudging your shoulder. “Stop staring, girl, you’re gonna burn a hole into her head.” she teased. You bit your lip as your cheeks flushed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You mutter unconvincingly. You knew you weren’t being subtle, but at this point, you didn’t care. Your best friend, your first actual best friend, was seated no more than 15 feet in front of you.

Sarah rolls her eyes at your stubbornness. “C’mon bro, you're practically drooling.”

You shake your head. “I know her.” is all you say. Sarah shakes her head, giggling at your antics. “Yeah, everyone does. Her high school stats are off the charts.” You nod, although you’re not surprised. You’d watch Kate play in middle school, and she was a beast then, so you could only imagine what a powerhouse she was now.

And you were right. Kate and Caitlin dominated the entire game, piggy-backing off of each other, getting assist after assist. Whether it was Caitlin passing it behind-the-back to Kate, or Kate doing a no-look pass to Caitlin. The stadium was louder than you’ve ever heard it, most of the ruckus coming from the student section as they cheered on the freshman and their beloved Caitlin Clark.

The duo scored a total of 98 points together, and along with the rest of the team, Iowa won with 112 points, beating the opposing team by 67 points. The crowd storms the court, and you sit and watch as thousands of people in yellow and black attire swarm the players.

You and your roommates stay behind, as Devon waits for the people to clear out so she can hug her girlfriend. Eventually, most of the audience cleared out, only a couple of fans lingering. You take a deep breath as your roommates stand and make their way to Caitlin and Kate, who are laughing about something together.

Kate’s laughter is like music to your ears, a sound that almost makes you cry as an overwhelming amount of memories of hearing that beautiful noise every day swarm your brain.

You stand a little farther back as Devon goes up and hugs her girlfriend from behind, eliciting a yelp from a startled Caitlin. Caitlin turns around, hugging her girlfriend before kissing her passionately. You’d be disgusted, but you're far too distracted because at this point, the attention from Kate is on you.

You both stared at each other for a second before she spoke. “Do I know you from somewhere?” she asked. Her voice is just as amazing as you remembered it to be, only slightly deeper. You smiled nervously as you felt tears well in your eyes.

“I’d hope so. My brother used to drive to take us to the Phillips gas station, and you’d force him to buy you Skittles.” You smile as you watch her eyebrows furrow before they light up with excitement, just like they used to.

“No fucki-” she cuts herself off by jumping on you. Your hands go instinctively to catch her, hooking your hands under her thighs. Kate buries her face in your neck, squealing as she squeezes you as if you’ll disappear if she lets go.

“I can’t believe…there’s- how are you here right now?” She asked as she pulled away from your neck. You’re still holding her, and you know for a fact that if you weren’t in shape, you’d be tired, but because of the workouts your coach has you doing, you’re able to hold her with ease.

“After the move, I got into soccer… it turns out I was pretty good, and they gave me a scholarship.” You say, looking up at her. She grins at you. “That’s amazing! After you stopped sending me letters, I assumed you had forgotten about me.”

Your eyebrows furrow at this. “Wait, what? No, I kept sending you stuff, I just stopped getting stuff back, so I just thought you got busy.”

She shakes her head. “I never got any of them.”

“Really?”

“Not one.”

You shake your head as you put her down. “I don’t know why, I wrote to you every day.” Her arms stayed around your neck as your hands navigated to her waist, resting there as you two looked at each other.

Kate bites her lips in thought but shakes her head, pulling you into a hug. “Doesn’t matter. I’m so happy you're here.” Your heart swells at this, hearing those words healed every single ounce of doubt about her that you’d ever had. She didn’t forget about you, she was in the same boat as you, waiting for a response. For years.

“I missed you so fucking much.” You whisper, finally letting tears fall. Kate hears the way your voice shakes and pulls away. She looks at you with sympathy.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers. You shake your head, shaking off her apology. “Not your fault.”

She smiles at you, and you're both looking in each other's eyes for a moment.

Everything freezes. This is the girl you grew up with. The girl who kicked the boy who purposely stepped on your brand new kicks with his muddy shoes. This was the girl who made fun of you for your shitty spelling, the girl who made you feel at home, even while yours was falling apart.

You look in her eyes and you realize home is not always a place. Sometimes home is a person.

Your rock. Your home. Your person.

And she is all of the above.

______________________________

taglist: @bueckerslover @wintersstan @lilia22hicks @fake-intelligences @breeloveschris

#kate martin x fem reader #kate martin #kate martin x reader #wcbb x reader #wcbb #iowa wbb #ncaa wbb #wbb #iowa hawkeyes #patsworks

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infinitydivine · 4 months ago

Text

Points that might help you to read Tarot as a Beginner (written from the personal experiences)

Tip from personal experience- Before reading the meanings behind the cards, tap into your intuition and listen to what it tells you. You can always interpret your cards even if they don't match the traditional meanings. Make a bond with your decks, it will help you to have a more smooth Tarot journey. Always thank the cards and the Guides/Spirit Team/The Universe after you are done reading. Try to cover your head while doing the readings to prevent any additional info from downloading into your Crown Chakra.

1. Focus- I cannot stress enough about the focus part while reading Tarot cards. When you are focused, you are more likely to be able to interpret the symbols on the cards accurately and intuitively easily without stressing yourself. This is because your mind is not distracted by other thoughts or worries, allowing you to connect with the deeper meaning of the cards. Plus it'll give you more clarity to listen to your intuition while you are preparing for a reading or asking cards any questions.

2. Know the meaning or Basic traditional meanings of the Tarot Cards- For this, I would suggest you start with the traditional Rider-Waite Tarot deck. While we are free to interpret the cards as we like it is also important to know the basic meanings of each card. For example: The Death card does not talk necessarily about the literal death but the transformation. To me, it looks like someone is leaving their past behind and moving on to their next phase whilst going through major transformations.

3. Practice- Practising is also a very important part of learning how to read Tarot cards. I know that sometimes it's very overwhelming to memorize it and do it again and again but practice as much as you want. It will not only help you to build confidence but also will strengthen your ability to read them easily with the help of your intuition. For starters, you can draw one daily card to reflect on its meaning. I did for a few days and wrote whatever meanings came through and later, I matched it with a few of the traditional meanings.

4. Shuffling, Cleansening, and asking your Spirit Guides- Shuffling isn't about just randomly putting Tarot cards, it's more than that. It's a kind of process that helps you to focus more on the meanings again. It will help the reader's energy to get mixed up with the Cards or Decks. Tarot cards absorb energy, I think we all know that. I didn't even let other people touch my decks for 1 year because I was scared that it would mess up my decks because I wasn't aware of the cleansing methods. You don't have to cleanse it after every read, its totally up to you ngl. If you feel, you can do it but it's not mandatory. For cleansing, you can either use smoke of herbs or sage. Some people use crystals as they place them on the top of their decks and some prefer the Full Moon night to cleanse their decks. I use the sage method because it's more convenient for me. Now, Spirit Guides- they are basically our guides in the form of Spirits that help us with their guidance and support. Every being has one spirit guide or a Spirit team assigned to them. You can connect to them through meditation or using your intuition. (It's a deep topic so maybe I'll make another post about it).

5. Do not read when you are tired- Reading Tarot cards while being tired can mess with your energy as well as your ability to concentrate to read the cards with the help of your intuition. Plus, it can even mess with your intuition and cloud it. There is also an increased risk of a negative or pessimistic outlook on the questions you are asking. For me, giving respect to the cards, I don't read them when I am feeling blue.

PS- These are from my personal experience. If you have any other variants, you are more than welcome to add them here. I will keep adding more in the future.

Thank you

Infinity ❤️

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jungkoode · 3 months ago

Text

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 11

˗ˏˋ car literature ˎˊ˗

"Halfway across the country to escape your parents' expectations, only to find their voices still echo in your head. Maybe freedom isn't about how far you run, but what you choose to hear when everything goes quiet."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 7.5k

content: jungkook being late, y/n offering him a ride, coffee mainsplaining, new friendships, jimin being a book nerd, jin reserving tables, professor namjoon kim having dimples and giving you a helping hand on your assignement

✧ author's note ✧

OKAY HI LOSERS!!!! Chapter 11 is here, right on schedule like the little miracle worker I am. I actually have ch11, 12, and 13 all done and ready to go but I'm sticking to my posting schedule because SOMEONE (me) knows she'll burn out at some point so you better savor this while it lasts.

Anyway, about Y/N having a car: yes, she has one because I said so and Jungkook doesn't because he's a whole-ass LOSER LMAO. I did love weaving in the reason behind the car though and connecting it to her messy complicated relationship with her parents. God I love how human she is??? Like, she's so conflicted—grateful for what they've done but suffocated by their expectations. THE COMPLEXITY. I'm obsessed with my own creation, forgive me.

I'll give Jungkook some credit here (GASP) because while he has the self-awareness of a potato, he IS observant and perceptive when he wants to be. Boy's too busy coping with humor and deflecting for his own good though. You'll see what I mean… eventually.

Also can we talk about how much I'm LIVING for Y/N and Jimin's growing friendship?? I love how Y/N makes friends for such different reasons—Yeji is the one who makes her feel like she doesn't have to have her shit figured out, Irya is the emotionally intelligent one, and Jimin?? They bond over their shared love of literature and books and isn't that just chef's kiss beautiful?

And I refuse to apologize for the text messages. REFUSE. The texts are staying because I love writing them too much. Deal with it.

FINALLY THOUGH!!! NAMJOON MAKES HIS ENTRANCE!!! MY KING!!! I've actually had him planned since chapter 3 (don't get it twisted), there are hints if you paid attention. But now he's finally here in all his dimpled glory and we love him. Jin, I understand you completely, babes.

ANYWAY. Chapter below. Enjoy bobs bobes and bobas!!!

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

The sound of Jungkook stubbing his toe for the third time this morning is, objectively speaking, fucking hilarious.

You hide your smirk behind your mug, pretending to be deeply invested in your FYP as another muffled "shit—motherfucking—” echoes from his room. The apartment has been a symphony of chaos for the past fifteen minutes: doors slamming, drawers banging, what sounds suspiciously like a guitar being knocked over (followed by more creative cursing).

And okay, maybe you're a little evil for enjoying this so much. But come on. Mr. "I Pretend To Have My Life Together" finally overslept, and you get to witness the glorious fallout while calmly sipping your morning coffee. The universe gives you so few gifts. You're allowed to savor this one.

His coffee sits next to yours, made exactly the way he likes it—because yes, you've noticed how particular he is about his precious coffee routine. Two shots of espresso, a splash of oat milk (regular milk upsets his stomach, not that he's ever admitted it), and just a hint of vanilla syrup. You absolutely refuse to acknowledge how or why you've memorized this.

Something crashes in the bathroom. Griffin, lounging on the windowsill, barely twitches an ear.

"Has he always been this much of a disaster?" you ask the cat. Griffin's slow blink feels judgmental. Fair enough.

More thundering footsteps. A drawer slams so hard you feel it in your teeth. You scroll past a video of someone's cute dog, not really seeing it, too focused on tracking the hurricane that is your roommate having a morning meltdown.

"Fuck—where is my—" His voice cuts off abruptly.

You can practically hear him running his hands through his hair, tugging—that thing he does when he's stressed.

Your phone buzzes with a text from Yeji.

𝐘𝐞𝐣𝐢🖤: 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑?

You're typing back a quick 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚝 when Jungkook bursts into the kitchen like he's being chased. His hair is still wet from the shower, shirt only half-buttoned, and—oh.

Oh no.

He's wearing The Jeans.

The ones that make his thighs look like they were carved from marble.

The ones you specifically remember clawing off him that first night, back when he was just Hot Stranger From the Bar.

You take a very deliberate sip of coffee and absolutely do not think about that.

"Late for something?" you ask innocently, like you haven't been cataloging every crash and curse for the past quarter hour.

He whirls toward you, and for a split second, you catch him completely unguarded—flushed, disheveled, one hand still trying to button his shirt. Then his eyes narrow, landing on the coffee mug next to yours.

"Is that—"

"Just drink it, Rogue." You cut him off, rolling your eyes. "Unless you want to waste more time making your own."

The nickname slips out without permission. You blame it on the early hour, on not having enough caffeine yet. Not on how he looks with his hair still dripping, water darkening the collar of his shirt. Definitely not on how the morning light catches the silver ring on his hand when he reaches for the mug.

He takes a sip. His eyebrows shoot up.

"This is—"

"If you say 'perfect,' I'm dumping the rest down the sink."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Actually, the extraction time on this is slightly—"

"I swear to god, if you start mansplaining coffee to me at—" you check your phone, "—eight forty-seven in the morning, I will personally ensure you never make it to wherever you're going."

"It's called sharing knowledge, Phoenix." He's already moving again, a blur of motion that somehow manages to look both graceful and completely chaotic. "And the optimal brewing temperature for espresso is—"

"Do you ever just hear yourself talk and think 'wow, I'm really like this'?"

"—between 195 and 205 degrees Fahrenheit, which you'd know if you actually paid attention when I—" He freezes mid-rant. "Wait, what time did you say it was?"

"Eight forty... eight now."

"Fuck. Fuck." He runs both hands through his hair, making it stick up even worse. "I can't be late to this one."

You can't help yourself. "Don't you skip Film Theory like, twice a week?"

"That's—that's different." He's practically vibrating now. "This is the one where we're presenting our—where the fuck is my phone?"

"The thing you set down right here when you grabbed your coffee?" You tap your fingernail against his phone, which has been sitting next to your elbow this whole time. "This phone?"

He lunges for it, and you definitely don't notice how he has to lean into your space to grab it, or how he still smells like his stupidly expensive shower gel. The screen lights up in his hand and—wait.

"Is that Griffin as your lockscreen?"

"What? No." He shoves the phone in his pocket too quickly. "It's—shut up."

"Oh my god, it totally is. Is it the one where he's sleeping in the—"

"I'm gonna be late," he cuts you off, already halfway to the bathroom. You hear him banging around, probably looking for his cologne. The one that makes him smell like rain and...

You glance at the time again. At this rate...

"Want me to take you?"

His head pokes around the bathroom door, hair falling in his eyes. There's a bit of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth that he hasn't noticed.

"What?"

"My car?" You try to sound casual, like you're not offering to save his ass. "Unless you'd rather take the subway and definitely be late."

He stares at you like you've just started speaking in tongues.

“You got a—" His brow furrows. "Wait, you got a car?"

"No, I'm offering you a ride on my imaginary unicorn." You roll your eyes. "Yes, I have a car. Had it for like, two weeks now. How have you not noticed?"

"I've been busy!" He disappears back into the bathroom, voice slightly muffled. "And since when do you—why would you even—who has a car in New York?"

"People who don't want to deal with the subway at 2 AM after work?" You raise your voice so he can hear you over what sounds like him knocking over every single bottle in the bathroom. "Also, time check: eight fifty-one."

"Shit." More crashing sounds. "Okay, yes, fine, please drive me, I'll never make fun of your tea collection again."

"That's a lie and we both know it."

You drop your mug gently in the sink, leaving washing for later in the day, next to his. Then grab your bag, your sunglasses too—from where they're perched on top of your head. Walk to the door and wait for Jungkook to finish spraying his perfume before he’s darting out of the tiny room and positioning himself next to you.

Then you’re out, glasses sliding on as you lock the door. The movement is automatic, practiced—something you picked up during those long drives when the sun would hit just right and—

"Okay, Gossip Girl," he snorts, cutting into your thoughts.

"You haven't even watched Gossip Girl."

"Excuse you, I'm a man of culture." He's half-jogging to keep up with you, which is... something, considering his legs are approximately twice as long as yours. "Blair Waldorf is an icon and Chuck Bass is—wait, no, seriously." He catches up as you reach the elevator. "Why do you have a car? In New York? Who are you?"

The elevator doors slide open with their usual concerning screech. You step in, leaning against the back wall as he follows, hitting -1 with his thumb. The fluorescent lights make the shadows under his eyes more pronounced—definitely up too late gaming again.

"When I signed the lease," you say, watching the numbers tick down, "Miguel mentioned there was an unused garage spot included. It was actually one of my prerequisites."

"Prerequisites," he repeats slowly, like he's tasting the word. When you glance over, he's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read. "You came here on your own?"

You shrug, suddenly very interested in a scuff mark on the elevator floor.

"Yeah."

"Where from?"

The question hangs in the air between you. It's such a simple thing to ask, really. Basic getting-to-know-you stuff. But something about the way he says it, soft and curious, makes your throat tight.

"Small town," you say finally. "The kind where everyone knows everyone's business and the most exciting thing that happens is when someone paints their fence the wrong shade of beige."

He doesn't laugh like you expect. When you risk another look, he's still watching you, head tilted slightly.

"Must've been quite the change."

"That was kind of the point."

The elevator jolts, making you grab the rail. He doesn't move, somehow keeping his balance like he's got magnets in his shoes or something. Imbecile.

"So what, you just... packed up and drove to New York?" There's something in his voice—not quite disbelief, but close.

"I mean, I applied to NYU first. I'm not completely insane." You're aiming for light, casual, but it comes out a bit defensive. "But yeah, basically. Loaded up the car, picked a playlist, and..." You wave your hand vaguely.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

He's quiet for a moment, and you can practically hear him piecing things together. The way you never talk about home. How you tense up when anyone mentions family. The fact that your room is filled with things you clearly bought after moving in, nothing old or sentimental except—

"The bear," he says suddenly.

"What?"

"The stuffed bear on your bed. The really old-looking one." He straightens up, like he's solved a puzzle. "That's why you got it. It's from before."

Something uncomfortable squirms in your chest.

“Okay, Detective Kuko, maybe focus on not being late instead of psychoanalyzing my childhood toys?"

The elevator dings, doors sliding open to reveal the garage. He pushes off the wall, but you catch his reflection in the mirrored doors—that little half-smile that he always pulls when he’s being particularly insufferable.

"You know," he says, following you out into the dimly lit space, "for someone who claims to hate nicknames, you sure throw around a lot of them."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Rogue."

His laugh echoes off the concrete walls. "Whatever you say, Phoenix."

The car beeps when you press the button on the key fob, its sound echoing off the concrete walls of the garage. It’s a rundown 2010 Honda Civic, the kind of car that blends into the background of every suburban parking lot.

The kind your father refused to buy you when you were eighteen and wanted to transfer to a college campus just a bit further away.

Funny how that worked out for him. You ended up buying this one yourself, and now you’re in New York City—a hell of a lot further away than that first suggestion.

But your chest tightens at the thought, like it always does when you let your mind wander back there.

What were you even aiming for?

Retribution?

Vengeance?

For what? Daddy not wanting to get you a car? When they’ve paid for your tuition all this time, made dinner for you when you stayed up late studying, and even sat through all of the Avengers movies with you despite hating superhero flicks. Your mom would always cut up fruit for you during finals season, leaving little notes on the kitchen counter that said things like You’ve got this! or Proud of you! in her neat handwriting.

A mix of guilt and frustration gnaws at you. Because what kind of ungrateful asshole feels bitter about something so small when their parents have done so much?

And yet, here you are. Feeling it anyway.

It’s not like they were bad parents—strict, sure, but not bad. They just wanted what was best for you, didn’t they?

So why does it still sting when you think about how they dismissed your creative writing journal as a “waste of time” or how they steered every conversation toward practicality and success? Why does it feel like every decision they made for you came with strings attached? Like love was something earned through achievements instead of something freely given?

You grip the keys tighter as if that’ll stop the spiral forming in your head. Because it’s not fair to them, is it? They did their best. They didn’t know how suffocating it felt to have every move scrutinized, every choice second-guessed.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re blowing it all out of proportion. Maybe they weren’t controlling; maybe you were just too sensitive. Maybe this whole mess is on

you.

But then again... wasn’t it their fear that kept you tethered to that small town for so long? Their insistence on safety and stability that made leaving feel like rebellion instead of growth?

You shake your head, trying to shove those thoughts aside. It doesn’t matter now. You’re here. You made it out. You’re independent and capable and—

“Wow,” Jungkook’s voice cuts through your inner monologue like a knife, dragging you back to reality with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “This car sucks.”

Your head snaps toward him as he stands there, one eyebrow raised in judgmental amusement. He’s leaning against the passenger door like he’s too good to even touch it properly.

Without thinking, you slam the driver’s door closed with more force than necessary. “Changed my mind,” you snap, glaring at him over the roof of the car. “Go walk.”

He laughs, already folding his stupidly long legs into the passenger seat. "Aw, come on, Phoenix. I'm sure it has... character."

"Get out of my car."

"The duct tape on the mirror really adds something, you know?"

"I will leave you here."

"Is that a Fast and Furious sticker? Did you actually—"

"One more word about my car and you're taking the subway."

He holds his hands up in surrender, but he's still grinning.

"Wouldn't dream of insulting your..." His eyes dart to the dashboard where the check engine light has been on since you bought it. "Unique vehicle."

"I hate you so much right now."

"No you don't." He starts fiddling with the radio, because apparently personal boundaries mean nothing to him. "Oh my god, is this a cassette player?"

You swat his hand away. "Touch my radio and die."

"But—"

"My car, my rules."

"What are you gonna do, make me listen to your sad girl hours playlist?"

You turn the key in the ignition, the engine sputtering to life with its usual concerning cough. "Bold of you to assume I'd share my playlists with someone who butchers Mayer's solos every night."

"I do not—" He sits up straighter, actually offended. "That was one time, and the strings were new, and—"

"Slow Dancing in a Burning Room doesn't need your creative reinterpretation, Rogue."

And fuck. Why did you have to bring up that specific song? The one he was playing two nights ago, like it was just for you and him in the quiet of the night.

"Didn't know you were such a Mayer purist, Phoenix."

You check your mirrors, definitely not watching how he slouches in the seat, all long limbs and morning-messy hair.

"Seatbelt, Kuko."

"Is that your favorite Mayer song?"

God, why is he doing this? Making small talk about music like he didn't just watch you have a whole crisis about your car?

"I guess." You mutter, exiting the garage once and for all.

You merge into traffic, grateful for the excuse to focus on something other than how he's angled his body toward you in the passenger seat.

But then, because he can’t leave things alone…

"You know any others?"

You lick your lips. Two beats of silence.

“Some ring a bell." You finally say. Swallow. Change lanes. Don't think about summer evenings and vinyl records and— "It's just that one... brings memories."

Silence, again.

You can feel him watching you, that way he does sometimes when he thinks you're not paying attention. Like he's trying to solve a puzzle but keeps finding new pieces.

Then he sighs, a soft chuckle that does absolutely nothing to your stomach. Nothing at all.

“Guess I'll have to play some more for you." His voice drops slightly, just shy of teasing. "You know, expand your musical taste."

And what the fuck are you supposed to do with that? With the way he says it—like a challenge, like a promise? With how the morning sun catches his ring when he drums his fingers against his thigh, keeping time to whatever song is playing in his head?

"Bold of you to assume I want to hear more of your mediocre guitar skills."

It's weak and you both know it.

But he lets you have it, just huffs out another laugh and turns to look out the window.

And you absolutely do not notice how the sunlight catches the edge of his jaw, or the way his shirt is still slightly wrinkled from his rush this morning.

No. No, you don’t.

"Wait, you're telling me you've never read Donna Tartt?"

Jimin's scandalized whisper makes you grin as you both push through the library's heavy doors. There's something endearing about how genuinely offended he is by this gap in your literary education.

"In my defense," you whisper back, following him up the stairs to the second floor, "I was a bit busy reading whatever my parents deemed 'appropriate' until, oh, about six months ago?"

He glances back at you, something knowing in his eyes. It should make you uncomfortable—usually does, when people look at you like they understand. But with Jimin, it feels... okay. Maybe because he was there that night at your apartment, quietly positioning himself next to you like a gentle buffer against the chaos.

"Okay, but now you have to read The Secret History." He leads you to what's clearly his usual spot—a corner table partially hidden behind the Classical Literature stacks. "It's like... Dark Academia meets murder mystery meets Greek tragedy."

"You had me at murder mystery, honestly."

He pulls out a chair, dropping his bag with practiced ease. "I actually have my copy here somewhere. The spine's basically destroyed because I've read it so many times, but—"

"Let me guess—you're one of those people who annotates their books?"

His cheeks flush slightly. "Maybe?"

"Oh my god, you totally are." You slide into the chair across from him, already feeling more relaxed than you have all day. "Do you use different colored pens? Have a whole system?"

"...you're making fun of me."

"I would never." You scoff. "I'm simply appreciating your dedication to the literary arts."

He tries to maintain his pout, but you can see the smile fighting through.

"You know what? For that, I'm not telling you where the secret coffee spot is."

"The what now?"

"Oh, nothing." He starts unpacking his bag with exaggerated nonchalance. "Just a hidden corner where they don't enforce the 'no drinks' policy. But since you're so judgmental about my annotation habits..."

"Park Jimin." You lean forward, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "Are you telling me there's a way I can read and caffeinate without having to dodge the library police?"

"I don't know..." He draws it out, eyes twinkling. "Can you be trusted with such powerful knowledge?"

"I will literally annotate a book right now. Any book. Pick one."

His laugh is barely more than a breath, but it's warm, genuine.

“Okay, okay. But first—what's your stance on dog-earing pages?"

You gasp. "What kind of monster do you think I am?"

"Just checking." He grins, finally pulling out his battered copy of The Secret History. "Here. But I want detailed feedback on all my margin notes."

You accept the book carefully, noting the well-worn spine, the sticky notes peeking out from between pages. "Did you... color-code your tabs?"

"That's it." He starts gathering his things. "I'm leaving."

"No, wait!" You grab his arm, laughing as quietly as you can. "I actually love it. Really. Show me your system?"

He settles back down, mock-glaring but clearly pleased. "Fine. But only because you actually seem to care about books, unlike some people."

"Let me guess—Yeji ditched the second you mentioned the library?"

"'Sorry, babe,'" he mimics Yeji's voice with surprising accuracy, "'but I only enter buildings with books if they also serve alcohol.'"

You snort. "That tracks."

"Speaking of tracking..." He pulls out his phone. "Want to see my reading spreadsheet?"

"Your what now?"

"It's color-coded by genre, with separate tabs for—"

"Jimin?"

"Yeah?"

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

His smile could power the whole library. "Just wait until I show you my TBR organization system."

And you find yourself smiling back, real and easy, as he launches into an explanation involving multiple apps and something called "reverse timeline sorting." Because yeah, okay—maybe making new friends isn't the worst thing in the world.

Even if they are terrifyingly organized book nerds who probably alphabetize their bookmarks.

Also, the thing about being an English major at NYU is that you end up sharing a lot of classes with the Comparative Literature kids.

It's not really surprising when you think about it—you're both basically studying books, just from different angles.

While you're deep diving into English and American literature (thanks to your very traditional parents who would have probably had an aneurysm if you'd picked anything more "experimental"), Jimin's out here analyzing texts from all over the world, looking at how different cultures approach storytelling.

Which is how you end up in at least three classes together this semester.

Modern Literature with Professor Sullivan on Mondays and Wednesdays (where Jimin always has the most interesting takes on international influences), Contemporary Poetry Analysis (where he somehow manages to connect Emily Dickinson to some obscure Korean poet you can't pronounce), and that one Friday afternoon workshop that everyone dreads but somehow becomes bearable when Jimin starts drawing parallels between Western and Eastern literary traditions.

It's actually kind of perfect. Your English major foundation gives you the deep knowledge of Western canon that his program requires, while his Comparative Literature perspective opens up whole new ways of looking at texts you thought you knew inside out.

Like right now, as he's explaining how Japanese magical realism evolved differently from its Latin American counterpart, you're seeing 100 Years of Solitude in a completely new light.

Plus, it's nice having someone who actually gives a shit about books.

Yeji, bless her chaotic heart, thinks anything written before 2010 is "prehistoric," and your other friend from Modern Lit only reads SparkNotes.

But Jimin? Jimin color-codes his annotations and has strong opinions about Oxford commas.

Which is probably why, when he suggested studying together, you didn't even hesitate. Because yes, okay, maybe you've been a bit... selective about making friends since moving to New York.

But someone who understands why you got emotional about Woolf's use of semicolons? That's the kind of friend worth having.

"Okay, but consider this," Jimin whispers, sliding his Contemporary Literature notes across the table. "What if we compared Murakami's use of magical realism with García Márquez? Because I swear there's a connection between Kafka on the Shore and 100 Years of Solitude that no one talks about."

You lean forward, scanning his impossibly neat handwriting. Of course his notes are color-coded. "For the Modern Lit essay?"

"Yeah, Professor Sullivan mentioned wanting unique perspectives, right?" His eyes light up the way they only do when discussing books. "And since you're taking Modern Literature and I've got Comparative Lit Theory this semester..."

"A cross-course analysis?" You tap your pen against your notebook, mind already racing. "That's... actually brilliant?"

"Really?" He perks up, then immediately remembers to lower his voice when someone at the next table glares. "Because I was thinking, with your focus on contemporary Western literature and my background in Eastern literary traditions—"

"We could explore how different cultural interpretations of magical realism intersect!" You're probably too excited about this for a library setting, but whatever. "Jimin, you're literally a genius."

He ducks his head, but you catch his pleased smile. "I mean, you're the one who brought up the cyclical narrative patterns in class last week. I just thought maybe we could..."

"Collaborate?" You're already flipping to a fresh page in your notebook. "Please tell me you're not working with anyone else for the final paper."

"Was kind of waiting for the right partner." He gives you a pointed look. "Someone who wouldn't just make me do all the work."

"Unlike some people we know?"

"I'm not naming names, but..." He glances around conspiratorially. "Let's just say I've already witnessed Yeji's approach to required reading in our shared Literature and Gender class last week."

"Do tell."

"She showed up to discuss Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own and asked, completely seriously, if it was about interior design." He shudders dramatically. "Then tried to argue that her TikTok research should count as academic sources."

You have to stuff your fist against your mouth to muffle your laugh.

"She did not."

"Direct quote: 'But professor, this BookToker made some really good points about, like, the feminist undertones and stuff.'" He pulls out his laptop, already opening a fresh document. "So, partner? I mean, we're only two weeks into the semester, but I can already tell you actually read the material. Plus, I've got access to some really interesting papers on Japanese magical realism through the Comparative Lit database."

"Only if you let me buy you coffee at Jin's after this." You pause. "Wait, is that weird? Am I being weird?"

His smile is soft, understanding. "Not weird at all. But only if you let me show you my favorite translation of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. The annotations are chef's kiss."

"God, you really are a book nerd, aren't you?"

"Says the person who got excited about cyclical narrative patterns."

"...touché."

He starts typing, fingers flying over the keys. "So, structure-wise, I was thinking we could start with a brief overview of traditional magical realism in Latin American literature, then transition into..."

You settle in, watching him outline your shared project with the same methodical care he probably uses to organize his bookshelf.

And maybe it's the quiet of the library, or the way afternoon sun filters through the stacks, but something in your chest feels lighter.

Because this—this easy back-and-forth about books and ideas—this is what you came to New York for.

"Oh!" Jimin's whisper breaks into your thoughts. "We should definitely include the cat symbolism in both texts. Speaking of..." He glances up from his screen. "How's living with Griffin?"

"The cat or his stupid owner?"

The words slip out before you can stop them. Jimin's eyebrows shoot up, a knowing look crossing his face that makes you want to hide behind your textbook.

"Why? Wanna talk about his owner?”

"I meant—that's not—he is stupid!" You grab your water bottle just to have something to do with your hands. "Whatever. We should focus on the magical realism thing."

"Mhm." He's still giving you that look. "Whatever you say. But you know, if you ever want to talk about... cats..."

"I will literally throw this book at you."

"The annotated one? You wouldn't dare."

"Try me, Park."

His quiet laugh makes a few people look over, but you can't bring yourself to care. Because somehow, in the span of an afternoon, you've gained both a study partner and what feels like a real friend.

Even if said friend is now wiggling his eyebrows at you every time you try to redirect the conversation back to Murakami.

Your phone buzzes against the table, making Jimin glance up from his color-coded notes.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚛 𝚞 𝚛𝚗

You roll your eyes, typing back quickly.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚓𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚢

The three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. Your screen lights up with his reply.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚛 𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝟷𝟻𝚖𝚒𝚗?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝟺𝟶

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝟺𝟶????

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚝𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚢

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘 𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚖𝚐

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞,𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝟺𝟶 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘? 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚖? 🥺

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚞

Your fingers hover over the keyboard because—what the fuck is he saying right now? What does he mean?

But then.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝟻 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎

Fucking bitch-ass motherfucker.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏𝚏

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎???

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚊𝚑

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 🤢

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚘

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚎 𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚜?

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝟻 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳

𝐘𝐨𝐮: "𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚒’𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔, 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡”

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 🙄

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝟺𝟶 𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 💅

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚝𝚏𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝟺𝟶

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚗’𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚡 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚜 𝚞 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚌𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 😏

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝙴𝙼𝙾𝙹𝙸???

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎

Read 4:47 PM

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰 𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙾𝚆

Read 4:48 PM

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑

Read 4:49 PM

You shove your phone in your bag. Whatever. You've got actual priorities here—like making real friends who appreciate literature and don't judge your drink choices (does he?).

"Actually," you say, straightening up and pulling out your Modern Lit syllabus, "let’s go to Jin’s right now. Because I could use a caramel frappuccino, and I'd love to hear more about your take on Murakami's symbolism."

Jimin's whole face lights up. "Really? Because I have thoughts about the significance of wells as transitional spaces in—"

"Lead the way, book nerd." You start packing up your stuff, already feeling more centered. "But fair warning—I will absolutely judge your coffee order if it's anything boring like plain black."

"You order everything with extra whipped cream, don’t you?”

"It's called having taste, Jimin. And yes, I want the little chocolate sprinkles too."

His laugh echoes through the stacks as you both head out, earning a few glares that you can't bring yourself to care about. Because this? This is exactly what you need. Good conversation, sugary drinks, and someone who gets genuinely excited about literary analysis.

Your phone stays silent in your bag. You don't even think about checking it.

After all, you've got more interesting things to focus on—like whether Jin will let you convince him to add extra caramel to your drink, or finally having someone who understands why you cried over that one Sylvia Plath poem.

Because honestly? There’s just something deliciously satisfying about choosing exactly how you want to spend your afternoon.

And right now? That means ordering the sweetest drink on the menu and diving deep into a discussion about magical realism with someone who actually gets it.

Sometimes the best kind of freedom is just... doing whatever the fuck you want.

The thing about Jin is that he treats his coffee shop like it's a kingdom and he's the benevolent (but definitely judgy) ruler.

"Well, well." He quirks an eyebrow as you and Jimin push through the door, the familiar smell of coffee and old books wrapping around you like a hug. "Where's the demon child?"

"Yeji's allergic to studying." You lean against the counter, already eyeing the pastry display. "Breaks out in hives if she gets too close to academic pursuit."

Jin snorts, wiping his hands on his apron. "That tracks. Haven't seen you in a few days—were you actually at the library? Or is this some elaborate cover story?"

"Studying, actually." You gesture to Jimin, who's hovering politely beside you. "With actual books and everything. Jin, this is Jimin. Jimin, this is Jin, who makes the best coffee in the East Village but will definitely judge your order."

"I don't judge." Jin's mouth twitches. "I merely... evaluate life choices."

Jimin waves shyly. "Nice to meet you. Yeji's mentioned this place a lot."

"All lies, probably." Jin's already moving to the espresso machine, hands automatic in their movements. "What can I get you both? And Y/N, before you say it— no, I will not make you one of those abominations with eight pumps of syrup."

"Rude." You straighten up, pretending to study the menu like you don't order the same thing every time. "Fine. Latte with cold foam?"

He rolls his eyes, but there's fondness there. "Let me make you something better. Just got a new blend in—Ethiopian, hints of blueberry. You'll love it."

"Bold of you to assume I can taste anything beyond sugar."

"Trust me." He turns to Jimin. "And for you?"

"Just an americano, please."

You whirl around. "That's so sad."

"Shut up." Jimin shoves your shoulder lightly. "Not all of us need a sugar high to function."

"Your loss." You're already heading toward your usual spot—eyeing the different tables and settling for the corner one with the best lighting and a perfect view of both the street and the counter. "Come on, I'll show you where—"

"Ah ah." Jin's voice stops you. "Not that one."

You turn back, eyebrow raised. "What? It's empty."

"Someone sits there."

"I literally see no bag?" You gesture at the conspicuously empty table. "No books, no laptop, no nothing."

"Someone," Jin repeats, voice somehow both firmer and more amused, "sits there."

"But—"

"Y/N." He gives you that look, the one that somehow makes you feel like a kid being gently scolded. "Pick another table."

You glance at the mysterious empty table, then back at Jin, then at the table again. Because what the actual fuck? Since when does Jin reserve tables? And for who?

But he's already turned back to the espresso machine, humming something under his breath, clearly considering the matter closed.

"Come on." Jimin tugs your sleeve, pointing to another corner. "That one looks good too."

You let him lead you away, but not without throwing one last suspicious look over your shoulder. Jin pretends not to notice, but you catch the slight smile playing at his lips as he starts grinding coffee beans.

Weird. Very weird.

You sigh loudly, and woah okay you’re starting to sound like Yeji now. Her energy is definitely rubbing off on you. You take your stuff out along with Jimin and start chatting right away.

"All I'm saying is," you whisper-rant to Jimin, still bitter about this morning, "if someone makes you coffee, you say thank you. You don't launch into a TED talk about optimal brewing temperatures like some pretentious—"

The bell above the door chimes, and holy shit.

HOLY. SHIT.

The man who walks in is...

Well, first of all, he's tall. Like, unfairly tall.

And he's wearing these round glasses that should look dorky but somehow don't, perched on a face that belongs in one of those aesthetic academic Pinterest boards. His blonde hair is slicked back in a way that screams 'I definitely know about wine pairings', and his light blue dress shirt paired with navy pants is giving very much 'yes, I read Proust for fun.'

But it's the way he carries himself—confident but not cocky, with a laptop bag swinging gently by his thigh—that really catches your attention.

That, and how Jin's whole demeanor shifts when he sees him.

"Joon!" Jin's voice is different—warmer, maybe? "The usual?"

The man—Joon, apparently—smiles, and oh. Oh. That's just unfair. Because he's got actual dimples. Like, dimples dimples.

They chat for a moment, their conversation too low to hear from where you're sitting, but you catch Jin gesturing toward... wait.

Toward the table.

THE table.

The one you were just exiled from.

Namjoon nods, that devastating smile still in place, and heads straight for what is apparently his designated spot in Jin's kingdom.

You narrow your eyes. Who exactly is this mysterious dimpled giant with table-reserving privileges? And why does Jin look slightly pink around the ears as he starts making what is presumably 'the usual'?

"Hey?" Jimin waves his hand in front of your face. "You good?"

"Sorry, just..." You tilt your head toward the table-stealer. "Trying to figure out who managed to get permanent dibs on prime real estate in here."

Jimin turns, trying (and absolutely failing) to be subtle about it. Then he makes a small choking sound.

"Oh god," he whispers, whipping back around. "That's Professor Kim."

You blink. "Professor who now?"

"Namjoon Kim? From the English department?" When you continue staring blankly, he adds, "He teaches Literary Criticism in my major? Published in like, every major literary journal? Youngest professor in the department?"

"That's a professor?" You peek over again, watching as he sets up his laptop with methodical precision. "Why does he look like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like..." You gesture vaguely. "You know. Like that.”

"Please stop staring," Jimin hisses. "He's brilliant and terrifying and I have to present in his class next week."

"Terrifying?" You snort. "The man has dimples, Jimin. And his glasses are literally round. He looks like a very tall teddy bear who probably reads Keats for fun."

"He once made someone cry by asking them to explain their interpretation of a Emily Dickinson poem."

"Okay, but was their interpretation wrong?"

"Y/N."

"What? I'm just saying—"

Jin appears with your drinks, setting them down with more force than strictly necessary. "Stop gossiping about my customers."

"We're not gossiping," you protest. "We're... conducting academic observation."

"Mhm." He raises an eyebrow. "How's that new blend?"

You take a sip of whatever fancy coffee he made you, and... oh. Oh.

"This is..."

"Better than your sugar milk?" His smirk is unbearable. "You're welcome."

He walks away before you can argue, heading back to where Professor Dimples is apparently grading papers, judging by the red pen in his hand.

"Don't even think about it," Jimin warns.

"Think about what?"

"Whatever you're plotting. I can see it on your face."

"I'm not plotting anything!" You take another sip of your annoyingly perfect coffee. "I just think it's interesting that Jin never mentioned having a designated professor spot in his shop."

"No."

"What? I'm just being observant."

Jimin looks like he's regretting every life choice that led him to befriend you. "Can we please just focus on Murakami?"

"Fine." You pull out your notes, but you can't help stealing one more glance at the mysterious professor. "But just so you know, anyone who makes students cry over Emily Dickinson is definitely going on my list of people to investigate."

"I'm pretending I didn't hear that."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jimjim."

20 minutes pass by. 20 minutes of Jimin humming as he searches articles on the web. 20 minutes of you two now doing your individual assignments for your different classes. 20 minutes of you nearly losing your mind over yours.

"Who," you groan, slumping over your laptop, "decided that writing a comparative analysis of post-modern narrative structures was a good idea for week two? Week two, Jimin. I still haven't figured out where half my classes are."

Jimin chuckles, leaning over to point at something on your screen. "Look, if you connect these two themes here—"

You lift your head just enough to glare at him. "I will literally pay you to write this for me."

"No you won't."

"You're right, I'm broke. But I'll owe you my firstborn."

"Still no."

"My soul?"

"Bold of you to assume you still have one after declaring an English major."

You're about to argue that your soul is perfectly intact, thank you very much, when you feel it—the weight of someone's gaze. You glance up and oh fuck.

Professor Dimples is looking right at you, one eyebrow raised slightly above those round glasses. Because of course he heard your entire breakdown about his colleague's assignment. Of course he did.

You drop your eyes back to your laptop so fast you probably give yourself whiplash. Maybe if you slouch low enough, you'll just... dissolve into the floor. That's possible, right?

Jimin swats your arm. "Stop being dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic," you whisper-hiss. "I'm just saying, who assigns a five-thousand word analysis before we've even figured out the coffee situation on campus?"

"Having trouble with Professor Lee's class?"

You freeze. Because that voice—deep, warm, and definitely coming from right next to your table—belongs to exactly who you think it does.

Slowly, you look up. Professor Kim is standing there, coffee cup in hand, looking far too amused for someone who apparently makes students cry over poetry.

"I, uh—" Words. You know words. You're literally majoring in them. "No? I mean, yes? I mean—"

"She's struggling with the comparative analysis assignment," Jimin supplies helpfully, the traitor. "The one about narrative structures in post-modern literature."

"Ah." Professor Kim's dimples make an appearance. "Mind if I...?" He gestures to the empty chair at your table.

What are you supposed to say? No? To the professor who apparently has permanent dibs on the best table in Jin's? Who probably knows seventeen ways to destroy your GPA with a single red pen mark?

"Sure," you manage, shooting Jimin a panicked look that he completely ignores.

Professor Kim settles into the chair, setting his coffee down carefully. "The thing about post-modern narrative structures," he says, like he's sharing a secret, "is that everyone overthinks them."

You blink. "What?"

"It's actually quite simple." He gestures to your laptop. "May I?"

You turn the screen toward him, watching as he scans your document. His brow furrows slightly, and you resist the urge to slam the laptop shut and run away.

"See, here—" He points to a paragraph. "You're actually onto something interesting. The way you've connected the unreliable narrator to the fragmented timeline... that's good. You're just getting caught up in the academic language instead of trusting your instincts."

"My... instincts?"

"Mhm." He takes a sip of his coffee. "Tell me—without thinking about theory or criticism or any of that—why did this particular narrative choice catch your attention?"

You open your mouth. Close it. Because honestly? "It reminded me of those dreams where you're trying to remember something, but the memory keeps slipping away? Like, you know it's important, but every time you get close, it sort of... dissolves?"

His smile widens. "Write that."

"What, the dream thing?"

"Exactly that. In exactly those words." He leans back, looking pleased. "That's what post-modern literature is about—the messy, fragmented way our minds actually work. Not the polished academic analysis we think we're supposed to write."

From behind the counter, you hear Jin snort. "Are you corrupting my customers with your literary theories again?"

"Always," Professor Kim calls back, and something in the way they smile at each other makes you think of your earlier observations.

"Thank you," you say, already starting to rework your intro paragraph. "That actually helps a lot."

"Any time." He stands, gathering his coffee. "And Y/N?"

You look up, surprised he knows your name.

"Don't worry too much about Professor Lee's assignments. He likes to seem tough in the beginning, but..." He adjusts his glasses with a slight smile. "Let's just say I've heard his Emily Dickinson lectures. Man cries every time."

As he heads back to his table, you turn to Jimin with wide eyes.

"Did that just happen?"

"Yep."

"And did he just..."

"Give you permission to basically write your paper in normal human language? Yep."

"Huh." You look between your laptop and Professor Kim's table, where he's already absorbed back in his grading. "Maybe the dimples aren't so terrifying after all."

"Please stop talking about our professor's dimples."

"I'm just saying—"

"Whatever you're about to say, don't."

Fair enough. You turn back to your laptop, fingers hovering over the keys.

Maybe this assignment won't be so bad after all.

Even if you do kind of want to investigate why Jin keeps stealing glances at Professor Kim's table and thinking he’s being subtle about it.

next | index

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benoitblanc · 10 months ago

Text

what if i was a loner ridiculed by my peers for investigating the paranormal who had come to expect emotional neglect from the people closest to me and you were a scientist assigned to debunk my work and i was prepared to hate you on sight but you believed in me like no one had ever done before and you challenged my theories and laughed at my stupid jokes and i helped you come out of your shell and embrace the fact that you were deep down just as much of a weirdo as me and you didn't need anyone's approval for what you were doing with your life except for your own and when you put yourself on the line for me over and over and underwent a series of personal tragedies because of it i stopped sleeping because i blamed myself but you told me that your whole life didn't revolve around me and you made the choices you did because you wanted to not because i made you, helping absolve me of my lifelong guilt and unconscious god complex and making me realize that the friendships and bonds we form with other people are just as much of a revelation as the unexplained mysteries of the universe. and we were both fbi agents

#arwen.text #the x files #scully x mulder

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thegoldensundreamer · 1 year ago

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Love At Last

Onyankopon x black!reader

Warnings: exes, use of n word, squirting, fingering (f receiving), eating out (f receiving)

Word Count: 6.2k

He was a little older than me. A junior, and I, a sophomore. In college, you only had two focuses: have fun and study, and truthfully it helped me. No matter what anyone told me I had control to do whatever I wanted in life and didn't want anyone's opinions on how I'd be living it.

Honestly, that's what made my other ex's love me and even some, hate me. But I mean it wasn't like he was always putting his expectations too high for me. Onyankopon just wanted to see me as my best self. When we broke up and I told him the reason as to why I couldn't do it anymore, it all really didn't make sense. I wanted to tell myself that I knew the reason as to why he was just so terrible but subconsciously I knew I didn't. And it was hard for me these past months. Really hard. I been seeing him on campus like a thousand times and he just keeps getting more beautiful and glowin like the sun.

He's the head of his team now and it never helps me that he didn't ever have any girls he just messed around with. Especially bonding and having a real relationship with his exes. Including me. And Its painful seeing him just living his life and me not hating him for any reason because he is really a great guy. So whenever I see him I make sure to shift my eyes to the complete opposite direction of where his head is at. Or even cover my face with a book or a water bottle to not have that awkward walk past. But I kind of wish he chased after me... and although I know its selfish I'm just as confused as when I left that boy. But I guess we all just have to move on.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"The assignment is still due this Sunday at 11:59 on Blackboard. I don't want any emails, text messages, or conversations next class about an extension. Period."

I honestly think Professor Rodriguez is tweaking now. No excuses? What if someone is sick or something?

The whole class groans as we pack all of our stuff. I mean, it's just a paper so I'm not tripping or anything. I just got to make sure to do it before the Que party this weekend. There's never been a problem before so I don't think I have anything to worry about.

Me and my girls have been planning to go to one of the Que parties we keep infamously hearing about. It's always wild, lit, and memorable till you graduate. All of a sudden when you get that degree they don't exist no more because you don't want no one to know of the hoe tales.

I haven't been to one of their parties yet, but Im excited. I haven't been outside in a while especially since I ended things with Ony. A few kickbacks here and there were going on this past semester for me but that's about it. I like being inside just as much or even more than I like being out.

When I walk down the university building, I put in my headphones ready to blast some Sexyy Red. That woman music got something in it I swear.

"I'm looking for the hoooesssss" I mouth to myself while I nod my head. Shit, I forgot how hard that bass goes. As I bob my head I can't remotely hear the voice behind me trying to catch my attention.

It was Jaden, one of Ony’s teammates, and he's also in Professor Rodriquez class. He gave up calling my name and just let me go.

•••

When I finally left the building and head to my car I instantly switch my music over to the Bluetooth aux and look at my assignment before I pull off. You see... he assigned it to us last Friday and I for real have just been procrastinating till now. I would say my time management is usually really good but its not.

"Ok so I got to just write about 500 words. I could do this tonight no problem."

I put down my phone and start adjusting my rear view mirror only to find light grey clouds of the day turning darker grey. I really hope it don't storm when I'm on the road.

Driving out of the lot and onto the highway, I continue blasting my hoochie playlist. Shrugging at the random pain in my heart I'm feeling, I call one of my girls talking about how much I think this party gon cut all my feelings from Ony and revive the party girl in me.

Im pulling into my apartment complex excited . I haven't been this joyous to go to a party in a while. The mere thought of shaking ass is bringing me serotonin. Just a sweet release of stress. Plus, it's Friday and the party is Saturday night so I'm definitely geeking.

When I stumble up the steps right before the entrance to my residence giddy and jovial, looking for my key, I slightly looked up. The scream in my head is definitely showing me how much I'm not over this feeling in my heart.

I stopped my movement and fought the urge to back step all the way back into my car and hide. I'm not sure why hes here at this time. It's 5:30 which isn't late for real but just a bit confusing enough to make you question why the hell someone is at your door uninvited. Especially since its here. At my apartment. And it's him. With his aura and skin glistening like oil on a hot body.

He was in some black muscle shirt with matching jogger pants. Shyly smiling at me at first but then noticing my expression, he looked down at the state of his body and cringed before looking back in my eyes. Clearly embarrassed. "Sorry you seeing me like this, I just came from practice so I'm still a little sweaty"

I secretly moaned in my head. He looks so good I had to catch my breath and his voice is still captivating up to now. I still can't forget the way he used to t-

I'm getting sidetracked. Let me regain this composure.

"Is there something you need?" I quietly ask. This is no good. The whole point is out of sight out of mind. You know how you want to block somebody on everything and really go out of your way to not see them in person so you won't have to think about them or double back? Well I feel like I'm breaking that right now. It's not my fault sure but the shame still feels the same.

Ony pulls out an object from his pocket. A white, slightly long but thin figure. He looks at it for a moment before looking up at me again and holding it up.

"I came here to give this to you. Im pretty sure it's yours. At least that's what Jaden said."

I squint my eyes in confusion at what he was holding and hurriedly looked through my tote bag to find that I did not have my Apple Pencil for my iPad.

So that's why he's here.

Apple pencils are expensive so I'm not mad. I would've been more upset if I only figured out I dropped it when I got inside and tried to start my paper. But how did he even get it?

He reached his arm out as I began to walk up to him for my pencil. I thanked him for bringing it to me and awkward silence overtook the little rain droplets that noted the thunderstorm about to take place.

Our hands touched ever so slightly as I grabbed my missing pencil. I withdrew immediately and he did the same faintly after. After a few long seconds, he broke the silence.

"Jaden gave it to me at the locker rooms after practice. He said he tried to give it to you after class but couldn't catch up or something so I guess he just wanted me to carry out the deed especially with some paper he mentioned."

I grinned and slightly nodded in understanding, quickly glancing at his eyes before staring at the Apple Pencil. It's strange. He can't really look me in the eye. I mean, I can't either but he's 6'2" so my excuse is good. On top of that, the nonchalance in his tone doesn't sit right with me. It's either he's forcing it or a part of me wants to believe he is just to delude myself that he still cares. It's unfair of me, especially since I probably broke his heart, but it's the real.

"I'll thank Jaden when I see him next class. Thank you for bringing it to me." I quip and walk past him to my door, beginning to find my keys in my bag with the pencil still in hand.

Damn when did I get this shy?

Onys attempt at being nonchalant somewhat was breaking. He stared at the pencil smiling as he spoke and pointed.

"I'm surprised you still have Chowder on there".

I turned my head around, mid-hand in bag. He was referring to the little sticker I had on my ex-missing item. The one that would help me differentiate my pencil from everyone else's so no one would take it. The one he gave me as a funny gift for the love of our mutual favorite childhood show.

I'm surprised he still remembers these little details about me. About us.

"Well it's still my favorite show. I don't think that's ever going to change." I giggle looking back for my keys.

It's hard to do this. To face him. How do people talk to their exes? This isn't even my first but damn. Now my minds all over the place with him and us all over it. All those memories we share. Good and bad.

I stop fiddling in my bag and spoke under my breath with the same thought, caught up in the idea. "I'm surprised you still remember." I mumbled to myself.

I can feel his presence and his eyes on me, not exactly sure what his actions are. But his voice speaks up with a small sense of fervor in his tone. Something undeniably him. The tone I always craved since it left me.

"Y/n, you can't tell me you don't call to mind how Ive remembered every single thing I've been blessed to learn about you"

I still my hands from roaming once again after I found my keys. At this point, I don't know what's going on. But as I motion my mouth to find what to say a grand lightning bolt flashed down from the sky, hitting somewhere nearby. Thunder that sounded like an earthquake erupted, immediately pouring heavy rain down with it. With that, we instantaneously saw lampposts shut off. All electricity in the area immediately being gone in an instant.

"Ain't no way" I groaned. I can't believe this. I look around at all of the dark areas surrounding the complex except for the emergency lights powered from the generator. Putting my keys in the door, I heavily sigh opening up my residence.

Slowly walking in to the dim natural light from the blinds I turn around to Onyankopon, standing still at the doorstep, and tell him he can come in.

"Are you sure? My car is all good and everything I can still drive."

"In this storm?" I ask raising my eyebrow. I rolled my eyes, "You not gon get nowhere the way this storm going right now. It's fine. Plus, your place is probably out of electricity too."

He nods, "Well thanks, I really appreciate it" He awkwardly steps into the 3 bedroom apartment. My girls usually have class during this time last I checked so we're the only ones here.

I grab some candles to light across my home hoping for some sort of spark to brighten up the place.

Once I withdrew a breath and looked around, the rooms seemed to be lit up enough comfortably outside of the insanely romantic essence it gave off. I stood up from where I was crouched by the living room table where I made eye contact with him sitting up on the couch.

"Soooo could I get you anything?" I awkwardly stand there and he's just sitting... menacingly.

Ugh who am I kidding he looks so geeked out right now.

"It's honestly fine. Once the storm passes I'll be right out forreal you don't have to go through any trouble." He laughs.

With that in mind I obliged and went to my room setting up my laptop and iPad with my now found Apple Pencil. Since the electricity's gone that means I shouldn't have any distractions on focusing on my work.

"Right y/n, focus on the goal. It don't matter that your ex is in the other room. Get on your zoom!" Mumbling to myself as I type in my username to blackboard to view the rubric.

"What the-"

Shit. Of course blackboard and the wifi is down too if all the electricity is out.

As I groan and leave my room to get a glass of water, I'm getting Ony one too. Seeing him roaming on his phone and placing the glass in front of him on the table I sit on the sofa opposite of him.

He looks up from his phone, "You did not have to do this", he began to grin to himself as he lifted the cup and started to drink.

As I began to speak we both got a notification.

ALL UNIVERSITY STUDENTS: ELECTRICITY IS DOWN ON CAMPUS AND ON AND OFF CAMPUS HOUSING DUE TO A SEVERE WEATHER STORM. MORE UPDATES WILL COME SOON. CURRENTLY, AN ESTIMATION OF 3 HOURS WILL BE NEEDED TO REPAIR DAMAGES TO ELECTRICAL UNITS.

"Fuck" I groaned.

"You're not gonna be able to finish that paper huh?" He questioned.

"No and it's due Sunday. I was hoping to knock it out today before the weekend really starts. I don't need to procrastinate anymore than I already have."

"Oh trust me I remember." He laughed. "I can help yknow. There's nothing else we can do here."

"On what though? Blackboard is down."

"Not google docs or notes app though." He smiled, "As long as you know what you're supposed to write about you're set."

"But I like looking at the rubric when I write to make sure my grades solidified"

"I'm hearing a lot of excuses misses honors student. If you wanted to do it you would at this point. Plus, my specialty is writing papers so I can definitely help"

I remember oh so well. This reminds me of when I procrastinated on a paper last semester the weekend before it was due just like this one and we stayed up till 3 AM writing it. So many laughs and double shot espressos from that time. His specialty really is writing essays and all sorts of papers. That assignment was 5000 words and we started the Saturday and still got an A.

"Shit, why not. It's only 500 words anyway" I joke.

He smiled and we got to work. The first hour went by like nothing. It felt like old times. 200 words were typed but the only thing holding us back was that I actually need to have proper cited sources. Professor Rodriguez do not play around either so it's been a painstaking amount of time trying to find anything with no internet and a on and off personal hotspot.

As Ony and I sit next to each other working on the paper, he lifts up his glass and it accidentally slipped out of his hands onto the table.

"Ah damn I'm so sorry. Let me-"

"No it's cool." I put down my laptop and got up to get a paper towel. When I sat back down and handed the paper towel to him our hands touched again. That once jovial, funny and somewhat relaxed mood we had was now gone. We're exes. This isn't what exes do. We're not friends.

But shit we were . That was exactly what we were like before we started anything or knew there was something there. Even during our relationship we felt just like this at times too. Where the hell did we go? Why did I let us go?

The awkward touch we had became more intimate as I decided to gently grab his hand. The eye contact he made was confused but willing. It spoke "why haven't you done this all this time while I'm right here?" Or at least that's what I think.

Our hands interlocked letting go of the paper towel at this point. Eye contact on something serious as we ask questions to each other with them. As I began to lean down on the couch, Ony couldn't stop staring between my eyes and my lips. He eventually and quickly took the dive, trying not to lose the moment. Embers burned and flowed through the air as he began to shift from my power to his. He embarked on leaning my back onto the couch rather than his. Hands splayed in my locs and taking small breaks to breathe before going back in.

Small moans escape my mouth as he's working me. Kisses pressed on my lips were coming down my chin... then my neck as he suckled on my skin. His hands roamed my body slowly. One on the side of my stomach nearing my ass and the other beginning to feel my breast under my shirt. At this point, he's starting to get more vocal, groaning and whispering sweet nothings along my body.

"You know how much I've missed you y/n. How much I've missed this pretty face... this pretty body... and this pretty pussy" he hissed one kiss after another. "Is this all ok? If you're not fine with this of course I'll stop. Tell me what you want."

His asking for consent was always so sexy and those words... damn I missed him and this.

I looked at his lust blown eyes as he looked up to mine from my stomach as he briefly stopped from going lower and lower.

"I want you Q. I'm all yours." My composure is definitely done at this point. He's got me right now.

"Don't worry. You know I will always take care of you." He slurred, slowly sliding my bottoms and panties down and kissing my inner thighs before locking them in his arms. It's been a while since I've been in this position and I've missed it since forever ago.

Slow pecks from my thighs came closer and closer to the apex of them. He must could tell how nervous I was since his thumbs gently rubbed where they laid at to comfort me. Im in love with the way they feel on me.

"So as you can see I do have some hair ri-"

He side eyed me. "Y/n I'm a grown ass man. You know I like my peaches with some fuzz on it. Now can I have my dinner please?"

He can get so forward like this it's making me shy. I rolled my eyes and laid my head back. I never thought I'd be in this predicament.

"Good girl. Just stay just like that baby."

He nestled his lips on my bundle, wrapping them on to gently suck at a slow and smooth pace. His rhythm was gradually fastening and shortly, his lips unattached from my clit to lap at the bundle once more flicking his tongue. He remembers. He always remembers what I like.

Beginning to close my legs from the sensation, he parts me once again lapping at my cunny fervently. Like some undying need that he can't let go. As a "punishment" for me not taking it, he inserts a finger and then a second to make me break even more than I already am.

I plead and moan, "Ony, baby, I'm leaking"

I can barely control my body now. My breath getting fainter as I breathe heavy.

"Good. You know that's what I want." He keeps pumping. Squelching ensues as he becomes infatuated with his doing. "Look at that shit. All for me huh" He asks looking at my fucked out face.

I disappointedly moan when his fingers leave me but he swipes my essence from its trail and sucks his fingers while maintaining eye contact with me. I whimper and squeeze at the sight.

I guess he wanted to finish the job though. I tried to reach over to slip my hand in his boxers just for him to grab my wrist and pin both of my hands down to finish what he started.

It's always like a switch in him when he's like this. So different from the sweet Onyankopon from everyday that everyone knows. So nasty. I love it. I miss it.

He mischievously watches me. "You feel this?" I moan as he pumps his fingers back in me. I roll my eyes to the back of my head and he chuckles. "I'm gonna take that as a yes. Let me make you cum, princess."

He lowered his head down again as he continued pumping into me. Licking a stripe up my honey and continuing the mess he was creating previously. Languid strokes of his tongue were hitting me just right and my moans started turning to desperate whimpers.

Building me up for a while, he then dipped his muscle into my pussy and interchanging with his fingers, curling them with each stroke. His other hand left my thigh and his thumb began rubbing my clit. Faster and faster he went I started to find my stomach tensing and the air becoming hard to breathe.

In between heavy pants I slip out "O, stop, I'm gonna make a mess!" my eyes rolling to the back of my head and legs lifting and coming together.

He didnt stop and pinned me down pressing on my lower stomach. My moans became octaves higher and higher. He lifted his head from my cunny, "you gon take it and make a mess all over my face. Don't hold back nothing."

With that, he continued his ministrations. My grip on his hair became as tight as it could as I could feel my voice go weak. My legs began to shake as clear liquid lightly sprayed out onto his face and a white ring began to form on his fingers. My pants were beginning to rapidly slow down as I came down from my high, un loosening the death grip I had on his head.

He came back up kissing my cheek then licking my essence off his face and fingers, "Always taste so good." Proceeding to take a rag from my bedroom to clean me up and carrying me to my bed.

Before we even got the chance to speak about what happened, my eyes fell. A nap took over both of us and hours that felt like minutes rolled by.

His arm around me as we slept on our sides felt like old times. Like something right that I just ripped away from my body. It's so comfortable.

After a dream I couldn't remember, I wake up in a daze, looking behind me to see him knocked out and his arm still around my waist.

Gently moving it off of me, I slowly get up and walk to the bathroom.

"Shit I might as well take a shower"

To be honest, none of this has settled in my head yet. My ex boyfriend who I'm clearly not over in my bedroom after being nasty on the couch is sleeping on my bed... crazy. Real fanfiction kind of shit.

Pushing the light switch up, I notice the bulb illuminate the room. Thank the Lord almighty. I put on my shower cap and get in. I feel myself let go of a breath I didn't know I had when the hot water hits my skin.

This is insane. I shouldn't be hooking up with my ex. I cut it off for a reason... I think. It's gotta be this way for the both of us so nobody gets hurt.

"Bitchhhh" I think to myself in the shower holding my head.

Leaving the bathroom with my towel on, I see my ex looking over at me from his phone, arm now holding his head up to stare me up and down in awe.

"It's been a while since I seen this view"

I cut my eyes and stand in front of him on my bed. "Look we need to talk- " and my head turned immediately when I heard the front door of the apartment open. Thankfully, my room doors closed, but my girls walked in the apartment gossiping when they called out my name to have our daily debrief of the day.

I cuss at myself and know they probably see the cups of water, candles, and his shoes at the door as they fell silent. Whispering to themselves with words I couldn't make out, I eventually hear a knock at my door.

I looked at Ony, mortified with a finger to my lips, then took a deep breath, opening the door so they can only see me still in my bath robe.

"Heyyy" I greeted with the awkwardest get out and don't make this weird smile I know.

"Hey mookie, we just wanted to check on you and see if you're good with the electricity going off and everything earlier." One of them said, clearly peeking inside my bedroom to see who's here, eyes widening that it was him before he could move himself. She gave me a look and I gave her one back like we telepathic or something.

"Girl yknow I'm good, just trying to finish this paper" I say hoping she takes the message that I know she's getting from me right now.

"Yeah I'm sure it's realll hard" She said acting like a real smart ass.

With a few more exchanges they go to their rooms to settle down for the night. After hearing both of their doors close I rush back to my room.

"Yeah, you gotta go" picking up his clothes and pushing them to his chest.

"But-"

"Look, I wish there was a better time to talk, but you have to go. This... is strange. We broke up. There's a reason why this ended. I know it was probably stupid of me to let you stay here during the storm, but this wasnt my intention." Pointing at the both of us.

I picked his arm up before he could get a word out to reason with me, clothes just tussled onto his body. If he sweet talks me again I really might not double back this time.

We get to the door and with the least amount of strength he has, he turns his body towards me and gently grabs my hand before I could open the door placing it back by my side.

"Y/n...why are you letting go of us... again? This still doesn't make sense and you know that."

I still. I remember this feeling... this sense of regret. But just like last time, I can't tell if it's the wrong choice or because I don't want to let go.

In truth, Ony feels... familiar. He'll always feel like a memory and I don't want to get too comfortable in his light of nostalgia. He brought such a level of solace in my life that I never wanted to replace. It was even more so after we became official....I don't want to become stagnant because of it. I have my own dreams, my own endeavors, and my own goals that I want to reach. It would be so easy to be a trophy wife to him... and he'd gladly let me. As a woman, I don't want that to be the tell all be all of my life when I know that I had a life before him. I didn't know if I could escape from it then and I definitely don't know now. That's the real reason why I keep shutting him out and probably why we broke up... but he can't know that.

"Because I know we won't end well. We're two different people Ony and this idea that you can just up and think everything is picture perfect for us has to stop now"

He looks in my eyes with such disappointment, then slight anger as his eyebrows pushed together. He opened his mouth to speak again but thought about it and decided not to, closing his eyes in the process. With a heavy huff from his chest, he looked at my eyes one last time for the night before turning away and leaving the complex.

When I shut the door, My girls came out immediately like paparazzi.

"You were over him huh?" One of them snarled at me. "It don't seem that way to me love. Maybe you shouldn't even go to the party tomorrow."

I looked down at the ground and they both took notice of my state. We all went to my bedroom and I explained everything that happened tonight. Their eyes looked at mine with frustration and awe. I held my head knowing their reaction just like they've been telling me for the past 3 months.

"You are not over that boy y/n"

"I think you're confused"

And they're right. I am. But I tell them the same thing I told them every time.

"But when he makes it to the league, what am I going to do? Wag my tail like a dog after him and have niggas tell me that I want his money or that I don't have half his talent for anything like them bitches was saying when we were together? And what if he cheats? He gon have hella girls at his disposable and I'll be feeling stupid like "I really wasted my time on this nigga". Y'all know how much I love Ony and I was just getting over him too. This is for the best for me right now y'all know that"

They gave each other a look and got up to hug me.

"Whatever decision you choose to make girl you know we got you. Just remember to listen to your heart sometimes"

With that, we said our little goodbyes and retired for the night. Ony on my mind, I went to bed.

Waking up, he is still on my mind. Getting my laptop, I tried to continue the paper but had no will power to do so. The whole morning and afternoon felt like that... no volition and all a blur. Wasting away in my bed after the three different times my girls checked up on me throughout the day I just can't escape him. It doesn't help having the daydream engrained of what could've been present with our past. In that same thought, I hear a buzz on my phone, too in tune with the delusional reaction thinking it could be him.

I look at it to see the ticket for the party tonight that one of my girls sent. I groan and get up, finally deciding to start my day and also prepare myself for tonight.

Hype hoochie music is playing on my speaker and I hear Looking For the Hoes again. I'm thinking of how good everything was before all that happened yesterday. Do I even regret it? Am I blocking my blessings?

I can't let a man distract me from my life though. There's a life before and after him and I have to remind myself of that.

Finally finished with my look and it finally being an hour after the party started, me and my girls head out for the wild night we been planning for months.

What I didn't know was that the line would feel like 3 miles long and realizing we need our ID when we're finally 5 feet before the security. Why are parties this complicated? I don't know. But luckily we all at least have pictures of our ID and got in.

When we step foot into the party, the first thing we see is purple lights illuminating the entire venue. People are scattered everywhere and in every other corner we see the Ques barking and hopping to their stroll.

"Lawd have mercy" one of my homegirls say in love with the ques. Me and the other laugh and roll our eyes.

After some time just standing, we decided to find a small table and sit down with our small get ups. Our drinks from the pregame were starting to kick in after 10 minutes and we were laughing our ass off drunk when we hear "Girl the way you move it got me in a trance-", and that was it. All of us pulled each other to the dance floor and start to turn up. I'm throwing ass on my home girl and catching from the other.

I needed this. Seriously. I forgot how fun it is to be outside in the streets. Seconds later, we hear a scream and laugh from a girl and gasp from the crowd. One of the Ques picked up a girl and started acting like he was eating her out.

We all looked at each other with our jaws dropped. Ain't no wayyyyy. They were not lying bout it getting wild.

Right behind where I see the spotlight shining, about 30 feet away, I saw a face I didn't think I'd see at all. Just as his eyes set in on the scene before him he also saw my eyes and we made eye contact for a brief second.

I turned my body so fast that I almost knocked my home girl over. In the middle of her fussing me out she asked what happened. Naturally, I told her that Ony is at the party.

"Why is a nigga at a Que party is the real question though?"

"Girl unimportant can we please move somewhere else"

We all move to a separate section of the party venue. This can not happen. I'm drunk and I been dancing? I can not see or be around that man right now.

Before I could even get the nightmare out my head, I hear a "Y/n" near my head. I turn around mouth slightly agape to see him once again. Even finer in his put together party get up than his athlete clothes from yesterday. My mind all caught up in him just like last time I'm in a blur of what he's actually saying to me.

"Y/n, why are you here right now?" He whispers yells in my ear from the loud music blasting from the speakers.

I look to my left and right and my homegirls dashed off like the road runner... traitors.

Looking at him once again, eyes low from the drink in my system I ask, "Ony, why would it matter to you? I'm not your girl and you not my man. We single. The real question is why you're at a Que party." Remembering what my homegirl had said to bite back at him.

He fixes his face, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek looking at me clearly frustrated. Just looking at his face he can't leave me alone. Sorry that's just drunk me talking I don't know whats on his mind.

"Y/n, why the hell you been drinking so much? Don't you got a paper to finish?"

"Ony you are not my daddy get up out my face!" I yell at him. "I'm out here having fun with my girls trying to get over YOUR ASS so why can't you just mind yo business!" Oops. My eyes widened, that last part wasn't supposed to come out. Fuck.

Shit, how did he react to that?

Without time for me to look up and see his face or even hear him utter a word, he has my hand in his and leading me somewhere and fast. I'm trying to keep up but it's kind of hard to have good foot and direction coordination in a party like this and off my ass.

With all of the movement feeling like a blur, I found both of us outside of the party venue from some back door. It's slightly raining by the building and the night sky showed a bright orange street light that was our only light source.

He takes off his jacket and puts it over my shoulders to warm me. It's a bit cold. What a gentleman.

"Y/n ... what did you say?"

He stares directly in my eyes with a sense of fervency and hope. One that I can't deny now.

Part 2?

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Authors Note: Hi y'all! I haven’t written fanfic in soooo long but never stopped reading lmao. I loveeee this one so much. It’s Literally the best fic ive done period thus far. I’m trying to think if I should start writing again fr esp for my fictional anime men.

#onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon smut #onyankapon #aot onyankopon #onyankopon x reader #ony x black reader #aot x reader #aot smut

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gunsandspaceships · 6 months ago

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MCU Timeline: Captain America: The First Avenger

March 10, 1917 - James Buchanan Barnes is born.

August 15, 1917 - Howard Anthony Stark is born.

July 4, 1918 - Steven Grant Rogers is born.

April 9, 1919 - Margaret "Peggy" Carter is born.

Why 1919 (deleted scene from The Avengers) and not 1921 (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.), as stated in Wikipedia: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. is not canon for the MCU (events of the show take place in another universe, where Peggy was born in a different year and had a different background).

1934-1936 - young Peggy serves as a nurse in the British Air Force.

1936-1940 - Peggy serves in the Special Air Service.

1940:

Peggy joins the Strategic Scientific Reserve.

Howard founds Stark Industries and becomes its CEO.

May 1941 - Steven Rogers attends a Dodgers vs The Phillies baseball game at Ebbets Field, Brooklyn.

March 1942 - Red Skull invades Norway and extracts the Tesseract.

1942/1943 - The Allies receive a gift from Wakanda: Vibranium. It is given to the SSR's Head Engineer - Howard Stark.

1943:

June 14:

13:50 - Steve gets his last 4F.

And his last beating in the alley a couple of hours later.

Evening - he and Bucky go to the "World Exposition of Tomorrow", where Howard demonstrates his (almost) flying car. Steve meets Dr. Erskine and gets a (falsified) 1A.

June 15:

Sergeant James Barnes heads to Europe with the 107th Infantry Regiment.

Candidate Rogers begins his trial week for Project Rebirth at Camp Lehigh in NJ.

June 21 - Dr. Erskine makes his choice and informs Rogers. They talk about it, about the serum and HYDRA.

June 22, morning - Steve becomes a super soldier. Erskine is killed. The last vial of serum is destroyed.

June 23:

Rogers is offered a position in the USO theater (to help sell war bonds) and receives a (fake) rank of captain.

Night - SSR (including Peggy and Howard) is being retasked to fight HYDRA and goes to London, UK.

July-October - Captain America's US tour (over 200 performances).

November 3rd:

Captain America show in Italy.

Night - Steve goes behind the lines to a HYDRA camp in Austria to rescue Bucky with the help of Peggy and Howard.

November 5th - he returns with 400 (CATFA) or 163 (CATWS) liberated soldiers.

A couple of days later - SSR in London. Based on the locations of HYDRA bases remembered by Rogers, they develop a plan to combat HYDRA. Steve puts together a team.

Marvel Studios' mistake: the medals and badges Steve wears don't make any sense at this particular moment. He simply had neither the time nor the opportunity to earn the Combat Infantry Badge, or the Presidential Unit Citation Badge, nor could he receive the American Defense Service Medal.

Next day, 8 am- Steve meets with Howard and receives his vibranium shield.

1944:

November 1943 - November 1944 - Howling Commandos destroy HYDRA weapons factories.

December 1944 - January 1945 - attack on the train with Dr. Zola. Bucky falls from the train from a great height and is declared killed in action. Zola is captured.

1945:

Soon after, early January - the Valkyrie is finished and ready to attack major US cities. SSR receives information about the location of HYDRA's main base in the Alps and heads there.

Next day - SSR attacks HYDRA's main base. Red Skull teleports to Vormir. The Tesseract is lost in the Arctic Ocean. Crash of the Valkyrie. Steve goes into suspended animation.

After January 1945 - Howard Stark leads expeditions to find Rogers. He finds the Tesseract, but not Captain.

March 23, 1945 - Case №17 is opened. James Barnes "joined" the HYDRA branch in the USSR.

May 8, 1945 - VE-Day.

Spring-Summer 1945 - Howard is involved in the Manhattan Project.

1946:

December 1945/January 1946 - Peggy is assigned to the SSR office in New York.

March 1946 - events of "Agent Carter" one-shot.

2012:

Early 2012 - 67 years later, Steve Rogers is found frozen but alive.

April 2012 - Rogers wakes up in the S.H.I.E.L.D. recovery room in New York City.

Iron Man (2008) Timeline

The Incredible Hulk (2008) Timeline

Iron Man 2 (2010) Timeline

Thor (2011) Timeline

The Avengers (2012) Timeline

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers #captain america #bucky barnes #james barnes #mcu timeline #captain america the first avenger #captain america the winter soldier #agent carter #peggy carter #howard stark

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fanfic-obsessed · 3 months ago

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Rebellion of the bats

Ok, here’s another one that’s going to get a little wacky. As a reminder never look for canon here, for I do not know her.

We are going to start today's madness with some build up before the main event. It is important to me that you understand that in this one, Tim Drake does not take after Bruce Wayne. Tim Drake takes after Alfred (feral planners, whose truest love and calling is to care for their loved ones, coated in a veneer of respectability). In fact it is Alfred who teaches Bruce how to prepare for any eventuality.

And the Tim of this universe is prepared for any eventuality. Including having a plan for ‘Jason has come back from the dead, has been lied to, appears to hate the family, and is trying to attack me for taking Robin’. So Jason attacks Titan’s Tower and is very surprised to find that, instead of beating up Robin, he finds himself being dragged back to that Manor by an excited Tim Drake (No matter how long or short after the fact, Jason is still not sure how they got from Jason wanting to beat up a teen to being convinced to come home).

Jason, Dick, and Bruce all bond over the abrupt realization that Alfred and Tim are absolutely feral and that if either decided to go rogue the universe was screwed. They also realize that it is part of their Vigilante assigned duty to keep Both Tim and Alfred from needing to take over the world.

This helps stabilize the relationships among the Batfam, this common goal. So by the time Damian arrives, their relationships are much stronger. Bruce, Dick, Steph, Cass, and Jason each try to talk Damian out of his assassination attempts (more for Damian’s health than Tims). Tim, because Damian is now his brother and is 10 years old, allows Damian two assaination attempts without consequence. Damian’s third, and final, attempt ended with a finger broken on Damian’s non-dominant hand…and no proof that Tim caused it.

Because of this stronger, more stable relationship Tim was actually able to pass Robin on to Damian before the Darksied happened. Tim took up Red Robin with Jason’s approval.

Darksied sends Bruce on his bounce through time. There are still rumblings of what could become a war for the cowl (including Cass, this time because grief can do weird things to people and I think she should get to throw her hand into the ring), but instead Tim finds the clues Bruce had been leaving. And this is where the biggest departure comes.

Because all of the Bats are there, and they believe Tim. They have no reason not to (I will get to that in just a minute). In fact, they all treat this revelation as a relief and begin to work out a schedule for keeping up the Batman pretense until Bruce can be retrieved.

Dick as Batman goes to the Justice League (during a JL meeting) with the news that Bruce is lost in time, and they need substantial Justice League resources (and realistically it would need to be substantial and/or unique resources, or Tim would have used WE industries or his own resources) to retrieve him. And look, Dick looked at none of Tim’s evidence so when asked how the Bats know, Dick as Batman answers immediately with ‘Oh, Red Robin said’.

The other members of the Justice League glanced at each other. It is Diana that very gently brings up that Wonder Girl had told her that Red Robin had been very intent on cloning Superboy, trying to avoid outright saying that it seemed like Tim might have lost touch with reality in his grief. Everyone very kindly ignored Superman’s flinch at the mention of both his dead mentee and cloning.

The Justice League gets to watch as Dick misses the point so completely that they can practically see it over the pointy ears of his cowl. He actually perks up and goes ‘Oh yeah, he mentioned having Ivy check over his methodology for that. She said it looked good but her specialty is plant genetics’. Like that is not an objectively insane thing to say.

From Dicks, and in fact most if not all people who spend enough time in Gotham, perspective Tim was not insane for his attempts to clone Conner. He had a plan to mitigate harm for innocents (potentially viable clones who were not Conner), was not attacking/involving other people, had another affiliated expert look at his work before he pushed the big red button, and he even stopped when it was pointed out that it would have been against Conner wishes. To a Gothamite that means Tim is practically reasonable in his 99 attempts to clone Conner.

The Justice League can only conclude, after some carefully phrased questions, that the Batfam have unfortunately lost touch with reality due to grief, understandable grief but also very out of touch. Dick does not realize this is what is being thought, as he is just so relieved that they are on track to get Bruce back that he does not hear the incredulity in the questions, until a majority vote rejects the use of JL resources for the purpose of searching for the former Batman in time (it should be noted that The Flash-Barry- and Superman both voted to try. Diana abstained).

We are going with the idea that it is more than just massive resources or expertise that the JL would provide, but some resource, item, or device, that is unique to the Justice League that cannot be procured by any individual member.

So Dick has to go back to 3 family members (Jason, Cass, Damian) who have all had significant exposure to Lazarus water, which is known for emotional outburst overriding common sense, Steph the daughter of a supervillain (Arthur Brown may have been a d rate supervillain, he was still a supervillain), Barbara the all knowing Oracle (whose morals have adjusted to working with former Rogues) and her cadre of Birds of Prey, and possibly the 2 most frightening people on the planet (Tim and Alfred) with the news that the JL will not help them. This is also Dick, whose anger issues and need for revenge built Robin.

The only restriction that Dick manages to get them all to agree on is that they will not make trouble for Superman, Flash, or Wonder Woman (Jason throwing his own support in no trouble for Diana). Then, with full and loving knowledge of what he was doing, Dick set them all loose upon the world (making it clear to the JL that Bruce is the only one who could reign them in).

It takes six weeks before the decision to help find Bruce and retrieve him from the timestream is approved. In that time:

Cass and Steph become the rulers of a small country, ruling with an iron fist but enough morals that most of the populace loved them.

Jason, with the Outlaws, managed to take out the League of Assassins (and incidentally managed to humiliate not one but three different Green Lanterns, mostly by accident).

Damian met, became offended by, and dismantled a faux government organization in the midwest in possibly the most attention attacking way he could.

Oracle wrote and released a highly tailored virus that released random ‘scandalous but not overall dangerous’ secrets on a schedule for every politician in the world. Her Birds of Prey kept Gotham running, along with Batman!Dick. At some point during this time the Joker ended up dead, but no one is admitting to who did.

Tim and Alfred did indeed become a major world power within the first three weeks. It wasn’t until week four that they gained nuclear power status, but quickly had a seat offered to them at the UN. They had just started considering if they should be expanding into the reaches of space when the JL capitulated.

Bruce is brought back into a world where his kids are more feared than he is.

#batfamily #batman #bruce wayne lost in time #jason todd died #jason todd #damian wayne #tim drake red robin #tim drake #dick grayson #cass wayne #stephanie brown #humor #crackish #fanfiction prompt #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #Tim Drake is feral #Alfred Pennyworth is feral #and would be terrifying if they went evil

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softlights-citylights · 3 months ago

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covalently bonded

lab partner!kuroo x f!reader headcannons

content warning none really. kuroo makes bad chemistry jokes. characters are in university. fem pronouns used.

wc 599

m.list

on her first day in her chemistry class, everyone is assigned a lab partner and she just so happens to be paired up with Kuroo

at first, he seems weird and a little cocky

she soon finds out that Kuroo has a good reason to be. he's incredible at chemistry; its like second nature to him

he would try to find her during the lecture that paired with the lab. after spotting her in her usual seat, he would slide into the row behind her and tap her on the shoulder. Kuroo would make it a point to sit there every week and slide her notes during lecture

if she fell asleep, he would take notes for her and make a copy to give to her the next time they met

when he realizes that he likes his lab partner's company, he would drag things out. he would try to be the last group to leave the lab, just so he could get some alone time with her

if she isn't good at chemistry, Kuroo would be incredibly patient. offering to tutor her outside of class, when it was really just an excuse to spend more time with her. he would make sure that he executed every aspect of the lab perfectly, ensuring that she got good grades too

if she is good at chemistry, he would compete with her. he'd try to do more during lab, insisting that he had the experience when they were both in their second semester of college. Kuroo would make terrible chemistry puns at her and cackle at his own jokes even if she didn't laugh

he would ask for her number under the guise of helping each other with the lab reports.

Kuroo insists on working on the lab report together, even though they are graded separately. he just wants an excuse to spend more time with her.

while reactions ran, Kuroo would chat with her about anything under the sun. if they were doing pcr or waiting for a gel to finish running, he would lose track of time while talking to her.

if they were doing something a little more hands on, Kuroo would hover around her.

if her hands were full and her safety glasses began sliding down her face, Kuroo would carefully push them up with the clean part of his glove

run out of pipette tips? he's already got a new box

cant get the clamps to close? his hands are over hers, all too eager to help.

need new samples to run in the spectrophotometer? he's already started cleaning the cuvette and loading the next sample

cant get the data to show results? Kuroo would send a spreadsheet of all his excel data with little notes to help her understand his work

on the last day of lab, Kuroo would wish her luck on finals in the most nerdy way possible: by giving her a note that corresponded with elements on the periodic table for her to decipher

university has a funny way of bringing people together and pushing them apart, and he didn't want to risk falling out of her company. he wanted to make his feelings known, just in case they never saw each other again

he's well aware of how nerdy and lame he's being, but he says it anyways

Kuroo confesses with a drawing of a heart around a water molecule, saying, "it's kind of like us, we're covalently bonded"

m.list

a/n ive had this idea in my head for a while. i graduated with a degree in biochem recently and lemme just say this shit is so unrealistic. everyone wants to get the fuck out of lab asap. i was imagining an biochemistry lab with mostly bench work

#haikyuu #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kuroo testuro #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo tetsuro x reader #hq kuroo #hq #kuroo #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro fluff #nekoma #hq x reader #hq fluff #hq timeskip #hq au #hq hcs #hq headcanons

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phoward89 · 11 months ago

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Masterlist

Stepcest, Stepson!Coryo x Stepmother!Reader, Sub!Coriolanus, Soft!Dom!Reader, Crassus Snow x Younger!Reader

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Crassus Snow is a cold hearted asshole, but he's a hot asshole... Stepcest, Cuckold, older man/younger woman, arranged marriage, cheating, affairs, secrets, cussing, secret love child

Part 2:

Your son Cassian Xandros was the spitting image of his father; his grandfather too. But nobody knew that. Mhm… Everyone thought that Coriolanus was the big half-brother and that Crassus was the proud father.

And that's the way it's going to be.

It's best for everyone involved.

And after Crassus arrived to visit you in the hospital after you gave birth, he ended up ordering his son to go to the University’s library to study and to work on whatever class assignments he missed out on. Coriolanus begrudgingly did as he was told; leaving you and Crassus alone with baby Cassian.

Alone to bond as a family.

Ha! As if…You'd rather be bonding with Coryo and Cassian right now, but you're married to Crassus. So you're stuck having a family moment with him.

Crassus picked Cassian up from the bassinet Coriolanus had put him back in, only to cradle the newborn while taking a seat in the open chair next to you. Looking between you and your son, your husband asked, “Has your mother seen him yet?”

“No.” You shake your head. “But Coriolanus called her as soon as Cassian was born tho.”

Crassus didn't make a remark about your mother being MIA, but he did have a disapproving glare in his cold pale blue eyes. “Has my mother been here to see her grandson?” The war hero asks, assuming that Coriolanus would've arranged for Tigris to bring Grandma'am to the hospital hours ago.

“No, but Coriolanus said that he'd bring her by to meet Cassian.”

“How? The sniveling brat doesn't have a car; he walks everywhere.” The stern man asks in a biting scoff. Cutting down his oldest son (like he always did).

“I know that, Crassus.” You dryly sigh. “I assume he meant to bring her by in a cab.” You logically supply while watching Crassus smooth his large hand over your son's wisp of pale blonde hair.

Standing up and placing the baby in your arms, he told you, “You need to nurse him; I'll go pick up my mother and bring her here.” The cold, giant blonde man’s mouth turned up at the corners with pride. “She'll be happy to know that our son looks like a true Snow heir.”

Before going to your penthouse to pick up Grandma'am, Crassus went to your childhood home to see your mother. He had a few choice words about her not visiting you and the baby in the hospital after Coriolanus called. Helenium’s your mother, she's supposed to visit you and Cassian, her grandson.

What kind of grandmother snubs their own newborn grandson?

“Crassus Snow, why am I being cursed with your presence on my threshold?” Helenium asked your husband, cigarette holder dangling between her fingers, after answering her front door.

Crassus, who was well over 6ft tall, towers over your mother as he dryly remarks, “That's not any way to speak to your son-in-law.”

Your mother wasn't in a mood to stand around and chit chat with your husband. Glaring at Crassus, your mother reminds him of why he's even your husband in the first place. “You're only my son-in-law as a favor to Javani, your dead war buddy and my late husband.”

Crassus didn’t find Helenium's remark to be amusing. He didn't go out searching for your hand in marriage. In fact it was quite the opposite.

“Hey, you're the one that came running to me for help; wanting me to find somebody to marry your daughter- somebody that wouldn't make her completely miserable, because General Byzantine kept harassing you about her.”

“That horrible man’s friends with Strabo Plinth, the richest man in the goddamn Capitol, so yes I wanted you to help me marry Y/N to somebody before Strabo came knocking on my door shoving a blank checkbook in my face while his friend gave me a pen and marriage contract to sign for my daughter.” Your mother told the man standing at her front door. A man that she couldn't stand the sight of.

A man that she absolutely, undoubtedly, without a doubt hated with every fiber of her being.

Shaking her head, she revealed, “I never thought you'd marry her yourself, Crassus.”

“Yes, well, Y/N is young and beautiful.” Crassus told your mother before revealing his true need for you with, “And, since I plan on running in the presidential race as soon as President Ravenstill either resigns or dies from his poor health, Y/N’s beauty will make for the perfect First Lady on my arm.”

“I'm not voting for you; I'll vote for your opponent.” Your mother tells your husband.

But little does your mother know that when the time does come to vote for a new president that she'll be voting for Crassus. That she'll approve of Crassus in the Presidential Mansion ruling over the nation of Panem rather than his young opponent.

And unknown to everyone, the next presidential election’s going to be very close and very very dirty…

“Yes, well, I'm not here to hash out my career goals or why we’re in-laws. I'm here to tell you that you need to go to the hospital to see Y/N and Cassian.”

Your mother took a long drag off her cigerette holder, only to look up at Crassus and blow a lungful of smoke into the direction of his face as he towers over her. “No, I'm not going tonight. But I'll see them tomorrow.”

Crassus narrowed his cold, icy blue eyes at your mother. “Y/N’s your daughter and Cassian's your newborn grandson, why aren't you seeing them tonight? As a grandmother shouldn't you want to see your own grandson?”

“I'll still be their mother and grandmother tomorrow, Crassus.” Helenium flatly reminds your husband. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready for work tonight.”

“Javani would be appalled, ashamed, and disgusted by what you've become, Helenium.” Crassus told your mother, disdain dripping from his tongue, before pivoting on his heel and heading towards his car that was parked on the curbside.

“Mother, have you noticed a change between my wife and Coriolanus?” Crassus asks his mother, who's dressed to the nines in her fineries to meet her newest grandson, as she sits in the backseat of his car while he drives them to Capitol General Hospital.

Crassus, unlike other Capitolites, didn't have a chauffeur. He prefers to be in control; like to be behind the wheel. General Snow doesn't trust a driver's judgment. In fact he trusts his own judgment over that of a hired hand.

“What kind of change, Crassus, dear?” Grandma'am asked, her voice a bit aloof, as she looked out the window. She looked like the epitome of a fine Capitolite lady, which in fact she truly was.

“Have you noticed if they've become closer as of lately?” Crassus asked, brow raised.

The middle-aged man had noticed for the last few months how his whinny, spoiled brat of a son kept looking at you with a certain- yearning? And the. He called you mommy, which was unsettling to Crassus to say the very least. The only instances he knew of where grown men call grown women who's not their mother ‘mommy’ is when that man's a sub with a kink.

Crassus wouldn't put it past his son to be subby, but a mommy kink? Yea…well…he supposes he can see Coriolanus being into that as well.

Lord knows that Crassus has the stamina of a race horse. That he's been taking libido suppressants ever since getting with you since he doesn't think you can handle his true nature, being so young and all. Plus, it's not as if your marriage is a love match. It's a marriage of convenience, so quick meaningless sex is the expected norm.

Isn't it?

Well, you never complained so Crassus figures you're fine with the very boring vanilla sex life the two of you lead.

If only he knew that wasn't the case at all. That you're fulfilling your needs elsewhere. And with his son: the sub…

“Coriolanus called Y/N mommy in the hospital while explaining that she let him help her narrow down the baby names.” The war hero adds in, to future accentuate his worries and questions for his proper Capitolite lady of a mother.

“Oh, Crassus, it seems like Coriolanus is finally accepting a maternal figure in his life.” Grandma'am waved off her son's concerns. The old woman was a typical grandmother who felt that her grandson was a spotless, precious, innocent, baby lamb in her eyes.

If only Grandma'am knew that her grandson Coriolanus is actually a wolf in sheep's skin.

Crassus shook his head, knowing that he wouldn't get anywhere with his mother. She was an old woman who was charmed by her grandson’s smile and proper demeanor. She'll never think that her grandson could have perverted thoughts.

Crassus on the other hand decided to keep a closer eye on his son’s actions around you. He already picked up on how Coriolanus looks at you, so doing his own little investigation on his son's feelings for you won't be too hard.

But Crassus thinks that his son doesn't have the balls to try anything with you. That Coriolanus would be too scared of the punishment (being cut off from his trust fund) that would befall him if he seduced you.

If only Coriolanus was truly that ball-less. But he wasn't. He had a pair since he successfully seduced you, his stepmother, to become his lover. His ‘mommy’ that rides his cock hard and fast; who bosses him around and indulges him in all of his fantasies.

“I suppose you're right, mother.” Crassus tells Grandma’am as a way to close out the subject he brought up. A thin, barely there smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he tells his mother, “Your new grandson, Cassian, looks like a true Snow. Platinum blonde hair and icy blue eyes.”

“Oh, Crassus, I can't wait to meet him.” Grandma'am replies with the excitement Crassus expects from a normal grandmother. A reaction that your mother never showed.

Grandma'am Snow fawned over Cassian Xandros the moment Crassus placed him into her arms. The old woman smiled at your son, only to look at you and Crassus and say how proud she was that another Snow grandbaby was born. One that looked like a true Snow too, since the Snow looks are very important to upkeep in the family’s lineage.

You thought that the old woman was a bit extra for saying that, but to each their own.

Before Crassus and Grandma'am left to go home a nurse came into your room to explain that you and the baby would only be staying for a day since the labor went without a hitch. The nurse gave your husband the information about the date and time of your discharge so that he could be around not just to take you and the baby home, but to help you fill out the baby's legal paperwork.

So, that's why you're in your hospital room with your husband and a nurse as she asks the required questions that are on the form that will become your son's birth certificate. His legal paper proving his Capitol citizenship.

First the nurse asked the baby's name, to which your husband answered, “Cassian Xandros Snow.”

When the nurse asked about your name and birthday Crassus let you answer that yourself. And when the nurse asked your address, the cold natured man that you're cursed to call your husband answered for you with, “Road of Hope 26, 12th floor Penthouse.”

The nurse nodded and scribbled down the address before asking what your occupation, to which Crassus answered with house wife. Looking at your husband, the nurse asks, “Father's full name, please.”

“Crassus Xanthos Snow.”

You blinked your eyes, shocked to hear that your son's middle name was so similar to your husband's. You didn't even realize it when you discussed it with Coriolanus. Did your lover know that your baby's middle name would be so similar to Crassus'? Hmm…

Then the nurse asked Crassus his birthday, but his answer had you reeling more than the discovery of his middle name. When you heard the year of your husband's birth you quickly did the mental math and came to the startling conclusion that he's younger than you initially thought. Crassus isn't 60, but he's only middle-aged. Crassus is in his mid-40s.

Yea, he's much younger than you thought he was.

So why did both your mother and Coriolanus let you believe that he was old?

And since he's essentially a DILF, why does Crassus pop blue pills; why is your sex life the bare minimum?

Nothing makes sense.

Argh.

Why couldn't you be married to Coriolanus right now? Things would be so much easier if he was your husband.

And talk about the devil…

Coriolanus strolled right into your room, bouquet of white roses in his hand and a smile stretching wide across his face; baby blues flashing manically. And then when he saw you sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed with the baby cradled in your arms and his father sitting next to you all while a nurse asked the question of, “Father's occupation?”, the younger blonde man’s smile faltered.

“Military.” Was Crassus' curt reply to the nurse, all the while Coriolanus was asking why he wasn't told about your discharge. A question to which Crassus answered with a clipped, “Y/N’s my wife, not yours. And Cassian's my son; your baby brother, so you have no need to know about such things.”

Turning to you with tears brimming in his icy eyes like shiny diamonds, Coriolanus’ lower lip quivers as he asks, “Mommy, why wouldn't you call me about your discharge? Didn't you want me here to help you?”

Oh boy…

Not now. Not here in the damn hospital room. What the hell's wrong with Coryo? Is he crazy? He can't just go around calling you mommy in that subby tone of voice: the one he uses when he wants something from you whether it be in the bedroom or out of it.

Oh gods…

Coriolanus, your step-son, is acting up right now in front of both his father and the nurse. Oh, how you wish the floor could just swallow you up right now.

The nurse looked flustered, as if she was intruding in a family moment she shouldn't be a part of. Meanwhile, your husband's brows furrowed, as if the wheels inside of his head were turning.

Locking your eyes with Coryo's cerulean ones, you mustered up your soft dom voice and told him, “I have your father here to help me, Coriolanus. Crassus took some time off work to bring me and the baby home.”

Crassus' face was stern and his voice was low and cold as he told his young doppelganger, “Son, you need to be in class; not here tormenting my wife while she's being discharged with our newborn.”

“I told Dr. Gaul about mommy and the baby; she said I was excused from class to bond with my new mommy and baby brother.” Coriolanus countered his father in a bratty tone while placing the bouquet of white roses on your bedside table.

Oh gods, how you wanted to slap the boy with the light blonde halo of curls across the face. What the fuck’s wrong with him? This isn't funny. This isn't a game he's playing and breaking the rules with, this is your life.

You're married to Crassus; Coryo knows that, but here he is acting bratty and dropping hints here and there that you two are a little close.

The nurse seemed very uncomfortable by what was going on in your hospital room. So much so that she seemed a bit skittish as she flipped the paper on the clipboard to reveal the discharge papers. Before Crassus, you, or your brat of a step-son could say another word the nurse shoved the clipboard and the attached pen at your husband while saying, “Just sign, initial, and date the marked areas of the discharge papers please.”

Crassus nods at the nurse, only to pick up the pen and start marking up the papers in the prompted areas. Never looking up from the vast amount of paperwork, he sternly says, “Dr. Gaul's class is a tough one and one that's passing is required for Military Strategies majors. You, son, being a double major in both Military Strategies and Political Science, can't afford to skip a single day of her class.”

“I’m Dr. Gaul's star prodigy.” Coriolanus boasted with a charming smile. “She even says that once I graduate she'll be offering me a position as an Assistant Gamemaker right underneath her.” He added in, wanting to prove that there was nothing to worry about when it came to his studies with Dr. Gaul.

That woman gave you the creeps. And she says that Coryo's her star prodigy…

What the hell?...

“I thought after graduation you're signing up as an officer in the Peacekeepers; going to 2 for a couple months of quick training before receiving your commission?” Crassus asked Coriolanus, his brows arched, as he handed the clipboard back to the nurse.

“You decided I was going to follow your career path, but after talking to Dr. Gaul I've decided that I'm going to become a gamemaker.” Coriolanus told his father in a tone that screamed entitled brat.

“I'll go scan this into the computer and print out a copy of the birth certificate, then you'll be ready to go.” The nurse rattled out before rushing out of the room. Poor thing just had to get away from the Snow family before she cracked.

Father and son didn't even pay the nurse any mind. She left to scan the paperwork, good for her. Crassus and Coriolanus were too engrossed in their pissing match to care what the nurse did.

“You think you know better then me, son, but you're just a sniveling boy trying to play at being a man." Crassus told his son in a low biting tone that expressed his frustrations. Giving his son a hard, stern look, the older Snow said, "Now, you'll call off these silly notions of gamemaking and enlist as an officer in the Peacekeepers.”

“I am a man, father, and I'm not going to waste my abilities in the military like you did. I'm going to become a gamemaker and then I'll become a politician." A sneering smile crossed his face as he announced, "The best politician in all of Panem.”

“You're a bit too ambitious for your own good, aren't you, Coriolanus?” Crassus rhetorically asked his firstborn son- his deep voice stony and cold.

“And you're not ambitious enough, father, otherwise you'd be more than a minister of some military department.” Coriolanus hurled out without thinking. His bratty boy behavior was on full display right now.

Was he showing out because you're with Crassus, filling out paperwork for baby Cassian. You know that Coriolanus wants to be the one by your side when all of this important stuff is happening, but it's no cause for him to get jealous and become an unbearable brat.

Coriolanus is nearly 22 for Christ's sakes!

He needs to stop being a jealous brat. You're married to Crassus, his father, so he doesn't own you. Coriolanus has no claim over you. All he has is the same as you, the stolen moments in his bedroom during the dead of night.

Crassus' voice was a low hiss that reeked of danger as he gave his son the warning of, “You don't know a damn thing about my ambitions or my career son. So, I advise you to go to class before I throw you out of this room.”

“I have a right to be here-” Coriolanus began to protest, only for you to cut him off with the order of, “Go, Coryo, before things get worse between you and Crassus.”

The young platinum blonde's shoulders slump upon hearing your words. Are you siding with his hateful father over him, your lover and baby daddy? If Coriolanus wasn't so turned on by your bossy tone, he would've objected to your order. But he loves it when you tell him what to do in that soft dominant way you have.

It always sends a twitch straight down to his cock.

Hopefully later tonight, once the baby's put to bed and his father's asleep, you'll be able to take care of his hard, aching cock for him.

“Okay, mommy, I'll be good and go home.” Coriolanus told you, a hint of a smile on his face. A face that was so similar to his father's, only that his features were more youthful.

“Get your useless ass to class, Coriolanus. There's no need for you to be home so early in the afternoon.” Crassus snapped at his son, who was walking out of the room.

Turning to you, Crassus said in a neutral voice, “I have the day off to help you and the baby settle in at home, but I'm afraid I'm needed back at work tomorrow.”

“Don't worry about it, Crassus. I'll be fine.” You assure your husband right as the nurse entered the room with your son's birth certificate along with the paper of his stamped footprints on it.

“I wasn't worried about it; I was telling you so you wouldn't expect me at home cooing over you and the baby whenever I have more important things to attend to.” Crassus told you in a low, bland tone that hinted that he didnt view you or the baby as a priority in his life. That his work was worth more than you and your baby.

If only you were married to Coriolanus. He clearly values you and the baby more than his work.

Or at least you think that he does.

In time you'll find out that Coriolanus’ ambitions will turn him into a monster. A monster some deems worse as his father.

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