#or at least friendly rivals

[agnesandhilda]

this just keeps getting funnier

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

As a Sondread fan, my favorite piece of knowledge is the fact that Sonic has never once rescinded his comment that Dread is his favorite Knuckles.

After that comment alone, Dread hid while his ship was being boarded, threw Sonic out front of the ship to pull it, Sonic watched him speed through the loop de loop (with Dread not caring if he damaged it), Dread backstabbed him and framed him as a traitor, they fought over the shard, Dread shot multiple missiles at him, he tried to attack Sonic for the blue shard again while Sonic and Nine were trying to escape New Yoke.

Dread had done a lot of shit in Sonic's presence or to him (tried to kill him, backstabbed him, shows that he cares more about self interest than the crew now)

And Sonic *never* takes his comment back

In fact, not only does Sonic never take the comment back, he never really holds a grudge against him. And to be honest, it's mostly because Sonic seems to like him and keeps giving him the benefit of the doubt.

When Dread tries to leave his crew, making it clear that they could be pirates and go after the Devil's Lighthouse but he would have no part of it, Sonic came to retrieve him and to try to convince him. Sonic appeals to his ego and mentions how his (or original Knuckles', rather) stubbornness and unwillingness to give up is one of his usual traits. After Dread explains his tale of woe, Sonic spends time (operating on the assumption that the event scared Dread off from pirating) convincing him that he can be great. When Dread breaks the Loop De Loop, Sonic’s devastated, but never confronts Dread about it. When Dread betrays him and frames him as a traitor to get the blue shard, and even as Dread is actively trying to kill him/blow him up, yes Sonic is annoyed, but he spends a lot of time not only trying to convince the crew that he's not a traitor, but also trying to appeal to reason with Dread. Dread's shooting missiles at him and Sonic goes on and on about how he's (Dread) gonna feel so bad later for what he's doing to him (Sonic). When Mr. Dr. Eggman calls for the eggforcers to shoot Dread where he stands (WHILE Dread is still actively trying to get the shard from Sonic), Sonic expresses his care and concern over Dread's wellbeing by calling his name, and even gasps when Dread is shot. Then, when Sonic watches Dread lose his grip on the Chaos Council's ship when they arrive in New Yoke, he calls his name and lets go of his own hold on the ship. As the two plummet in the city, Sonic still reaches for him and saves him from meeting an untimely death, throwing him onto a roof of a building (which ultimately endangers Sonic's own life and mission). Sonic is happy when Dread comes to his rescue and aids in the fight against Chaos Sonic (and just happy that Dread IS in fact alive). And then finally, when Dread attacks him at the end of season 2 to get the shard back, Sonic's only response to that is that he thought he and Dread were "cool now" (funny, given that Dread himself told Sonic that it would be everyone for themselves again after Chaos Sonic was defeated). Beyond that, he just tells Renegade and Dread that they should be friends.

The funny interpretation of this is just how down bad for Dread Sonic may be to straight up ignore some of the clear red flags/proof Dread is gonna betray him, but my other (slightly more serious) interpretation is that Sonic must really like Dread to be able to care for him and his wellbeing the way he does, to try to reason with him and to not hold grudges on even the most awful things Dread has done. It says a lot that he still cares about him, still wants him to be alive, still tries to reason with him, still tries to get Dread to at least be friends with him again, still refuses to take back his saying that Dread is his favorite Knuckles, no matter what Dread does and how he treats him/his crew

[sleepyinteractions]

{Response to @askiceboundlopunny}

"I huh?" Monarch blinekd taken a back that she didnt back down his eyes wandered to the necklase seeing the different colors

Mega stones...? Is it truly a real necklace..?

The eon wondered before looking back to her listening as he stuttered slightly wanting to answer back - awkward interacting with creature when he wasn't threatening them

"Well uh..I suppose knocking someone out as a last resort wouldnt be bad...but it also matters I guess if it's right in time?" he sort of agreed with her "Because what if its too late and they just wake up as a shadow pokemon...er..nevermind..you wouldnt know the answer anyway..." he quickly dismissed it as he gulped eyes wandering away as he tried to stay clear headed and not too stiff when talking - before his attention again was grabbed

To fight her? Was she serious...I mean its not like we dont train daily with some fair sparing or against dummies...

"You actually mean it...?" the words escaped his lips before he couldn't think them through as he gave a meek nod "I mean uh...MAYBE... sometime..I'll consider your offer..." he murmured under his breath pulling the hood over his eyes to hide his face

Linda has made a (light) impression on Monarch

[slythereen]

archiveofourown(.)org/works/51087148/ you

m-me???? 😳

i think you must be referring to my joking (or not) honeypot max theory* (*dream) but i am neither tumblr user @oranjeleeuw nor ao3 user thearchercore lanflsakfa come get yall's identities back !!!

[mar64ds]

I appreciate that after days of reading disappointing Knuckles reviews, we're given a Tailstube episode with Sonic and Shadow

not the biggest fan of how they were written but still a cute video and ten times better than the knuckles news

[anarkhebringer]

I dunno why I'm hoping for it all of a sudden (I know why I do) but like. Can DT actually make the Scions exciting rivals? I wanna beat their ass at whatever we're splitting up about without too much patting on the back afterwards (knowing this game there will be a power of friendship speech of some description)

[just-jordie-things]

friendly neighborhood spiderman - fushiguro megumi

word count: 25k i need a lobomy warnings: swearing, men making reader uncomfortable, some blood n bruises summary: besides being morally gray, megumi has never crossed any personal boundaries while protecting the city disguised as the spiderman. that is, until it comes to her. a thorn in his side, a plague to his mind, and a skip in his heart. wait, what?

notes: SPIDERMAN AU! rivals to unknown friends to unknown lovers to..??

___

With great power comes great responsibility…

To that, Fushiguro Megumi said; no shit.  

Living a double life wasn’t always the easiest thing in the world, but the justice part came to him naturally.  He didn’t like to call his abilities superpowers, there was something too childish about it, but since gaining them, Megumi had known there was some kind of reason.

Maybe it was because he had a stronger sense of right and wrong than most of the people he knew.  His peers at the college he attended seemed to have more interest in alcohol poisoning than anything else, so he supposed it made sense that if a radioactive spider bit had to give someone powers… it might as well have been him.

Besides, he was kind of a loner, so it wasn’t hard to hide his double life.  Every day he followed the same routine.

Wake up early to work out and do a quick patrol of the city, try to get to his classes on time, study in between lectures, study through lunch, and then as soon as his last class of the day was over he was off to swing through the city and keep an eye on things.

There had been an uptick in crime in Tokyo lately, and Megumi hadn’t quite put his finger on why.  It had never been the safest city in Japan, but since taking on this role it seemed like criminals everywhere were crawling out of the cracks and shadows to challenge him.  Not that anything had proven to be too challenging for The Spiderman… petty criminals made it easy.

“Late again, Fushiguro” 

There were, however, challenges that Megumi faced.

(y/n) swiveled around in her seat just as he’d sat down behind her.  To think he’d patted himself on the back for only being three minutes late today.  He should’ve known she was counting down the minutes to rub it in his face.

Resting her elbows on the back of her seat so she could smirk at him, she plops her chin on her fists and eyes him curiously.  Megumi can’t even be bothered to roll his eyes, he’d grown too tired of the same banter every day.

If she couldn’t take his place at the top of the class, (y/l/n) (y/n) would have to find some other way to antagonize Megumi- and she took that job all too seriously.  Unfortunately their class schedules were almost identical, seeing as they were both enrolled in as many accelerated courses as they could be, so Megumi spent most of his day in her vicinity.  And hell, she never let him forget it.

When he barely even looks at her, (y/n) turns back around in her seat, seemingly already prepping her notebook for her notes of the day.  She’s probably one of those girls that makes every page pretty and aesthetically pleasing, Megumi finds himself frowning at his own train of thought.  He only had seven more hours of putting up with her competitive attitude, and then he’d be free and far from it.

Nothing cleared his mind like swinging around the city.  She couldn’t possibly plague him once he was in his suit.  He tried to tell himself that through the rest of class, everytime her hand shot up in the air and she bragged her way through perfect, textbook answers.

It was no doubt that she’d be successful after graduation.  Megumi would rather die than admit it out loud, but he wouldn’t be surprised in the least if she ended up a millionaire- billionaire- with how well studied and determined she was to win.  If she put half the effort into her future career that she did just by bothering him, she’ll probably earn herself some title of youngest most successful woman. 

Hopefully by then she’ll be too busy to bother him anymore.  Although Megumi assumes that by the time graduation rolls around, he’ll never see her again.  

She was probably counting down the days until then, too. ___

Megumi spent his lunches alone.

This didn’t really bother him.  He didn’t have much interest in making friends, and never put much effort into it.  He liked to think he was kind, but he knew he wasn’t the most approachable guy in the world.  If he was honest, he kind of liked it that way.  So long as he kept his clothes dark, his face expressionless, and his hair untamed, then he seemed to ward people off.  No one approached his usual small table in the corner of the lunchroom unless they needed to borrow one of the extra empty chairs.  Even then, people seemed nervous to ask, and more often than not someone would scurry over and take one without a word, rushing it back to their table before Megumi could say something untoward.

The way he dressed himself wasn’t the only thing keeping people away.  His reputation might have something to do with it as well…

But that fight wasn’t his fault.  Not necessarily.  So what if someone got sent to the hospital? Megumi was a believer in consequences being served… and if no one else was going to deliver, then he supposed it came down to him to do the right thing.  This was before the spider bite, before Spiderman, so his strong sense of justice had nowhere to be channeled.

To Megumi, all that mattered was the guy learned his lesson.  And by the way, he did live.  He just had to spend a week in Intensive Care to pull through, is all.

Unapproachable was an understatement when it came to Megumi.

Maybe that’s why he found (y/n) all the more obnoxious.

He minds his business during his lunch hour- although he’d argue that he minds his business all the time.  Sitting in the corner with headphones large enough to make the point clear that he didn’t want to be bothered, his nose was always stuck in a book.  He’d eat with one hand and scribble in his notebooks with the other.  Even if he could afford a laptop he didn’t want to use one.  His time was better utilized if he could study and eat  simultaneously.

The corner of his eye twitches when he catches a glimpse of her in his peripheral.  He hates that the hair on the back of his neck stands up when she shows up, all of his nerves tingling like a warning.  His grimace is obvious as he finds her walking through the cafe with the little lunch box he knew was perfectly organized in multiple compartments.  She probably didn’t let any of her food touch.

She’s stopped on her mission to get to her table of know-it-all friends, and Megumi shouldn’t care that some guy called her over to his table to talk to her, it’s a bit of a boring scene, honestly.  He should get back to his studying now, but for some reason he’s compelled to watch from the back of the room as (y/n) drags her feet over to the guy’s table.

Megumi doesn’t recognize him, or really any of his surrounding friends, but by the looks of it they seemed like the kind of guys that wouldn’t have gotten into the classes he’s taking.

A year ago Megumi wouldn’t have been able to hear their conversation, not from across the busy cafe where a hundred other conversations are happening, but now he finds it easy to tune out all the other noise and eavesdrop on (y/n) and this frat boy.

“You always walk by without saying hello.  You tryin’ to hurt my feelings, princess?” The frat boy feigns heartbreak, holding his hand to his chest all the while grinning at her.

“Hello”

(y/n’s) reply is rigid.  She sounds as bored as Megumi feels watching her.  He almost scoffs at himself for even paying this much attention.  Clearly his little warning sense was misfiring, because nothing of interest is playing out here.  He was starting to consider this a waste of his heightened abilities.

“Awe, c’mon now gorgeous, you can do better than that,” Fratboy clicks his tongue in mockery.  “Why don’t you come sit?” 

“I’m sitting with my friends” 

Once again, her tone is as flat and dry as could be.  Megumi starts to wonder what Fratboy even wants with her.  Besides her personality being insufferable, she clearly isn’t interested in whatever he’s offering.  How many hints can this guy possibly miss?

“Rain check?” Fratboy asks hopefully.  It could almost be endearing if it wasn’t for the slimy grin he wore.  Megumi hated to think it, but (y/n) outranked this guy on every scale.

“Yeah.  Maybe” (y/n’s) voice falls to a mumble before she turns and walks away, this time at a faster pace than before.

As she finds her place at her table, she glances over her shoulder, feeling the prickle of someone’s eyes following her.  Megumi’s senses are one step ahead, and he’s quick to drop his head to focus back on his studies again.  He’d already lost five minutes to watch a pointless interaction, he didn’t need to lose more time by facing her evil eye if she’d caught him staring at her.

Idiot, he thinks as he takes a more aggressive bite of his food than necessary.  Getting behind on schedule for (y/n) of all people.  

He pushes the whole thing as far from his mind as he can as he gets back to work. ___

Tokyo had been rather quiet this evening.  Not that Megumi was complaining.  It was refreshing to see the streets peaceful, even this late into the night.

Eleven o’clock might not be the ideal dinner time for your average person, but for Spiderman, it was the norm.  And Megumi liked having a quiet night where he could have a quick street food dinner at the skyline overlooking the whole city.  It was peaceful up there.  With all the stars out, a perfect breeze coming in, and without the noise of pedestrians out and about down on the streets, Megumi could positively say this was his secret piece of heaven.

Most things about his life were a secret- but this especially he held this place close.

As expected there wasn’t a single pesky thought of school on his mind.  Like the sky, it was clear and peaceful.

At least it was, until he was mid-bite of his sandwich and he caught sight of something sketchy in his peripheral.

The familiar sensation of the hair on the back of his neck prickling rises when he turns to watch the scene unfold.  An unmarked car with blackout windows pulling up behind one of the many small 24-7 convenience stores and a few men with various clown masks getting out of it.  He huffs in annoyance, already swinging down and dumping the remainder of his perfectly good sandwich in the trash.

When were these idiots going to learn that robbing a convenience store was never worth it? He wonders as he lands on the roof of the building the men had just gone into.  He finds there’s only one guy left in the car, the getaway driver he’s sure.  Pulling his mask over his face he’s swift and silent in webbing up the door handles and tires of the car.  He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Just as silently, he drops to the ground, and enters the store.

It’s not the first time Spiderman has made an appearance during a stick up.  And Megumi’s sure it won’t be his last, seeing as no one ever learns.

“Well if it isn’t Spiderboy” One of the three clowns, Megumi assumes the ringleader, taunts him with a laugh.  He cocks his gun and aims it at him, but Megumi’s not the slightest bit threatened by a gun.  Typical, he thinks.

He barely acknowledges the silent threat at all, instead scoping out the store quickly.  

There’s one man behind the counter, his hands raised and shaking.  It appears he hasn’t handed over any money yet, which is good.  It makes for a quicker and cleaner exit for Megumi.

A couple is cowering behind the first aisle of snacks, trying to peek over the shelves without being seen- they’re not doing a very good job, but with Spiderman here now Megumi figures they’ve assumed their safety is guaranteed.  They aren’t wrong.

And then there was a girl in the very back, two aisles behind the couple, and apparently far less brave as well.  She’s crouched all the way to the ground, her hands clasped tightly over the back of her neck as if this was a tornado drill and not a robbery.  At least her head is down, Megumi thinks.  It’s not often he comes across civilians with a decent sense of self preservation.

“Did you hear me, Spiderboy-?” The ringleader’s second taunt is barely finished before there’s two webs flying at him.  One aimed for the barrel of his gun, covering his mask, gluing it straight to his face and muffling his mouth.

“Yeah yeah, I fuckin’ heard you,” Megumi grumbles.  Criminals loved to call him all sorts of names, he figured it comes with the job, but man did it get old.

There’s two other clowns, lackeys, he supposes.  These types hardly worked alone these days.  Megumi always wondered if they thought being in numbers would protect them from Spiderman.  Again, they never learn.

It takes him all of five seconds to web up their weapons as well.  Some glued to their hands and chest, rendering them useless, others so tied up in the sticky string that they couldn’t move any limbs if they tried.

“You think you can go around playing hero and people will respect you for it?” One of the lackeys snarls when Megumi tears the mask from his face.  He does the same for the other, but the second clown seems too afraid to speak.  Good.  “People ‘round here don’t give a shit, Spiderboy.  You think they’ll thank you? Heh? You think they’ll throw you a nice parade and chant your name?” 

Megumi rolls his eyes, patting down his pockets in search of any identifiable information.  Like he presumed, he finds a phone and wallet.  Sometimes it felt like these guys weren’t even trying to get away with their crimes.

Paying the lackey clown no mind, he turns over his shoulder and motions to the couple behind the shelf.  They raise their heads a little further, eyes wide and seemingly surprised Spiderman was addressing them.

“It’s safe to go,” He tells them with a wave of his hand.  “Go straight to the police station to report this” 

Does he have faith they’ll listen? No, he assumes they’ll be likely to go home.  Megumi doesn’t care much.  The police weren’t exactly his allies.  But if he was going to do their jobs for them, he was going to have to at least act like he was playing by their rules.

“Playing nice with the cops, tch,” The loudmouth lackey continues on.  “When they show up, they’ll take you before they take any of us- mmph!” 

“Much better,” Megumi sighs when his webbing does just the trick to shut the guy up.  Will he suffocate with it covering his mouth? Of course not, “Breathe through your nose,” He grumbles when the lackey’s face starts to take on a blue hue.  “Fucking idiots, you’re all the fucking same” He sighs, dropping the guy’s phone and open wallet on the ground before him, making sure it’s on perfect display for when the cops arrive.

“Th-thank you, Spiderman,” The shopkeeper behind the counter finally begins to lower his hands.  It appears he’s still shaking, but Megumi’s sure it’s the adrenaline rush he’s coming down from.  He’ll be fine in no time.  Especially once the police arrive and whisk these guys away.  “I- I don’t know how I can repay you” 

“It was nothing” Megumi replies, monotone as ever, but it’s the truth.  The whole ordeal was over in the matter of three minutes.  A robbery had barely begun when he’d shown up and shut it down.

The shopkeeper looks startled by the less-than-friendly attitude of his savior, but he doesn’t say a word, just picks up his phone to dial up the police.

Megumi’s on the move heading out of the store, ready to make himself scarce before law enforcement shows up, but of course he can’t leave just yet.

“Hey,” He calls towards the last civilian in the shop, the girl crouched on the ground, still covering herself.  “Hey,” He calls again when she doesn’t react, taking a few steps towards her.  “You’re good to go now,” He says, but even still, she doesn’t move.

It takes a tap on her shoulder for her to startle, finally uncovering the back of her head and looking up at him.  She stays on the ground, but now Megumi’s stunned to silence as well as he stares back at her.

(y/n)? He’s grateful for his mask for the millionth time but in a whole new way now.  What the hell was she doing out here in the middle of the night? 

She doesn’t say anything as she stares up at him with wide eyes.  He can’t tell if she’s still in shock, but the longer he waits for her to say something, she doesn’t.

“Are you… alright?” 

It’s a normal question to ask, he probably says it a hundred times a night, making sure no one’s left hurt or afraid.  But this time, asking her, it felt foreign coming out of his mouth.  He’s never been put in a position to… care… about her wellbeing before.  But now’s as good a time as any, seeing as she’s still got her knees to her chest and a shell shocked look on her face.

“You’re- you’re Spiderman” Is the first thing she says, her voice barely above a whisper.  Megumi could roll his eyes, but he’s too busy waiting for her to get up and get moving.

“And you’re not sitting around here all night, c’mon” He beckons her upwards, and to his surprise she takes it as an offer to grab his hand, and he finds himself pulling her up to her feet.

“You’re a lot taller than I thought you’d be” She mumbles, and if she could see his face she’d watch a look of puzzlement befall him.

“Get that a lot” He mutters, making an obvious motion to eye the hand that she still has gripping his gloved one.

“Oh, sorry,” She’s still quiet, quieter than he’s ever heard her speak before, and it’s starting to intrigue him.  

Was she this afraid of a pesky little robbery? He wondered, looking her up and down.  She wasn’t trembling, she showed little to no sign of distress at all.  For a girl that had nearly gone full armadillo just a few minutes ago, she didn’t seem all that afraid.

“I’m just- uh-” She clears her throat, and Megumi thinks it’s the first time he’s ever heard her stammer, or misspeak at all.  “I’m a big fan” She finishes, her quiet voice sounding more shy now than anything else.

Wait, what!? 

“A fan?” Megumi repeats in disbelief, and (y/n) smiles softly as she nods her head.

“You don’t get that a lot too?” She asks, inching towards speaking at a normal volume.

This is the part where he leaves, and he knows it.  The authorities were bound to be close now, and it’d give him more trouble if he was still around when they got here.  He couldn’t be wasting his time, especially on her.

But he lingers there for a second longer anyways.  There was an undeniably curiosity creeping under his skin.  Never would he have pegged (y/l/n) (y/n), regular goody-goody, as a Spiderman fan.  It had him wondering if there was more to her than met the eye.  

Maybe she was… a normal person…? Could it be true? 

Flashing lights interrupted his thoughts, his head swiveling to see approaching red and blue

“Fuck!” He cursed, and behind him (y/n) covered her mouth to stifle her giggle.  Jeez, did she expect some squeaky clean guy to be under the mask? “You’re fine, right?” He asks her, already stepping away to make his escape.

(y/n) nods her head, still giving him an awestruck look.  It makes his face feel hot under his mask.  Could she really be this enamored with Spiderman? So much so she’s rendered speechless.

“Right- well- maybe stop shopping in the middle of the night and you find yourself in these situations” He tries to be serious, but she grins as she nods back at him in agreement.

“I’ll try my best, Spiderman” 

With that he’s out the door and swinging off just before the cops round the corner to the building.  He’d just narrowly missed them, but that was the closest he’d come to getting spotted by them in quite a while.  Until then, he’d done a good job making a clean getaway.

He huffs and tugs his mask off of his head when he finds a fire escape distant enough to rest at.  Of all the crimes he’s interrupted, that was definitely one for the books.  And it had nothing to do with the tacky clown masks or shitty execution.

His chest felt tight, an odd feeling creeping into his bones.

Shit.  He still hadn’t had a proper dinner. ___

Megumi’s exhausted the next morning when he strolls into class.  He’s five minutes late today, but he tells himself that ten is his limit so he’s still doing just fine.  He never gets a second glance from the professor anyways- with his grades? His professor wouldn’t care if he didn’t show up to class at all.

(y/n), however, cares very much about Megumi’s punctuality.

“Who taught you to be so disrespectful of other people’s time, Fushiguro?” She mocks a pout at him, already turned around in her seat to bother him as usual.

Megumi gives her a bored look, maintaining eye contact as he opens his notebook to a fresh page.  (y/n) raises a brow impatiently, waiting for some kind of response, but Megumi remains silent.  This is fitting for him, he rarely engages in her banter these days, but his silence feels different today.  Something about the way he looks at her makes her feel like he’s sizing her up, or something.

“What?” The word comes out in a mumble, her brows furrowing as he meets his inquisitive stare with a confused glare.

Megumi purses his lips, shakes his head, taps the eraser of his pencil rhythmically against his notebook.

“Nothing” 

It’s all he has to say, and for once (y/n) doesn’t have a snarky remark.  She just gives him a weird look and faces forward in her seat again.  Maybe he’d caught her off guard by actually speaking to her, even if it was just one word, it’s more than he’s given in a while.  Pretty much since the spider bite.  Engaging in petty arguments seemed pointless after that.

As he takes notes on the lecture of the day, he can’t help but be drawn to the back of (y/n’s) head.  He didn’t like the idea of giving her any of his attention, but his thoughts were drifting out of his control, and he couldn’t stop replaying last night in his mind.  The way she looked at him, smiled at him, like he was her hero.  And now today he was reduced to the dirt under her perfectly clean shoe.  It was like he had a secret about her now.  There might not be a way for him to dangle it over her head openly… but he knew, and for now, that was enough.

By the time class ended, Megumi already had his bag packed up, and he was the first out the door.  If he got to the next lesson before her, he could claim a seat in the back where she wouldn’t dare be caught sitting.  Maybe then he wouldn’t get so distracted.

Even with his heightened senses however, he doesn’t notice the way (y/n) watches him book it out of the classroom, a knot between her brows at his odd behavior.  Because since when has Fushiguro Megumi rushed to class? ___

It’s hard not to notice Megumi is avoiding her more than usual.  She shared almost every class with him, besides one art course she took, (y/n) saw him every hour of the day.  It also helped that being the top two of their class they were always seated somewhere near the front, and closer to each other than either one of them would like.

It doesn’t bother her that Megumi’s been sitting in the back of the class with the other slackers.  She couldn’t care less if he decided not to come to class at all- in fact it would be wonderful for her.  If his grades slipped just a little bit she could take his spot as top student, a position that was rightfully hers seeing as she was punctual and present in every class.  Unlike Megumi, who hardly participated unless asked to, and acted like he couldn’t care less about his status.

She always wondered if he truly didn’t care about his ranking.  He certainly acted like he didn’t, rolling his eyes at her comments if he wasn’t ignoring her completely.  But was it just an act? 

(y/n) made it an effort not to think any more about Fushiguro Megumi than she had to.  But sometimes he made that difficult for her.  Like now, when he’s sitting in the back of the class with his blocky headphones on.  She can’t help but peek over her shoulder at him, eyeing the way he actively took notes from what was on the whiteboard at the front of the class.  But how well could he learn if he wasn’t even listening? 

He catches her staring not a second later, his bored blue eyes landing on hers and holding her stare.  His expression is unchanging, completely neutral as he stares back at her, but it still feels intense.  (y/n’s) quick to shoot her eyes forward and begin scribbling messy words in her otherwise neatly kept notebook.  Was it just intense because he’d caught her staring right at him? Her face feels warm, her heartbeat kicks into an anxious pattern.

Clearly, whatever his issue was, she needed to just ignore it completely.  He seemed to do just fine doing the same, maybe it was time for her to take a page out of his book and give him the same treatment.

Still, her eyes catch him in every hallway, every class, every moment he’s around, she spots and scans him as if there’s going to be some hint as to what brought on his change in behavior. ___

A couple of peaceful weeks were well appreciated, but Megumi must’ve taken them for granted, because tonight was a rough one.

He could enjoy a good fight, he’d grown up a fighter, so it all came naturally to him.  Right hook, dodge, web, kick, swing- there were just a few extra steps to his hand-to-hand that came from the spider bite’s abilities.  To him, that made the act of fighting all the more fun.  He wasn’t afraid to admit he got a certain rush out of beating someone up.  When it was justified, there wasn’t a feeling like it.

Getting beat up, however, sucked.

Maybe the guy was on steroids, maybe the adrenaline got to his head and his fight or flight kicked into high gear, Megumi wasn’t sure what his deal was, but he certainly took a beating before finally knocking the petty handbag thief out and getting him webbed up for the cops to take care of.

It wasn’t till he got away and found an alley secluded enough that he was able to check his injuries.  He didn’t have to take his mask off to know his head had taken most of the damage.  He could taste the blood of his split lip, and feel the hot throbbing behind his eye.  

Great.  Going to class with a black eye won’t draw any attention.

With a groan he leaned back into the brick of one of the surrounding buildings, trying to even out his labored breathing.  It wouldn’t be a surprise if he found his torso littered with black and blue, too.  As much as it hurt, Megumi was more irritated than anything.  Hiding injuries was the worst part of his secret double life.  College kids always wanted to hear the gnarly stories behind visible cuts and bruises.  Megumi only hoped his shitty reputation would be enough to keep people away.

He couldn’t sit around for long, there was still a city that needed patrolling, so Megumi kicked off the wall and took a few deep, harsh breaths as he left the alley, ready to go for a swing around the next few blocks to make sure everything was as it should be.  Quiet.  It was almost one in the morning, most people should be turned in for the night by now.

Just as he reaches the sidewalk and before he can fly off into the air, however, he’s met by a not-quite-stranger.

(y/n) almost runs right into him, speed walking down the sidewalk with her head down, clearly on a mission.  Had he stepped out a second later she might’ve crashed into him, but it’s hard for her to not notice the six foot tall man in a head to toe black suit.

For half a second she looks alarmed- rightfully so, a strange man just came out of an alley, if she had half a mind she’d turn and run without thinking.  But as expected, Megumi finds she has no sense of self preservation as she looks at the block in her path with a grin.

“You again” She greets him like she knows him now.  (She does know him, but she doesn’t know she knows him, you know?) And her smile is so genuinely bright that Megumi starts to feel sick.

“Again,” He sighs, the groan in his voice not going unnoticed.  “Didn’t I tell you not to walk around alone this late at night?” His voice still sounds weird, and it’s shortly after that (y/n) notices his hand hovering over his ribcage.

“Did you get hurt, or something?” She ignores him completely, all the while putting her phone in her pocket to give him her full attention.

“I’m Spiderman, I don’t get hurt” Megumi argues, but the wince in his voice is obvious, and (y/n) somehow sees right through it.

“Okay… well… even Spiderman has to go to urgent care sometimes, right?” She tries to be lighthearted, but her smile is wavering now, concern seeping into her features.

Megumi can barely stand to look at her.  What is she doing? Staring at him like that, like she knows him, like she cares about him.  Can’t she just go the fuck home where it’s safe and more importantly: away from him?

“Tch, I don’t think so” He mutters.

(y/n) frowns.

“Spoken like a true idiot man,” She scolds.  Jeez, last time they crossed paths like this she’d said she was a fan, now this? “What is it with you guys and your reputations, huh? You’re not any stronger for toughing out an injury without help, you know” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, mom” Megumi argues back.  She scoffs, but it turns into a small laugh shortly after.

“You could at least put ice on it, you know” She says, stepping past him and continuing on her way down the sidewalk.  Megumi tosses his head back to silently curse at the sky.

“Did I not make myself clear that you should go home?” He calls after her.

“Ice is this way” Is all (y/n) says, and all she has to say to get him to groan at nothing in particular and follow after her.

It’s a good thing it’s so late at night, there’s no one to see Spiderman walking around with some random girl.  Surely the papers would have a hay day if even a photo was snapped… he doesn’t even want to think about what kind of headlines they’d come up with.

“I can buy my own ice” He tells her after a minute of walking in silence.

“I know,” (y/n) shrugs.  “But so far it seems like you’re letting me hang out with you, so I’ve gotta enjoy it just a little bit longer” 

“We’re not hanging out,” Megumi replies dryly.  “You’re refusing to go home when it’s the middle of the night and I’m…” He trails off, not wanting to say what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t have to.

“Awe, Spidey’s lookin’ out for me?” She’s smiling at him again, holding her hands behind her back as she looks up at him.  “You starting to like me?” 

“You’re starting to bother me,” Megumi quips back, but it’s followed by a chuckle he can’t help, and it only seems to endear (y/n) further.  “I don’t usually give people follow up warnings,” He mutters with a shake of his head.  “What’re you doing out this late, anyways?” He asks before he can help it.  “Don’t you have, like, school, or something?” It’s difficult to act like he doesn’t know she spends her nights studying herself to death.

“Maybe I’m going to a party” (y/n) shrugs.

“Tch, no you’re not” 

“How do you know?” 

“Not dressed like that” Megumi comments, making a point to look her up and down.

(y/n) huffs, but there’s no denying the evidence right in front of them both.  She’s wearing leggings that were at least a couple years old, and a large sweatshirt that was teetering the line of well loved and ratty.  

“Okay, well, maybe this time I’m not” She says, and Megumi bites back a smile.  He’s pretty sure that a girl like (y/l/n) (y/n) has never stepped foot in a house party.  And he knows because he hasn’t, either.

“Still not an answer” He reminds her.

“I was going to pick up some energy drinks,” (y/n) finally admits.  “It’s a short walk from my apartment to the corner store, I do it all the time.  Even without Spiderman watching over me” 

He chuckles at that, wondering just how many times she’s made the walk, no matter how short, in the middle of the night.  Couldn’t she just get them before she goes home for the day?

“And you just have to go in the middle of the night?” He scolds her, but she doesn’t seem too affected by it.

“That’s when I need them the most” She replies with a shrug.

“You always drink energy drinks that late?” 

“What, you worried about me or something?” She fires back, a curious look on her face.  “Y’know, I haven’t heard much about you talking to people” 

“I don’t” 

“You’re talking to me” She points out matter of factly, a tone of hers that Megumi was already far too familiar with.

“You’re kind of leaving me no choice” 

(y/n’s) quiet for a moment, and it seems like she’s contemplating something, but whatever it is she doesn’t let him in on, instead smiling and turning her attention to the sidewalk as they walk.

Megumi ducks into the alley next to the convenience store when (y/n) goes in.  He’s unceremonious as he drops himself to the ground, sighing in relief to be off of his feet.  His hand presses into his ribcage at a weak attempt to relieve the pain as he twists to try and find a comfortable position to sit in.  He doesn’t want (y/n) to come back and see him in any sort of pain- it wasn’t a good look for Spiderman to show any sign of weakness.

She’s quick to return, a plastic bag in one hand and a frozen bag of vegetables in the other.  Even behind the mask she must understand that he’s pulling a face at her, because she huffs in annoyance.

“They didn’t have ice” She explains, inviting herself to squat down next to him and offer up the vegetables.

“No no, you’re not sitting here,” Megumi bites back a whine when he sits upright in an attempt to urge her to leave.  “You need to go back home” 

“And miss a personal Q&A with Spiderman?” She replies, a small smile on her face when he finally snatches the vegetables out of her hand.  He grumbles a string of incoherent curses as he rests it over where the bruising feels the worst.

“That’s not happening” He mutters.

“This is why I never hear about you talking to people,” (y/n) sighs.  “You’re boring” 

“I’m not boring,” He argues.  “I just don’t have anything to say” 

“Well, you could start by thanking me for the veggies” (y/n) replies, tilting her head at him.

Megumi glares at her from behind his mask.  He didn’t need to reminder of her insufferable personality.  But… watching her smile so softly at him, like she would love nothing more than a thank you from Spiderman… maybe it’s just because he’s injured, but Megumi caves.

“Thank you” It comes out from behind his teeth, and she must know it, but Megumi swears he sees stars in her eyes.

“You’re welcome, Spiderman,” She murmurs back.

It comes out so genuine, so sweet, that there’s a pang in Megumi’s heart.  He doesn’t think any of the bruising spread so far up his chest, but it must’ve for him to feel such an odd sensation.

“I have to ask… cause I probably won’t see you again…” Her eyes land on the way his hand tenses and presses the frozen vegetables further against himself.  “Why do you do it?” 

When he doesn’t answer, she blinks at him, moving her head just enough to tell him that she really wanted him to say something.

Megumi figures she won’t leave him alone if he doesn’t say anything, so he goes with the truth.

“It’s the right thing to do” 

He shrugs lamely, and it takes a second for her to react at all.  At first it’s a furrow of her brows and a knowing smile, as if he just had to have an answer better than that.  But she didn’t know him as well as she liked to think, because she didn’t know Megumi.  

When he has nothing else to say, her expression slowly softens, and she hums thoughtfully.

“That’s it, huh?” She muses.  “You’re just… a good guy?” 

Just a guy, Megumi mentally corrects.  He might have heightened abilities, and a better sense of right and wrong than those around him, but he’s never considered himself a hero.  Just a guy trying to make things right, trying to keep people safe.

“Guess I try to be” His answer is as lame as his movements.  

If he were a superhero, he’d need some help with PR, but somehow, this makes him all the more special to (y/n).  She brightens, leans in closer and sets her hand over his, where he’s still holding the cold vegetables.

“Can I tell you something, Spiderman?” 

Hasn’t she been talking to him this whole time? If it wouldn’t hurt, Megumi would laugh.  Instead he just nods his head and waits for her to continue.

“I want to be a journalist because of you,” 

What? Megumi’s face warps into shock at the confession.  He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that.  She was on track to be a graduate of the sciences, whichever one she ended up choosing anyways.  He always saw her becoming some wealthy astro-physist or some shit.  She wanted to give up all of her work in those programs to… write? 

“An investigative journalist,” She corrects.  “I want to write about the things that matter, and- and I want to be honest, you know? I want people to read my articles and know they’re being handed the truth.  There’s not a lot of that around these days…” She trails off.  

She didn’t have to tell him about the light Spiderman was painted in.  Let’s just say him and Megumi would share the popularity rankings… except no one was raising pitchforks and torches in Megumi’s direction.

“You want to do that ‘cause of me?” Megumi asks, curiosity getting the best of him.

(y/n) nods, trying to bite back her smile but it was still as clear as day.

“I’ll write my first article about you,” She promises, and Megumi’s eyes widen at her sincerity.  “If you’ll let me” 

“Well you’re not getting an interview” He says, only half joking.  (y/n) laughs quietly.

For a moment, he gets that glimpse into her again.  The same one he felt the night of the convenience store robbery.  There was something in her eye he’d never seen before.  Something soft, and real.  It dawns on him that he very well may be the only person she’s told about this dream of hers.  He wants to ask, but it feels wrong, like he’s prying for something.

“I won’t need one,” She tells him.  “Can’t have the people knowing I know you” 

“You don’t know me” Megumi replies, maybe too quickly, but he can’t help it.  

He tilts his head at her as she gazes at him with too much fondness.  Was his reminder that he’s a stranger to her not enough? Sure, she could trust him because he was Spiderman, her safety wasn’t compromised, but that didn’t mean she needed to go confiding in him like this.

Besides, the look she was giving him was making him feel hot, like he was about to break into a sweat.

“I don’t know…” She murmurs thoughtfully.  “I just have this feeling… like I do” 

That has him leaping into panic mode.  That was it, this was done.  If he saw her again while he was in this suit, he was going to turn and swing the other direction.  She couldn’t be saying things like that, she couldn’t be trying to put the pieces together in her mind.  If she were to figure him out, he’d be done for.  She put a lot of trust in him tonight, but could he trust her for even a minute? Megumi wasn’t sure, and he didn’t care to find out.

As far as he was concerned, this was the last time he was going to talk to her.  He was right to avoid her after the first time- it should have been the last time, but it was too late for that now.

“You should go” He says, pushing himself to stand even through grunts of pain.  She looks at him with worry, brows knitted and lips in a frown as she follows him up to her feet.

“Wait,” 

She calls to stop him, despite having nothing else to say to him.  Well, there were a million things she wanted to say to him, but none of that felt appropriate now.  She didn’t really expect him to stand there and hear her out, but he is, and now her mouth is running dry and she’s standing before him frozen.  He radiates impatience, without having to say a single word.

“I… I didn’t thank you,” She stammers out.  It’s unlike her, but it can’t be helped.  She’s always had a little fan-crush on Spiderman since he made his appearance on the news, but after actually being around him that seemed to blossom into a very real crush, even if she’s never seen his face.  She can feel a blush heating up her face when she speaks.  “For the other night, with- with the robbery,” She clarifies, even though she didn’t have to.  “So… thank you” 

Megumi hesitates a moment longer, almost expecting her to say something else.  She looks like she wants to, her face is growing pink and her hands have begun fiddling with the bag of her energy drinks.  But she remains quiet.

He gives her a nod, before handing over the bag of vegetables.  (y/n) laughs under her breath as she takes it.  It’s lost all of it’s cold, merely a room temperature bag of carrots and peas by now.  She’s not sure what she’s supposed to do with it, but she supposes it wouldn’t look good for Spiderman to swing around with it.

“You’re welcome,” He tells her, and it sounds like the most earnest thing he’s had to say to her.  He’s always come across as blunt, something (y/n) was surprised by when they first met, but now it’s a blessing.  She knows that he means it.  “Get home.  Don’t make me have to tell you again, alright?” 

To Megumi, this is a goodbye.  He doesn’t intend to see her again, not like this.  It was… interesting, while it lasted, but it could never actually last.  It needed to be over before things could get any worse… or she could get any closer to figuring out his identity.

“I’ll try my best, Spiderman” 

It’s the same thing she’d left him with before.  She wonders if he catches it.  With that, Megumi shoots a web and swings off into the night, his black suit blending easily into the night sky.

He did. ___

(y/n) was always punctual, to everything, not just class.  But today she found herself in her favorite seat a whole ten minutes early.  She hadn’t meant to show up before the professor, but she just couldn’t contain her energy today.  She’d woken up before her alarm, got showered, dressed and dolled up in record time, ate a small breakfast on her walk to school, and now here she was.  Full of energy as if it wasn’t eight in the morning.  Call it waking up on the right side of the bed…

… or having an interesting night that she couldn’t get out of her head.

Never in her wildest dreams did she think that she’d run into Spiderman again.  The first time was a little embarrassing, she’d come close to being called a victim, but the second time just happened by chance.  It had her heart racing, her face warming, her lips smiling- hell, she was giddy.

He wasn’t anything like she’d thought he’d be, but that just made him all the more enticing to her.  He was blunt, maybe even a little crass for a masked hero, but every interaction she’d had with him drew her in more.  

She’d meant what she said about getting into journalism, she’d even been looking into transferring her credits next year, even if it meant starting over in a completely new program.  Last night, she’d spent her time in bed staring at the ceiling and replaying events in her mind.  When she wasn’t doing that, she was mentally writing her first article about The Spiderman.

The Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman had a nice ring to it, she thought.  Although she had a feeling that he would laugh at the title of Friendly.  Or maybe roll his eyes.  It was hard to tell with the mask.

Before she knew it, she found herself doodling said mask at the corner of a fresh page in her notebook.  She lifted her pen instantly, surprised at just how zoned out she’d become.  There were never doodles in her notebooks.  They were perfectly kept, clean, organized, conside, and without any extra graffiti.

She supposes this doodle can stay, though… she had done a rather good job at drawing it, it would be a pity if it went to waste…

Students begin to file into the class and setting up their laptops and notebooks at the desks surrounding her.  Without any friends in this class there’s no one for her to talk to, or share the story of her night with.

Then again, she’s not sure she wants to tell anyone about her run in with Spiderman.  She hadn’t mentioned it before… although that was because she didn’t need anyone fussing over her being out so late and putting her safety in jeopardy.  This time was different, but still… 

It felt more special if she kept it to herself.

Today, Megumi comes to class twelve minutes late.  She eyes the clock above the doorway just as he ducks in to check the time, but her eyes just as quickly dart back to his figure.  It’s hard not to, with the dark purple shiner standing out against the pale skin of his face.

Her eyes flit around the room, just to see if anyone else noticed the state of their late arrival, but every other student seemed too wrapped up in the lesson, and their professor was too deep in his lecture to give Megumi the slightest of attention.  To everyone else, Megumi was late as usual.  As (y/n) looked at him again, she had an inkling he was the only one who noticed his black eye.

He knew he was going to draw attention, clearly, seeing as his hoodie was up over his unruly hair and his head was down.  But he must’ve sensed (y/n’s) eyes on him, because when he looked up it was directly at her.

He was moving to the back of the class again, probably to take that corner desk with the graphite engravings all over it.  It would be alarming if she were to say anything to him, although she’s not even sure what she would say.  Asking him if he was alright felt weird, and it’s not like she could just shout ‘what the fuck!?’ in the middle of class.

All she could do was stare at him as he took his seat, pull out his notebook, and begin notetaking as usual, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.  She’s completely turned around in her seat now, still watching him, even though she was missing valuable points of the lesson now.  It was hard to pull her attention away- it was weird that no one else seemed to notice him at all.

Where could he have possibly gotten that from? She frowned, despite Megumi ignoring her completely.  She was sure that she would’ve heard about him getting into another fight on campus- last time she was getting texts about it while she was reading all the tweets about it.  Fights were hot news around here, and if Megumi was involved in a second one, she surely couldn’t have missed it.

Right? 

Finally, his eyes catch hers.  She doesn’t turn away from him like she had in the past, she holds his stare, trying to communicate with him in silence.

It’s obvious to him, she’s looking at him with that same worried face she’d worn last night.  She just didn’t know she was worried about the same person.  He raises his eyebrows at her expectantly, as though asking ‘what?’.  As though nothing were out of the ordinary at all.

Her lips curl into a frown, almost a pout, and Megumi has half a mind to flip her off to get her to leave him alone.  Even in silence, even from opposite sides of the room, she seems to find some way to get under his skin.

He doesn’t, though.  Just holds her stare for a minute longer before putting all of his attention into his notetaking.

Megumi told himself that he was done with her, and he was going to be true to his word.  Whether he was in the suit or not, he couldn’t have anything to do with (y/l/n) (y/n).  Being around her just made things feel… complicated.  He couldn’t pinpoint why, but he didn’t want to.  He just wanted the feeling to go away.

She sits turned around in her seat even once he’s clearly begun to ignore her again.  He can feel her eyes on him, see her watching him out of his peripheral vision as if she was going to figure him out through her stare alone.

He was only pretty sure that she couldn’t.

Eventually she turns around in her seat, but the bouncing of her leg is driving him insane even from across the class.  It was like all he could hear- the faint tap of her shoe tapping the linoleum floor.  It was louder than the lecture, than the squeak of the marker on the whiteboard, or the students smacking their gum or tapping their desks.  His ears focused on it for the remainder of class, effectively ruining his note taking ability.

He’s out of his seat once class is over, snatching his things and not bothering to put them in his bag as he bolts for the door.  There’s an itch in his mind telling him to distance himself from (y/n) as fast as he can.  The inkling was right, because he doesn’t make it far in the hall before his name is being called.

“Fushiguro!” 

A few surrounding students glance in her direction, some even snicker in passing.  Megumi wasn’t someone anyone chased after, and certainly never a girl.  If this were still high school, his sister would ooh and ahh at him before skipping away, plotting to tease him for it later.  But this wasn’t high school, and when he turned around to face (y/n), anyone who was watching made themselves scarce fast.

He doesn’t say anything as she approaches him, the strap of her messenger bag held tight in both hands against her chest.  

She opens her mouth, ready to make a smartass comment, but it comes out awkward, not quite right.

“Late to class again cause of a fight, or something?” Even her scoff comes out wrong, sounding like a nervous laugh, strangled and weird.  She shifts her weight between her feet.

Megumi’s silent for a long few seconds.  Every one that passes feels like eternity, and (y/n) deflates a little more under his stare.

“Sure” He shakes his head, not caring what she wanted to assume about him.  If she wanted to think he was that kind of guy, all the better.  Spiderman didn’t get into fights before going to class, so the further he could separate himself from him in her mind, the better.

She frowns at his answer, and it looks like she’s actually upset when she stares directly at his dark eye.  It looks pretty bad, he knows that.  The swelling he could take care of, but the dark purple was another thing.  Right now though, he’s more concerned about the way she seems to worry.

“Seriously, Fuhiguro,” She says quietly, hoping to get through to him.  

She’s not sure what it is that came over her, but something about seeing him walk into class looking like this made her heart lurch in her chest.

“What happened? Who did that?” 

“I fell,” He says dryly, earning a short glare from her.  He sighs, shutting his eyes to mask his annoyance before it got the best of him.  “Sorry I don’t have an interesting story for you- can I go to class now?” 

“Suddenly Mr Punctual?” She snaps back, crossing her arms over her chest.  Megumi huffs, shakes his head, uncaring toward her attitude.

“Whatever” He starts to turn away, but she catches him off guard when she rushes to block his path again.  

Megumi actually startles when she budges in front of him, having to step back to remove her from his personal space.  His wide eyes land on hers, annoyance furrowing his brows as he stares down at her.  She’s defiantly raising her chin towards him, eyes narrowed and everything.

“I’m actually asking, you know,” She tells him.  “Because no one else is walking around with black eyes-” 

“Who cares?” Megumi tries to step out of her way, but she slides in front of him again.  The traffic in the hallway is thinning, they would both be late for their next class if she kept this up.  “Don’t you have a class to be early for?” He hopes that’s enough to get her to back off.

“I don’t care,” She says with enough assurance that Megumi’s actually surprised.  He figured being late to class would throw her into a full breakdown.  “Why are you being such a dick about this?” 

He scoffs, a bitter smile tugging on his lips, only making him wince as it tears the healing wound.

“Why are you?” He fires back.

“Because,” She says it with such certainty, only to fall short with the rest of her reason.  She didn’t know exactly why she felt like someone needed to check in on him, but she knew that she did, and maybe she was the only one who noticed anything was wrong in the first place.  “Because… because it’s the right thing to do” 

Megumi freezes up at that.  All of his muscles go rigid, his jaw tightens, and his eyes flicker over her features rapidly, trying to find any crack in her sincerity.  Was she seriously throwing his words back at him right now? Just because of a black eye? 

Meanwhile (y/n) feels good about her answer.  She’d picked it up from a man she admired so much and it felt right.  There was no real reason, just a feeling.  She had no idea what emotional turmoil she was putting him through right now.

“(y/n), seriously…” Megumi shakes his head at her.  He steps to the side again, but doesn’t leave right away.  Her eyes follow his, waiting for him to continue.  He hates that she looks so genuinely worried about him.  Hates the way it makes his heart race and his fingers tremble.  He has to force words out of his throat.  “Leave me alone” 

Her face falls, but he’s quick to leave once he says it, and this time, she doesn’t chase after him again. ___

In the rest of their classes, she doesn’t try to talk to him again, and does her best not to look his way.  Megumi’s relieved… he thinks.  It’s for the best that everything returns to normal.  Whatever compelled her to reach out to him today was clearly Spiderman’s doing, and he couldn’t have that.  Things couldn’t change.  His feelings of distaste towards her couldn’t change.  He couldn’t start feeling… differently.

With his hood on and his headphones blasting music enough to drown out the noise of the cafe, Megumi tries to catch up on what he’d missed during his first lecture, which was the entirety of his first lecture.  Luckily his professor tended to drone on word for word from the textbook, and he could catch up by reading.

Unluckily, it doesn’t take much for him to get sidetracked from his studies.  He wants to kick himself when something compels him to look up, only to find (y/n) at Fratboy’s table again.

This again, he tells himself, certain he’ll go right back to his textbook.  But he doesn’t move.  His focus stays entirely on the table of jocks, without a shred of discretion, to make things worse.

“Not today” (y/n’s) saying when he tunes into the conversation.  Does this guy always ask her to sit at his table for lunch? Is he that oblivious? Megumi chews on the inside of his cheek.  You’d think he’d try to avoid the idiot jock stereotype a little better.

“C’mon princess, it’s never ‘today’.  Why don’t you just say yes to ‘tomorrow’, hm?” Fratboy leans out of his seat, reaching his hand out towards her.  (y/n) takes a step backwards, but he’s faster, snatching her by the wrist and pulling her towards the table again.

Megumi bristles, watching the situation with the eyes of a hawk.  If looks could kill, this would’ve been enough to get Fratboy’s hand off of her.  Even if he wasn’t hurting you, it was unwanted, that much was clear just by watching her body language.

“I really don’t feel that way about you,” (y/n) snaps, tugging her arm to get herself out of his grasp.  He doesn’t release right away, and Megumi almost gets to his feet, but with a second tug he lets go of her, and (y/n) takes a large step back, keeping both arms close to her body in case he tries to reach for her again.  “Leave me alone” She barks at him, turning to walk away.

If Fratboy says something else to her, Megumi misses it.  His focus is dialed up to one hundred, and as soon as (y/n) separated herself from him, Megumi hadn’t paid a second glance to Fratboy at all.  He wonders how long she’d felt his watchful eyes before she actually turned towards him.  Her eyes skirt around the cafe for a second, trying to find where the prickling feeling of being watched was coming from, and it doesn’t take long for her to find him.  Her bitter expression softens when she spots him, an odd feeling replacing the discomfort of being talked down to and manhandled.

Maybe because as soon as Fratboy follows her line of sight and sees Megumi’s hard stare set in his direction, he turns towards his table again and quickly engages himself with his friends, not bothering (y/n) with even a second glance.  She watches this unfold, before looking back at Megumi again, curiously.  Despite her being left alone now, he’s still staring at her, maybe waiting to see that she’ll get to her table without being bothered again, she’s not sure.

Either way, she grows still under his direct gaze.  She didn’t know how to describe it, but she’s sure she’s never had anyone look at her like that.  With an otherwise neutral expression, there was so much anger behind Megumi’s eyes that if she didn’t know better, she might be just as afraid as Fratboy.  However something told her not to be, something told her that the anger wasn’t directed towards her.  It takes a great deal of effort for her to turn her back on him and head towards her table, but even as she walks away she can’t help but glance back at him again.  He’s already returned to his book by then, but her intrigue doesn’t end there.  She spends the rest of her lunch in near silence while surrounded by her friends, her thoughts too busy for her to keep up with meaningless chit chat and gossip.

That night (y/n) wanders the sidewalk between her apartment and the convenience store up and down until her feet are too tired to carry her anymore.  She walks the familiar path, back and forth, over and over, between the hours of ten and two, her eyes fixed on the sky, peeking down alleyways, her fingers crossed, her heart racing.  Nothing comes of her walk.  She returns home with a sense of disappointment, and a will to try it again. ___

Megumi’s growing tired of this game of hers.  He’s not sure why she insists on doing this every night, it had been four nights now and she had nothing to show for it, so why was she still out there pacing the sidewalk like a maniac? 

It took all of his energy to patrol the streets and keep an eye on one particular sidewalk- one particular girl.  He was one guy.  Did she really think this was safe for either of them? He very well could be missing a crime happening two blocks over because he’s too busy checking in on where she’s chosen to wander.  Did she really think this was enough to capture his attention? 

Well, it had caught his attention, seeing as every other five minutes he was swinging back in this direction to make sure she was still alive down there.

Was she trying to learn a lesson the hard way? Megumi spent his time watching her with bitterness.  She was smarter than this, he knew it, so what the hell was she thinking?

Deep down he’d already confirmed his worries, but he’d hoped that she’d give this stunt up eventually.  He still saw her around school, even if she’d stopped bothering him, he could see the toll that staying up like this was taking on her.  She always had an energy drink or a coffee on her desk, and Megumi doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look so disheveled.  It had him wondering if this was starting to impact her grades, too.

This is why he shouldn’t have spoken with her the last time.  He should’ve swung off in the opposite direction.  Because now she was on his mind, she had him worrying, swinging all around the block she was pacing while trying to keep an eye on the rest of the city- it was exhausting for him, too.

He shouldn’t be sitting here worrying about her sleep, or her grades.  His bottom line should be safety.  And she was safe.  So why couldn’t he just leave her be? 

With a groan he stops his swinging to land on one of the surrounding buildings.  He rips his mask off his head, groaning through his irritation before raking his hands through his already messy hair.  She was driving him crazy, and he was sure that she knew it too.  This little back and forth walk of hers, she was taunting him with it.  

Throwing himself down to sit on the edge of the building, Megumi peers over his knees to check on her yet again.  She’s slowed her pace, which hopefully means she’s getting tired and will return to her apartment soon.

With a huff, he props his head in his hand, wondering what he was going to do about this.  It wasn’t as easy to make her hate Spiderman as it was to make her hate Megumi.  Hell, it might not be a bad idea to just reveal his identity to her, she’d probably want to forget about Spiderman all together, then.

Of course, that was a stupid idea, but Megumi was fresh out of good ones.

When he lifts his head again, compelled by some invisible force to check just one more time that she was alright, he’d looked just in time.  He barely had the time to pull his mask back on his head before he was leaping off the building and swinging down towards her, half flying and half falling through the air as fast as he could to get to her before whatever figure lurking around the corner could.

Shit, shit, shit.

It happens so fast, she’s lucky she didn’t pee herself from the whole thing.  She’d just reached the end of her pace, about to turn around and wander the other direction when she finally saw a very unsettling figure come around the corner.  With disheveled clothing and a stagger that sent up warning flags of intoxication, (y/n) instantly stopped in her tracks, and started to shuffle backwards.

He never said a word to her, but from looks alone she got the feeling of what he was thinking.  Nothing good.

However before she could get herself to start running, someone else came into view.

There’s barely a second for her to show her relief when Spiderman shows up, seemingly out of nowhere.  She’s not sure his feet even touched the ground before he had an arm around her and was swinging off again.  He doesn’t have to tell her to hold on, she just clings, with all her might, she winds her arms around his neck and keeps her knees locked on either side of his hips.  

The sensation of swinging through the air is not the one she always dreamed of enjoying- the wind is harsh, whipping her hair around all directions and snapping against her face unpleasantly.  Even with her face buried against her savior’s chest, the cold air nips at her.

Even once he’s clearly landed, it takes some prompting for her to let go of him, and open her eyes.

When she does, she barely gets to open her mouth before he’s laying into her, and she should’ve seen it coming, but she can’t help but deflate.

“What the hell were you thinking!?” 

He’s yelling, and at first she wonders if he’s worried about people seeing, but a quick glance at her surroundings and she realizes they’re on the roof of a building.  No one would be hearing them here.

“Were you seriously trying to get yourself into trouble? Because you were about this close to it,” He raises his pinched fingers for emphasis, but gives her no time to answer.  “You better not have done something so stupid just cause of me-” 

“I didn’t- well- well I didn’t necessarily” (y/n) tries to explain, but the words just aren’t coming as fast as her mouth is moving and she’s left gaping at him.  

Megumi was not putting up with it.  What did he have to do to get it through her head? 

“I can’t be spending my nights keeping an eye on just you because you feel like putting yourself in harm’s way for a fucking rush,” He snaps.  “You pull shit like that again (y/n) and I’m not going to be there next time, you understand?” 

Her mouth shuts.  She nods her head.

“Jesus Christ,” Megumi puts his hands to his head, turning and walking off as if they weren’t stranded on top of a building.

Well, (y/n) was stranded.  Spiderman had the means of getting himself anywhere.

She wants to follow him, but instinct tells her to stay put while he paces and continues to scold her.

“You’re goddamn lucky I was there, you know that?” He’s not even looking at her, but she nods her head again anyways.  She knows.  “I should really go back there and beat the shit out of that guy” He starts to mutter to himself, going on incoherently, and (y/n’s) blood starts to run cold.

“He- I mean, he didn’t do anything” She mumbles, her voice hardly above a whisper, but he seems to hear her just fine, stopping in his tracks and turning his head towards her.

“Are you serious?” 

Her mouth opens and closes a few times before any words come out.

“It’s not like he… he said anything, or did anything to me” She clarifies.  Spiderman’s mask is incapable of expression, but she had a feeling the man behind it was glaring at her.  She could feel that familiar prickle of a harsh stare.

It’s silent for a long moment before he finally turns completely towards her and walks back in her direction.  She keeps her feet firmly planted, willing herself not to back away or cower, but having him come stand so close to her had her throat closing up.  He towered over her so much she had to lean her head back to look up at his mask.  If he was going to yell, she was bound to flinch.

“You have no idea what he was capable of doing,” He doesn’t yell.  In fact his voice is so eerily low she almost shivers.  “If you want to gamble your life on some drunken lowlife’s imagination, that’s your business,” He adds, and she blinks away the tears welling up in her eyes as the gravity of the situation really sunk in with his words.  “But at least have the decency to do it far away from me.  Because if it were up to me I’d go back there and kill that guy right now” 

She blinks a few more times, but still, a tear slips down her cheek.

“I-I’m sorry,” She whispers shakily, the lump in her throat growing hotter when she tries to speak.  “I didn’t- I wasn’t trying to- I-” 

Megumi sighs as more tears begin to fall from her eyes.  Her brain was playing catchup and it was clear she was too tired to handle any of this right now.

“It’s alright,” He says, but it’s obviously not enough to calm her down, so against his better judgment, he tries his hand at comforting her.  “Hey, c’mon, you’re alright,” Reaching out to her, he hesitates before placing his hands on either side of he face, wiping her tears away on the soft material of gloves.  “Breathe,” He instructs quietly, and waits as her shudders slowly morph into slow, heavy breaths.  “There you go, that’s it.  You’re alright,” He tries to remind her that where she is now, she’s safe.  “You’re here” 

It takes a few more deep breaths, but eventually he steers her clear of a full blown panic attack, and her heartbeat returns to a normal pace.

With one last deep breath, (y/n) closes her eyes on her exhale, and Megumi finally drops his hands from her head, sure that she isn't going to start back up again.

“I have trouble sleeping,” She tells him quietly, her eyes focused on the ground.  “It started in high school, I uh… I’m kind of a nerd, I guess,” She admits.  “My parents really cared about my grades and success and I guess I just… went with it.  Started staying up through the night to study and get ahead the rest of my class and… never dropped the habit” 

Megumi softens, although she’d never know it.

“That doesn’t sound so healthy,” He says quietly, not knowing what else to say.  She scoffs, smiles bitterly, shakes her head back at him.  “We should get you back home, yeah?” 

Realizing what he meant, she looks back at him with a wince, and he can’t help the small chuckle at her reaction.

“It’ll be alright.  I’ll take it easy, promise” He says, crossing his finger over his chest for emphasis.

“What, like I’m gonna find some way to sue Spiderman?” She mutters back.

He holds his arms out to her, carefully grabbing her by the forearms to loop them around his neck.

“Just hold on and keep your head down, it’ll be over before you know it” 

Her face heats up when his arm comes around her back and he presses her even closer.  She can’t stop her squeak of surprise before it comes out, and it must startle him, because he’s quick to ask her if she’s okay.

“Yeah I- I’m fine” She stammers back, feeling her blush grow hotter.

Megumi takes off without a warning, thinking it’ll be easier to rip it off like a bandaid than to count down before a jump.  All of her limbs tighten around him, forgetting about modesty as soon as they’re in the air.  She presses her face as far into his shoulder as she can to keep herself blinded from the surrounding area.  Until now, she wouldn’t have said she was afraid of heights.

She’s at least able to give him her address, a shaky whisper in his ear before she’s buried into his shoulder again.

When he lands on her fire escape, he helps her to her feet, trying not to chuckle at how wobbly she is.

“Don’t get sick on the suit, you have no idea how much of a pain it is to dry clean this thing” He tries to lighten the mood, and is surprised that he’s successful in doing so, earning a small laugh from her.

“You say that to all the girls you swing home, Spidey?” 

“Not a fan of the nickname.  Or the insinuation” He’s back to his usual dry self in no time.

“Well you have to have a nickname, we’re friends now, aren’t we?” 

He’s supposed to leave now.  He should leave now.  This was exactly what he was afraid of happening, her getting attached.  That burden was only on her of course, there wasn’t a chance Megumi was going to get drawn in when it comes to her, not when he knew the consequences.

“Spideman already is a nickname” He mutters like it’s obvious.  

(y/n) let’s out a breathless laugh, and tosses her messy windswept hair behind her shoulders.  

Megumi hasn’t left yet, why isn’t he leaving? 

“Well, then there must be some other name I could call you..?” She trails off with her question, stepping forward and eyeing him curiously.  

Megumi’s frozen.  Was she really suggesting he reveal himself to her? Obviously he couldn’t do that…

“I’d just like to thank you, again,” She says, a small smile on her lips as she takes another step forward.  

If he’s not leaving, Megumi knows he most definitely needed to step away from her before she could press any closer.  Carrying her to swing her home was one thing, that was closeness out of necessity, but this- this was too much, and he was freezing up.

“And, um, properly,” She adds in a soft murmur, her eyes flickering over his mask.  

He briefly wonders what she’s looking for, but it’s quickly answered when she reaches up towards him, her fingers brushing the space between his mask and the rest of the suit.  It’s fitted so well it’s nearly impossible for someone to find the disconnect between the two- unless of course you’re standing directly in front of him, which she was.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, but the gulp he swallows is visible to her with how close she is.  The tips of her fingers barely slip under the material of his mask, they graze his skin in a touch featherlight yet searing hot.

Without any indication from him that she should stop, curiosity gets the best of her and she carefully begins to slide the mask upwards, her eyes excitedly watching the expanse of his now exposed neck.  Almost as pale as the moonlight, she drank up the sight of his skin as if it was a completely new sight to her.

When she gets to his chin, his hand snatches her wrist.  It’s a quick action, but surprisingly gentle.  He barely grips her arm, his touch merely a warning.

“You shouldn’t” He says, the lump in his bobbing throat preventing him from saying anything more.

She looks up into the expanse of white that made for the compelling eyes of the mask.  Wondering if she was making proper eye contact with him, she shakes her head reassuringly.

“I won’t go too much further,” She murmurs.  Followed by an even softer, “Promise” 

His better judgment clean out the window, Megumi lets go of her hand, and allows her to proceed.

Using both hands now, she bunched up the end of the material until she was able to gather it at his nose where it would stay put, leaving everything from his neck to the tip of his nose on display for her.

She smiles at him, almost knowingly, and it makes him nervous.  Everything about this makes him nervous, this cold sweat she was putting him through was torture.  Even more so when her fingers begin to softly trace over the exposed parts of his skin.

“I knew you were handsome” She whispers shyly, but her eyes glimmer with excitement.

Megumi chuckles, the corners of his lips barely quirking into a smile, prompting her to hover the pad of her thumb over them as well.  She doesn’t quite touch his lips, too cautious of the healing cut over the bottom one.

“How could you know such a thing?” He mumbles, keeping his voice low out of worry that she’d recognize it without the muffle of his mask.

“I don’t know,” She giggles softly.  “Your voice, maybe.  And you’re tall” 

“I don’t think you have very good standards” Megumi murmurs.

“I think it’s completely fair for a girl to have a little crush on the man who saved her,” She replies, face warming up from such a confession.  To her delight, it gets another smile out of him.  “Who knew you smiled so much under there?” She says before she could think twice about it.  “I was starting to think you were that stoic, mysterious type” 

“I could be” He mumbles, and he finds himself taking her hand before she could finally touch her fingers to his lips.  

She’s more than enticed to, with how pink and alluring they were, she’d been dying to kiss them since she’d lifted his mask, and hoped he’d give her the chance, seeing as he hadn’t tried to cover the bottom half of his face just yet.

She’s never looked at him like this before.  And to be fair, Megumi had never looked at her like this either.  He’d had no idea how pretty she was, like this, with her eyes half lidded and half focused, staring intently at his lips, giving away all of her thoughts without having to voice them.  Her long lashes seemed to grow heavier with every slow blink.  She’s hardly looking up at him now, all of her attention on just one thing, and Megumi was starting to run out of reasons why he shouldn’t indulge her.

The hand that he’s not keeping away from him reaches out again, fingers skimming his jaw before curling around it with the softest touch.  She doesn’t pull him with much force, but Megumi finds himself following her movements as she guides him down, closer to her height.

It wasn’t right to kiss her.  It was actually the exact opposite of what he’d been trying to do here.  How the hell did he wind up in this situation? 

“Thank you, Spiderman” She whispers, her lips ghosting over his with every syllable.

Ah, fuck it.

His hand releases hers only to reach for the back of her head and pull her in the rest of the way, his lips capturing hers passionately.  Not expecting him to make the first move, she’s delayed in reacting, her hands sliding around the back of his neck and kissing him back with just as much fervor.

So lost in the kiss and how softly his lips move over hers, she almost forgets about the minor detail that his identity is still a secret to her, but even if it crosses her mind, she doesn’t care.

Her fingers press into the small strip of skin exposed at the nape of his neck, and while she longs to dig them under the back of his mask and lift it off of his head, it's not out of a desire to expose his identity.  It’s purely because she’d love to run her hands through his hair, followed by a curiosity of what that would feel like.

Was his hair long? Soft? Coarse? Was it shaggy? Was it shaved? The mystery of it all had her mind buzzing and her feet pushing her to the tips of her toes to meet his lips in one last kiss before he could pull away.

The final kiss is softer than the rest, so gentle and slow, it was the perfect first, and last, kiss.

Not that she could tell the difference, but Megumi had a hard time opening his eyes again when he pulled away.  He didn’t move far, his hand still cupped around the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair.  A part of him hoped they’d be so knotted together that they wouldn’t ever have to leave this moment.

When he does find the courage to look at her, he’s mentally kicking himself.

Megumi’s sure that the reason the sky was so dull tonight was because all the stars were trapped in her eyes, now being gifted to him under her precious gaze.  Her lips curled into a slightly swollen smile, her cheeks pink with color despite the sun being nowhere in sight, it was perfect, she was perfect, and he can’t believe he’s spent so long missing out on it.

Shit, shit, shit.

“You…” He starts, but he doesn’t know where he’s going.  His head is in the clouds, beyond the clouds, he was completely unreachable.  (y/n) giggles softly at how quickly he’d become tongue tied.  “You should pursue the journalist thing, alright?” 

Brows slightly drawn together from the seemingly random comment, she nods back at him in a small motion.

“You think?” She murmurs back, her hand squeezing his.  It sends a wave of warmth through his arm and into his chest, and Megumi has to fight the urge to frown, because his mouth was still exposed.

Pulling his hand from hers, he touches it gently to her jaw, then her cheek.  She leans into his touch, welcoming it completely.  Her smile only grows upon feeling the warmth of his palm through his glove.

“I have a feeling that you’d succeed at anything you put your mind to,” He says, and it’s sort of cheesy, but it’s the absolute truth.  Her lips part in surprise at the sudden seriousness in his tone, but she doesn’t say anything, just lets his words linger on her mind.  “No more middle of the night walks, though, alright?” He says, shaking her head just a tiny bit to make sure it would get through her thick skull.  “If you can’t sleep, just put something on tv, like a normal person” 

Her hand raises to cover the back of his, cradling it against her face sweetly.  Megumi thinks the sight will be ingrained in his memory for the rest of time.

“Then how will I see you again?” She says, only half teasing.  Her eyes are wide and hopeful, and Megumi stalls by brushing his thumb over her cheekbone a few times.

“I’ll be around” He murmurs, nodding his head through his uncertainty.  Was it a good idea to see her again? 

(y/n) nods back at him, before letting his hand go and reaching for the bunched up material of his mask, pulling it back over his face.

It was hardly a good idea to see her this time, and she’d actually needed his help.  Look where that had lead him.

“I hope so,” She mumbles, seemingly just as uncertain as he was.

He finally drops his hand from her head, fingers carefully detangling themselves from her hair so as not to irritate her head, or maybe he just needed to linger near her a little longer.

Who was he kidding.  He was going to find himself in this position sooner or later, wasn’t he?

“I guess… you know where to find me,” She says, wrapping her arms around herself, even though it was a nice night with no breeze.  She squeezes herself for comfort.

When did it start, exactly? Was it the little secrets she confided in? Or her worry when he’d shown up to class a few days ago with a black eye? Megumi struggled to pinpoint when things took a turn down the path of no return.

“If you change your mind on that interview…” She adds with a soft smile.  She hopes he’s smiling back at her.  

He is.

“I’ll know where to find you,” He repeats, hoisting himself onto the railing of her fire escape, and standing up on the thin bar with complete balance.  He made it look easy.  “Goodnight, (y/n)” 

“Goodnight, Spiderman” 

He took off then, completely silent as he leapt from the escape and swung off, nearly invisible in the darkness.

(y/n) couldn’t help but sit outside her window a little longer, replaying the events of her night yet again, and wondering just how he figured out her name. ___

Megumi had resigned to sitting in the back of all of his classes for the rest of the year.

It’s not a huge deal, he can learn fine from any seat in the class, and as he realizes this he comes to realize that there was never really a good reason why he chose to sit near (y/n) before.  All of his complaints that she was an obnoxious bother had dissolved into… nothing.  He chose to sit near her every day.  Whether it was right behind her or two seats away, he couldn’t ignore the fact that he always chose to be near.

And now that he wasn’t, it was driving him crazy.  He longed to be closer, to sit behind her again, maybe even right next to her.  Had he really been so dense all this time? 

Though their interactions had been swindling since he’d put more focus into Spiderman than he had in school, (y/n) hadn’t spoken a word to him since their argument in the hall, and that was almost two weeks ago now.  

The last thing she’d said to him, she’d said to Spiderman, not Megumi.  Still, he tries to keep the soft, precious way she’d bid him goodnight in his memory.  He didn’t want to forget a single moment of the last time he’d spoken with her, not the things she said, not the way she touched his skin so delicately, and certainly not the kiss.

Megumi leans his chin into his hand now, fingers covering his mouth nonchalantly.  However when he presses the pads of his fingertips against his lips, it’s not the same.

They caught eyes here and there, but that wasn’t the same either.  He’d come into class late, she’d cast him a short glance, but it was always quickly returned to the front of the room.  Not so much as a taunting glare was directed his way.  It was safe to say he’d finally gotten her off his back… and he’s never felt like such an idiot.

It was worse outside of classes.

He’d spend his nights swinging around town, lazing through patrol, busting perps when they came around, but crime was dwindling by the day, it seemed.  He liked to think that Spiderman was making a difference, but he’d been a little rough around the edges lately, and he knew deep down his reputation was morphing into a ruthless fighter.  

Spiderman wasn’t just keeping peace, he was keeping criminals in fear.  Not that Megumi was perturbed by this- for one, he’d long held that reputation already, so living with it as Spiderman felt no different.  Secondly, the quiet nights were comforting.

The free time was starting to become a problem, though.  He couldn’t stop himself from trying to visit her.  He’d be aimlessly swinging and the next thing he knew he was on her block, near her building, almost approaching the very fire escape at her window where they’d last seen each other.  It’s difficult to make himself turn around and swing the other way, especially on the clear nights when he can see her light is on, and he knows she’s awake.

She’d kept her promise, it seemed.  He’d swing by often enough to notice the flicker of a tv screen, just close enough to know she was home and safe, but he tried not to linger too long.  He didn’t want her seeing him checking in, and he definitely didn’t like the idea of sitting outside her window like a creep.

More than that, he feared that she’d be delighted to see him again.

It had been a week since that night on her fire escape- with the rescue, the kiss- and Megumi really tried to keep his distance.  He indulged himself in passing by her window more times than he could count, but he was careful to keep himself hidden, so she would have no idea his watchful eye was never too far.  If he kept this up, he hoped that she would forget about it altogether.  That’s what would be for the best.

Sitting across the street perched on the roof of a building like it was the most natural place in the world to sit, Megumi dropped his chin in his hand as he stared longingly at the only lit up window in the apartment building across the street.  At this point, he’d probably spent more time looking at that window than he had in his own home.

He didn’t want to forget about what happened.  He didn’t want her to forget about what happened.

His mask crumpled in his other hand, he tore his gaze away from the window to stare down at it, cursing it mentally for giving him everything only to ruin it.

It wasn’t Spiderman’s fault, though.  Megumi was just as much responsible for the rift he’d put between himself and (y/n), long before that damned spider bite.  He’d always pushed her off, kept her at arm’s length or further, if he could help it.  He was the one stubborn enough to never let anyone in.  He was the one that pushed her into treating him with the same insufferable attitude he’d directed at her, way back then.  So much could change within a year, he supposed that was true for everyone, but he couldn’t ward off the self pity that came over him, thinking he’d surely changed too much within a year.

At the feeling of the first raindrop hitting his exposed head, he sighed, running a hand through his hair to dry the following drops of water before pulling his mask over his head again.  Of course it’s going to start raining on him when he’s sitting here feeling bad about himself.

He doesn’t intend to get any closer to her building, being right across the street already felt too close, but with the extra cover of the rain starting to pick up, Megumi thought maybe tonight he could get away with being just a little closer.  Just close enough to make sure she was okay in there.  He might not be able to do anything about her sleepless nights… but it couldn’t hurt to check, right? He would leave as soon as he was sure, and then he would try not to return.

He’s not stupid enough to climb directly onto her fire escape- but then again his being here was pretty stupid already so what was one more idiot move? Instead Megumi perches himself on the one above it, opting to hang over the bottom of it just enough that he could peek through the window.

To his surprise, even though her tv is on along with the rest of the lights in her room, (y/n) is nowhere in sight.  He doesn’t think much of this at first, she very well could be in the bathroom, or the kitchen.  But just as he tries to rationalize her disappearance, the hair on the back of his neck stands up, and in the next second her window was sliding open.

“Boo!” 

Her whisper yell as she leans out the window and towards his dangling head is comparable to that of a child’s.  Completely un-scary, and followed by a string of delighted giggles.

Megumi freezes, and he would’ve fallen right off the fire escape if his reflexes didn’t have him shooting out a web of safety to hang by.  He’s still upside down, swinging in front of her, but (y/n) leans out further to steady his movement by his shoulders.

“Scared ya good, huh?” She muses.  Her grin was a sight for sore eyes.  “Serves you right, stalking a girl like that” 

“I wouldn’t call it stalking” 

“What would you call it then?” 

Her hands are still pressed against his shoulders.  Megumi’s not sure if it’s to keep him from swinging, or if she was keeping her own balance as she leaned the upper half of her body out her window.

“... is it a crime to visit people?” 

“Usually when they’re trying to creep in through a window” She quips back.  Her smile only seems to brighten the longer she looks at him- even if she did sort of just call him a creep.

“For the record I wasn’t trying to get in” He corrects, his own smile beginning to grow under his mask.  He couldn’t deny how good it felt to see her like this again, to be able to talk to her, even just look at her.

“Just spy from the outside?” 

“I don’t like the narrative you’re spinning,” Megumi scoffs.  “What happened to honest journalism, hm?” 

She giggles at that.  The corners of her eyes crinkle as she gazes at him fondly.  He liked this side of her banter- the playful side.  It was fun.

“So you think you can honestly say you missed me, Spidey?” She asks in a voice made of pure sugar.  It rots his teeth, melts his insides, and makes all his senses go fuzzy.

“I thought we weren’t going the nickname route” He deadpans, avoiding the question.

With her smile pursing to the corner of her lips, something about her demeanor changed then.

“It’s only fair, since you know my name,” Her tone is just as light, but her eyes are calculating, and Megumi knows he’s slipped up.  And again just now, by not having a quick enough response.  “And I’m certain I didn’t give it to you… so… how do you explain that one?”

“Did you think I wasn’t going to have an interest in figuring that out?” Megumi chuckles, hoping he could play it off.

(y/n) presses further out her window, far enough now that the rain starts to dampen her hair, but she appears to pay it no mind.

“I don’t like it when you’re cryptic, Spidey” She huffs.

Again, Megumi laughs.

“It sort of comes with the whole anonymity thing” He answers.

She tilts her head at him, as if she could study him even with the mask on.  Megumi couldn’t deny the paralyzing effect it had on him.

“Why does it feel like you’re a stranger to me… but I’m not one to you?” She asks him slowly, as though still debating on asking him at all.  “Why does it feel like you know me?” 

“You do talk a lot” 

Megumi’s grasping at straws now, but at least that gets a small laugh out of her.  He hopes it’s enough of a distraction, hopes that she lets things go back to the way they were.  He didn’t need her trying to put together the puzzle that was Spiderman, it couldn’t lead to anything good.

“You know what I mean,” She murmurs.  She raises a hand off of his shoulder, reaching for the hem of his mask in a way that wasn’t supposed to feel familiar to him.  “You think you’d ever tell me?” She asks as her fingers toy with the material’s edge.

“Who I am?” Megumi asks dumbly.  Besides the raindrops slowly running down her face, there’s no change in her expression.  There’s a glimmer of hope in her eye as her fingers slip under the mask, not quite lifting it yet, but holding it with the clear intention to do so.

The silence lingers until she has her answer, and Megumi thinks this might be the damning moment that he’s been trying to brace himself for.  She’ll probably rip his mask right off, and then who knows how she’d react upon seeing it was him all this time.  He knew he was faster than her, he could easily swing away before she could have the chance.

A nervous, breathless laugh breaks tension, and she gently peels the mask towards his chin.

“I guess I’ll just have to figure it out on my own, then” She muses playfully.

“An investigative journalist now, are we?” Megumi asks, but there’s no time for further banter when she’s got his mask bunched up at his nose and that’s all the further it needs to go before he’s meeting her lips in a wet kiss.

The rain was not a welcomed experience, it had (y/n) shivering and it was irritating Megumi’s now exposed nose.  It made their kiss slippery and messy, and with him still being upside down it didn’t exactly make things any easier.

Neither of them cared.

All of (y/n’s) interests lied in kissing him and then kissing him again- she couldn’t help it, even if he outright refused to tell her his name, he kissed her like a dream.

Shaky, wet palms steadied on either side of his face, trying to pull him even closer.  He follows her direction as best he can, but with his hands still occupied with the web to keep him from crashing onto her fire escape, Megumi’s left with his neck craned as far forward as he could push.  If he hadn’t held onto the last scrap of his sanity he would’ve dropped down from the railing and crawled right through her window.

He was getting carried away.

“(y)- (y/n)-” Her name is whispered soft and broken into her lips, and she knows this is his way of ending whatever this is, but she can’t help but leave him with one last lingering kiss.  He doesn’t push her away, doesn’t even go still against her kiss.  He waits, all too patiently, until she has to lean back and catch her breath.

“You’re going to leave,” She says softly.  It’s not a question, she already knows.  He might think that he’s difficult to read, with his monotone comments and the mask that’s easy to hide behind, but he wasn’t as great of a mystery as he might think.

He frowns.  It looks a little awkward upside down.  (y/n) gives him a sad smile and carefully maneuvers his mask back into place.  It doesn’t take long before she misses the small glimpse of his face that she was allowed to see.

“Why do I get the feeling that I’m not going to see you again?” She sighs.

The raindrops on her face could easily be mistaken for tears.  Megumi slides his hand out of her hair to dry her face, and he can’t keep away the memory of him drying her actual tears.

“You will,” He assures her, but the nagging feeling doesn’t quite go away.  “You just… might not know it” 

A lump forms in Megumi’s throat when he says it, and it only grows when her eyes light up with intrigue.

“Is that a hint, Spiderman?” She muses, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Get some sleep” He encourages, already lifting himself onto the fire escape of her upstairs neighbor.  Disobediently, she pushes herself further out her window to follow his movements. 

“I will see you again?” She asks as she looks up at him, not minding the pelting of raindrops soaking through her clothes and hair.

Against his better judgment- as things always seem to be when it comes to her- Megumi nods his head.  He doesn’t say a word before swinging away, knowing he’d overstayed his welcome by a longshot.  Even without looking back, he can feel (y/n’s) eyes on him as she watches from her window.

And when he thinks about it, he can still feel her lips against his. ___

(y/n’s) not sure of the last time she walked into her 8am class and saw Megumi had gotten there before her.  It stops her in her tracks, still in the doorway, staring at the boy hunched over his desk in the back of the class scribbling in his notebook at an alarming rate.

Wait… was he cram studying for their test today? 

She scoffs, and he lifts his head to give her a bored glare.  Of course he’d noticed her when she’d come in- he’d heard her coming from the hallway- but he wasn’t about to give her the reaction she wanted.

And it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his expression hardened and neutral when it came to her, so Megumi had been trying to avoid looking at her completely.

Keyword, trying.

“Don’t tell me you actually didn’t study” She says, a knowing little grin tugging at the corners of her lips as she looks him up and down.

Megumi holds his blank stare for as much longer as he’s capable of before turning his attention back to his notebook, pen scrawling loudly yet again.  (y/n’s) brows raise at the intensity at which he was writing, shocked that her assumptions seemed to be proven correct.

“Wow” She mumbles to herself, before walking straight to the back of the class.  

Megumi tries to ignore her, she probably just wanted to click her tongue at him in disapproval before she’d go pick out her favorite seat and ignore him for the rest of the period.  But she’s approaching so quickly and suddenly she’s leaning over his desk and he has half a mind to cover his work, as if there was any kind of damning evidence there.

She eyes the messy notes before glancing up at him, his gaze already set on her.  For a moment it pins her in place, has her freezing up just as she had a moment ago, but the feeling melts before she could question the severity in his eyes.

“If you want to borrow my notes, you’ll have to ask” He tells her, his voice unwavering and devoid of any emotion.  She rolls her eyes at the typical behavior.

“Unlike you, I cared enough to study last night” She replies, and she’s just about to turn on her heel when the unexpected happens, and Megumi actually has a response.

“That so?” 

His change in tone irks her, and she can’t put her finger on why.  But the tilt of intrigue matched with the way he smirks has her heating up.

Out of irritation, of course.

“Duh,” Her arms cross over her chest defensively.  “I’ve been studying all week” 

Even as Megumi resumes his note taking, his stupid smirk is still plastered on his face.  If she was more inclined to violence, (y/n) would’ve wanted to smack it right off.

“I’m sure you have” He mumbles, watching out of his peripheral vision as her arms shoot down to her sides, hands balled into fists as she gasps and gapes at him.  Clearly, she took offense to the comment, and he had to bite back the chuckle at it.

“What are you trying to say?” She snaps at him, but she’s not nearly as intimidating as she wants to be.

“Didn’t really say anything,” He replies, tone holding no emotion again.  “You just started freaking out” 

“I’m not freaking out,” Her eyes narrowed.  “God, why do you have to be so-” 

Before she can finish he looks up at her again, and again it’s like he’s stunned her with the way his gaze seems to pierce right through her.  He looks pleased with himself, too, as if he was just dying to hear what she was going to come up with.

Peculiarly enough, her throat goes dry, and she can’t quite remember how she was going to finish that sentence.  Megumi must figure her out, too, because his smirk almost resembles a smile now, and her heated skin was starting to become unbearable.

“So…?” Megumi repeats curiously, hoping to egg her into finishing her thought.

(y/n) huffs, shaking her head in her agitated defeat before turning around and marching towards her usual seat.

Megumi returns to his work with a smile on his face.  Her preference for Spiderman might’ve been clear as day, but there was something satisfying about knowing one way or another, he had a knack for getting her worked up.z

___

Despite her hopes reaching impossible heights, (y/n) hadn’t gotten another visit from Spiderman in quite some time.  It had been about two weeks now, and she hadn’t noticed even a shadow outside her bedroom window.

She gives him the benefit of the doubt, because for some reason unknown to her she’d grown to care for him enough to make every excuse necessary.  He was doing important work out there, she’d tell herself while sitting at her window, longing eyes looking for any sign of life out in the sleeping city.  It wasn’t like he had all the time in the world to spend on her.

Or while wandering the halls from class to class, while her eyes were trying to catch every stranger that walked passed, she hoped to find some flicker of familiarity in anyone.  It might’ve been naive of her to think he could be as close to her as being another student at her school, but she couldn’t help herself.  She couldn’t stop the ‘what ifs’ from plaguing her mind.  She was so full of hope it was rotting her from the inside out.

Her focus was never quite all there.  In class she’d mindlessly take notes, her attention shifting about the room, trying to catch the feeling of being watched, but she always came up empty handed.  There were no eyes on her, she concluded after days of paranoid searching.  It was just a placebo effect her mind had come up with in her hoping to find him.

As if she was just going to happen upon him as easily as looking at him and knowing.

It was the same even around her friends.  The usual group she’d sit with at lunch had noticed her change in demeanor, but not knowing how to bring it up to her they tended to continue on conversing as if she wasn’t actively ignoring them as she searched the cafe.

“What are you looking for?” One of them had asked one day, a slight wince on their face when she startled and turned towards them again, as if she’d completely forgotten where she was.

“Oh, nothing,” Her reply was less than convincing.  “Just spacing, I guess” 

Maybe that part was sort of true, but it wasn’t a good enough excuse for anyone to take her seriously anyways.  So she was left alone to barely pick at her lunch and scan the cafe with an undeniable skip in her heartbeat.

(y/n) was starting to think she was going crazy, but it was like an itch she couldn’t scratch.  She just had a feeling that she was close, and to stop her from chasing that feeling would take a force her lunchtime friends weren’t able to muster up.

Her grades had yet to be affected, but her uptick in strange behavior wasn’t going unnoticed.  Her participation had dipped dramatically, some of her classes actually dragging on in near silence as no other students filled the gaps of her incessant questions and comments.  It was clear to her professors and peers that behind her wandering eyes was a void of class-related thoughts.  Whatever was occupying her every passing minute, had nothing to do with her studies.  But she maintained her perfect grade point average so effortlessly it was difficult to reprimand her for her lack of attention in each class.

Megumi had watched from the background as her sanity seemed to slip further and further.  At first, it had been a bit amusing.  He’d noticed right away, the way her eyes caught every guy walking into class, the way she seemed to pick each one apart with only her eyes.  She must have been gauging whether or not she deemed every one of them capable of being Spiderman.  It was hard not to smile to himself when she’d ultimately look away from each one, unconvinced.  

One was too short, the next too tan, another just didn’t have the right vibe, Megumi wished he could read her thoughts as she scrutinized each passerby in silence.  He was never too far from her, so it was easy to watch the hope radiating off of her as she tried to find the source of the eyes on her.  Luckily for Megumi’s rapid senses, he was always facing another direction when her gaze flickered his way.  Not that she ever quite looked at him the way she looked at the others.  He could feel her eyes sweeping right past him, pausing on a boy sitting just a few seats to his left instead.  But yet again she was facing away and trying to come up with someone else.

Megumi wondered why it was that she felt so sure Spiderman was in this very school with her.  Tokyo was a heavily populated place, and he knew she was smarter than to assume he was this close to her all this time.

(Of course… he was… but how could she have any idea of that?) 

With every passing day she seemed a little more dazed.  Which was an interesting look on a know-it-all like her.  Her interest in the world around her took a nosedive, and it was obvious to a watcher like Megumi.  She looked like a gray spot surrounded by the bright yellow of her lunch table.  She stuck out like a sore thumb in every class, finally having learned to pipe down and retreat in on herself.  She didn’t look depressed, it was just clear as day that her interests were on anything but what was going on around her.

Again, he’s entertained by this for some time.  There’s a swell of pride and something warm and new in his chest whenever he sees her so openly looking for him.  Hopeful eyes scanning every crowd, every class, only to never properly focus on him.  He should feel relief that he doesn’t seem to be even a passing possibility to her.  Instead, all he feels is a few skips in his heartbeat knowing she thought he was someone worth searching for.

Well, Spiderman was someone worth searching for, at least.

But the entertainment drains fast when her preoccupied mind lands her crashing into someone in the cafe.  A freezing cold iced coffee is dumped all over the front of her pretty blouse, ruining it instantaneously.  Megumi happens to look up just as the incident takes place, the hair on the back of his neck standing up on alert and his eyes finding her in the crowd in a moment’s notice, just in time to watch her crash.

And just as she steps away from the person she’s crashed into, her focus shifted to her soaked and stained shirt, an unsettled feeling crawls over Megumi’s skin as he notices who it was she just so happened to run into.

The frat boy that had been bugging her not too long ago.  The annoying guy, yeah, that one.  Megumi was pretty damn sure this run in wasn’t as accidental as it looked, but he stayed seated at his empty table, with faux attention on the book in his hand.

His eyes hadn’t returned to the page since his little sixth sense had drawn them towards the whole situation.  It’s upsetting that he isn’t surprised to see that when (y/n) hurries out of the cafe, Fratboy follows.

He huffs, shutting his book without marking it and tossing it haphazardly into his bag.  He hadn’t even gotten to finish his lunch.  Maybe he could sneak a few bites in his next class.

(y/n’s) trying not to tear up as she rushes into the empty corridor outside of the cafe.  It wasn’t like her to cry over a stained shirt, but it was just so embarrassing to have to go the rest of her day with the obvious mark.  Not to mention it was cold and wet and sticking to her skin and- jesus, of course it was soaked through enough that the black bra she wore was visible now.  

Even as she pried the material forward off of her skin, she could still feel the sticky remnants of coffee underneath.  It wasn’t like she had a spare outfit in her car, and she still had three classes left in her day.  Was she really stuck in this wet shirt until then? 

“Sorry princess, it was an accident, swear!” 

And to make matters worse, it appears she’d been followed.

(y/n) can’t help the groan of frustration as she releases the material of her shirt, letting it stick to her torso again.

“It’s… it’s fine, it’s whatever” She grumbles, waving off the guy she recognized as the cafe bother, or so she coined in her mind, never having gotten his name during all the times he’d hit on her.  There’s not much sincerity in her words, but she doesn’t need him lingering around while she tries to decide what to do.

“I did try to dodge ya, but you really weren’t looking where you were going,” He continues, despite her obvious disinterest in his entire presence.  “Is there anything I can do?” 

He comes closer and on instinct she backs away.  Her expression alarmed and eyes cautious when he pressed closer anyways.  It’s not that she thinks he’s going to hurt her, but she doesn’t want him any closer than arms’ length.  Ten feet would be nice, but unless she wanted to draw more attention to herself by turning and booking it down the hall, arms’ length would have to do.

“No” She answers, as firm as she can get herself to be.  To her, this is the part where he should walk away.

He looks apologetic as he steps forward again, but this time her step backward has her almost up against a wall, and now her senses are on high alert.  Discomfort courses through her, a feeling worse than the cold coffee sticking to her skin.

“C’mon, I could at least help you get out of your-” 

Fratboy doesn’t get a chance to finish his statement when a harsh grip lands on his shoulder and pries his body to move with ease.  His initial reaction is to fight back against the force, but he doesn’t get to do that either, as he’s spun around and shoved into the wall.

Even the snarl on his expression disappears when it’s Fushiguro Megumi that presses in close and keeps him pinned to the wall.  His bruising grip is replaced by his entire forearm caged against his collarbone, just barely pressing against his throat.

A yelp dies in the back of (y/n’s) throat as the whole thing happens in a matter of seconds.  It’s as if she blinks and suddenly Megumi’s there prying this guy out of her personal space as if he was personally offended by the act.

“H-hey man, what the hell is your problem?” The waver in Fratboy’s voice is embarrassingly clear.  Megumi would laugh if he was in a joking mood.  He’s not.

His hard expression is terrifying up close.  (y/n’s) standing just a few feet away and even she feels a slight shiver go down her spine.

“Pricks like you,” Megumi mutters, and Fratboy swallows a fat lump in his throat.  “Skipping around like you’re hot shit and get to have anything you want.  Pretentious pricks” He spits the last part out through clenched teeth.

All (y/n) can think about were the rumors from last year.  The guy Megumi supposedly put in the hospital.  Those rumors had been enough to have people steer clear from him.  She didn’t even let herself get too close when pressing his buttons, even if intrigue plagued her mind.

“I didn’t- I didn’t do anything!” Fratboy tries to raise his voice, a pitiful attempt at puffing his chest and making him appear more of a fighter than he really was.  His head swivels, wide eyes landing on (y/n), who was stuck frozen watching it all unfold.  “Tell him!” He shouts at her, and she startles just a little.  Not because she was afraid of the demand, but because as soon as it came out of his mouth, Megumi’s foot brought enough force to have the guy’s legs straighten up, which in turn kept him further back into the wall.

If Megumi could push the guy clean through the white painted brick, he’d be a bloody mess stuck inside of the concrete already.

“Don’t look at her,” The command comes out in a growl.  Megumi didn’t need to raise his voice to sound tough.  His brows are furrowed tight and low over his piercing eyes, which were half the force keeping Fratboy against this wall.  “Humor me, prick,” Megumi asks, making sure his attention couldn’t be drawn back towards (y/n) a second time.  “How come your shirt’s so pressed ‘n clean?” 

The guy’s lip wobbles a bit before he manages a small “H-huh?” 

“Your shirt,” Megumi’s voice is colder this time for having to repeat himself.  “How come it’s so clean?” 

“I- I- because I do my laundry?” He asks weakly.

Megumi rolls his eyes, letting them fall shut as his head tilts towards the high ceiling.  This guy had to be joking.

“Wrong answer,” He huffs.  “I’m gonna let you go, and you’re gonna go buy yourself another overpriced pretentious fucking coffee, got that?” 

Fratboy’s brows furrow, but he nods his head shakily in response.  Perhaps Megumi’s arm was pressed too hard against his chest, and he was finally out of air.  Megumi could only hope.

“And you’re gonna take that coffee and dump it over your head” 

“What!? I’m not-” 

“So you’d rather take the beating?” Megumi asks before the guy could protest too much.  His brows are raised, his interest genuinely piqued.  He had no problem with either option.  Having this prick walk around with a broken nose or an expensive shirt with a big brown coffee stain seemed like a win-win situation to him.

It’s clear that Fratboy remembers the last prick that pissed off Fushiguro Megumi, and he must remember that he wasn’t given options, because the back of his head defeatedly hits the wall behind him when he mutters out his choice.

Megumi gives him a solid nod, and he only pushes him a little bit when he drops his arm and steps back so he was free to leave.

Fratboy only takes a step and a half.

“Forgetting something?” Megumi barks, hard eyes freezing him in place before he could get close to re-entering the cafe.

Fratboy awkwardly maintains the eye contact, confusion clear in his features.  Megumi jerks his head towards (y/n), who’s silence evidently hadn’t made her invisible to the two.

“Oh, s-sorry- I’m sorry” 

It’s a weak ass apology, but Fratboy assumes it’s acceptable enough because when he rushes himself back into the cafe Megumi doesn’t stop him again.  He gets a few odd stares as he gets in line for a coffee with apprehensive eyes and his hands anxiously buried in his pockets, but he keeps his head down the entire time.

“Wh- why did you do that?” (y/n’s) mumble is the only sound in the empty hallway.  Her voice wants to stay stuck in her throat, but when it’s clear that Megumi isn’t going to give her an explanation- or say anything at all- she forces herself to ask.

His eyes fix on her, and an odd sensation settles over her.  All the previous fear and anxiety melts away.  She’d gone so rigid, her sense of fight or flight disappearing completely and keeping her stuck in place hoping she wasn’t going to be witness to a nasty fight.  But she hadn’t expected that.  Megumi’s intensity had been terrifying, even if it wasn’t directed at her, standing by and watching it had her throat closing up and her heart racing.

But he’d hardly even hurt the guy, just… humiliated him.  Still, it was just as shocking to watch.

And now, being alone with him and trapped under his stare, what she feels isn’t fear.  It’s… curiosity.

His eyes wander over her, reassuring himself that she was fine, maybe just a little shaken up by the whole thing.  She was probably more embarrassed than anything.  He could live with that, as long as she was safe.  He just couldn’t have placed his trust in that frat prick.

“I don’t like assholes” Megumi answers, his voice as monotone as ever, as if he hadn’t just scared the shit out of that guy for her.

The lump in her throat grew hot as the realization struck her.  He’d done all that for her? 

“Well- well yeah, but…” Her brows furrow, her head shakes ever so slightly as she tries to put her thoughts to words.  “But he didn’t do anything, just… was an asshole” 

“You don’t know that” His reply was quick but his tone didn’t shift.

(y/n’s) eyes widen, the furrow in her brow smooths out, and she’s at a loss for words as she keeps staring at him.

You have no idea what he was capable of doing.  Spiderman’s words repeat in her mind now as if he were standing right there saying them to her.  It’s uncanny how similar his warning was to Megumi’s just now.

“He probably would’ve fucked off if I told him to” She makes a weak argument in an attempt to fill the overbearing silence.

Megumi doesn’t say anything, just beckons her to follow him as he takes off in quick strides down the hall.  She should probably tell him to fuck off, but her curiosity gets the best of her, and she finds herself hurrying to catch up to him.  He’s not walking all that fast, but his stride is significantly longer than hers, and she finds herself out of breath as they round the corner and he enters the first empty classroom they come across.

“Maybe next time you’ll learn the lesson and tell him to fuck off, then” Megumi grumbles, more to himself than to her, but she takes offense nonetheless.

“Well sorry I wasn’t expecting you to show up out of nowhere and threaten the guy” She mutters back.

Megumi scoffs before shrugging his backpack off his shoulder.  (y/n) watches his every movement as he opens it up and digs around inside of it.  She wants to ask what he was looking for, but her words are stuck in her throat again, and this time she can’t get them to come out.

“I didn’t threaten anybody, relax,” He tells her in a voice that could’ve been more comforting, but it was at least steady and sure.  “It should make you feel better that he’s probably gone and made a fool of himself, now” He adds.

“Oh, thank you for that” She replies sarcastically.

“You’re welcome” Megumi replies in complete seriousness.

She opens her mouth, gaping at him, probably about to lay into him for taking her clear mockery as sincerity, but before she can he finally produces what he’d been looking for.

A tee shirt.

She blinks in dumbfounded silence as she stares at the plain black material in his hand.  His brows are raised in an impatient expression, but she doesn’t take the offer right away.

He sighs.  He’ll just have to do all the work, huh?

“Would you rather go the rest of the day in that?” He asks, nodding to the obvious mess of her shirt.

“It- it’s not that bad” She argues, her stubbornness forever getting in her own way.

“It’s going to reek of coffee” 

“I happen to like the- the coffee bean scent-” 

“It won’t be anything like that” 

“It’s not even that wet anymore” 

“I can see your whole bra now” 

That does the trick in shutting her up, her head snapping downward to reassess the damage done. The groan she lets out morphs into a whine before she looks up at the balled up shirt in his hand.  He vaguely stretches it towards her, and with a huff she snatches it right out of his hands.

As soon as he turns his back to her, busying himself with closing up his backpack, she’s peeling the ruined shirt over her head and quickly shrugging into the fresh tee shirt.

Besides the ridiculous proportion, she’s quick to notice the scent that clings to it.  She dips her head once it’s covered her, trying to place a name to the smell of fresh laundry.  Pine? Is this what pine smelled like? A part of her hated how good it smelled, how addicting it was to keep taking small sniffs.

“I’m… dressed” She says quietly when she’s gotten enough sniffs in and realizes that Megumi’s still just standing there.

When he turns, his eyes wander over figure not so subtly, but his expression is unchanging.  Even if his brain is going haywire seeing her in his clothes.  It’s just a tee shirt, but he takes a mental picture.

He realizes she must not wear black very often.  It’s striking on her.  It must be why his mouth has gone dry and he has to force himself to look her in the eye.

“Good?” He asks, already turning to leave the classroom.

She can’t believe he’s going to leave just like that.  It felt like nothing had been resolved here- and if anything, she only had more questions.  She doesn’t know what to say to make him stay, she’s not even sure he would stay if she asked him to.  He didn’t exactly seem to have any interest in being around her… ever… but then why had he put himself through all this trouble? Her muddled mind was a mystery, but the puzzled look on her face gave Megumi enough of an inclination to linger for just a minute longer.

“What?” He sighs, but her confusion is still plastered on her face.

“I… I don’t know…” Her voice is barely a mumble.  It doesn’t match the way her face tilts and shifts into something different.  She takes a step closer to him, a bold and large one, putting herself far closer to him than she ever would’ve imagined doing before.  She was supposed to keep a certain distance, Fushiguro Megumi had a reputation after all… but something was different.

This wasn’t the Fushiguro Megumi that she knew and despised.  In fact, this was a completely new person.  He was… familiar.

Megumi doesn’t step back when she draws in closer, but his neck leans backwards with apprehension, chin tilting lower to keep his eyes on her every movement.  It’s not like she’s able to do anything, there’s no mask to be ripped off, no secret identity to be figured out just from her stare alone, and yet something makes a pit grow in his stomach when she gets too close for comfort.

He’s never been this close to her.  Not without the wall of protection that was the Spiderman mask.

There’s nothing stopping him from walking away.  There was no harm in leaving her stranded in a classroom.  But something keeps him there anyways.  Something keeps him waiting for her to explain herself.

Her eyes drop his gaze, but they don’t fall far.  They land just a few inches lower, he can feel the prick of the daggers they stare against his lips.  Subconsciously he licks over them to soothe the ache of their sudden dryness.  Her look wanders just a little bit, but never too far.  Mapping out his chin and jawline, quickly down his neck and then back up again to his lips.

“What the hell are you doing?” He finally finds his voice when she leans in a little closer.  Not quite close enough to kiss him, but close enough that she could lean in if she wanted to.

(y/n) snaps out of it instantly, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushing when she looks at him properly again and realizes what she’d been doing.

Fushiguro Megumi? Spiderman? God, what was she thinking? 

“N-nothing” She stammers out, and before he could call her out and further her embarrassment, she brushes past him to make a quick exit out of the room.

Megumi’s left alone, his own cheeks flaring up with heat, but he can’t pinpoint what exactly causes the blushing, and he doesn’t really want to stand around to figure out why. ___

Megumi doesn’t show up to the last few classes of the day.  (y/n) notices.

Her fingers pinch at the hem of the tee shirt he’d given her, rolling the soft cotton over the pads of her fingers in contemplation.  Her focus on uncovering Spiderman’s identity during class has dwindled, but she’s not paying any attention to her studies, either.

For the last few hours of her day, she replays the events of the day in her mind on fast forward and rewind, over and over, trying to find something she felt she missed.

When had Megumi followed her out of the cafe? Had he seen what happened? Why was he so angry? Why was he so kind to her? Why was he so… 

It’s on the tip of her tongue, the timing of it all, the peculiarity of it all.  She knew she just had to be missing something.

Her trip home is quicker than usual, her steps as fast paced as her racing mind.  What was it? What was it that she wasn’t seeing? 

It was so close she could feel it looming right over shoulders. ___

Never before had she sought out Fushiguro Megumi.  But (y/n) couldn’t get the feeling to go away no matter how hard she tried, and she feared the only way out was through.

She didn’t want to confirm her assumptions without any proper evidence to base it all on, and she had a feeling that he was a pretty good liar, so she’d have to get creative with catching him.  The best way to start, she figures, is by getting him alone.

It takes longer than she hopes.  Megumi’s not an easy person to approach and he appears to like it that way.  She stares him down when he comes in late to their first class, and his eyes catch hers for a moment longer than usual, but without a change in his expression it’s hard for her to get a good read on him.  He takes his seat in the back of the class and she can’t get him to look at her again, no matter how many times she turns her gaze over her shoulder to steal another look at him.

After a few more classes with the same outcome, she supposes she’ll just have to wait until they break for lunch.  He’s always sitting alone there, so she has her hopes up that it will be easier to sit down and prove it then.

But of course today is the day he’s not seated at his usual corner table all to himself.  She waltzes into the cafe with nothing but confidence, and it’s ripped away from her when she sees that gloomy table empty.  She lingers for a few minutes, hoping to catch him walking in later than the rest, but he never comes.

With her confidence boiled down to irritation, she storms out of the cafe on a mission to have this ended once and for all.  She couldn’t possibly wait any longer, so one way or another, she was going to find and corner him.

The courtyard is empty at this time of day.  The weather was cloudy and with the high chance of rain in the next hour, no one wanted to spend their free time eating lunch or studying out there.

Ever the outlier, that’s where she happened to find Fushiguro Megumi.

She’s not sure if she should grin or grimace when she approaches the tree he’s sitting under.  He’s wearing his usual oversized headphones, and he’s got both his textbook and notebook opened.  He was the perfect image of don’t bother me.  (y/n) feels adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream as she rushes over to him.

It’s sort of strange.  Just a few days ago she would duck her head and keep walking if she happened to cross his path.  But it was like all of his intimidating qualities had just… disappeared.  Despite the vibe he was trying to put off, he didn’t seem as unapproachable anymore.  He didn’t seem as scary, although when she thinks about it long enough, (y/n) figures she’s probably the only person on this campus that interacted with him.  Even if it was to antagonize him, she’d never seen anyone else speak to him.

A few days ago, he was Fushiguro Megumi, the boy with the bad reputation and even worse attitude.  He was her academic rival, a thorn in her side that reminded her of faults just by existing.  Today, she thinks he might just be the boy she’s been falling head over heels for.  The one with careful words spoken by gentle lips.  The first person in a long time that actually made her feel seen, and a feeling of being understood could work wonders on a stubborn heart.

“Hey!” She hollers, and Megumi jolts as he looks up to find her walking up to him.  His expression scrunches up as he pulls his headphones down around his neck, and lowers his dual books.

“What do you want?” He asks, but the words aren’t nearly as harsh as he wants them to be.

She stops just before him, and invites herself to sit down beside his outstretched legs.  He wants to tell her that he’s busy, that he’s studying out here alone because he wants peace and quiet, but he’s silent as she drops her backpack in front of her and opens it up.

“Thought you’d want this back” She says, pulling out a familiar black tee shirt.  She hands it to him folded in a neat square.  He almost laughs, knowing that when he’d offered it to her it had been a crumpled up ball.

“Right” He says, but before he takes it, she pulls it back towards herself, unfolding it.  Megumi watches with furrowed brows.  Was she not giving it back? 

“I’ve just had this weird feeling lately,” She explains as she opens the shirt up completely.  Megumi’s confused expression flickers between her and the shirt.  “So I wanted to see something” 

She starts bunching up the black material then, which Megumi watches with growing bewilderment.  Why even fold it? What was this? 

“Okay…?” His voice trails off when she looks up at him again, and the next thing he knows she’s leaning in close, holding his tee shirt up to his face.  “What the- (y/n), what the hell are you doing?” 

She ignores his questioning and the way he tries to swat her hands from getting any closer, but it doesn’t stop her from doing exactly what she aimed to do.  Holding the black material up to cover half his face, from the bridge of his nose up, all that was left to see was his mouth down.

She couldn’t deny that it wasn’t a familiar sight, but it was hard to prove her theory on that alone, and she sighs.

“(y/n), this is annoying.  And weird,” Megumi starts, his hands wrapping around her wrists in a careful hold, but enough to start to pull her and the tee shirt she was trying to blindfold him with away.  “Can I have the shirt back or not- mmph!” 

Just as he thinks he’s put a stop to her weird antics, she takes him by complete surprise when she darts forward and presses her lips against his.  Megumi’s eyes go wide, although he’s still half hidden behind the shirt, he can’t help but keep them open as her soft lips move over his with familiar gentle passion.  His confusion melts away the longer she holds the kiss, and by the time he thinks he should put a stop to it, it’s already too late.  He’s connected the dots and so has she.

He sighs against her mouth, his fingers twitching around her wrists, unsure as to whether or not he should let her go or pull her in closer.  (y/n) breaks away from the kiss just as she releases his shirt.  They both let it drop to his lap, and she finally gets to see the whole picture.

His features have fallen to soft surprise as he gazes back at her, waiting for whatever was about to come.  He doesn’t know if he should brace himself for something good or something bad, but he does his best to put his walls up anyways.

Her own eyes are wide with recognition, flickering between his own troubled eyes and the lips she’d just spontaneously kissed.  Her tongue darts over her bottom lip thoughtfully, and for a second, Megumi thinks she’s going to give it a second try just to be sure.  She doesn’t have to say anything right away for him to know exactly what she was thinking.  She knew those lips.  She knew that kiss.  He’d gotten his cover blown over a kiss, of all things.

What he doesn’t expect is for (y/n) to let out a breathless laugh of delight, once the gears in her mind start to turn again.  Her eyes are glimmering with an excitement she couldn’t contain.

“I told you I’d figure it out!” She keeps her voice hushed, which he can tell takes a great deal of effort.

“You always go around kissing random people?” He mumbles, thinking maybe he can play it off, maybe there was still a chance of gaslighting her into thinking he wasn’t the masked webslinger that had been slowly sparking up a romance with her.  

There’s not even a small chance, though.  (y/n) pulls her hands out of his gentle hold just to reach for his face, curiously skimming over his jaw, and then down his shoulders.  His attempts at reaching for her hands again to stop her from practically running them all over him are weak, and it’s easy for her to ignore his clear attempts at stopping her.

“Wow, I almost can’t believe it,” She begins to mumble to herself, her eyes moving at rapid speeds as she puts the picture together in her mind.  The lips she’d memorized in the hopes of finding them again, only to find they were on Megumi’s face, she lets out a delirious string of giggles.  “I mean, it makes sense now, but it also doesn’t- why did you keep coming to see me?” 

Megumi opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get a single word out before she’s throwing more questions at him.

“Did you seriously think I wouldn’t figure it out? I’m top of the class you know, and you’re not exactly great at hiding things-” 

“Second to the top,” Megumi reminds her with a slight roll of his eyes.  “And it took you quite a while, you know” 

“Yeah, well, the secrecy thing was fun for a bit,” She argues.  “But you barely tried to hide it.  Coming into class looking like you got hit by a bus? What were you thinking?” 

“That you hated my guts and didn’t care if I did get hit by a bus?” He replies with a smartass smile.  Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes.

Her hands fall still against his collarbones, fingertips barely tapping against the base of his throat with her excitement.

“It was you this whole time…” She murmurs, but she doesn’t sound as disappointed as Megumi expects.  Her gentle eyes feel piercing as they stare at him thoughtfully, as if this was the first time she was really seeing him.  In a way, it sort of was.  “Were you ever going to tell me?” She asks quietly, and this time she does wait for him to say something.  

Megumi sighs, regarding her soft expression with thoughtfulness.  There was no coming back from this now.  She figured him out and he barely even tried to cover it up.  That was a hard thing to do once she’d kissed him, though.  She must’ve figured out his weakness, and happily used it against him..  Typical brat.

“I thought about it,” He says honestly.  “Just didn’t seem like a good idea,” 

The corners of her lips barely turn into a frown, and Megumi can’t help himself from reaching out to her, cradling her jaw in as light of a touch as he could bear.  It was different now, feeling her warm skin against his without hiding in a suit, behind a mask.  He knows she must feel it, too.

Everything was completely different now.  She must be upset with him, right? She must at least be discouraged in finding out it had been him all along.  Not someone with a better track record, maybe someone more attractive, or at least nice to her.  He wonders if she had her hopes up for a specific person.

“Are you upset?” He asks.  He doesn’t want to know all the answers to his questions, but he asks before he could shove down the curiosity and avoid it forever.

“Upset?” She repeats, brows furrowing momentarily with her confusion.  “What do you mean?” 

“Y’know,” He mumbles, long lashes flickering as his eyes fall to her lips for a moment.  He looks at her again before continuing.  “That it’s me.  That it’s been me” 

“Oh,” She hums, thinking for a second.  “Well… did you mean it all?” 

“Mean it all?” He repeats her now.  “You mean while I was Spiderman?” 

(y/n) nods in a small motion.

“Yeah… did you mean all the stuff you said… and did?” She adds the last part in an even quieter whisper than the rest, but the look in her eyes is so full of anticipation it speaks volumes over her voice.

“Yeah, of course,” Megumi answers without a shred of hesitation.  “Of course I did,” He says it again, leaning forward with emphasis, his eyes never leaving hers.  “(y/n), I didn’t want you finding out because I didn’t… I didn’t know that I would…” He trails off, his nerves starting to crawl up his throat for having to admit so many truths in one sitting.  This one seemed to be harder than the rest.  “I didn’t know I’d like you so much” 

She laughs, breathless and sweet, humored by such an honest confession.  It finally makes a real smile creep over his lips, relieved to see that her reaction was anything but negative.  His heart skips a beat, and his thumb trembles as he reaches to stroke it over her cheekbone.  He can’t help but want to pull her in closer, hold her properly, maybe even kiss her again.  It should scare him, that she knew the truth now, that he was vulnerable to her now, but right now all he feels is a weight lifted off his chest, and the lingering taste of her chapstick on his lips.

“I definitely didn’t plan on liking you so much either,” She admits softly, her cheeks burning with color.  Megumi can feel the heat in her skin when he presses the pad of his thumb further against her cheek.  “Are you mad about it?” 

“Mad?” He laughs, his smile becoming a full blown grin now as he leans in closer to her.  Her fingers curl into the material of his shirt as he draws her in closer, too.  Anticipation has her eyes flickering between his lips and the deep blue eyes that haven’t left hers since she’d kissed him.  “Mad about what? Getting to know you? The real you? And falling for you?” 

Her eyes grow wide as she stares back at him.  For a guy that hid behind a mask for weeks, he sure got comfortable putting his cards on the table fast.

“No, I’m not mad about it,” He answers her properly, closing enough distance in between them that his nose prodded against hers.  Her eyes fluttered shut before she could stop herself, her chin tilting forward to meet him the rest of the way.  “I’ve wanted nothing more than to be with you, like this, for real, since you brought me that dumb bag of vegetables” 

“It wasn’t dumb, there wasn’t ice” She argued.  Her lips had just been brushing over his in the ghost of a kiss before she jerked away to argue some more.  Ever so stubborn, he thinks with nothing but fondness for her.

Megumi doesn’t let her go far, pulling her right back in until her lips landed on his, and all further arguments died on her tongue.  Her hands relaxed their hold on his shirt as her lips moved against his with muscle memory.  Soft and so pliable, she melted right against him, leaning closer and closer until they were chest to chest, and Megumi moved his free arm to wrap around the dip in her back, keeping her tucked as close to him as he could without disconnecting their lips.

She finally gets to card her hands through his hair, scraping her nails over the nape of his neck before pushing the longer strands between her fingers.  It becomes impossibly messier than usual, but Megumi only hums in delight as she messes it all up.  He must’ve always wanted more, too.

Her fingers tangle in his hair and she doesn’t let up even when they part to catch their breath.  Megumi stays close, his forehead resting against hers as he pants over her lips, leaving her still wanting more.

“You know I still have a million questions, right?” She murmurs, and Megumi can’t help but place the softest of kisses against her lips as she speaks, even if he was still breathless.

“I don’t feel like sitting and talking right now” He mumbles, chasing her lips for another kiss.  She giggles, kissing him back but not nearly as long as he would’ve liked.  Pulling away all too soon, she stares at him with wide eyes.

“I mean, how do the webs work?” 

“(y/n), we have class in ten minutes, that’s not nearly enough time to get into it all,” He sighs, his hands smoothing over her hips and trying to draw her closer again.  “Can’t we just enjoy this a little longer, and talk about all of that later?” 

Huffing, (y/n) leans back in, and it makes Megumi smile if only for a moment.  She stops short just before her lips could touch his.

“So… did Spiderman put that guy in a hospital last year?” 

Megumi groans, dropping his head back against the trunk of the tree.  She wasn’t going to let this go, and that reputation was going to follow him forever, it seemed.

“Alright.  C’mon, we’re headed to class,” He prompted her to grab her things and stand with him, but she kept her hands in his hair too secure for him to want to stand up.  “(y/n), I promise I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, later-” 

“Let’s just skip class” She suggests, all too eagerly for a girl that bragged about being at the top of their class.

“Yeah, right,” Megumi scoffs, but when her expression doesn’t waver, his face falls and he stares at her bewildered.  “You’re not serious…?” 

“Why not?” She replies.  “We can afford to miss a couple classes,” It’s not a bad argument, Megumi’s just shocked to hear her say it at all.  “And.. I want to be the first one to get an exclusive interview with Spiderman” She giggles, and Megumi huffs, giving her a bored look.

“I’d rather go to class” 

“And we can make out” 

“... I guess some catching up isn’t a bad idea” 

It takes them some time to gather their things and get going, only because (y/n) insisted on keeping her hands on him in one way or another, but even if Megumi pretended to be annoyed it wasn’t a believable performance.  He kept her close with his arm wrapped firm around her as they made their way off campus quickly, hoping to beat the rain.

“You know, I’m thinking of calling you the Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman when I write about you,” (y/n) tells him on their walk to her apartment.  “Has a nice ring to it” 

Megumi laughs humorlessly.

“Not sure it paints a very accurate picture,” He tells her, brows raised as he watches her pout up at him.  “But you’re kinda gonna be my publicist, so I guess I’ll take what I can get” 

“Hey! I thought you said you were falling for me” (y/n) sasses back.  Megumi bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too hard.  He tosses his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer as they walk.

“That was off the record” He mumbles.

She beams up at him, he pulls her a little closer into his side, keeping an eye on her only from his peripheral vision.  He couldn’t be getting too sappy with the way he looked at her now, he’d grown too used to having a mask to hide the dreamy look in his eye.  Now though, it was completely on display for her to see.

(y/n) quite liked the view that she got now that he was mask-free.  She’d always had her suspicions that Spiderman was handsome, and quite the victory it was to be proven right in that department.  The stubborn, monotone, boy with a reputation part was just… an added bonus, she supposed.

She also supposed that she’d come with her own reputation now, too.  With Megumi never far behind he took on a role akin to guard dog.  She couldn’t deny she grew to like the feeling, melting at the protective way he kept close whether he had the mask on or not.

He had a certain responsibility to uphold when it came to keeping Tokyo safe, but he had a responsibility to those he loved, too.

___

xoxo ~ jordie

[escapewiththestars]

ooc; gonna share some of the writing i got up to while being away. i mostly write a bunch of random scenes that happen in star’s verse when i feel like it (although whether they’re canon or not fluctuates). here’s just a quick little thing that takes place when sonic is presumed dead in forces, and jet’s feelings on it.

google drive link (easier to read usually) ao3 link

[verstappensrealwife]

Get in loser, we’re going shopping. - Max verstappen x fem!Reader

fluff

approx. 1100 words

warnings : fem!reader implied, lingerie, makeup?

max verstappen masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

Victoria secret. Max Verstappen stood in Victoria's Secret, an unmistakable tension in his posture. He had clearly entered a world far outside his comfort zone, one where the vibrant pink stripes of the walls seemed to mock his unease. His usual confidence was nowhere to be seen as he fidgeted, eyes darting around like he was searching for an escape route, only to be met with racks of lacy bras and silk pajamas.

Every so often, he would sneak a glance at the scantily clad mannequins, immediately recoiling as though he had seen a ghost. When you picked up a particularly elaborate set of lingerie with a playful smile, Max’s gaze involuntarily followed your movements, only to snap away the moment he realized where his eyes had landed. His cheeks were turning a shade that could rival the blush of the silk and satin surrounding him.

“What do you think about this one?” you asked, holding up a dark blue, lace-up one-piece with a flourish, as if presenting a rare treasure. The garment seemed almost to sparkle in the store’s soft lighting.

Max’s eyes widened, his throat bobbing as he tried to process the question. “Oh—yeah—” His voice cracked, then steadied as he tried to muster a semblance of expertise, even though he looked like he was trying to decipher a complex mathematical formula. “Yeah. It, uh… looks good.”

You couldn’t help but snort with laughter. The sight of him standing there, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, was both endearing and hilarious. “Oh, come on, Max,” you said, tossing the dark blue creation into your basket with a dramatic flourish. “We can pay now. Stop worrying. You look like you’re about to break into a cold sweat.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and for a brief moment, his shoulders relaxed. As you made your way to the checkout, he kept his eyes resolutely on the floor, as if studying the intricate patterns of the carpet might somehow make this experience more bearable.

When the cashier flashed a friendly smile and began ringing up your purchases, Max’s face turned a shade of red that was almost a match for the store's pink décor. He shuffled his feet, looking everywhere but at the register, clearly relieved that the ordeal was coming to an end.

As you walked out of the store, basket in hand, Max let out a sigh of relief. “Well,” he said, trying to sound casual, “at least that’s over.” He gave you a sideways glance, and despite his discomfort, there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Next time, let’s do something less, uh, colorful.”

You laughed, looping your arm through his as you headed toward the next store. “Deal,” you said, still chuckling. “But I have to say, you’ve got a pretty good eye for lingerie.”

Max shot you a playful glare, though his lips twitched upward. “Just don’t make me go back there anytime soon.

Sephora. The moment you stepped in, you were greeted by the familiar scents of perfumes, the vibrant displays of makeup, and the soft lighting that made everything feel luxurious. Max followed closely, looking a bit out of place but curious nonetheless.

“Alright, what’s first here?” he asked, trying to sound enthusiastic.

You laughed, enjoying his willingness to go along with it. “Well, I need to restock on a few things. But first, let’s find you a cologne. I think you’ll like it.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but game. “Alright, show me the way.”

You guided him to the fragrance section, where rows of sleek bottles lined the shelves. You picked up a few testers, spraying them on the little cards and holding them out for him to smell.

“This one’s nice,” you said, offering him a card with a fresh, woodsy scent.

He sniffed it, nodding in approval. “Not bad, actually. Do you like it?”

“I do,” you replied, smiling. “But let’s try a few more.”

You went through several options, each time watching his reactions as he tried to distinguish the notes—some he liked, some not so much. Finally, you both agreed on one that was a perfect balance of musk and spice.

“Alright, I’m sold,” he said with a grin. “Now, what else are we getting?”

You laughed, knowing full well he had no idea what he was in for. “Well, I need a new foundation, and maybe a lip gloss or two. You can help me pick.”

As you moved to the makeup section, Max started to loosen up, asking questions about the different products. You explained the basics of what each one did, enjoying the role reversal as he tried to understand why you needed five different shades of lipstick.

“Why not just one?” he asked, holding up a bright red tube.

You giggled, shaking your head. “Different occasions, different moods! It’s all about options.”

He seemed genuinely interested as you swatched a few colors on your hand, comparing shades and textures. “This one’s nice,” he pointed out, picking up a soft pink shade.

“Yeah? I like it too,” you said, adding it to your basket. “Good choice.”

After a while, Max even started having fun, pointing out products that caught his eye and making playful comments. By the time you reached the skincare section, he was fully engaged, asking about face masks and moisturizers.

“What does this do?” he asked, holding up a jar of night cream.

“It helps keep your skin hydrated while you sleep,” you explained, opening the jar so he could smell it.

He gave it a cautious sniff, then smiled. “Maybe I should start using this. I could have skin as nice as yours.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Maybe you should! We could do face masks together.”

He smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Only if you pick the least girly one for me.”

“Deal,” you agreed, feeling a warm sense of happiness that he was willing to dive into your world, even if it was just for an afternoon.

By the time you left Sephora, Max was carrying the bag, looking surprisingly pleased with himself. “You know, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be,” he admitted. “And I got a new cologne out of it.”

You smiled, looping your arm through his. “See? I told you it’d be fun.”

“Alright, next time, we’re going to my store,” he warned playfully.

“Deal,” you said with a laugh. “But you might have to drag me out of the next one.”

As you walked out of the shopping centre together, you couldn’t help but feel a little closer, grateful for a boyfriend who was up for anything, even an impromptu trip into the world of Sephora.

[changetyre]

Thank you for all of the stories recently! Can you do one where Lando gets tired of you calling him “Little Lando Norris” and decides to show you how big he really is?

L.L.N II Lando Norris ⒽⓌ

SUMMARY: Lando doesn't mind you making fun and playing games just as long as you're aware of the truth...and he'll be more than happy to remind you.

WARNINGS: **18+**

A/N: Got some good news so felt inspired to write again ;) Sorry for the delay.

"Aww poor little Lando." You jokingly patted him on the back. "Better luck next time buddy." you laughed as you walked away leaving him fuming.

Once again you'd beat Lando for 3rd place by merely a few seconds, an ongoing rivalry between you both that had everyone at the edge of their seats.

Ever since karting you and Lando had this heated rivalry, always making the other's life impossible and being each other's biggest competition so it was no surprise when it continued onto Formula 1.

To the outside world, it was incredibly entertaining for everyone to see the rivalry between the two of you. The rude remarks and snarky comments you threw at each other during interviews, the hate between you two only brewing stronger with each race.

But little did people know the way you were able to keep the hate at bay and keep yourselves in check. It had all started as a stupid drunk mistake when you found yourselves fucking in a club bathroom. The memory was hazy but you both remembered enough to know that deep down you liked it.

The next time it was a simple rash decision, you didn't think about it when you found yourself waking up in Lando Norris's room naked his arm across your waist, quickly throwing it off before running back to your room.

It was good. The sex was good, and that was the only reason you kept coming back. That's what you both told each other.

But it had become a frequent occurrence now, almost 5 months of quick and meaningless fucks where you could let out the pent-up tension and anger you had for each other.

But this still didn't take away from the fact that you still loved to piss each other off on track. Secretly you'd grown to love doing it more because you felt the direct consequence of it later.

"Lando, how do you feel about yet another close battle today with your biggest rival on track?" The interviewer asked him.

"Yeah, she just got lucky getting the better line around the next corners, but she knows I'm not one to back down, she knows what's coming for her," Lando smirked loving the double meaning behind his words.

He could see you a few feet from him giving your own interview. He just about heard you when once again you'd referred to him as Little Lando Norris, something you'd taken to recently which just irked him a little more than usual.

He watched you carefully, keeping his eyes on you like a hawke which to everyone else looked like pure hatred but truly it was simply because Lando could see the way Pierre got a little too friendly with you for his liking.

Lando would never admit it to you but he truly couldn't control the jealousy that erupted in his stomach whenever he saw you get too friendly with anyone. Whatever you had might have been meaningless but as far as he was concerned you were still his for now.

"Alright thanks, Lando enjoy your break." Lawrence finalized the interview with Lando outside the McLaren hospitality just as he could see you walking out of the press conference room with Pierre quickly by your side.

He didn't hesitate as he stood up with a quick step towards you. His blood boiling when he heard you laugh at something Pierre said.

"I need to talk to you." Lando stood in front of you making you stop abruptly and bump into his chest.

"Oh look hey speaking of the devil." You smirked.

"Little Lando Norris." Pierre joked but for some reason, Lando didn't find it the least bit amusing coming from him.

"Okay well can't talk now so bye." You were about to move past him but Lando grabbed your arm.

"Wasn't asking." Lando was ready to pull you away with him but was stopped by Pierre who grabbed your other hand.

"I actually just asked her for a drink so-" Pierre was quick to tell Lando.

"So she can't right now." Lando didn't let him finish or you protest before whisking you away.

You were completely taken aback as Lando shamelessly dragged you away from Pierre not caring the way there were several eyes on you as he took you towards the McLaren building.

Your heart pounded in your chest rendering you speechless as he walked you all the way into the building past several staff members before reaching his room where he was quick to shut you both inside.

"Lando what the-" you finally regained your voice as the door closed behind you.

"Shut up." Lando pressed his lip to yours as he pressed you to the wall. You had to push through the rush that invaded your body trying not to give in so easily.

"Lando, what has gotten into you?" You asked breathlessly as Lando began kissing down your neck unbuttoning your jeans and dragging them down

"So it's just Lando now?" was all he said.

"What are you- ah fuck." before you could reply again you cut yourself off when Lando began ruthlessly attacking your clit.

Lando basked in the pleasure he could produce on you loving the way you became putty in his hands behind closed doors despite the way you loved to tease him and take control outside.

Lando's pants suddenly felt painfully tight as he continued his attack on you taking the liberty he unbuckled his pants all while still tasting you before pulling his dick out into his hands to give it a few pumps.

Lando didn't stop, not until you had your first orgasm before finally getting up. "Why don't you return the favor baby?" Lando asked despite knowing he didn't have to since you were on your knees before he could even finish asking.

You prepared yourself knowing the ache you would feel from sucking him off having to open wide to take him into your mouth. Lando's eyes showed the smugness in them at watching the way you always struggled initially to take him never able to take him all down until you'd sucked him off for a while.

Lando groaned as you began moving your head up and down, your hands taking care of what you couldn't fit in your mouth for now.

"Nothing so little about that is there?" Lando asked the pride clear in his voice.

Only now did you understand what this was all about but you didn't care to complain since he'd gotten you all worked up.

"Why don't you make it extremely clear for me." You decided to try to have your own way.

"Gadly baby." Lando pulled you up before picking you up and using the wall to support you in his arms before using one of his hands to line himself up against your whole.

"Please-" You pleaded, Lando loved the way you begged every time he got near you like these.

"you ready?" he asked despite feeling your wetness already drip onto him.

"Yes, please fuck me." You sighed as you grabbed Lando's face to kiss him.

Lando used this distraction to push himself all the way inside you swallowing your yelp. "Shit baby you're so wet," Lando whispered knowing he had to keep semi-quiet because of the remaining staff in the building right now. Although half of him hoped everyone could hear what you were doing and the way he was making you feel right now...make it crystal clear to everyone.

"Ah, fuck Lando go faster." You begged him as Lando pushed in and out of you fully and completely at a brutally slow pace.

"Who's making you feel like this baby?" Lando asked not answering to your pleas just yet.

"You Lan...You are." You could almost cry at the torturous pace he'd set.

"not even fucking Pierre can make you feel like this can he?" His words were laced with disgust and anger which made your stomach flutter.

"No...no just you." You replied kissing Lando once again.

This was enough for Lando as he picked up his pace feeling the way you clenched around him and the way you struggled to keep quiet.

"Fu...so good...shit" You moaned in a whisper as Lando kept thrusting faster and faster into you against the wall.

Lando could cum at the sight of you, watching the way your tits would bounce with each thrust, the way your eyes rolled back, and hearing your uneven breaths as you tried to keep quiet while your orgasm quickly approached, feeling the way you held onto him as if your own skin was begging for more. This was it. This was glory to Lando.

[kquil]

REGULUS BLACK | 21:08 — HOLD HER!

SUM : after a boggart class, you rush to Regulus for comfort. The only thing is… the grumpy slytherin doesn’t really know how to comfort someone. Thankfully James is there.  

TAGS. : grumpy regulus ; sunshine reader ; gryffindor reader ; sunshine character seeking comfort in grumpy character trope ; remus approval secured ; sirius needs some convincing ; regulus needs a hug ; but reader needs it more in this fic ; regulus not wanting to admit stuff ; regulus sucks at emotions ; james being a lowkey but loud and panicky wingman ; protective james ; protective regulus 

LENGTH : 1.2k

PART 0.5 (PREQUEL)

“What. The. Fuck…” Sirius exclaims only to receive a hit upside the head by Remus who also pins him with a warning glare, “What?!” the eldest Black brother shouts and gestures to the unbelievable display happening before them, “Shouldn’t you be the one demanding answers? Usually she goes to you for this!”

Instead of answering him, Remus fixes an unreadable stare onto the scene happening before him; trying his hardest to suppress the smile tugging at his lips. Finally his suspicions were confirmed and he was happy to witness its conclusion. It was about time. 

Yes, he was the person you typically sought comfort from when distressed and he was more than happy to be that person for you, however, he’s seen your longing glances and has witnessed many of the one-sided conversations you’ve had with the silent, grumpy slytherin — who was the complete opposite of you in demeanour and attitude. It’s an interesting sight seeing you constantly approach him with your bright smile, sweet face and sparkling eyes, a contrast to his notorious emotionless and cold disposition.

Some people who’ve also witnessed your interactions with Regulus Black couldn’t understand why you were so persistent when he barely said a word back and scarcely showed any interest in return to your friendly advances. They thought you were crazy but you were so bubbly and sweet with everyone, they assumed that it’s just a part of your nature to approach even those who were deemed unapproachable. 

And Regulus Black is unapproachable. To everyone — except you.

Regulus never understood you. 

Usually, whenever someone brave enough to approach him started conversation, they would get so turned off by his aloofness that they would cut the interaction short and move on. Those that continued to persist, received a glare and offensive remark, which finally shook them off and out of his personal space. 

But you. 

You love his personal space. He couldn’t so-easily push you away like the others. Your tenacity rivalled the stubbornness of a bull — it was quite admirable. You weren’t deterred by his aloofness nor his ice-cold glare and snide remark. Secretly he was grateful. He’s grown to love your company (though he’d never say it out loud) ever since you shot down his attempt at forcing distance between the two of you. 

“Why would you say that? That’s so mean,” your pout was adorable, “and stop trying to look scary,” you poke your finger between his brows and ease the creases in his skin from his glare, “it doesn’t work when you have such a pretty face,”

Pretty…

You love calling him that, although he’d argue that the flattering term suited you much more than him. Growing up, he was told to despise Gryffindors; his brother was the only exception until you came along with your pretty smile, pretty eyes, pretty nose, pretty hair, pretty voice, pretty lips — pretty everything! 

…he’d never admit it out loud, however. 

He’d never admit a lot of things out loud when it came to you. Maybe that’s why he hardly said anything when you were around him. At least he doesn’t scowl as much anymore, he just holds a blank stare whilst trying to stop a smile from taking over his face.

He likes listening to you a lot more than he does anyone else and appreciates your company very much, even if it’s just to listen to you talk about your day and all the things you’ve done; how you loved the omelette they served for breakfast, how you really wanted to learn how to ride a broom but were terrified of heights, how your favourite subject was astrology and eagerly waited for each lesson, how you love his company and being close to him. 

He loves it too, being close to you. You’re warm and soft and he loves your fragrance. Surprisingly, it’s not as sickly sweet as he’d once imagined (and dreaded). Rather, you smelled perfectly floral with a hint of piquant spice that was unique to you. It wasn’t intoxicating, instead, it was calming and Regulus was addicted to the peace you were able to bring into his chaotic life, a life that remained jumbled with no help from his Gryffindor brother, his only brother, someone he still deeply but silently adored.  

Regulus appreciated you for being able to give him regular updates on his estranged brother since you were pretty good friends with the Marauders. You were especially close to Remus, which you admitted was due to his level-headedness and calmness. You explained to him that being around such stolid characters were comforting to you because their presence was reassuring. Regulus didn’t understand your reasoning. Although it could be because a creeping jealousy had coloured his eyes green for the tall brunette he had never had the pleasure of officially meeting. Nevertheless, it answered his question on why you so often gravitated towards Remus, especially when distressed. 

So… why were you desperately clinging to him when Remus was just across the courtyard?

James was in a frenzy. He had been worried ever since this morning. Ever since meeting you, he had grown to see you as his younger sister and with that, came a an urge to protect you from all things physical and intangible. Therefore, it was only natural for his senses to flood with worry as soon as you mentioned ‘boggart’ over your a plate of your favourite omelette at breakfast. You were going to have your boggart lesson for DADA today. 

Consumed by worry, James had rushed to the courtyard as soon as morning classes were over and desperately searched the crowd for you. Remus tried to assure him, confident in your courage as a fellow Gryffindor but that wasn’t enough to quell his anxiety for your condition. 

His apprehension was for good reason, it seemed, because for the first time ever! There were tears in your eyes. You were crying. You were sad. Sad enough to sob in someone’s arms. In Regulus Black’s arms!

“WhAt ARe yOU DoING?!” James shouts, his voice cracking and fluctuating from his panicked state as his hands grip and pull at his untamed locks. 

For the first time ever, Regulus stutters, “I-I—…uhh!” 

James’ eyes widen at Regulus’ shaking hands, hanging suspended in the air, his fingers twitching slightly from his hesitation and inexperience with comforting someone, “YOU IDIOT!” only James Potter would have the nerve to call Regulus Black an ‘idiot’.

In his eyes, James was watching his precious baby sister, who he loves to pieces, sob into the arms of someone she wanted comfort from but had no clue how to comfort her, “HOLD HER!” James demands, “HURRY!” 

Finally…FINALLY Regulus hugs you back, one hand on the back of your head to softly pet your hair down as his other circles around your waist and pulls you close. He feels you sob into his shoulder as your shaking hands cling onto the back of his button up shirt. When he focuses on your trembling sobs and usually sorrowful form, an ache takes hold of his heart and he finds himself clinging onto you. 

You don’t deserve to cry. You’re far too precious and sweet to deserve experiencing such distress. Whoever did this to you, once he finds the culprit, will have hell to pay…

As soon as you feel the secure squeeze of Regulus’ arms around you, your shaking sobs slowly reduce to pitiful hiccups and faint sniffles. Beside your ear, Regulus whispers soft, kind assurances and you’ve never felt so safe. It escapes you that Regulus was actually speak to you instead of the other way around. 

“It’s okay, my flower…” your heart leaps in your chest, “you’re going to be okay; I’m here for you,” 

A/N : i had this idea and parts of it written ages ago and rediscovered it while i was on holiday — finally! i got to finish it haha! i hope you lovelies enjoy, this turned out better than i originally imagined it to go 

NAVI. | PART 0.5

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88

[lilacxquartz]

RIVALS;

satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: you always thought that satoru gojo hated having you as a rival, but after getting to know him, it turned out to be something so much worse.

tags/warnings: abduction/kidnapping, betrayal, rough sex, non-con, yandere, one shot, drugging, kissing — w.c: 1.6k

ao3 • masterlist

In some ways, it was exhilarating.

Being the second best to the strongest, that was.

From the very first day that you enrolled in Jujutsu High, you weren’t quite sure where life would lead you exactly but it certainly wasn’t to where you were now.

Everyday, after all, was an endless pursuit of an achieving both academic and combative excellence. Everyday, you pushed your body and mind above and beyond, seeking out the strength you didn’t know you had. You always assumed that by the end of it all, you would end up as maybe a grade two or even one with your efforts, but to your surprise, you got the recommendation to graduate as a special grade at just eighteen.

Just like him.

However, with every step forward, a creeping exhaustion settled in, dragging you down a path you couldn’t quite handle the journey of. Through the endless training that forced you to keep up with your prestige and the missions that the higher ups threw at you—it didn’t take too long to wear you out—leaving you weary, tired and almost even jaded as a result. Your mental state was one slight push away from the verge of a total collapse.

It was infuriating in some ways because you couldn’t help but compare. You were only human, after all. Sorcerer or not. Being a step below Satoru Gojo soon felt insulting and even though you didn’t consider him to be a rival, it still felt like… a drag, almost. His power was ingrained within him, whereas for you, it was a never ending grind.

It wasn’t quite envy, but you wished it could be easier. If even for a single day.

However, when your graduated classmate seemed to acknowledge your efforts, it technically felt like he appreciated you after all. A validation beyond anything you could dream of; his attention feeling almost intoxicating as he delivered what felt like genuine praise upon your believing ears.

But then it all started to go wrong and you weren’t sure why.

How were you supposed to know however that beneath his easy smile and casually friendly demeanour laid something else beyond what he presented you with? That through your rise to the top, the expectations that followed, he saw you as nothing more than a threat? Another cog to add to the failing machine, a system that he wanted to take down as his own. True, he played the part of a supportive friend, feeding you words to help you feel secure in your success, but there was something darker that lurked beneath his cheery surface.

How were you supposed to know that after he invited you over for coffee, that you’d soon fall asleep from the spiked liquid, only later to wake up with your hands and wrists completely bound?

It was a sickening realisation as you soon understood that behind those friendly words that you thought were spoken in confidence to you as his friend were nothing more than fleeting sweet nothings that he lied into your ears, leading you believe in a version of him that didn’t exist. He had everyone fooled, but especially you, into thinking that he could coexist with his rival.

Tucking you away into a small closet, at least for now, the room felt awfully confining as it housed you. You knew you were in deep trouble, especially as his words now came out cold, unforgiving and almost mocking.

“Don’t cry,” he spoke, “I’ll keep you company. I’ll make you feel like the spotlight always stays on you, but unfortunately, nobody else will ever see or hear from you again.”

Quickly stifling your protesting lip that quivered in response, pausing your voice that urged to fight past the horrific situation you had found yourself within, he didn’t let you. Instead, he spoke on your behalf.

“Don’t cry,” he repeated with more emphasis this time, “I’m saving you. Being the strongest shouldn’t be your responsibility to bear alone, that’s why I’m lifting the burden for you.”

And with that he closed the door, watching your trust fade away as the world around you darkened.

But it was for a good cause.

To keep you safe.

Satoru however grew needier and needier the more often he visited you, keeping you all locked up in his room, somehow perfectly bound and unable to leave. It was only a matter of time before he grew curious about you in that sort of way, seeing you as both something to protect as well as demanding stress release from you.

It was so exhausting keeping you as his big secret, after all. You had no idea what he had to go through to keep this all under wraps.

So when he sprawled you out over the bed, it wasn’t as though you didn’t anticipate it after all that he had otherwise done to you, but it still hurt all the same.

You grunted as it happened, taking a hit face down into the mattress; your whole body sinking over the soon crumpled bedding. You tried to fight him off—yet even as strong as you were—it wasn’t enough, even for you.

He pulled you up, raising your hips to meet with his own building excitement before peeling your jeans down and sliding your underwear away too. All he had to was shuffle out of his own clothes, dropping the fabric down to his knees. You couldn’t see a thing as he forced you to face away, but you could feel as his cock pressed against your sex and forcefully slid inside.

It didn’t matter how much you writhed around and begged him to stop, nor how much your legs thrashed or how your hands tried to pull themselves away from his pursuit; he wouldn’t pull away—instead however—he would push forward, again and again and again.

He grabbed at your hips and dug crescents into your skin with his fingernails for stability, wrapping his palms around you as he slammed himself back and forth your soon bruised ass. It felt insulting as he shushed you through your involuntarily whimpers, because what else were you supposed to do… especially in a situation like this?

“Please,” you gasped out.

Yet he never kept giving you the response you wanted, his voice deceptively warm as he spoke behind you, “You have no idea how good you feel.”

He would continue to cut you off with every protest with a praise, yet nothing about how he complimented you felt good at all.

“Such a good girl, taking me so well.”

“You’re so incredible, I knew it was a good thing I kept you around.”

“So good, so good—“

All it would do was make you feel sicker and sicker, somewhat nauseating you as he continued to pound inside your abused cunt. You couldn’t help but feel nauseated, maybe even dizzied from what was happening because you simply couldn’t understand why. If this was the consequence from your academic effort, then you would have never tried to reach for the stars, if it was as bleak as this.

Satoru continued to spear his length into you; his size hurting you as it stretched against your resisting walls. His cock filled you out completely, feeling almost torturous with how he would relieve you from the pressure as he pulled out, only to impale you again, forcing tears to spill out of your eyes when you felt it all happen again.

Each and every single thrust felt rougher than the last, as if he was beginning to lose himself in the sensation. He would bury his hips as far as he could into the cushioning of your ass, chasing the addiction of the release he wanted so goddamn much.

Soon enough however, he flipped you around to your back, taking in the sight of your dishevelled appearance; your messy hair, your tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes and both the best and the worst of all, the overall look or hurt and betrayal.

Satoru didn’t give you a warning as he started it all up again, positioning himself in between your legs while maintaining eye contact with you. Those chilling blue eyes were no longer serene, but painful as they bored into yours and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

He moved into you again, wrapping your now tired legs around his shoulders, enjoying the sensation of your surrendered weak state. He lifted you ever so slightly yet again, pushing his cock into your core and melting into you once again.

Satoru was relentless as he pounded into you, bucking his hips feverishly as he chased his almost strained release. The entire time, he wouldn’t break eye contact with you, forcing you to watch as he mercilessly took you again and again. Your insides clenched around him, longing for him to stop but he wasn’t quite ready just yet.

He picked up the pace regardless, shuddering out shaky breaths as he pushed himself to his limit; slowing down with each remaining thrust, yet rutting at a more impactful rhythm. He was close too, he was so fucking close. It was an addictive sight to him after all, to see your body convulse and quiver from him overwhelming you, to watch as you longed for his release too (even if it was for a completely different reason).

Leaning down for both comfort and the rising sensation, he pumped his length forward one last time before going limp. His hips grinded themselves a little more however, attempting to milk himself as much as possible into your shuddering body.

Yet, it didn’t seem to be entirely over as he pulled away from you ever so slightly.

Perhaps you were naive for thinking that this would be the end after he got what he wanted.

As his lips brushed against your ear, you couldn’t help but feel almost frozen from the delusions he whispered forth.

“I’ll promise that I’ll never leave you now,” he assured you, meaning every last word, because after all, there was no greater love than something so sickeningly obsessive as something unrequited.

At least to him.

[caitlinsclark]

WINNER caitlin clark caitlin clark x reporter!reader | summary: Caitlin has a very apparent soft spot for her favorite reporter. based on this concept! word count: 2.8k masterlist and tag list

You should’ve put two and two together from the beginning, but it was hard to believe that the attention you received from Caitlin was meant to be anything more than friendly. The first time you got a subtle hint that there was more was after her team’s win against New York Liberty. The conference room was buzzing with reporters, a rumble of excited murmuring keeping the area from being quiet.

Caitlin sat in the center of the long table, her face showing pure exhaustion and a part of your heart squeezed in your chest for her. Though a weak smile remained on her face, her eyes contradicted it as they appeared sunken in and her movements seemed sluggish.

A few minutes in, her fist held the weight of her head as she stared blankly at the wild sea of reporters. The list your boss had created for you was held in your grasp, but it descended from its position near your chest as you lost the will to push any invasive questions onto the clearly tired girl.

“Caitlin, how do you feel about the somewhat bitter comments made by other players in regard to your rising success in the WNBA?” A reporter from a few rows over pushed a clear and untrue agenda about an incident that could be boiled down to nothing more than the game.

A sigh left from deep within her chest, one that was clearly building up through the entirety of the previous questions the media had been forcing. As a media trained athlete, the brunette was able to deflect the pushy reporter flawlessly and stoically then proceed to move onto the next without a blink.

When it was finally your turn to take her attention, which you had admittedly been waiting a little too eagerly for, you pretended to glance over the notepad in your hand. Though you had no intention of relaying any of the pushy questions written down. Your boss wouldn’t be too mad if you gave her a break once, right?

“Caitlin, hi,” You grinned and sent her a tiny wave and stated your name, hoping she'd remember you but didn't want to get your hopes high. Caitlin’s head lifted from where it rested against her hand, at a speed that rivaled her enthusiasm on the court earlier. Her eyes scanned your figure from head to toe in a less than conspicuous manor, but you chalked it up to curiosity.

A tiny smile, an improvement from her previous frown nonetheless, appeared on her lips at the mention of your name, “Hi, and I know.” Though it was quiet, you still caught the end and it knocked the wind out of your lungs. The softness in which she greeted you with was enough to make your knees buckle and question your fleeting professionalism.

You couldn't ignore the way the athlete gazed at you, as if you’d already had a hundred conversations before. The familiarity she greeted you with was welcoming and invoked a small warmth to spread within your body. You had to briefly shift on your feet to humble yourself.

Admittedly, Caitlin had your name within her Instagram search history. Twice. Her first time seeing you inside the conference room was enchanting to say the least. The stark contrast from how you posed yourself with a genuine interest to learn about her as opposed to the other story-hungry people around you was enough to pull her in.

You two had a few quick interviews spaced out during her rookie season that you assumed she had forgotten about with how much press she does. But nothing could’ve wiped her mind of the way she got an ego boost when hearing nothing but praise falling from your lips at the mention of her name. She wanted to keep it that way.

The reporters surrounding you followed her line of vision, curiously observing what could have possibly elicited that reaction from the athlete. Despite the switch in the media’s attention, Caitlin’s intense gaze remained on your features with her lips pursing in an anticipation at what you were waiting to ask.

You cleared your throat with your hand in front of your mouth, dragging out the spectacle as Caitlin gazed at you in amusement. Not even the tall microphone in front of her face could hide the upward tilt of her lips as you prepared to ask the question, intending and hoping to give the girl a break.

“My sources tell me you’re pretty decent at basketball,” you started with a quick glance back at your notes once the severity of her unwavering eye contact began to warm your face. She made a so-so gesture in response to you which left the crowd laughing as well.

“Have you ever thought of maybe, possibly making something like a career out of it?”

The laugh that pulled from Caitlin at your unfunny question surprised everyone in the room, including yourself. But you weren’t in a place to ponder it and laughed along, as a(n extremely) pretty girl finding your (un)funny advances hilarious was not something you wasted time questioning.

Caitlin could tell your intentions considering the comparison to the statistical questions you posed just a few days ago and the conference before. Which only made her stomach flip as the recognition of you noticing her well-being now rang in her head.

Her eyebrows raised in a playful expression, as if challenging you, “Are you saying I’m not currently making a career?” It was clear she wasn’t taking offense and seeing the humor, maybe even thankful for the pause in serious commentary. But the arms that crossed over her chest and muscles that began to flex had you needing a pause for some serious commentary.

“No, no, you must be doing pretty good. My cousin looks up to you. Then again, she’s kinda at that state where she still looks up to Princess Ariel for example, are you really okay with being grouped there?” Your tone shifted as if it was a pressing headline and faked a grimace, but only for a second until your nonchalant character somewhat broke.

But she couldn’t didn’t even have it in her heart to hold it against you with the way your face scrunched up, it was cute while it lasted. And maybe it was even more cute after too, she couldn’t help but note.

Caitlin was quick to play off your little act even somewhat defensively, “She was one of my favorites,” Her fingers toyed with the pre-wrap holding back her messy ponytail, lingering near her cheeks that started to tint red. Her smile that was now directed at the table, shyly for a player of her caliber and power, seemed to light up her face in a drastic change from minutes ago.

She sure looked like a winner now, you thought as you scanned her face in detail. The previously sunken in look of her eyes was now distracted by her bright grin, dazzling the entire group. You glance to the media person next to you and think she could pass out just at the dazzling charisma radiating from Caitlin's spot on stage. Caitlin tried to smooth down her hair, as she now somehow felt unkempt in the presence of you.

Though, you knew no better and were quick to counteract as you tapped your lips with your pointer finger thoughtfully, “She’s mine too.” But the way your eyes narrowed right at her had Caitlin’s hopes spiking up that you were referring to more than just the character.

The goofy smile now fully graced her features and you ached to take a hundred pictures of the look on her face in case it disappeared again. Though you feared that still wouldn’t be enough to capture it properly. Maybe you could threaten the reporter next to you for a replay, though.

And as she found herself basking in the small laugh that you attempted to keep down but failed to, she had to shift in her chair and clear her throat to compose herself. The next reporter asked the question, she still felt relief in the comfort of your attention on her. You tried not to read into the way her positive demeanor remained for the rest of the questioning.

Now Caitlin felt like a winner too. But maybe not only from the basketball game.

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

The next conference solidified the lingering suspicions that your mind had sparked about Caitlin’s actions toward you in the previous one. It was following a painfully close loss to the Mystics and it wasn’t hard to see the disappointment littering the entire team.

The brunette’s eyes had immediately scanned the front row of hungry press, though the one she was looking for didn’t seem to turn up.

A multitude of questions rumbled out by the media, which were all being fielded directly to Caitlin, had her frustration levels growing and growing. Her forehead rested on her fist, face turned down at the table as if even looking at the cameras was painful.

“Caitlin,” Another reporter prepared to ask her a question except she couldn’t help but interrupt the continuous stream only targeted at her.

The athlete waved her hand dismissively and gestured to her teammate on the left, “No, I’m good. Ask Aliyah a question.” The reporter attempted to repeat her name but Caitlin shut her mouth and leaned back in her chair.

Her frustration toward the media extended to a lack of respect to not only her, but her teammates as well.

In midst of the loss, she didn’t see you push your way to the front. Maybe it was a little too eager, but how could you not continue the tradition of relieving your favorite team from the vultures known as your fellow reporters? At least that’s what you were gonna keep telling yourself as you purposely straightened your shirt before Caitlin could see you.

Taking your opportunity to change the narrative, “You both had a really strong fight out there today, what did you feel like your best asset was that you’ll take into next game?” Though you tried to target your question toward Aliyah so the pretty (tired) girl beside her caught a, much needed, break.

To your own shock, Caitlin’s head turned at the sound of your voice and her chin settled comfortably on her palms in your direction. A small sigh escaped her lips, heard by her fellow player who immediately caught on to what had her friend reverting to a behavior like one of a lovestruck little girl.

Though you tried your best to give your full attention to Aliyah as she started her answer, it was a battle that people much stronger than you would’ve lost. Your eyes drifted over to the brunette donning a 22 jersey once, only to snap back to her teammate once you caught Caitlin still looking at you. If there was a subtle way to fan yourself, you would’ve started already.

You gave Aliyah your full attention until she finished up her answer, expecting that to be the end of it, “The team dynamics are just getting more and more solid as we go on.”

Despite her previous dismissal, Caitlin jumped at the chance to also answer the question once she was sure her teammate was finished.

“Me personally,” She paused to point at herself, drawing out her answer as long as possible and a smirk lit up her face when directing her answer at you, “I feel like we have been melding as a team. The dynamics are only getting more and more improved from here.” Her hands returned to hold up her chin as she looked at you in awe, forgetting about all the cameras capturing her reaction.

Aliyah’s face scrunched up in protest, “I literally just said that?” The conference room broke out in laughter but Caitlin continued, this time with a sheepish smile that was on full display as her focus finally shifted.

“So yeah, team work helped us...”

She failed to see the sheepish smile you hid behind the notepad in your hands as you took in her body language and ignorance to the room around you. The forwardness of her undivided attention was not something that many were as fortunate to have.

“Chill with the heart eyes, yikes,” Aliyah muttered to her teammate, pushing her elbow off the edge of the table to cut her rambling answer off. Caitlin stumbled and almost hit the table, trying to play it off with a laugh but still kicked Aliyah in retaliation under the table. She knew who Caitlin was trying to impress.

When press was over and the media began to clear out, Aliyah made a conscious decision that she couldn’t bear to go through another press conference with a love sick, yet single Caitlin.

“Sorry CC, but like you said, not me, team work is gonna help us here. Same way it helped in the game,” Aliyah put her hands on Caitlin’s shoulders, dusting off her jersey, “I’m gonna throw you to the wolves and you’re gonna do the rest. That’s team work!” Her teammate turned her figure around and gave her back a shove before any response formed in Caitlin’s head.

The brunette caught herself before she could stumble too bad. The room had cleared out by now as officials ushered everyone out but it seemed like time was on her side. Or maybe you had purposefully pretended to retie your shoe to get the workers to give you a few seconds, the world may never know.

But your perfume seemed to get stuck within her senses and jam every coherent thought trying to get past her mind block, which was simply made up of you. She was met with a dazzling smile on your features, one that she couldn't believe was all for her.

“A basketball player without good balance? Was I right when I said you were only pretty decent?” Your lips formed an ‘o’ as you let out a mocking gasp, and though Caitlin was already steady on her feet you still put your hands on her arms, “Do you need an escort so you don’t risk an ankle?”

Caitlin’s head was going haywire at the, unnecessary but very much welcome, contact you were offering and tried not to move too much. You got a small smile out of her but were determined to do more.

“I’d be happy to be said escort,” You throw out, quite boldly but not close to the level of boldness she was reaching during the past conferences. You play it off, but you swear she begins to flex under your light grip on her arms, “You know, just for your own safety, of course.”

She nodded slowly, her playfully narrowed eyes seeing through your act, “I guess I don't mind being a flight risk if that's the precautions we have to take."

The hold you had on her arms slid slowly down the skin of her arms, igniting bursts of warmth in your wake, all the way down to her hands that you now grasped. She was quick to slot her fingers between yours, adding a level of intimacy to the moment that made your heart skip a beat.

“Can’t have Indiana’s big winner tripping just like that into the wrong girl next time,” you stole one of your hands back to adjust the pre-wrap that was slightly askew. Caitlin held her breath as you got so close, internally scoffing at the insinuation of falling for anyone else.

Her shoulders shrugged, a sluggish posture taking over once the recent loss came back to mind, “I wasn’t much of a winner tonight.” Her hands squeezed yours as if it was a natural reflex, a certain air of familiarity that had been going unsaid for quite a while now.

“You don’t think,” you paused with hesitation but continued with a small glance at Caitlin’s lips with a confidence that only her touch was fueling, “there’s anything else you can win tonight?”

And though you hadn’t been certain before, nothing could hide the way she glanced at yours in return, “I can think of a few things.” The softness of her voice had a hesitance, a fear of breaking the moment you two had been building to for months now.

You gently slid your free hand up to her cheek, with no further guidance as she practically pounced on you. Her lips moved harmoniously with yours as her free hand applied pressure against the arch of your back so the only thing you could feel was her.

Another win for her, just not in basketball.

[leclsrc]

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...

word count: 10.5k  

Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 21/33 so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl

Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.

Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.

“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.

“Portugal is not boring.”

“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”

“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.

“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”

“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”

Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”

“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.

“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.

Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.

Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.

So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.

“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”

“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”

“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.

Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.

Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.

All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.

He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.

He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.

Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.

Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.

To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”

You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish. 

“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.

Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.

—

Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”

“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”

“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”

“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”

“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.

“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”

Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.

“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.

“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.

“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink. 

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”

“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”

You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.

—

You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.

9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.

“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”

“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”

“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”

Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”

“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”

You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”

“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Oh?”

“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”

“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”

Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.

Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.

I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.

You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.

You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.

After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance. 

“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.

“Try fourteen,” you argue. 

“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”

“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”

For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs. 

“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”

“I am not a big reader. You?”

“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”

Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.

“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.

“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.

Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.

He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.

“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”

“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—

He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.

—

You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.

Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.

“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”

He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”

“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.

“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.

It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.

“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.

He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”

So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.

Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—

“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”

He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.

“For what?”

“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath. 

He squints. “Beer?”

You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.

“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”

“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.

“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”

His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.

God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.

His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”

“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.

“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.

“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.

“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”

You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”

“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.

“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

—

He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren��t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.

“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.

Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.

—

He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.

“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.

“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.

“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.

“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.

“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.

“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds. 

“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”

“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.

“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening. 

“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close.  The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.

“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.

Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.

“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously. 

“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.

He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.

It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea. 

“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.

He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”

“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.

He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.

Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.

“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”

You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.

You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.

“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.

Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.

“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.

He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.

Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”

“Brat,” he responds.

You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.

“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.

You want—need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.

“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.

Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.

“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.

“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.

—

You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.

Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.

But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.

“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

So he goes. He’s thirty-five. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.

“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.

You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.

“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs. 

A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.

“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.

“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”

“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”

“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?” 

But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.

“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.

He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.

“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”

He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.

Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.

You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.

Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most. 

“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.

“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”

Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.

His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.

“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.

Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.

You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder. 

P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.

Feel good?

Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.

Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.

It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.

He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”

“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”

—

“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.

“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.

“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.

“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”

“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.

The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.

Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.

Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood. 

Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.

He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.

“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt. 

He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.

“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”

His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.

You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.

His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face. 

“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.

“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”

The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.

You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.

His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.

You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.

You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.

You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.

“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.

He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.

He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.

You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.

“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you. 

Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.

The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.

He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—

His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.

Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.

I’m cumming—!

Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.

“I said fuck me.”

“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.

He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.

“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.

Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”

He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.

He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.

“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”

But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”

“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”

You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”

“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.

“And if your dad walked in?”

You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.

“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?” 

“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.

He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick. 

He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.

You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.

“You look pretty.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.

—

“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.

Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.

You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?

He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.

[lovebugism]

“I’m not the easiest person to talk to, or be around. It’s… hard for other people to love me. I get that.” with Eddie? Maybe he and reader are sorta rivals or frenemies?

here's an unsolicited part 2 to this fic! hope you like it :D — eddie knows you like him now, so you find it extremely hard to be normal around him accordingly (enemies to lovers, grumpy!reader, more succession references, 2.3k)

You walk into the Hideout behind Steve and Robin, hands trembling and sticky with sweat. 

The humid air of the overcrowded bar and the overwhelming stench of cheap beer do little to quell your swirling stomach. The too-loud music and bustling bodies are hardly more than a harsh reminder of the last time you were here — pouring your heart out to Eddie Munson in the form of anxious word vomit, only to be hopelessly turned away. 

Not quite rejected but hardly embraced, which is somehow more embarrassing. 

“You alright?” Steve asks once you’ve ducked into the dim hallway of the backstage area. 

The music and muddled chatter are mostly stifled now, but the walls continue to pulse with life — riddled with chipping paint and dubious stains that only add to your unease. You try to swallow down your distant ennui, hoping it isn’t as obvious as it feels. (It is). Your loud feelings are too big for your body, and it’s got your face softly screwed together like you’ve tasted something sour.

The concerned glint in Steve’s eyes makes you cower. “Yeah. I’m peachy,” you deadpan with an unconvincing shrug. “Why?”

“‘Cause you look like we’re leading you to slaughter,” Robin scoffs.

“You’re asking me to be nice to Eddie Munson for two hours,” you grouse. “So, excuse me if I’m not the most chipper.”

The brunette girl flashes you a look over her shoulder, ocean eyes smudged with dark liner. “Scared you’ll spontaneously combust?” she jokes with her hand wrapped around the rusted knob of the faux greenroom. It feels more like her chipped maroon nails have grabbed your heart and twisted.

“Terrified,” you monotone just before she swings the door open.

The tiny, windowless room smells like sweat and grocery store cologne. It’s crowded with vanity mirrors, plastic folding chairs, and suitcases — hardly big enough for a heavy metal band. 

The three of you run into Gareth and Jeff on your way in. The two look nothing like themselves as you shuffle past them in the doorway, sharing fleeting glances and awkward greetings as you go. A couple of D&D nerds in leather and eyeliner feels almost uncanny.

It’s the same with Eddie, sort of. Curls drenched with sweat, eyes smudged black, tanktop damp around the neckline — a total rockstar. You’re not sure if it’s the raucous outfit stirring your stomach or the body wearing it.

“Oh, shit— You assholes actually showed!” Eddie beams at the sight of you. “And you dressed for the occasion, too.”

The boy in all black and silver stands before the three of you, still dressed in corporate attire after working late shifts. Steve and Robin look at least mostly normal without the Family Video vests and branded name tags. You, however, look like one of those businesswear catalogs brought to life — glaringly out of place. 

“You sayin’ The Gap isn’t proper Hideout attire, Munson?” Steve quips, holding his arm out for a friendly (only slightly awkward) side embrace.

Eddie slaps the back of the boy’s collared shirt with a ringed hand. “Claire’s is more metal than The Gap,” he teases, then turns to hug Robin. “At least Buckley looks halfway normal.”

“And by normal, you mean hot, right?” she jokes, voice deep and gritty and effortlessly sultry.

He scoffs. “Obviously.”

Eddie has no trouble greeting Steve and Robin but loses most of his cool when he turns to you.

The not-so confession at Benny’s Burgers seemed to change more things between you than the heart-felt one you shared here not too long ago. He feels a bit weird, knowing now that you meant what you said — that you actuallyliked him, and that it wasn’t just some cruel joke. 

He feels like he’s got cool points to win with you now. And it makes him achingly aware of when he inevitably loses them.

“Look at you,” Eddie grins, tossing his chin back to shake wild curls from his face. A few chestnut strands cling stubbornly to his sticky forehead. The milky white tendons of his neck shine with sweat, too. “You look like an actual human person.”

“Wow. Thanks, Eds,” you monotone, unsure of whether or not to take his words as a compliment. You cross your arms over the chest of your fitted turtle neck and joke, “I’d say that same, but… you look like a poodle that just washed up on shore.”

Robin mumbles your name through gritted teeth, flashing you a look and poking you on the shoulder. She scolds you like a parent, as though to say be nice without actually saying the words out loud.

“What?” you shrug.

Eddie only chuckles — a low and honeyed sound he presses to your ear when he brings you suddenly in for a hug. His lean body meets yours, soft and strong and slightly clammy. His skin smells like deep cologne, minty aftershave, and very faintly of boy. You tense when his hands cradle your back.

“Oh,” you mumble in surprise, floundering at the affection as you attempt to hold him back. “Okay.”

“How’s the nine-to-five?” Eddie asks after he parts from you, sounding almost like he cares. “Boring the absolute shit outta you?”

You shrug with an air of nonchalance and hope you don’t look as flustered by his attention as you feel. “Oh, you know… Burying the bodies, counting the cash.”

“Gotta picture of me in your little cubicle?”

“Tons,” you answer. “It’s basically an Eddie Munson shrine.”

His smile widens to show all his teeth. His chocolate eyes glitter with mischief, too, like he knows what he’s doing to you. 

Eddie gives you a break from his suffocating stare and looks to Steve and Robin standing on his other side. You feel like you can finally breathe. “I told Greg at the bar to give my friends free beer tonight— just show him your ID or whatever,” the boy tells them.

“Oh, my god— I could kiss you right now,” Robin mumbles.

Eddie’s plush pink lips curl into a half-smirk when he turns to you again. “So try not to run up your tab tonight, alright, sweetheart?” he quips and pats you on the arm. It’s easier to joke that he hadn’t mentioned you at all when your name was first from his lips. Which is totally a joke you would’ve made.

You flash Steve and Robin a wide-eyed look of annoyance, jaw clenched to contain all the insults you instinctively want to spew. “He got us free beers,” the former cautions with a sympathetic shrug. “Don’t ruin it.”

You roll your eyes and hear them leave behind you — not even trying to pretend like they didn’t swing byfor the beers. Eddie’s stupid grin widens when you stay. “You heard the man. Means you gotta be nice to be all night.”

“Right,” you scoff like it’s funny. Steve The Hair Harrington doesn’t exactly scream figure of authority to you. Robin Buckley, maybe. But definitely not Steve.

“Think you can do it without spontaneously combusting?” he quips.

You hate that he knows you so well. “Not particularly,” you deadpan.

Eddie tilts his wild head to the side and sends you a pretty, tight-lipped smile. “Well, you’re doing a great job already.”

His praise is sarcastic. You know this already, so you’re not sure why it has your stomach doing backflips. “Thanks…” you mumble, inherently shrinking inside yourself as you attempt to make small talk. “How, uh— How was the show?”

“Fine,” the boy hums, shrugging his pale shoulders. “Same set from last time. Same crowd of drunks.”

“Sorry I missed it.”

“Eh. Don’t be. You’ve actually got important shit going on— Don’t worry about me.”

“Your shit’s important, too,” you argue without thinking, perhaps more shocked by your sincerity than the boy ahead of you. You follow quickly and much more harshly, “I guess.”

Eddie smiles wordlessly. You start to squirm in place. He watches you grow suddenly uncomfortable in your own skin as you seem to look everywhere but back at him. The pink expression ebbs into a more concerned one. “You okay?”

You hate the question more the second time. 

“Fine,” you monotone, hardly convincing.

He squints. “Then why aren’t you looking at me?”

“I am looking at you,” you argue just to argue, giving him a measly glance before turning away a moment later.

“No, seriously,” Eddie chuckles, reaching out to touch you. “What’s going on?”

His ringed hand caresses the outside of your elbow. You jerk back on instinct, more aggressive than you mean to be. 

“Nothing!” you huff, looking so far away from him that he can only see your profile. You grumble like a storm cloud, “You just— You make me go all weird. As you know. And fully intend.”

“That’s what this is all about?” Eddie chuckles. “You got a little crush on me?”

He reaches out for you again, this time digging his fingers into the junction of your neck. You swat him away with a harsh hand. You hate the way his touch makes your skin buzz. 

“You’re such a dick,” you groan before spinning on your heel. Your slacks swish around your ankles as you walk the very short distance to the door. Eddie’s footsteps sound much heavier in comparison as he rushes behind you. 

“Hey, hey, hey! C’mon. I’m just kidding,” he assures, still laughing as he slides his body between you and the exit. He meets your glare with a crooked smile. “It’s okay. I got a crush on you back— you know that.”

You hate how easily the words spill from his mouth, how cool he is about all of it compared to the time bomb you’ve become — tick tick ticking away as your anxiety builds. You figure this stupid crush (or whatever he wants to call it) must mean more to you than it does to him. So again, you turn away.

Eddie knocks his worn sneaker against the toe of your pleather boot. “Just because you don’t believe me doesn’t make it any less true, you know?” he tells you, quiet and suddenly serious as he tilts his cheek to his shoulder. “Doesn’t make me like you any less, either.”

His confession makes you feel funny. It makes you giddy and fills you with dread all at once. “It’s just… It’s weird,” is all you can think to say, after several long moments of silence.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I— I’m not— I don’t know,” you groan, bringing your hands to your face to hide behind your palms. “God, I did not intend to talk about this today.”

“Well, too late. We’re talking about it.”

Eddie takes a step away from the door, moving impossibly closer to you. He ducks his chin to meet your sheepish gaze, dark eyes sparkling with visible concern. 

You step back from him on instinct and talk wildly with your hands. “No! Tonight was supposed to be about you— about you’re fucking show— not about me!”

Brows raised and hidden behind his sweat-drenched bangs, he monotones. “Say it.”

A stubborn sigh puffs out your lips. “I just… I know I’m not the easiest person to talk to. Or to be around. I know that,” you confess. “I know it’s hard for people to like me, but… you do, and I really don’t fucking get it, okay? It just feels like you’re playing a big, dumb prank on me.”

Eddie stays silent for a moment, chocolate gaze unwavering as he ponders your words. 

“Wait, so…” the boy trails off, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. “You’re mean to me, but I like you anyway, and because I can see through all the— faux bitchiness or whatever— You have a hard time… being around me?”

Your eyes flit to the ceiling for a moment. You look back at him and nod. “Yeah, that’s… That’s pretty much the gist of it, yeah.”

Eddie beams before he can help it, filling the dingy room with golden sunshine. “Well, you know how we get past that, right?” he wonders and scrunches the bridge of his nose.

You get the feeling he’s teasing you still, but you entertain him anyway. “What?”

“Us being boyfriend-girlfriend—”

“Eddie,” you groan with your head tilted back, only partly pretending to be annoyed. You don’t step back from him when he inches closer to you this time, though. You don’t jerk away from his touch when his hands caress your forearms, either. 

“I know you wanna…” he lilts, pulling you closer with ringed fingers wrapped gently around your wrists. Your shoes scuff the carpet as you stumble into his chest. “It’s why I make you go all funny, right?”

You squint up at him, with hate in your eyes and your heart in your throat. “You’re so annoying,” you deadpan.

“Okay, how about this? We can just go on one date, alright?” Eddie offers, smoothing his guitar-string calloused fingers up your shoulders. “Nothin’ fancy, I promise. Just bottomless breadsticks at Enzo’s at seven. And you, bottom-less at my place at eight.”

Your knotted stomach does a backflip at his words, but you keep glaring at him anyway. “And who says you don’t know how to flirt?” you squint.

Another chuckle spills from his plush, pink lips. His tongue darts out to wet them a second later — mouth desperate to be kissed. “‘Kay. Fine. How about we just makeout in my van after closing? And I try not to be a total idiot and ruin it like last time?”

He’s much more serious now. You can see it in his very expressive button eyes. He’s borderline pleading now, for a second chance he never needed to ask for. 

You cave, far quicker and with a lot less fight than he expected. “Fine,” you shrug with an unenthusiastic huff.

Eddie smiles so big, it’s like you’ve just told him you loved him or something — all his teeth on display — so wide and full of adoration it almost hurts. 

[byeoltoyuki]

Try

↳ Pairing: Seungmin x reader

❧ Genre: rivals to lovers / romance / smut

❧ Words: +4k

❧ Warnings: unprotected sex, oral (f)

❧Summary : Years ago, he used to be your enemy.

No. Enemy was too strong to describe what Kim Seungmin was to you. Your rival was a better term. He was everything you weren’t; friendly, funny and effortlessly brilliant. You loathed him for that. And yet, when you meet him again years later, you just can’t deny that there’s something else between you too.

❧ A/N : Honestly, this one comes out of nowhere. I just needed to write so here it comes ♥ Reblogs and comments are always appreciated ♥

***

‘Trust your guts’.

It was your motto in life. A simple rule. And you abided by this rule half of your short lived life. But not tonight and you regretted it. Deeply.

The annual gathering with people from your college was an event your closest friends adored just so they could show some idiots that they had succeeded in life. You? You avoided it. An event you hated with all your heart. You always found excuses not to go. Your life depended on it.

Okay. Not really. Not your life at least. But definitely your ego.

You hated half of the people who attended the event. Back in college, they were so quick to judge, to talk behind your back and yet they expected you to be nice to them. To them, you were just a cold, nerdy girl with no friends. Someone they could easily mock. They hated your attitude. They hated your looks. But they also hated how easily you beat them every single time.

They were wrong.

Yes, you were a little nerdy back then, but you weren’t a cold person, just shy. And you had friends. Not many, but you didn’t need many to feel good. To be happy. Those you had, stuck by your side and they also happened to be the reason you had finally agreed to come to the gathering. You just couldn’t say no to Hyunjin and Yeji, not when those two formed an alliance against you. You had no chance against them.

You sighed to yourself. Would it be rude to grab your purse and leave? One nasty look from Hyunjin, as if he could read your mind, and you gulped nervously. Apparently it was. You slumped further into your chair and tried to keep up with the conversation. Same boring conversation. ‘Where do you currently work?’ ‘Are you soon getting married?’ ‘I’ve bought a house!’ Why did it have to be a competition? Couldn't they just enjoy a nice gathering and the meal?

“Hyunjin, I heard you’re flying to Paris for the fashion week.” Seoah were almost drooling as she spoke to Hyunjin. You cringed. She couldn’t make it even more obvious that she wasn’t just admiring him. No, she had something else on mind. Too bad, Hyunjin was a taken man even if she didn’t know that.

He smiled into his drink. “Yes, tomorrow.” He put his glass back on the table and glanced smugly at a silently fuming Juwon who always hated Hyunjin’s popularity. “I was actually supposed to leave today, but I couldn’t miss our annual gathering! It’s good to see you guys.”

What a liar. You had to bite your lips not to laugh at his words.

Juwon cleared his throat and averted his attention on you. Hell no. “You look different.” For once, it didn’t sound like an insult but you were still weary of him. No nice words coming out of his mouth could make you forget what kind of asshole he was. And you had a hard time to believe that he had actually changed.

“Do I?” You did look different from the past. You used not to care about your looks. Who cared how you looked as long as you had good grades? You certainly didn’t. Neither did your friends. But it changed. Ever since you started working at your art gallery, you understood the importance of how others perceived you. You learnt to do your makeup right. You took care of your long hair. And you changed your whole wardrobe. You got classier. And maybe tonight you put an extra effort to look good. Not that you needed to impress anyone, but you did it anyway.

“It suits you!” Another woman commented, genuinely excited. You couldn’t remember her name but you thanked her with a smile.

Yeji eyed you from the other side of the big table, thumbs up, her eyes telling you silently ‘told you so’. You ignored her. Just because you could.

“I wonder with what kind of man you ended.” Juwon was too curious for his own good.

“Oh come on.” Seoah laughed as if the idea of you dating was ridiculous. “I bet she’s still single.”

How typical of her to assume. Not that she was wrong, but her comment still pissed you. Did she think you were still the same woman as back in college? Just because right at this moment, you were indeed single, didn’t mean you refused dating. You did and got tired of it. Every relationship you had, always started nice, romantic even, but always ended the same way: you breaking up with the guy. They were nice men who truly cared for you but there was just something missing.

However, before you could share a piece of your mind with Seoah, you were interrupted.

“Sorry guys, I’m late!”

That voice.

That stupidly, annoying voice. Your whole body reacted; you shuddered, unable to breath, unable to think properly.

Kim Seungmin.

Here came a man you wished you could avoid for the rest of your life. You knew, your hatred for him was irrational. Compare to others, he had never done anything to you. Seungmin never mocked you, never made any bad comments. But he was your rival. No matter how hard you worked, no matter how many hours you spent in the library, studying, he still beat you every single time. It drove you crazy. But what made everything tenths time worse was the fact that Seungmin quickly caught on your little game and it amused him. You hated him for that too.

“You’re right on time!” Juwon pushed a chair for him. “We’ve been discussing Y/N’s love life!” His gaze slid to you and smirked. “Or lack of it.” Yep. Still an asshole, you were right.

Seungmin quirked a brow at Juwon’s words. You felt his eyes on you. On your face, on your neck, on your arms. Your skin burned under his gaze but you refused to acknowledge his presence for the sake of your sanity.

Maybe a tiny part of you expected Seungmin to comment Juwon’s words, maybe even laugh at it. But he did none of that. Instead you felt him only closer to you which made your unease grow with every passing seconds.

“Do you mind if we switch places?” Seungmin asked the girl beside you, taking the two of you completely off guard.

You opened your mouth, a protest on the tip of your tongue but the girl beside you was faster. She hurried to leave her spot. Seungmin flashed her a pretty smile and sat right next to you. Despite you wanting to avoid him, now that he sat so close to you, your arm brushing his, there was no escape. Now that you were staring right into his pretty, annoying, eyes, you knew: you were fucked.

“As for what you said Juwon. Lack of love life?” Seungmin repeated his words. He moved a little closer to you and before you could push him away, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, bringing you against him. “How come you didn’t tell them about us, babe?”

Loud gasps followed by whispers.

What.

What the actual fuck?!

If from outside you looked perfectly composed, at least to those who didn’t know you well enough, inside you were completely freaking out. His words made no sense. His body, his warmth that should have repelled you, felt actually nice.

Kim Seungmin was trying to help you. You heard him. You understood what he was saying but you didn’t understand why. You weren’t friends, not even close and you hadn’t seen each other for so long. I’ll deal with you later.

Something was wrong with you too because instead of pushing him away, you leant into him and accepted his help. “Because they wouldn’t have believed me. Should I remind you that we used to hate each other?” You reminded him and playfully poked his side.

Seungmin leaned closer, his lips so close to yours – you gulped but didn’t avert your eyes from his face. How annoyingly pretty he looked with his eyes shining brightly with mischief. Fine, he was helping you but he was clearly having fun too.

“Wrong.” He said and kissed the corner of your lips.

Gasps again.

Your heart skipped a beat. The corner of your lips tingled and you found yourself wishing his lips had stayed longer. What the actual fuck, Y/N. This whole night was a terrible idea and you kept making bad decisions. Getting drunk and hoping to forget everything seemed like a good idea right now.

“I never hated you.” He added and pulled back to face the others as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb at them. And at you. “What’s up?”

And just like that they started talking again. But you heard none of that. All you could hear was the sound of your roaring heart. All you could feel was the lingering feeling of his lips. All you could think about was Seungmin and this thing going on between the two of you tonight. ‘I never hated you.’ Fine. Maybe he never did but you weren’t on best terms either. You wanted to take him outside and talk to him. Was it his attempt at messing with you? Or was he really just being genuinely nice?

You noticed Hyunjin and Yeji staring at you, questions in their eyes. You didn’t blame them. They had to know none of it was real, they were your best friends. You wouldn’t have hidden something as big as dating Kim Seungmin from them.

“And you Yeji?” Seungmin’s voice brought you back from your reverie. “I heard your new song, it’s really nice.” You wanted to concentrate on what he was saying since he was talking about your friend. You couldn’t. Not when he put his hand on your thigh. Not when he made it look so natural. Not when, despite it happening under the table, it attracted attention on the two of you again.

It should feel wrong. In fact, you should be appalled by his boldness. You didn’t. It felt awfully nice. And right. Instead of pushing him away, you simply watch him talking. You didn’t want to admire his face but it was hard not to. Even if you weren’t fond of him, you weren’t blind. Kim Seungmin was handsome. Pretty eyes, pretty nose and even prettier mouth. Without realizing it, you licked your lips, wondering how it would feel against yours. Or at any other part of your body.

Oh my god. Did they put something in my drink? There’s no way I’m thinking about him. But you were.

Seungmin squeezed your thigh, the palm of his hand feeling suddenly too hot against your skin. He forgot all about his friends and leant closer. “If you keep staring at me like that we might have a problem.” He warned you.

Your breath caught in your throat and you couldn’t ignore how your face flushed. “When did you get so bold?” You whispered in return.

Seungmin smiled in response. A smile so beautiful, so bright, you wanted to keep it for yourself.

“Growing up does that to a person.” He whispered, his lips brushed your ear. “And also, you look really pretty tonight.”

You couldn’t stop the blush from spreading all over your face even if you tried.

Kim Seungmin was a menace. But a very beautiful and annoying one.

“Okay, that’s enough.” One of the guy groaned. “Get a room. Some of us are sadly single and you two are just disgusting.”

Seungmin laughed heartily and unfortunately for you pulled away from you. A tiny part of you was relieved for the space, but another part of you almost whined at the loss of his warmth. Yeah, there was something wrong with you.

****

Somehow you managed to survive through the whole meal without a fight, without people trying to mess with you. In fact, you even managed to laugh a few times and it wasn’t just because of your friends’ jokes. And maybe it had everything to do with Seungmin.

“Should I drive you home?” Hyunjin whispered to your ear, making sure that nobody heard you.

It was the plan. You came with them and you were supposed to leave with them. You glanced at Seungmin and you couldn’t believe yourself: you were hesitating. You could leave with your friends but then you wouldn’t be able to talk to him and have a chance to thank him for his help.

Seungmin was faster to react. “I’ll take her home. Right babe?” He grabbed your jacket from your chair and waited for you.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes at his words, tempted to pull you back against him. You patted his back. “I should go with Seungmin.”

Hyunjin cocked a brow, surprised with your answer. You gave him a small smile and promised to text him and Yeji later.

Seungmin waited for you. Your body moved on its own accord. When you were close enough, Seungmin helped you to put your jacket on. You were thankful he couldn’t see your flushed face.

“There. All good.” He told you. “Are you ready?”

You were not.

***

You didn’t want the drive to your place to be awkward but it was. You didn’t know how to start the conversation with him. You knew nothing about this Kim Seungmin or how to deal with him.

“Thank you for tonight.” You said awkwardly without looking at him.

From the corner of your eyes you saw him glance at you. You expected him to make a comment, to make it easier for you but he didn’t. He returned his attention to the road. Damn him.

You sighed and slumped further into your seat. “I still don’t understand why you helped me.” This time, you looked at him.

Seungmin shrugged. “They were being dicks for no good reason.”

True, they were but it wasn’t anything new. Seungmin never stood up for you before so why now? “You didn’t need to pretend though.” He could have said anything but no, he chose to play your fake boyfriend instead.

Seungmin parked the car by the entrance of your building and then fully faced you. His eyes sparked with delight and something else. “I admit; it wasn’t my plan. But then, I had one look at you and couldn’t help myself.”

You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “So you were messing with me.”

“Maybe a little.”

So damn infuriating. You hurried to unbuckle your seatbelt and opened the door.

“I wasn’t joking you know.” Seungmin stopped you with his words, realizing that if he wanted for you to talk to him, he needed to be genuine. “I never hated you.” He sighed and ruffled his hair in frustration. “I loved how competitive you were. When I realized how clever you were, it pushed me to work harder, to make sure I stayed on the top. And maybe to annoy you a little too. I remember how you used to scrunch your nose whether you saw I got a better grade than you. So adorable.” He smiled at the memory.

Seungmin left you speechless. Why was he making it sound like he was actually fond of you? And why the hell did his words melted you on the spot? You needed to hurry up; grab your purse and leave this car before you did something unthinkable. But as you stepped outside of his car, your body froze, refusing to leave. I’m losing my mind, that’s it.

“Give me your phone.” You turned back and outstretched your hand. It was a bad idea. Terrible idea. But then again, it was just another one to add to the list of bad ideas. Who cared?

Seungmin didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second as if he had been waiting for this moment for ages. You refused to delve on the matter as you quickly saved your number in his phone. “Call me when you want.”

‘And maybe soon.’ But you didn’t say it.

***

You barely made it inside your flat – your phone rang with an unknown number. You stared at your phone, your heart skipping a beat. You didn’t want to think it could be Seungmin. But were you hoping? Maybe.

“Hi.” You instantly recognized his gentle voice.

You couldn’t help it. You chuckled at his eagerness. “You know, usually people wait few days to call back.”

“Open your door.”

Your eyes widened in shock. Too taken aback, you did as he asked without thinking. And here he was. “Did you follow me?!”

Seungmin smiled sheepishly and put his phone back in his pocket. “Sorry. I-“

Was he nervous? “What are you doing, Seungmin?”

Seungmin took a deep breath and took a step inside your flat. The right thing to do would be to tell him to leave. It was too soon and you weren’t in the right mind. You did none of that.

“I’m desperate.” He admitted.

Your breath hitched in your throat as he got closer to you. You knew that if you let him get too close to you, something could happen. And you didn’t completely dislike the idea. Seungmin halted right before you. His eyes blazed with so much intensity, you gulped nervously.

Gently, Seungmin took your hand and pulled it toward him to press against his chest. You jolted, surprised to feel his heartbeat. Wild. Strong. And his hand so warm. “I was a coward in college and missed my chance. I can’t do it a second time, Y/N. I can’t let you slip between my fingers again.”

Your eyes darted back and forth between your hand against his chest and his eyes. “Are you confessing, Seungmin?”

“What if I am?” He dared you, his grip on your hand tightened. Maybe a little part of him was actually scared of rejection. But he held strong.

You could pull away from him and forget his words.

You could, but you didn’t.

His words stirred something inside you. It made you curious. What if instead of looking for a guy that was nice, you went for the guy who loved to compete with you? A guy who, without you even realizing it, pushed you to be the best version of yourself? You had nothing to lose. So you did something completely out of your character. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your body against his, feeling all of him against you. His body strong and firm against you.

“I’d say you need to show me just how much you like me.”

Seungmin growled at your words and instead of answering you, he claimed your mouth. So eager. So desperate. There was nothing sweet about this kiss and you didn’t mind. Seungmin poured years of frustration and need into the kiss. Poured all his feelings, his longing and you gladly took it all.

You moved through the room without breaking the kiss until your thighs met the edge of your table. You didn’t think twice as you sat on top of it, spreading your legs for him to settle against you. You felt it then, how hard he was, how much he wanted you. You would be lying if you said you weren’t wet and excited for what he could do to you.

Seungmin broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against yours. “Are you sure?”

You thought it was sweet that he still tried to control himself. That he still wanted to make sure you were comfortable with him touching you. If only he knew how bad you needed him right now. “Hundred per cent sure.” You confirmed and pecked his nose.

“Well then,” Seungmin’s lips moved from your cheek to the corner of your mouth, to your jaw. “I think I want a dessert.” He kissed your shoulder and gently slid the straps of your dress exposing your aching breasts. “So beautiful.” He licked his way from one breast to another – he took one of your breasts in his mouth, playing with you, teasing you.

You moaned softly, your hand nestled in his hair, you pushed his head against your chest. You were right, his mouth felt perfect against your skin and you thought it would be so easy to get addicted. “Touch me.” You begged, the throbbing between your legs getting too much.

“I’m touching you.” He teased, knowing damn well where you needed him the most.

“Seungmin.” You groaned and tug at his hair.

He groaned and bit playfully on your nipple. “Be nice.” With that he hiked your dress higher. He grabbed your panties and tore them off you.

You gasped loudly. “Did you just tear my panties?!”

He chuckled. “Sorry.” He was definitely not sorry judging by his smirk. You took note to make him pay later for it.

Seungmin spread your legs wider and licked his lips at your exposed pussy glistening with your wetness. “Look at that. Already so wet and I barely touched you.” He teased your sweet pussy by dragging a finger from your clit to your entrance, loving how you shivered at this simple touch.

“Seungmin, please.” You begged shamelessly and pushed your hips, needing to feel more.

“Do you want that?” He pushed his fingers deep inside you. So easily. In and out. Slower at first and then faster, watching as you threw your head back, your lips parted. Your soft moans filled the room and it was the sweetest melody to his ears.

Slowly, Seungmin dropped to his knees. Your dizzy mind barely registered what he was doing – he gently scraped his teeth over your clit. He knew exactly what he was doing. The moment he wrapped his lips around your clit, you lost it.  A loud moan escaped your lips. He feasted on you eagerly; his mouth, his fingers, he was slowly driving you crazy and you could only beg for more.

“Oh my god, Seungmin.” You mewled and ground against his face.

He was good. Too good. His mouth was divine. He worked his magic so well, you could feel your orgasm so close you could taste it.

“I’m so close. Please.”

Seungmin hummed against your pussy. “Come then.”

And you did. Your whole body trembled as your orgasm washed over you. But he didn’t stop. Seungmin kept sucking on your clit, enjoying how you writhed and tried to pull him away from you, too sensitive from your orgasm.

Seungmin straightened up and slowly pulled out his fingers from your pussy. He watched you, smiling lazily as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked on them.

“Shit.” You clenched around nothing at the sight. He shouldn’t be allowed to look so sinful.

You grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him into another bruising kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. “I need you inside me right now.”

“So bossy.” He chuckled, “What if I want to play more with you?”

You considered it for a moment. You wouldn’t mind him playing with you. But right now, you wanted him buried deep inside you. You wanted him to fuck you so hard you wouldn’t remember why in the hell you considered him as your enemy for so long. Wanted him to fuck you so hard you wouldn’t remember your name.

You reached between your bodies and started working on his belt and then his zipper. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to play with me later.”

Seungmin arched a brow, amused with your confession. “Will I?”

“Hell yeah.” You grabbed his cock. He was hard and angry and dripping pre-cum. You salivated at the sight. Kim Seungmin was perfect and you were dying to find out how hard he could ruin you. “Please, wreck me?” You asked as nicely as you could manage.

Seungmin shook his head, laughing fondly. “How can I say no to you?”

Seungmin drove into you. One deep thrust that made you grab his arms, holding for your dear life.

“Fuck.” You moaned and tried to compose yourself. He felt perfect, stretching you, filling you just like you needed.

Seungmin dragged his cock slowly at first, letting you time to adjust and maybe also trying to compose himself. Despite all his talk about playing, he couldn’t deny how badly he wanted to lose control and drive you mad. “You were made for me, Y/N.” He grunted, his control slipping little by little. “Fuck.”

“Don’t hold back, please.” Who cared if he ruined you? Who cared if you couldn’t walk tomorrow? You didn’t.

And he didn’t. Seungmin slammed back into you. His thrusts hard. Deep. Reaching all the right spots. Making you cry out his name. Making you whimper. “You are so fucking perfect.” He hissed as you clenched around him.

“Please, please, please.” You didn’t know what you begged for anymore. Was for him to go harder? To go deeper? To slow down? You couldn’t tell. Your mind was overwhelmed. Your body was burning.

Seungmin kept a brutal rhythm, his thrusts vicious, his grip on your body strong, fingers digging into your skin. It would leave marks and you could only wish for more. Let the world see that someone made you feel so good. Let the world see that you belonged to him.

His hand reached between your bodies and rubbed your clit. There was no escape. You came in a loud cry, wildly, explosively, your body shaking. Seungmin fucked you through your orgasm, his thrusts getting sloppier, his grunts louder, seeking his own release.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and claimed his mouth, swallowing his groan as he came deep inside you, trembling against you.

Seungmin rested his head in the crook of your head, panting. For a moment, you didn’t talk and savored just the moment and the press of your sweaty bodies. It felt nice. It felt good. Perfect.

With your orgasm came clarity. “Why haven’t we done it sooner?” You laughed.

Seungmin bit on your collarbone in response. “Because we had other priorities in college.”

That you did. “What a shame.” You sighed dramatically. “Guess we have some serious catch up to do, don’t you think?”