Who are you really?
⤿ Ongoing, 20.6k ~ After summoning a new companion using your hard-earned Cursed Stardust, you eagerly welcome him into your party. As you set out on your journey to gather the materials needed to strengthen him, strange events begin to unfold. While traveling across the lands, collecting resources from different nations and leveling him up, you start to notice subtle, unusual occurrences: the way water behaves around him, his unnatural strength, and odd flickers of power that seem out of place for an ordinary ally.
My diegetic UI is in love with me?!
⤿ Ongoing, 13.1k ~ Your interface keeps glitching despite the factory reset; new messages keep popping up from unknown players, text and items glitch every time your fingers skim the interface, and you keep getting items from achievements you didn't even know existed.
Bestiary Binding
⤿ A collection of oneshots that have the same reader.
Long Oneshots
Hey Operator!
⤿ 11.5k ~ He calls after hoursâ when the line goes silent. A shared digital heartbeat. Broken, but mending. Slowly the silence gets filled. With stories, laughter, and the quiet after heartbreak. What happens after he realises he's going to spend Valentines Day alone?
Binding You!
⤿ 9.6k ~ After getting into a fight with your upperclassman Utahime, you get transferred to Tokyo. While binding animal cursed spirits, you manage to bind something else as well: a human heart!
Beneath the Shadows
⤿ 32.3k ~ Heartbreak was something Gojo experienced for the first time at age six, when his best friend disappeared without so much as a goodbye. Twenty years later he had to kill his other best friend with his bare hands. No matter how far he travels, shadows from the past keep clinging to him. Imagine his surprise when one day he can feel something beneath one of those shadows.
Deathmatch
⤿ 16.9k ~ Sleep-deprived, you start imagining things that aren't there until your friends step in. Everything seems to be going fine, until one day a stranger enters your life.
Stars in her Eyes
⤿ 10.6k ~ Stardust and constellations etched into skin, not something Gojo sees often when looking at someone walk by. It's even rarer for him to become infatuated with the way the stars seem to shimmer just beneath the skin of that same person. Who knew he would use those stars as a guidance home, the same way sailors did back in the day.
Short Eternity
⤿ 18k ~ This was not how you thought your Halloween was gonna go. Blood-stained heels leave behind a bloody trail as you try to help this man that's stuck in this weird flesh-like construction, only to end up stuck with him in a room full of skeletons for what seems like an eternity. Luckily the two of you can find solace in each other during these dark times.
Short Oneshots
My Porn Director Fucks me in the ass?!
⤿ 3.7k ~ Your views have been taking off, making you one of the hottest porn stars in the industry right now, the only problem being that more and more people keep asking you to take it up the ass. You make a throwaway comment towards your directorâGojo Satoruânot realising heâs taking it more seriously than you mightâve thought he would.
Count rice, bitch!
⤿ 6.7k ~ After a horrible night of going out, your friend leaves you stranded at the club. Going home, you encounter a certain white-haired man. When he gets too close and grins with those too-sharp teeth, you do the only logical thing your drunken mind can think of: throw a bag of rice at him.
From Chimneys to Pillows Řŕź
⤿ 5.2k ~ Never in your years of being the Tooth Fairy did you think you would get caught. A parent dressed as Santa was still awake, catching you in the act of breaking into his house. He doesn't seem all that freaked out about it, though. Weird.
Drabbles/headcannons
Caught a fish, birthday boy, Ragebaiting Nerdjo, bestfriend!Gojo eating you out, Diegetic UI!Gojo, heartbreak hotline, moon and earth, moon and earth pt. 2, Little body big feelings, Sweeter than nectar, Three holes for a reason,, pick me first, For scientific research purposes, of course, Hey there, neighbour, thin walls, Thong, Leaky Faucet
Multi
Series
Waves of Desire
⤿ Ongoing, 35.2k ~ Stuck on a boat for three months with snobby charter guests, flirty crew, and a series of bad decisionsâwhat could possibly go wrong? Will you survive the boatmance(s) this season... or drown in it?
warnings: nerdjo! mdni, smut, bit of praise and degradation. you're blowing off your nerdy husband while he games. bc why not?
Your nerdy husband, Satoru Gojo, is parked at his deskâheadset slipped crooked over snowy hair, controller half-abandoned on his thigh, and his sweats shoved down to his ankles.
His dick twitches in your graspâthick and flushed, leaking steadily down your fingers as your cute little tongue laps teasing circles around the swollen head. All while Suguruâs voice crackles through Discord, rattling off cooldowns and macro rotations.
None of which Satoruâs processing.
Nope.
Not a single fucking word.
He canât. Not when your mouth is wrapped around his stiff, jerking cockâbobbing with want as your tongue glides up the veiny underside, chasing the glistening bead of pre that slips from the tip.
âShit⌠you see that?â Suguru scowls in his ear. âFucking bullshit.â
He doesnât see shit. Not when his hooded blue eyes are locked on youâkneeling between his spread legs in the glow of his screen, lips stretched and shiny, humming and slurping around him like a fucking angel.
âY-Yeah⌠no, IâmnghâŚâ Satoru grits out, biting back a moan when you swallow him down. His mouth opens in silent awe as your lips close around his length, sliding down to the hilt where his balls tighten.
Fuck. He wants to bust a nut right in your fucking mouth. Now.
You pull back slowly, and he shuddersâcock jumping in the cold air as you release him with a loud, wet pop! Youâre looking up at him through fluttering lashes, chin and lips dripping with spit, and he swears you sparkle. That filthy, sweet little glint in your eyes that nearly makes him blow on sight.
âShitâŚâ he hisses, thumb stroking your cheek as he slams the mute button. One hand cradles your head tenderlyâtoo tenderly for the way heâs now pumping into your slick little fist, fucking into the circle of your fingers like heâs starved.
âThat's it... donât stop, baby,â he breathes, voice cracking as he rubs the head against your lips, smearing pre-cum across your mouth. âCâmonâbe a good girl fâme⌠lemme feed you⌠just wanna fuck that sweet throat, yeah? Say âahhhhâŚâ â
But thenâ
âFucking christ... what the fuck. Satoru?â Suguru calls. âWhere's your ult? Dude, you there?â
âF-Fuckââ He chokes, fumbling for his mic with one hand while the other grips the desk for dear life. He sucks in a breath, voice too fast, too strained. âShitâyeah, yeah, m'here,â he managesâjust as the mic picks up a loud, wet slurp from beneath the desk.
Oh, you naughty little thing. Biting his lip, his cock throbs in your hand, twitching violently, glazed and pulsing in the soft heat of your mouth.
âS-Sorryâuhâbad connectionâŚâ he stammers, trying not to fucking whimper as you lap at his tip again.
But youâre relentless.
Your tongue nudges, pushing against his oozing slit in quick little flicks, and he presses his fist to his mouth, muffling a broken groan. But as you do it againâflick-flick-flickâquick, expert little strokesâand oh, heâs fucking done.
âOh, fuckfuckfuck⌠yes. Take it. Fucking take it!â he gasps, gripping your head and shoving you down as he thrusts up into your mouth.
The chair creaks, the controller falls to the floor as you gag, and his cock bulges angrily in your cheek; forcing you down as he spurts hot cum down your throat.
"Haaa... so good... yes baby... yes..." he whines.
And oh, you take him so well. Like you were programmed for it. Like some modded, married little cocksleeve he summoned straight from a corrupted save fileâdrinking him down with every obedient gulp.
"Good fuckinâ girl⌠fuck, sucha greedy girl..." he pants smugly. "You love this, huh? Love drinkin' all my cum... nnngh...â
His head drops back, hair a wreck, glasses fogged up, lips parted in a slack, blissed-out moan; and for a momentâjust a pixel in timeâhe forgets the world.
Until the call goes quiet.
Really, fucking quiet.
Satoru blinks. Brain fogged. Pupils blownâsquinting at the screen like it glitched. Then, through the headset, calm and dry as everâŚ
âWow. What the fuck, dude... we wiped." Suguru deadpans, mumbling. "And... youâre not muted. Dumbass.â
you find out best friend!gojo likes you from his mii (sfw)
warnings: tomodachi life i guess idk.... and my first time writing something that didn't turn to smut or angst lmao
"Oh my god," you look over to your frosty haired best friend, his cheeks singed a light pink. "I'm wearing the dress I had on last week." Your own cheeks warm in the process, as it usually does when you remember that Gojo tends to memorize everything about you.Â
You're sitting on his couch, feet (stuffed into a pair of his socks) tucked under your legs. Gojo sits next to you, his body close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. His hands are circled around the controllers of his switch, the tv showing the little island he ditched you this week to make. A mini cartoon like version of you; everything from the hair color, hairstyle, the dimples that kiss into your cheeks, is running around his island. You're in awe of his eye of detail.Â
He scoots closer to you, his leg touching yours. "I just looked back at that picture we took together," he responds, his usual voice that is always littered with laugher and jokes is slightly mild and calm. His blue eyes glued to the screen, his thumbs slowly moving the cursor around to take him around his utopia of an island.Â
This version of his life shares so much with yours. A mii version of Geto reads on a green bench in a garden and you smile remembering you saw him do this exact thing last week in the quad. Copies of Shoko and Nanami chase each other on the beach, laughter bubbles hanging above their overgrown heads. You cant help but smile, a giggle slipping from your lips at the sweetness of this world he is choosing to share with you.Â
"'Toru," you mumble, still staring at the screen as he tends to a fighting Choso and a baby Yuji arguing over a box of tissue. The cursor swipes quickly away from the miniature Gojo standing near his two islanders throw things at each other, dust and random particles like a chair thrown in their little circle. You hold back a loud laugh, picturing the real life brother pair fighting over something as small as the remote before Choso caves in. You wonder if that's going to happen here.Â
You can't help but notice the blushing state that mii version Gojo is in. His hands behind his back as he stares at someone behind the fight, a bubble that matches the pink on his cheeks dresses his white head. "What is that pink speech bubble above your head?"Â
He moves away from the crowd forming where his mii looks off helpless in love. "Nothing," he does not look back at you, even with your eyes glued to the side of his face at the moment. "Want to watch me put Suguru on the seesaw by himself?"
As much as you want to, you don't give him the satisfaction of evading your question. Your eyebrows raising and a teasing grin gracing your lips. "You're the only one with it," you scoot closer to him, your knee basically on top of his stiff thigh. "Cmon, show me."
"It's a game," you're itching to hear the joke that you know he wants to let out. A laugh track to follow behind the silliness that's on his island and making you smile. Instead, he coughs back a fake cough, the cursor quickly looking for Suguru's mii.Â
"That you ditched me for," you remind, eyes bouncing from the screen to his tomato red face and his movements on the screen. Tilting your head, you swallow back another retort, just watching his odd body language.
He does a quick side glance at you, eyes focused on the smile on your plump lips. He wonders if he could ever have the mii actually replicate that smile. The one that makes his palms all sweaty when he finds you aimlessly sending it towards him. "Nanami is my friend here."
"Great reason to skip out on our best friend dinner on Friday," you roll your eyes, hitting his shoulder. Your palm warming his already hot shoulder like a kiss in the winter. "Show me, Satoru Gojo," voice playfully demanding.Â
He turns to you, staring at your face for a second too long. Butterflies erupting in your stomach as his cerulean eyes rakes over the bridge of your nose and the lashes kissing the apples of your cheeks. He sighs, more to himself, before he turns to the screen moving the cursor to find his twin â mii Gojo laying on the beach, his eyes closed and a huge smile on his lips. That pink bubble still bouncing near his head.Â
He reluctantly clicks it.Â
A squeaky voice that automatically makes you start laughing breaks into the room, your name name rolling from mii Gojo's huge grin:
"I want to ask her out. What should I do?"
His blushing mii matching his blushing face next to you.Â
Options pop up on the corner, waititng for Gojo to choose what will work best for the mii versions of you.Â
And at the moment, you can't help but finally notice your best friend. His keen eye of detail for you, his blushing cheeks whenever you so much as rub against his arm, and the way your stomach drops whenever he looks at you when making you laugh.Â
He stares ahead, a hand scratching the back of his neck that's now dressed in a red hue as well. All you can do is smile, wide and big. "I wouldn't say no," finally breaking the silence, voice soft and gentle. "Ask me out."
"Are you speaking for Purple Hollow you or," he looks over at you, snowy eyebrows raised so high they're almost touching his hairline. "You?"
"Both, I will like to think that you made sure Purple Hollow me has taste."
Š all writing belongs to @macbethinchains. characters belong to gege akutami. do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or feed my writing into ai
â.Ë synopsis: word has been spreading around that there'll be a new teacher at jujutsu tech highschoolâyou! excited to finally fulfill your dream of teaching and nurturing the next generation of sorcerers, you're ready to give it your all. your co-worker satoru gojo however, doesn't seem too thrilled at the idea of having (what he assumes to be) a spy for the higher-ups hovering over him all the time. but the more he gets to know you, the more of his expectations you completely shatter. and he can't help but find himself intrigued...
â.Ë starring:
ââ sunshine!reader: bright, optimistic, and hardworking, a real bucket of sunshine. grade one sorcerer who was approved to teach by the higher-ups. people tend to underestimate you because of your kindhearted nature and easygoing attitude, but you're quite strong.
ââ satoru gojo: overworked, exhausted, and still being expected to shoulder the world's responsibilities, gojo doesn't have the time nor the interest in playing ice-breaker with his new co-worker who probably won't last a week.
â.Ë tags: sfw, smau/chatfic (might add actual writing though), strangers to friends to lovers, bantering and competitiveness, fluff, happy ending, canon universe
I think its my turn to make an appreciation post for my sweets to show how thankful i am for such an amazing community <3
My love extends to amazing blogs i haven't mentioned as well !!
To all of the mentioned authors: keep writing, keep creating. You are valued and appreciated.
sukunaâs cute girlfriend is fucking terrifying. ft. bum!toji by lilithkleia
ŕžŕ˝˛âthe first person i have ever been friends with since i started tumblr, even before i got scammed out of my old account (pls be smart guys), and this fic just reminds me of how we both usually come to one another and talk about our ideas, help and share with them. She has seen my progress from day one, and i am so thankful for her being such an amazing friend outside of tumblr as well.
ęŤ đUMB đND đUMBER exec!sukuna x ceo!reader x exec!gojo by yorikae
ŕžŕ˝˛âThe first fic i ever read and saw by my lovely riri, she was also there when i had to move accounts and has supported me all this time. The sweetest person ever. I still remember how our first real interactions was her asking for some help on a fic, im sosos glad she reached out to me and be became friends. We both have suffered from deleting our fics on accident LMAO. I am so thankful to have the opportunity to be here for her.
GORY LOVE STORY ZOMBIE!CHOSO X F!READER by serpenttine
ŕžŕ˝˛âone of my closest friends ever now, all bc i was freaky in her asks. I love my mama Drea so much. One of the people who unknowingly got me to lose my fear of being judged for what i like to write cough naoya cough, someone i talk to daily- and this fic is special to me bc it was the first one i got to help her on, i am soso proud of her.
the lady and her sacrifice Gladiator!Toji x Noblewoman!Reader by liahcharms
ŕžŕ˝˛âOne of the first fics that introduced me to my fair maiden Liah, her writing is so wonderful- and its about history and gods and uhgmg sorry im getting wet. I have admired her work for so long, and im soso glad she is one of my closer friends aswell, we both share a lot of interests. And she's just someone i look up to, even now.
My porn director fucks me in the ass?! Porn Director!Gojo x Pornstar!reader by cursedkisss
ŕžŕ˝˛âMy sweet sweet kiss, the longfic and series mother. Her work is always so detailed and full of creativity- i love it. This fic might seem very random to be my fav but its honestly so peak LOL. Thank you for being my friend Kiss, i love that we update and talk to one another often. She helps proofread my works and i love doing the same back.
Why Him? Sukuna x F!Reader by cactusvolumes
ŕžŕ˝˛âOkay im biased bc this was for my birthday, but one of the best juiciest little sukuna fics i have ever consumed with my eyes. Thank you Logan for being so supportive and sweet always, i am sososo glad we are friends. He writes the best Ijichi fics fight me. One of my fellow naoya propagandists. I love.
Artist!Choso he sketches you and gets hard! by 6x-x9
ŕžŕ˝˛âAnna my baby, she has been so so sweet to me and i only wish her the best- ALSO THE CUTEST THEMES EVER OMG. This fic has stayed in my head so long omg i love yearning pathetic choso sigh.
' asphodelus. ' kento nanami Ă fem! reader. by suganoms
ŕžŕ˝˛âI love how she writes nanami UGHHHHH AND MYTHOLOGYGYYDU My baby Elaine is the kindest soul ever, she deserves a big fat kiss on her forehead
RYO-1 â SUKUNA RYOMEN by rambld
ŕžŕ˝˛âRin writes the best sukuna works HANDS DOWN. I miss her a bunch, im sosos glad shes taking a break for herself. Another person i have looked up to since i started writing.
Just Once, Your Honour. Hiromi Higuruma by opalwyn
ŕžŕ˝˛â MY ALPHAAA ALINAAA i love seeing u in my asks and timeline, ur the silliest sexiest horniest beast ever come kiss me AND THIS FIC OHH MY GOODOODDD I LOVED IT SOSO MUCH
Brains And Fangs â With Nerdjo by sugusplaything
ŕžŕ˝˛âmy mama aly, i am so happy to be friends with you, you write so beautifully and i love the events you do, never change and stay strong mama <3 And this fic? vampires? its silly? its MWAH.
TO BUILD A HOME frat! jo x fem! reader by v3is
ŕžŕ˝˛â i am soso thankful for my sweetheart jo for reaching out to me, we haven't spoken a lot but i know that you're the kindest soul out there. I really hope we get to interact more often <3 And i love how simple and cute ur theme is UGHHH. and this fic- holy shit a roller-coaster of emotions i have to read the second part but omg. LOVED IT
blobkuna as your fatass pet by rosiestrudel
ŕžŕ˝˛â THIS WAS SO FUCKING FUNNY I LOVE U YUSA And a big big thanks for being so kind and supportive, you are the best !!
bite-sized revenge Gojo Satoru x fem!reader by lolalied
ŕžŕ˝˛âshe writes the sweetest works ever omg. My angel lola is the sweetest, good luck with all of your studies and come back to us soon <3
SWEET LOVE Satoru by satorusdollie
ŕžŕ˝˛âThis is for my event but oh my god. I loved reading this so much, it was so sweet and horny and ugh I LOVE ITT. Thank you for always being a cutie patootie dollie <33
Bon appĂŠtit delivery boy gojo x reader
ŕžŕ˝˛â Jinn always writes the most unhinged hot smut and im here for it LOL, we share so many interests and i love it when they send me art ughhhh yes. THANK YOU FOR BEING SO SWETT. KEEP WRITING WHAT YOU LIKE.
nanami uses your panties in secret to jerk off by mimuju
ŕžŕ˝˛â MY BIG ALPHA MOMMY JUJU. to me your nanami drabbles and fics are the best like...mmgjj gimme that man rn. AND I HOPE UR EXAMS GO WELL MAMA!!! a big big big big thank you for being my friends and checking up on me every now and then, you deserve only the best <3
I just have to link her choso masterlist by stellarixe
ŕžŕ˝˛âAria my beloved, i love seeing her in my asks and in my comments, it always makes me so giddy I LOVE U LOTS. and ur choso writing is sososososoo gooodddd
HEAVEN KNOWS devil!satoru x fem!angel!reader by xqce
ŕžŕ˝˛âJULIAAA my sweet sweet baby, ugh all of your long gojo fics are... art. This one is my all time fave. PLS STAY HEALTHY AND STRONG. I LOVE U
AMOR PROHIBIDO higuruma by jiyuspassion
ŕžŕ˝˛âOh my god jiyus most recent fic oh m ygodood....ujust have to read it.... my sweet sweet jiyu i want to hold you so dearly and give you soft kisses. Thank you for being you and being such a lovely person. MMWAH
clit inspection with cult!suguru by evfers
ŕžŕ˝˛âeufers my sweet sweet angel, you are such a thoughtful and kind person, thank you sososo much for supporting me and being there for me during these fuckass times. Your fics and drabbles deserve more attention BC THIS WAS GOOD AS HELL !!
Again, a big thank you to all of these cutiepies <3
ę° summary ęą when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced youâre bringing a plus one to your cousinâs wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. itâs supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your âinternâ secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
ę° tags/warnings ęą fake dating âšď¸ undercover ceo! satoru âšď¸ accountant! reader âšď¸ satoru is 29, reader is 26 âšď¸ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom âšď¸ forced proximity âšď¸ one bed trope âšď¸ slow burn âšď¸ mutual pining âšď¸ wedding chaos âšď¸ angst and fluff âšď¸ some suggestive content but no explicit smut âšď¸
ę° authors note ęą hi cuties! this is a commission piece, and it is about 12k total. this first part is just shy of 6k and the second part will be out next week. i hope you enjoy đŤśđť (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
"Oi. Boss lady."
âNo.â
One problem at a time, and the spreadsheet in front of you wins by default. Because Column F is wrong. Itâs been wrong for forty fucking minutes, and if it stays wrong for forty seconds longer, you may actually die here at your desk â hunched over, half-blind, and found by Shoko on a Monday morning with your face pressed into a pivot table like a cautionary tale.
"But⌠you don't even know what I was gonnaâ"
"âthe answer is no, Satoru."
Unlike the human embodiment of a headache currently lingering on the other side of your desk, the spreadsheet in front of you is at least pretending to be important.
The chair beneath him creaks, and then comes the silence you know too well. Itâs the one that comes right before he decides to be a problem on purpose. Attention is gasoline and Satoru is, structurally, a fire hazard. Still, your eyes flick up, andâ
"No fairâŚâ he huffs, that ridiculous pout tugging at his lips. âYou didn't even let me finish the question."
Your eyes roll back down.
âMhm.â
"And it was such a good question.â
You turn a page. "Really?â
âYup.â Heâs draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. âIt was such a thoughtful⌠personal⌠deeply relevant⌠extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question thatââ
You scowl. "âSatoru, enough. Just do your job."
It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, heâs sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because youâd thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.
It had not.
Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner â the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices andâ
âŚ
Wait.
Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?
Fucking great.
âOh, câmonnn,â he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. âOne question. Just a tiiiiny one. Itâs completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?â
You narrow your eyes.
âSatoru, youâve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.â
âYeah,â he says. âAnd youâve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.â
Technically⌠four months and four days. But whoâs counting?
With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall â the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby. Â But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.
Heâs gone strangely still. The smug grin hasnât disappeared, but itâs softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyesâŚ
Oh.
Thatâs â no. Youâve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesnât ask if youâre looking. It already knows.
Which means of course, you look away first. âFine.â Your hand drops as you mutter. âOne question. But if itâs stupid, Iâm sending you back to HR.â
Itâs not much of a threat. Itâs his last day, after all, and for reasons you still donât fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences â which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit heâs managed to pull in the few months of being here.
âOne question?â his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. âDonât make me regret this.â Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. âAwhh⌠look at you. Finally yielding.â His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. âOkay. So, hereâs the thing⌠throughout these four months working beside you, Iâve seen a lotâ"
ââthatâs not a question.â You deadpan.
But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.
âLiiiike⌠Iâve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,â he smirks. âEven noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And Iâve noticed that little line right hereââ he gestures vaguely between his own brows ââevery time the budget goes sideways.â
Lips parting, you blink.
âŚwhy is he so observant?!
For someone who acts like he doesnât give a shit, heâs strangely attentive.
You clear your throat, huffing. âOkay⌠whatâs your point?â Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesnât need straightening. âIs there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?â
His grin is far too pleased. âRelax. Iâm getting there.â And leaning forward, his voice drops, like heâs unraveling a conspiracy. âI just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesnât matter who it is.â His head tilts with a smug grin. âBut for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phoneâs been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.â
Heat creeps up your neck. Not because heâs wrong â but because heâs right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.
Oh.
Way too observant.
Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.
His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. âOhoho⌠I get it now,â he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. âWhatâd your fiancĂŠ do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?â
Your head jerks up. âF-FiancĂŠ?!â And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. âKnew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe heâs just clingy as hell to be calling that much.â
You blink.
Okay. Nevermind. Heâs wrong. That is not even remotely whatâs happening. The most committed relationship youâve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet⌠part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.
Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.
After all⌠how do you tell your mother sheâs wrong?
Last month, you still answered her phone calls.
Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, thereâs this gap â this stupid, paper-thin gap â where you still believe she might ask how youâre doing and actually wait for the answer.
Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.
Hope is a terrible habit youâve never been able to kick.
âOhâuh, hi mom!â
Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling â which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.
âWhatâs up?â the door slammed shut with your hip. âIâm actually about toââ
ââTrish sent the venue photos,â she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.
Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. âThatâsâyeah, thatâs great,â you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. âBut Iâm actually heading into work right now? Soââ
ââItâs such a beautiful venue,â she ignored you. âVery traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin familyâthey never do anything small.â And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. BecauseâŚ
Hope is a terrible habit youâve never been able to kick.
"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really⌠but I'm kind ofâum, excuse meâŚ" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. âSorry. Iâm literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later andâ"
"âhave you booked your flight yet?"
Your mouth flattened.
Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.
âNo⌠not yet,â you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. âItâs been a crazy ass week so I havenât had a chance to, butââ
ââevery week is a crazy week for you.â The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. âWhy canât you just book it now while weâre talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.â
A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isnât a medical emergency.
Every week is a crazy week?
Yeah. No shit.
Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didnât disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because thatâs how it goes. Thatâs how itâs always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.
Youâre the one people relied on.
Just⌠never the one people chose.
âMother. Iâm at work,â you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. âLookâIâm about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But Iâll book it tonight, promise.â
ââŚeight a.m.?â she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. âOh! Right. Itâs eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.â
âŚ
Keep forgetting?
She keeps forgetting that sheâs ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japanâhanding you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?
How convenient that she forgot that.
The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. âUm. YeahâŚâ you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. âAnyways. Iâll book it tonight. After work. Okay?â
"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?â
Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.
No thanks.
âI⌠uhâŚâ you cleared your throat. âI umâactuallyâhavenât decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, soââ
âWaitwatiwait. Havenât decided? Does that mean⌠you actually found someone?!â
Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it couldâve hit floor one.
Shit.
âI-IâI didnât sayâ"
ââoh, thank God. This is incredible!!â she squealed. âWeâve been so worried. I meanâTrish is younger than you and she figured it out,â her tongue clicked. âPeople have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her andââ
ââMom, Iâ"
ââItâs about time,â The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. âYou canât keep putting love on hold forever, because men arenât going to wait around forever. Youâre already twenty-sixânot getting any younger, dear.â
Love?!
Who has time for that?
And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!
âWhatâs his name?â she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. âWhat does he do? Is he from there, orâoh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always saidââ
And she was off.
Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.
ââactually, never mind,â she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. âYou have work. Iâll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honeyââ
Click!
And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your motherâs voice had been.
âWeâve been so worried.â
âŚ
If they were so worried⌠why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly youâre worth getting excited about?
Funny how that works.
Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yujiâs head snapped up behind the reception desk.
âMorning, boss,â he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. âKentoâs asking if youâre still good for the budget review at eight⌠or if I should just tell him to panic.â
Your smile softened, burying the sting. âYes⌠Iâll be right there.â And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role youâd always played.
The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two masterâs degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.
ButâŚ
None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?
âOi,â Satoru frowns. âYouâre makinâ that face again.â
âHuh?â
Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself â like a lock turning in a door you didnât know was closed.
âOh.â You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. ââŚwhat face?â
âThe one you make when somethingâs wrong,â he says quietly, gaze unmoving. âWhen youâre upset and trying to act like youâre not.â
For a second â one terrible, unguarded second â you donât have a single thing to hide behind. Itâs just him, looking at you like your well-being is something heâs been keeping track of in a column you didnât even know existed.
But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So⌠now you read faces?"
âMm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.â
And that grin â god, that fucking grin â hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You donât acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.
"âŚthatâs highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Letâs maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"
âSorry, sorry.â He leans back, hands up like heâs the picture of innocence. âWouldnât wanna start shit with your dear future husband.â His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. âThough, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.â
Why does he sound⌠bitter?
No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesnât care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.
You scoff. "Youâre making some wildly stupid assumptions right nowâŚ"
He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, thereâs no fiancĂŠ, then?"
Your lips purse.
What does he care? Heâs not your mother.
âI wish youâd be this interested in your actual job,â you sigh, arms crossing. âThose invoices have been sitting there all week.â
âUh-huh.â He tips his head. âAnd yet somehow, I noticed you still didnât answer me.â
You frown.
What the fuck are you supposed to say!?
Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancĂŠ. Thatâs the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.
Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.
âMaybe because itâs none of your business.â
âBut Iââ
âDrop it.â
He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.
âWell, damn,â he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. âNo wonder youâre single if this is how you shut people downâŚâ
The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late â like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.
God.
Of all the places to hit.
âOho⌠wow. Okay. This?â you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. âYeah. This is exactly why I shouldnât have let you ask, Satoru.â You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.
He straightens, watching you scramble. âWhoa. Wait. Iâ"
ââbecause you donât know when to stop!â The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. âYou just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope youâre happy.â
Before you can turn away, heâs on his feet. âWaitââ And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.
His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.
Though your eyes stay down. âSatoru⌠let go.â
âI didnâtâŚâ he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist â before climbing back to your face, slower this time. âIâm⌠sorry. I justââ His mouth tightens. âI see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like itâs already ruined your day before you even touch it. AndâŚâ His brows pinch. âFuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!â
Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be â all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like heâs stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like⌠if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.
âSatoruâŚâ your breath hitches. âI-Iâ"
âOh, finally.â
Shokoâs voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. Sheâs leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand â looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.
Her gaze flicks down to where heâs holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.
"Sooo⌠not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will andâ"
You're already jerking your hand back. "Yupâcoming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.
Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not â not â doing that today.
Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left⌠unfinished.
Youâre gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.
It doesnât.
And itâs not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant poutâjust before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.
Un-fucking-believable.
Heâd almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, youâd finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.
âŚ
He could fire Kento.
Should he fire Kento?
As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. Thereâs no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, heâll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.
'Grow up, Satoru.'
'Apply yourself, Satoru.'
'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'
Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.
Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!
He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, heâs pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. Youâve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and⌠the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.
The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. Itâs mindless shit. Still, heâs used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesnât think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.
Itâs probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.
âYo,â another stamp echoes. âSatoru speaking.â
Thereâs a sharp inhale. ââŚwho?â
His brow lifts. âUh⌠Satoru?â Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. âWhat do yâneed?â
The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, âSatoruâŚâ Sighing in awe. âWhat a lovely name. Is that Japanese?â
"Uh⌠yeah?â he snorts, flipping to the next page. âI mean. Last I checked.â
âMm⌠I thought so!â She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. âSo⌠Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?â
âŚ
Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?
Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.
âBecause it rang?â He says it like itâs obvious. âAnd uhâsorry, but. Maybe because Iâve been with her for months, so⌠why the hell wouldnât I?â
"Months?!â A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. âYou'veâyou've been with her for months?!"
"Mmm⌠four months and four days, technically."
Heâs been her intern for that long.
Thatâs the question, right?
"âtechnically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodnessâoh, this is perfect. Four months and four daysâthat is so specific.â
He blinks. But she doesnât give him time to process.
âLook at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry sheâd never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her fatherâI said, there is a man, I can feel it.â
Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.
"âŚsorry. Who is thiâ"
ââeveryone is so excited to meet you at Trishâs wedding. I already reserved your seat andâ"
Her voice keeps going⌠and going⌠and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:
đ Mom
Oh.
Oh, shit.
This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass andâ
"UhâŚâ he backpedals. âWait. Iâ"
"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him andââ
"Stop. I-I really thinkâ"
ââSatoru, what are you doing?â
His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.
Oh, fuck.
âWho is on the other end of that phone,â you hiss.
He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like itâs toxic â and youâre snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like heâs trying to physically dissociate from the situation heâs just created while you press the phone to your ear.
âAnd I meanâŚâ she rambles. âI certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. Butâ"
"Mom."
"Oh! Honey!â She gasps. âOh, my goodness, hiâI was just having the loveliest chat withâ"
"I'm at work. Gotta go."
"âokay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, heâ"
Click!
The phone sits in your hand like evidence.
And Satoru â to his credit â has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like heâs rehearsing an apology in a language he hasnât learned yet.
You stare at him.
He stares at you.
And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.
âSooo⌠funny storyâŚâ
ââwhat did you do?!â
Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks â hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.
Great. Fucking great.
You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.
But cry?
Never.
And this had his fingerprints all over it.
"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "Iâfuck. Okay. Please don'tâI can fix this. I canâ"
"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't existâand she is, at this very moment, probably alreadyâ"
Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.
God. How fucking humiliating.
"Hey, heyâit's okay,â his voice softened. âWe'll just⌠call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."
âEasy?â you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. âY-You donât understand my mother, Satoru,â you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. âIf she thinks something is true, then itâs true. Thatâs it. Thatâsâthereâs no correcting her, thereâs no walking it back, sheâs already told my aunt Sara by now and Saraâs told Trish andâoh, fuckââ
Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.
God. Stop it.
Stop it stop it stop it.
Think.
Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.
But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped â replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.
âŚwhat look will she give you when you show up alone?
"I canât," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week andâdo what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm stillâ"
Single.
The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didnât realize youâd gone silent until the silence itself started ringing â your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasnât actively coming apart at the seams.
And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.
"UmâŚâ he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. âSoooo... the wedding's in Japan?"
You blinked. âWhat?â And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. âThe weddingâŚâ he repeated, voice careful. âItâs in Japan?â
"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head â something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.
"Huh⌠okay."
Okay what?
You watched his expression change in real time â from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."
No biggie?
Your mouth dropped.
That wasnât even an option, was it?
âŚis he crazy?
âYouâre kidding,â your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. âSweetheart, câmon,â and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."
You stared at him. Genuinely stared.
Oh. He wasnât kidding.
Yup. Heâs crazy.
"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."
âYeah. For like⌠another six hours?"
He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.
"âŚthat is not the point."
âMm⌠feels a little like the point."
He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um⌠lookâŚ" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "Itâs really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so⌠this just moves my timeline back a little."
He was shrugging like it wasnât a big deal. Like he wasnât agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.
âŚ
His familyâs in Japan too?
You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours â jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.
ButâŚ
"Just⌠let me come with you. Iâll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For⌠whatever you need,â he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So⌠let me fix it."
Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.
"Okay⌠but you can't fix my mother."
"NoâŚâ he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. âBut⌠I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"
Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again â catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.
âMhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look youâre giving meâŚâ a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. âVery encouraging for my boyfriend rĂŠsumĂŠ, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.â
âShut up,â you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.âThat was not a look. I was justââ You grimace. ââŚnever mind.â
Heâs chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?
ShitâŚ
That felt like the kind of complication that didnât stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha đââď¸ bc this is like... whatâmy third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged đ
note: read rules. before proceeding, works indicated with (*) will contain overt and explicit nsfw content. implicated and suggested connotations, also sexual innuendos are not indicated. \
⥠How to breakup with your boyfriend. * â How to make up with your boyfriend. *
⥠Cherry Liqueur. *
⥠Love Hangover. *
⥠A fine line b/w lust and loathe. *
⥠Cognitive dissonance. * (boyfriend Nerdjo)
⥠contradictions of time.
⥠breeding kink? in this economy? *
LONG-FICS (INCLUDING MINI SERIES):
⥠High school Satoru.
[Gojo Satoru and his seemingly unfulfilled love story, that goes way back to his high school days.]
⥠Fat, juicy, & wet. * [spy nerdjo x reader]
⥠Insatiable. (part one, part two)*
[can you really trust a demon who looks exactly like your new boss?]
⥠I feel the rush. * [summer fling Gojo x reader]
SERIES:
⥠I'd give you everything (I just want to see you win). *
[navigating a married life is hard enough, it is harder when you know nothing about your husband other than his heroic scars and dizzying smile.]⸝clan leader Gojo.
DRABBLES: To access click on the link embedded to the category.
CONTENT: a story in which the bond you share with your boss is as exciting as it is confusing. [tw: MDNI, explicit smĂšt, mild crack, rom-com vibes with a smidge of angst, satoru being a little shit, office Čex, breedÄąng kÄąnk, piv Ĺex, squÄąrting, creampÄąe, backČhots] word count: 6.2k
notes: little comm for ms. @madamechrissy đ¤ i hope u enjoyed it bby
When youâre as rich and attractive as Satoru Gojo, the world is basically your playground. It was clear on your first day of working as his personal assistant that the man did whatever the hell he wanted and gave no fucks while doing so.Â
â. . . So with all that being said, Iâm sure you can understand why I need you to start dressing in a way thatâs more. . . fitting for your stature.âÂ
âYeah,â you nodded and lightly smiled, feeling a sense of warmth start to creep up your neck. âI understand, Mr. Gojo.â
The thing about Mr. Gojo? He had to be one of the most charming individuals youâve ever come across. He knows how to make you feel special, even when heâs calling you an outfit repeater with no sense of style at the moment.Â
Heâll soften his gaze, speak with words coated in a thick layer of honey, flash that million dollar smile of hisâ every demand that came from him sounded so sweet, it was sickening.Â
He let out a pleased hum. âI knew you would.âÂ
âItâs justâ I donât,â you cut yourself off with a nervous laugh, the sense of warmth you originally felt quickly morphed into embarrassment, âI donât have anything else to wear.âÂ
âNo?âÂ
For a split second, his voice drops. Even if itâs just for a moment, it doesn't fail to leave you a bit unsettled given his history of losing his mind whenever things didnât go his way.Â
âN-no, Sir,â you shrink in your seat, âIâll have to wait until my next payday to go shopping.â
âI see.â His lips curl back into a smile after realizing heâs going to scare you off, as that wasnât his intention here. He looks at the door real quick, then back at you. âHow about this, thenâ you remember that department store I had you pick up a suit from once, Damianâs?â
Your eyes widen once you realize where heâs going with this. âOh! I donât think thatâs nââ
He plants his elbows on top of the desk, leaning forward and cutting you off with the simple, yet powerful act of clearing his throat.Â
âWhy donât you give them a visit this weekend, yeah?â He pauses for a moment, as if he were daring you to interrupt him again. You donât. He laughs. âYeahâ why donât you give them a visit. Iâll reach out before the day ends so they know to expect you. Better yet, Iâll tell them exactly what Iâm looking for and have them pull whatever pieces fit the idea I have in mind, that way you wonât have to think too much into it.âÂ
âBut Mr. Gojo, I canât afford that,â your voice nearly breaks telling him that.Â
Satoru doesnât even know why you bothered telling himâ he already knows. If you havenât already forgotten, heâs the one that pays you. How hard is it to get you to stop dressing like a fucking nun? Heâs had it with the god damn turtlenecks.
He lets out a sigh, fighting to keep his cool demeanor despite his dwindling patience. âWhich is why Iâm sending you to Damianâs, they have my card ready to go on file.âÂ
The wheels in your head continue to turn, wondering why heâd even offer you this much. Wondering if this is even appropriate. Itâs been over three months since you started working for him and not once have you heard of an allowance meant for office attire. Now heâs sending you to some high-end department store to pick out new clothes, on his dime, since your clothes donât âfit your statureâ. Whatever the hell that means.
âI donât think I can accept thisâŚâ you look down at your feet and murmur, and Satoru nearly rolls his eyes.Â
You can and you will.Â
Satoru watches you freeze and realizes he just said that outloud, making him let out a laugh in an attempt to make himself sound less crazy.Â
âAhemâ sorry, what I meant wasâŚâ he stalls, leg lightly bouncing as he thinks of what to say, then decides to make this a company thing, rather than a him thing, âif the companyâs requiring it, then the company should pay for it, right?â
His words disarm you enough to nod. â...Right.âÂ
âPerfect,â he chirps out. âThatâll be your assignment for the weekend then.â He leans back in his seat, looking quite pleased with himself. Looking at the clock, he notices itâs a quarter to five, and takes the opportunity to kick you out of his office before the air between you grows awkward again. âWell, now that itâs settled, why donât you wrap up for the day?âÂ
You glance at the clock. âUhhh⌠yeah, sure! Was there anything else you needed before I clock out?âÂ
There was a lot that Satoru needed, like for you to stop sounding so eager when asking if he needed anything else from you. You have no idea how painfully hard that makes him.Â
âNo, thanks,â he responds in a strained tone. âEnjoy your weekend.â
âThanks! You as well, Mr. Gojo.â
You give him one last smile as you rise from your seat and begin to walk back to your desk thatâs just outside his office. Itâs not until your hands on the doorknob, ready to turn it, when he stops you one last time.Â
You brace yourself the moment you meet an unfamiliar pair of eyes, just glimmering with amusement. Satoru then proceeds to throw you off in a way that almost feels ceremonious with how he never quite gave you the chance to get back up.Â
âI know itâs just a little favor, but you know how people can be sometimes. So for both of our sakes, letâs just keep this between us to avoid any confusion, yeah? It can be our little secret.â
Something in that low, velvety voice of his told you it was just the beginning of many secrets youâd be sharing, but it still managed to lure you in.
And so, you said yesâ marking the very beginning of something that was just as confusing as it was thrilling.Â
. . . . . .Â
Being a man of his stature, Satoru has to really watch himself in publicâ watch what he says, who he says it to, what he does, and where he does it. Which is why he frequents places the public didnât have knowledge of, let alone have access too. Places that allowed him to let loose.Â
Though, in your honest opinion, just because someone can let loose, doesnât mean they should. Especially someone like Satoru, who does a shit ton of coke and treats it like a fucking free for all.Â
His idea of a good time is often a violent one. You wish you were kidding, thereâs nothing that gets him going more than being in the middle of an all out brawlâ just grinning from ear to ear while drinks and punches get thrown in every which direction as music continues to blast in the background.Â
The first to call you is his driver Ijichi, whoâs aware that your job consists of tasks that went way beyond the professional scope.
The next is the county jail, because you are Satoruâs emergency contact.Â
An hour later, youâre patching your boss up in the middle of his penthouse at 3:00 A.M, when you should be asleep like most people are on this side of the world.Â
âSorry you got ripped out of your sleep for this,â he boyishly mutters as you dab the corner of his mouth with antiseptic. Lucky for him, the cutâs small, and should be gone by Monday morning. Itâs his knuckles that are all scraped up. But then again, he doesnât interact with many people at the office to begin with, and the ones that do get paid enough not to ask.Â
âAre you actually sorry, or are you just saying that?â you murmur back.Â
âLetâs just say Iâm grateful that it's you thatâs cleaning me up right now.â
âAs opposed to who?â
âI dunno,â he chuckles, looking at you through heavy lidded eyes that you refuse to meet. âDonât even wanna think about anybody elseâs fingers on me.â
âHow sweet,â you boredly say, dabbing a bit of ointment on the small cut. âMaybe you can extend that kindness to everyone else for the rest of this weekend? So I donât have to, you knowâ pick you up from jail⌠again.â
âWhat if I only like being sweet to you?â he murmurs.
He doesnât make you feel special anymore.Â
For how close of a proximity you have to the manâs personal life, you already are special, and itâs something he constantly reminds you of, even during times itâs not necessary. In the midst of all the confusion it leaves you with, youâre reminded of a line thatâs been completely blurred, and youâre not quite sure whoâs at fault here.Â
Satoru may be pervasive by nature, but youâre still here. Somehow thereâs still a part of you that wants to please him despite all your irritation.Â
âWell then everyoneâs out of luck and Iâm out of sleep.â You sigh as you close the first-aid kit.
He watches as you get up from the couch to put it back in the cabinet, eyes tracing over your body throughout the entirety of it. You may not be in the tight skirts and high heels he has you in during the day, but he found himself enjoying off-duty sweats and slippers just as much. Shamelessly, he doesnât take his eyes off you when you start walking back towards him, but youâre used to it at this point.Â
âYâknow you can spend the night here if youâre so tired, right?â he teasingly asks, but you know thereâs a part of him thatâs more than serious about it.Â
âNo thank you.â You throw your purse over your shoulder, typing away at your phone as you try to book an uber. âIâm sure your silk sheets are great, but theyâre no match for mine.â
To no one's surprise, you got out of his penthouse fast. Youâve gotten pretty good at dodging him in situations that could easily end with you on your back, splayed out right underneath him.Â
Believe it or not, he actually respects thatâ the self control and all. Especially with the way youâve almost given in to him a couple times. It didnât need to be said for him to know. Heâs seen the needy, defeated look in your eyes during the times heâs gotten too close. Itâs a look that screams âget away from me before I do something stupid, pleaseâ. A sweet girl you are, really.Â
But what would happen if he kept going and finally closed that distance?
Sometimes, he thinks heâd be nice to you. Be all soft, put you on his lap, whisper sweet things in your ear while his hand slowly slid down your stomach. Youâd begin to hold your breath the moment he went past your waist and itâd finally catch once his fingers found themselves in between your thighs, slipping right in between your folds.Â
Heâd kiss on your neck, pull moans from you as he drew little circles over your clit, making your legs tremble once he finally slipped inside and started curling in.Â
Then thereâs times he thinks heâd be rough with you. Make you start crying from how fast and hard he made you cum from just his fingers alone. Bend you over the nearest surface and tease you with the thick head of his cock, rubbing it over your slick folds until you beg him to put it in.Â
Heâd pull your hair back, make you look him in the eyes while he fucked you senseless, pump you full of so much cum that itâd continued to leak out of your poor pussy the very next day.Â
Bonus points if you two had to work together that day.Â
But for now, a man could only dream, or rather imagine, as he starts to fist his cock to the thought of you for who knows how many times now.
. . . . . .
Thereâs something mildly embarrassing about going to Damianâs with Satoru after being sent here all those months back to pick out new work clothes. Only because he specifically told the stylist to only pull items that were tight fitting and showed a decent amount of cleavage.Â
Youâre sure if that asshole hadn't done that, you wouldâve walked into the department store without a second thought. As if it couldn't have gotten any worse, that same stylist is here, and sheâs looking at you with the same amount of concern youâd give to someone whoâs being put through the ringer from extreme work conditions.Â
You technically are, given all the extra shit he has you do, like picking him up from jail at 2:00 A.M. Youâre not exactly planning on leaving anytime soon, though. Donât ask why. Youâre not so sure of it yourself, either.Â
Satoru was here to try on a few different suits that just came in. And youâre here because unless youâre working on anything thatâs considered incredibly important, you go wherever he goes.Â
Just as he was able to go off to the fitting room, the poor stylist asked a question she really shouldnât have asked. She had good intentions when asking if you wanted to see some of the new pieces they had for Spring, and then Satoru made some comment about grabbing whatever you wanted and putting it on his card.Â
And then this poor girl looks at him with all the confidence in the world and asks, âIf youâd like, I can pull a few different pieces from the racks like last timeâ tight fitting, low cuts, and neutrals, right?âÂ
You didnât have much of a reaction upon hearing that, it was already clear he had requested those things the last time you came here.Â
Satoru, however, just stood there and stared at this girl as if she had just ruined his fucking life.Â
It is not often he's left so appalled that itâs rendered him speechless, but there he was just staring at her with nothing but anger and betrayal in his eyes. She looked like she wanted to cry, and rightfully so. You were honestly scared for her.Â
âI think thatâd be great,â you cut in, trying to break the tension, only to feel Satoruâs nasty glare get directed towards you instead once he realized you were trying to save her. âWeâre here for less than an hour, though, so maybe just pull some skirts since the weather's starting to warm up.âÂ
âY-yeah! Of course.âÂ
You watched as she quickly scurried away, then turned to find your boss just now deciding to follow the tailor, still looking absolutely fucking pissed that she just outed him like that.Â
Maybe you should tell her to hide once she comes back with those skirts.Â
. . .
Satoru might not be one to talk right now given how his goal a few months back was to get you to start dressing just a tad bit sluttier while still looking appropriate enough for work, but he didnât give a shit. That woman had no tact whatsoever.
Who says something like that? Youâre clearly his fucking assistant, there was no need to out his preferences like that.
It fucked up his entire mood for the hour⌠not that it stopped him from going ahead and having all the suits he tried on sent to his house. But just as he was getting ready to let it go, he saw something else that managed to make him do a double take.Â
Itâs exactly what you think it is. Which is why heâs walking straight towards you and whoever the hell youâre talking to.Â
You didnât know Rei existed up until two minutes ago, and tried to do him the favor of wrapping up the small conversation he tried sparking up with you once you caught a glimpse of a certain someone walking your way.Â
It didnât work and now Satoruâs standing in front of you two, making you brace yourself for whatever sequence of words is going to come out of his mouth since heâs already in a shitty mood from the stylist snitching on him for being a pervert.
âYou can leave now. Bye,â he simply says to the man, nodding towards the exit.Â
Thereâs a moment of silence. His reaction wasnât as bad as you thought it would be, but it still adds weight to the air around you. Rei was understandably left scrambling, not that Satoru noticed, he was too busy looking at you like he was tired of you disappointing him.Â
And your eyes widened, as if you were asking him, what the fuck did I do?
âExcuse me?â Rei finally managed to ask.Â
The displeased look on Satoruâs face stays as he briefly turns his attention to Rei. âYouâre excused. Goodbye,â he says, casually dismissing him again.
âIâm sorry,â the man laughs from pure disbelief, âare you her boyfriend or something? Because you couldâve just saidââÂ
âIâm not,â Satoru cuts him off with a tone thatâs still surprisingly calm.Â
He wouldnât say heâs calmâ disassociated is more like it. All the words Rei throws at him just swarm around his head like a bunch of little gnats, and he steadily loses his patience since heâs already told the guy to fucking leave. Eventually, he closes his eyes and lets out a long, deep sigh.Â
âYou know what?â Satoru suddenly cuts him off and proceeds to make him an offerâ one that makes your jaw drop. âIf you want her number so fuckinâ bad, then fine. You can fight me for it.â
âSatoru?!â you immediately scold the man.Â
âWhat the hell is your problem, man?!â Rei says at the same time as you.Â
âOh, wow.â Satoru looks at you, then points a finger at Rei. âHe doesnât even want to fight for you.âÂ
At that point, the man storms off, muttering some stuff under his breath about people and wondering what the fuck was wrong with them, leaving you to deal with whatever sudden mood swing your boss was having today.Â
It didnât just start within the last hour. This has been going on all day and started when he almost snapped at one of the interns for running into him this morning when turning a corner too fast. You donât have much patience for him, though.
âIjichiâs already waiting outside for us,â you casually inform him and turn your heel, taking a step forward to walk away.
âThatâs it?â The lack of acknowledgment makes Satoru snap. âThatâs all you have to say?âÂ
You stop and turn again, taking a good look at Satoru as you try to come up with more to say, which is hard given how you just watched him agree to let someone have your number if they fought him.Â
Yet all that comes to mind are the lines that youâve blurred with the man.
âDo you want me to walk on eggshells around you, too, just like everybody else has today?â
â...No.â Itâs not much of an answer with the way he mumbled it, but at least you were able to reroute the guy.Â
You softly sigh. âAlright, then⌠letâs go.âÂ
. . . . .Â
The airâs been stale between you since that day.Â
You have no idea whatâs gotten into him, neither do you want to ask. And itâs not that you donât careâ of course you do. It should've already been made clear by now that you care about Satoru more than you should.
At first, you wonder if itâs some sort of rough patch. Then you realize that isn't normal in professional relationships, leaving you with more questions than answers because nothing about your relationship is professional.Â
You run around all over the place for him, picking up his suits and sometimes even him at 3:00 A.M when heâs too drunk or high to drive home. As if that didnât cross the line enough, he treats you like his friend. A really jealous friend, at that. Heâll do things like cockblock you if a man tries to talk to you when heâs around, sometimes even threatening to fight them.Â
Itâs been three weeks of silence.Â
He didnât even bother saying goodbye to you when you clocked out for the weekend yesterday. It wouldnât have been a bad thing at all with your last boss, but something about getting just a simple hum from Satoru left you feeling stupid.Â
So what did change with him? It might be better if he listed all the things that didnât.Â
He still jacked off with you in mindâ that probably wonât ever change, at least not for a while. He still keeps an eye on you.Â
It sounds bad, but itâs really not.Â
He just has surveillance over your apartment building, not your actual apartment. He also has the security team keep an eye out whenever you walk to and from your car, before and after work. Just basic safety stuff. He might have a tracker on your car, but never looks at it.Â
Unless heâs drunk, but that doesnât count in his head.
So then what changed?Â
Probably the new sense of shame that only seems to unveil itself when youâre around. Heâd rather you not have a front row seat when it comes to all of his less⌠desirable qualities anymore. He is far from perfectâ very fucking far from it.Â
Was it too late for that?Â
Probably.Â
It still made him feel just a little bit better about himself, even though heâs been rotting away on the inside from keeping his distance.
. . . . . .Â
Staying late at the office is a rare but unavoidable occurrence.Â
It happens. Some work gets prioritized over others, leaving small tasks to multiply and pile up. Today is one of those days Satoru is forced to push a main project aside and tackle all the little ones.Â
He considered taking on all of it by himself, but was reminded why he avoided the work in the first place just an hour into his day. It was all so boring and tedious. It wouldâve driven him up the wall had he not handed off a portion of it to you.Â
But even then, there were a couple moments he spent wallowing in self-pity, looking out the window with thoughts of throwing himself off the top floor of the high rise. He fucking hates this and hates how he has no one but himself to blame for all the procrastination heâs done.Â
The office feels like a different world once everyoneâs gone. It may feel comfortable for your boss since he has his own office, but your desk right outside of it gives you a front row seat to a corporate wasteland. Muffled chatter gets replaced with the sounds of the fluorescent lights buzzing above you. Air vents thrumming as they recirculate the cold, stale air.Â
The clock says 8:48 p.m once you finally finish your last task of the day. As happy as you are to finally leave this place, you grow nervous at the thought of entering your bossâs office to let him know youâre finished and heading home. Whatever camaraderie you had with him is non-existent at this point. Everything with him just feels awkward now and youâd be lying to yourself if you said you havenât already started looking for new positions.Â
You lightly knock on the door leading to his office and donât enter until you hear a tired hum on the other side of it.Â
Aside from the lamps next to his desk and next to the sofa you see when you first walk in, every other light is off, allowing the moonlight to peek through the dim space. Itâs actually quite peaceful with his view of the cityâs lit up skyline.Â
Satoru's eyes must hurt. He has his reading glasses on, framing the tired lines and dark circles under them.Â
âIâm all done for the day,â you say, carrying a stack of papers as you walk up to him and setting them down on the oak wood desk heâs half leaning on.Â
He doesnât look at you.Â
âThanks,â he murmurs, sounding just as drained as he looks.Â
You stand there, waiting for him to say anything else before coming to the conclusion that maybe it was time to move on to a new company, because you are too far gone.Â
Stupid.
The long day you two have had wasnât a reason to think heâd give you more than he has lately, let alone something to get your hopes up over.
Just standing in front of him makes you feel patheticâ you shouldnât feel like that.
You open your mouth to say goodbye for the night, since he wonât, but instead say something entirely different that leaves even you shocked.Â
âIâm putting in my two weeks.âÂ
You havenât even sent out any applications.
Satoruâs eyes darted up at you while staying in place. âWhat?âÂ
Despite not having the right, he did not fucking like that. The cold tone of his voice made you want to cower down and take your words back, but there was no turning back.Â
You push through the nerves as you repeat yourself in a professional manner. âAfter some consideration, Iâve decided I want to take my career in a different direction and that would require me to step down from my position.âÂ
The overly corporate tone does nothing but put a glare on Satoruâs face, one that deepens as you continue to spew, what he considers, a bunch of bullshit from your mouth.
âIâd like to thank you for the opportunities the company has given me, of course. Iâd be more than happy to train my replacement.â
âYouâre not training anybody,â he scoffs, standing from his seat as he starts to go through literally every stage of grief. âWhat the fuck? No? No. Youâre not fucking leavingâ absolutely not. Fuck that.â
Your eyes widen in disbelief over how entitled he is. Heâs been treating you like a second class citizen for weeks and now heâs not letting you leave? âThatâs not your choice to make.â
âI donât care,â he says delusionally. âYouâre not fucking leaving.âÂ
âYes I am.â You raise your tone. âYou canât just fucking keep me hereââ
âWhere are you going then, huh? Since you seem to have found a place so much better,â his immaturity inevitably shines through as he cuts you off.
âThatâs none of your business!âÂ
âItâs not, but you owe me that much,â he begins to argue.Â
Your face twists in disgust. âI donât owe you anything. Iâ how can someone be this selfish?! Youâve been giving me the cold-shoulder for weeksââ
He cuts you off again. âSo thatâs what this is about?!â
For someone thatâs been ignoring you for weeks, heâs very expressive, especially when he argues. His pupils will be blown out, heâll look at you in disgust, talk with his hands, pace around the room, then get in your face. This time is no different.Â
âYouâre leaving âcause I wonât give you attention? I thought you didnât fucking want that!â He throws his arms out, voice resounding through the room.Â
You pause, mouthing a âwhat?â to yourself in complete disbelief. Leaving someone angry and confused is one impressive skillâ Satoru has clearly mastered it.Â
âWhen have I ever said that?!â
âIt was written all over your face!â He shouts back, almost as if it was something that hurt him. âI figured you were getting tired of me so I backed off!âÂ
âSeriously? Thatâs your definition of backing off?â You have to stop yourself from laughing at how ridiculous it sounds. âBacking off is stopping the 1:00 am calls on the weekendâ not completely disregarding me.â
âI went back to being your bossââ
âYeah, a really shitty one.â
âI was always a shitty one.â He barks out a laugh. âThe only reason why youâre mad now is because youâre not getting anything out of it anymore.â
Satoru doesnât mean that.Â
Not that youâd know.Â
He tends to reject anything that brings him even just the slightest bit of discomfort, all while hating rejection himself. Watching you try to quit has made it one hell of a combo for him.
If he was just someone you simply had to tolerate, then whatever you gained from it was not worth your time. But he spoke with enough conviction to render whatever response you had useless.
âHow the hell do you expect me to stay after saying that?â you genuinely ask. âIâm tired of not being treated like real person and now youâre being a fucking asshole.â
âFuck. Iâm sorry. Iââ
âNo. Save it,â you say in defeat as you start to walk away.
âWhere are you going?â he asks, still having the audacity to sound irritated.
âLeavingâ have fun finding a new replacement. Iâm not staying for another two weeks.âÂ
He lets out a bitter laugh. âWell if youâre not coming back would you at least finally admit you felt something between us?âÂ
You stop and let out a sigh. âWhat are you talking about?âÂ
âYou know what Iâm talking about,â he says, taking a couple steps towards you.Â
âNo, there wasnât.âÂ
âAlright,â he huffs out a laugh. âI get that youâre mad at me and everything, but thereâs no point lying about now.âÂ
âIâm not lying about anything.âÂ
âI donât believe you,â he blandly says. âYou wouldnât have stayed as long as you did if there was never anything there. Be honest with yourself for once.âÂ
Just as youâre about to deny it for the third time, you hesitate. âJust forget it already.â
The sight of you walking away for the second time feels entirely different from the first time for Satoru. No more confusion or panic, all thatâs left is certainty. Perhaps a little amusement, as well. âNo. I donât think I will, actually.â
It happens fast.Â
You hardly process being spun back around, then youâre stunned again by a pair of lips crashing into yours. Itâs messy from the start and heâs breathlessly apologizing against you with each rough kiss.Â
Iâm sorry. I didnât mean that. You know I didnât mean that. Please.Â
And you forgive him, because thereâs really no point in lying anymore. Not when youâre kissing him back. Desperately, at thatâ filled with just as much need. His hands start to roam, clothes start to scatter, leaving a trail that leads in the direction he took you in.Â
He always thought heâd put you on the desk.Â
The couch shifts erratically, moans pour into the room with each thrust. Satoruâs pressing down on your back and deepening the arch he put you in, bottoming out over and over again.
âGood job, baby,â he drones, mesmerized at the sight of you helplessly stretched around his thick cock, covering it in a thick coat of your slick.Â
It took some working up to. The moment he sat you down on the couch, he buried his head in between your thighs and tongued your clitâ dragging it over that sensitive little bundle of nerves until you couldnât see straight. Then it was his fingers. Working not one, but two of his long digits into your cunt, curling them into a little spot that had you gushing all over him.Â
Now heâs fucking that same little spot to no mercy, making your toes curl as the thick head of his cock catches it. âOh my g-godâ Satoruâ fuuck!â
âMmm I know,â he grabs your hair and pulls you back up against his chest, not letting up as he gets right in your ear. âSay my name again.â
His balls slap against your clit with each thrust, leaving you a gasping mess. âS-Satoru.â
âAgain.â
âSatoru!â you cry out.Â
âSounds so fuckinâ pretty coming from you,â he hums, licking a stripe up your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. âYou like getting ruined on the couch like this?â
Shamelessly, you nod. âMhm.â
âYeah? Youâve thought about this before, havenât you?âÂ
âI have,â you admit. âA lot.â
âSo honest tonight,â he grins, âso have Iâ thought about kissing you, fucking you, putting a baby in you.â A hand snakes down your belly until his fingers reach your clit, drawing little circles. âYou really wouldnât be able to get away from me then, huh?âÂ
âThatâs fucking insane,â your attempt to complain dies out into another pathetic moan.Â
âI fucking know,â he laughs, pulling your hair back even more so you can look him right in the eye while he fucks himself even deeper into you. âI think you might like that though since youâre squeezing around me like crazy.âÂ
And you have no idea how to respond to that, youâre so fucking close. Itâs taking everything in you to hold yourself together while he just tears you apart with each snap of his hips, rubbing fast circles over your clit.
âHow bad do you wanna cum again?â
Itâs been three times already, each time harder than the last. Your own body betrays yourself when you answer his question. âSo bad.â
He hums sympathetically, though the look in his eyes seems to be the complete opposite of that. He keeps the same dizzying pace, pushing you further and further to edge until youâre finally gushing around him, again. He watches as tears of pure pleasure start rolling down your cheeks, trembling and letting out choked moans as he continues fucking you into overstimulation.Â
âI know, baby, I know,â he coos, letting go of your hair and wrapping his arms around your waist, keeping your back flush against his chest while he starts chasing against his own release. âMâso fuckinâ close. Youâre gonna take it all, right?âÂ
âYeah,â you weakly nod, nails digging into his forearms, steadying yourself as best as you can.Â
âShitâ good girl,â he exhales, snapping his hips against your ass even harder, thrusts growing sloppier. âHere we go.â
The groans that spill out of Satoru are just downright sinful. Thereâs nothing but desperation in his tone as he holds on tight and starts pumping you full of his cum, shuddering as you milk his cock for all that he has.Â
Youâre spent by the time you come back to your senses, with his arms being the only thing keeping you up. And yet, as you lay limp in his hold, he says something that, at the time, sounded like a threat with how entranced he seemed.
âDonât think Iâm done with you yet, princess.âÂ
â
Itâd been months since the night he finally broke his silence with you.Â
No, you donât work for him anymore. You quickly found a new job just three weeks later. One with better pay and normal hours. Easier, too.
Looking back, he truly was a shitty boss. A conniving one that always took up your time. You guess you just never saw it because a part of you always liked itâ better yet, liked him.Â
Good thing heâs a better boyfriend than he is a boss.Â
You were reluctant to start a relationship with him at first, the thought of him taking up even more space into your life lingering in the back of your mind and threatening whatever little peace you had left. But surprisingly, he went from being a conspiring little bastard toâŚ
âI just have one request tonight.âÂ
Youâre in the middle of doing your makeup when his sudden presence pulls your attention away from it. You look at a slightly reluctant Satoru through the vanity mirror, raising a brow and waiting to hear what exactly that request is for tonight.Â
âCan you wear something that shows your tits more?â Immediately you scoff, and heâs quick to defend himself. âWhat?! Itâs our anniversary!â
Youâve been with him for an entire year now, and he just seems to grow more and more pathetic as the time passes. Heâs in nothing but boxers, begging you to show off some cleavage, for fucks sake.
âYou see my tits every night,â you scold him.Â
âAnd I want to see them some more tonight, too.â
You scoff. âSatoââ
âPlease,â he cuts you off with a beg. Thereâs a bit of a stare off shortly after, with him looking at you like some lost puppy and you inevitably give in, like you always do. Heâs hard to say no to when he gets like this.
âFine.âÂ
He smiles and walks up to you, leaning down to give you a quick kiss, careful not to mess with your lip liner. âLove you.â
âI love you, too,â you softly say, before barely scolding him again. âNow go put your suit on, youâre the one that said the driver was gonna be here soon.âÂ
âYeah, whateverâ he can wait,â he waves a hand, lazily walking up to the sea of suits he has in your shared closet.Â
âHey, Satoru?âÂ
âHm?â
âIf weâre even one minute late, Iâm putting on a fucking turtleneck.â ââŚFine.â
All rights reserved Š 2026 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.
between a smug academic rival, a masked hero you cannot stop thinking about, and a symbiote threat getting closer by the day, your life is quickly becoming unmanageable. gojo satoru keeps ruining your peace, spiderman keeps stealing your heart, and neither of them seems willing to tell you the truth. as secrets pile up and the city tips further into danger, you begin to realise the person breaking your heart and the one trying to save it may not be two different people at all.
pairing: nerd!jo + spiderman!jo x reader
content: mdni, fluff + crack + angst + smut, academic rivals to lovers (a bit), college slop + coffee slop, a little miscommunication, secret identity reveal, friends with benefits kind of, satoru and reader are bad at feelings, satoru makes bad choices, foot job, p in v, cunnilingus, angst (?) with a happy ending !!, some action scenes 55k+
note: the old title was âthe end of the worldâ or smth so take a shot everytime the world ending is mentioned in the fic! thank you for reading and iâll see you at the end for more yap :3
Some people say the world ended December 12th, 2012 and that weâre all living in purgatory. The dead internet theory, Trisha Payta giving birth every time a significant member of society dies, that triangle in the middle of fuckass nowhere, there are pointers that this canât be the reality we live in.
Not that you care because for all you know, the world ended for you on March 15th at 10:12am when you first met Gojo Satoru.
It was impossible to not know him beforehand, not when heâs friends with your friends. And that distinction matters, their friend rather than your friend because you donât associate with him, not willingly. In fact, you would have been beyond overjoyed if he remained that unnamed face sitting back row of your neuropharmacology tutorial class, and not the persistent nuisance that heâs grown to be.
Because ever since the world has ended and youâve matched the elusive name to face, Gojo has managed to worm his way into your life. Heâs there, slinging his arm over Shokoâs shoulder as if you both arenât glaring into the side of his head for it, dragging his friend Geto over too, the long haired boy at least having the decency to smile apologetically though not enough decency to leave.
Shoko never tells him off, which you originally assumed was her one and only tragic personality flaw until you eventually learned theyâd been childhood best friends for almost twenty years. After that, it became easier to file her reactions away as a chronic, lifelong exasperation, the kind that slowly builds over decades until the only move left is to sigh and let the idiot sit down.
But did that idiot have to be Gojo?Â
Ever since he entered your orbit that horrible day in March, you canât seem to ignore his existence. You see those irritating thick-framed glasses around every corner on campus, his messy white hair something tucked beneath the hood of his university jumper sometimes not, but always ruffled like he has just rolled out of bed. His laugh follows you around, a persistent soundtrack bleeding into every conversation you try to have with your actual friends. Heâs always there, hands in pockets, bulky backpack slung over both shoulders, slippers padding lazily against the pavement like heâs just walked straight out of his apartment and into your line of sight.
âRelax.â Shoko tells you one afternoon as you aggressively wiped down a table, the cafe quieter now the day was slipping into that evening quiet. âYou wonât have to see him ever again now that the semester is over. You can unclench.â
Her advice only makes you snort, giving the table one last swipe before straightening to look at her busied behind the counter. âNot true if you donât stop inviting him to everything. What made you even think of bringing him with us to the club last Friday?â
Your best friend opens her mouth as if to defend him and that alone is enough for you to gag.
âShoko, he showed up in a dress shirt. And a messenger bag. To the fucking club!â
âNot too much on him, he was coming straight from night classes.â
Like that helps his case. Like being top of the cohort, effortlessly breezing through the same exams that require endless all-nighters from you, isnât enough to satiate his greedy appetite. Like the universe hasnât already gift-wrapped him with endless talent, now he has to go above and beyond and take night classes too.
âYeah, well. You need to separate your personal life from your work life. Work-life balance.â
âI donât see how that makes sense,â Shoko retorts drily, speaking more to the sink than you as she washes up the last of the cups. âClubbing and Gojo are both my personal life. If anything, youâre the one bringing him into our work life right now.â
âYouâre the one that said being his friend is a full-time job.â
She sighs. âMinimal wage, too.â
You weave through the tables and duck behind the counter, tossing the rag into a discarded pile for the night staff to deal with, and squeeze Shokoâs shoulders as you pass behind her in the cramped space.
âHey,â you start, voice sweet. âLetâs cut him off.â
She shoves you off good-mannerly, pushing you again in the direction of the apron rack to help you with the knot. âCut him some slack, wonât you? Or donât. Just forget about him. Like I said, now that the semester is over, you wonât have any reason to see him ever again.â
âThatâs honestly up to you. Sure, I wonât see him in classes anymore but are you going to spontaneously invite him to lunch again? Heâs not coming to our Saturday cheese tasting plans, is he? What about that aquarium we wanted to check out?â
Her hands pause before she loosens the knot and turns so you can untie her apron in return. âIâll tell him no to both.â
âOh, so he asked?â
âYou have no idea.â As if sensing the rant already bubbling up your throat, Shoko quickly hands you your phone from under the counter. âBy the way, your phoneâs been buzzing the entire shift. Youâre not still talking to that guy, are you?â
You take it, dragging the screen down to scroll through missed notifications. âWho?â
âThe double texter.â
Thereâs the typical ones youâd expect, some Outlook emails about irrelevant study tips, some random Twitter notifications from the many inactive accounts youâve abandoned but never bothered logging out of, and miscellaneous app alerts you swipe away without reading. Buried beneath them though, is the familiar little red icon from that forum app you absolutely should have deleted months ago, a fresh reply sitting under the thread thatâs been irritating you all week.
Your mouth tightens and you swipe it away before you can be sucked away into the ragebait.
âY/N?â
âHm?â You look up, realising Shoko is still waiting for a response. âOh, no. This is⌠a guy from Hinge.â
The hesitation isnât lost on her but she gives you grace and doesnât press for the truth. âRight. Just be careful, alright? I donât know what is going on in this city anymore but thereâs been way too many incidents on the news about people going missing. You know itâs bad when all the news channels are all suddenly interviewing men in tight spandex suits.â
You snort, tucking your phone away to finish clocking out of your shift. ââMenâ like thereâs multiple. You mean that one spider guy, right? His superhero name is uncreative as hell.â
âHe shoots webs from his wrists and climbs walls, what else would he call himself?â
âAnything but the first thing a five year old could come up with. Thatâs like pointing to a man who can fly and calling him Flying Man.â
Shoko locks the cafe doors behind, the metal click satisfying after a long shift. She gives the handle two firm tugs just to be sure because the city is a mess apparently, then steps back so she can flip the sign to CLOSED, the glass catching a smear of gold from the streetlights outside.
âSuperhero names are hardly creative these days.â
âWeâre losing the ancient texts.â
By now, evening has settled in properly, the campus washed in that dusky blue-orange light that makes everything look prettier than it is. You stop to take a few photos of the sunset, then slip your phone away and breathe in the cool breeze as Shoko falls into step beside you, the two of you cutting across campus out toward the busier street.
âWhat ancient texts? Thereâs literally someone called Superman because heâs super.â
You roll your eyes. âThat is so not helping your case.â
âIt is helping my case because it proves people like straightforward names. Also, it helps with making merch.â
âHow can you be so confident and be so wrong?â
Shoko bumps your shoulder lightly as you walk, enough to make you sway half a step before you right yourself and return the gesture.
Cars hiss past at the intersection ahead, headlights briefly washing over the footpath. Somewhere behind you, someone shouts a name across the road and is followed by a burst of noisy laughter. Thereâs a kind of peace at this twilight, a sense of calm that feels despairing.
âAre you sure you donât want a lift?â Shoko asks as you both slow to a step, effectively dragging you out of a potential spiral. âI canât imagine the bus being your favourite form of transport.â
You blink at her before shaking your head, reorganising your thoughts. âItâs fine. Besides, I know you have that thing with Utahime later.â
âItâs not a thing. Weâre just going to a jazz bar.â
âSure, okay. But just the two of you.â
âWe did invite you,â Shoko reminds you with an unimpressed look. âYouâre the one that declined.â
âI wasnât going to third wheel again.â
âUtahime would kill you for saying that.â
âIâd be more worried that sheâd kill herself if she found out youâre not labelling it as a date.â
Shoko kicks a loose rock on the pavement, avoiding your eyes. âThatâs because itâs not a date. Itâs a jazz bar outing.â
âJazz is like, inherently romantic. Havenât you heard âCareless Whispersâ?â
âThatâs the dumbest thing youâve said all day. âCareless Whispersâ is about a man cheating,â
âWait, are you serious?â You shake your head to dispel the song from playing in your mind, reining in the conversation before she can successfully deflect. âAnd I doubt thatâs the dumbest thing Iâve said all day. I think Iâve had some better bangers.â
âTrue, the dumbest thing that left your mouth was probably Gojo. You know, for someone who claims to hate him, you sure do talk about Gojo a lot. Donât groan at me, Iâm just saying.â
âIâm complaining about him. That has to be different.â
Shoko tilts her head, studying you up and down as she considers your words. She ends her evaluation with a hum. âI donât know, people usually donât spend that much time thinking about someone they actually donât care about.â
The implications are so frankly absurd the only thing you can do is wish her well. âIâm going to kill you.â
She raises her hands in surrender, already backing away in the direction of the parking lot.âAnyway! Thereâs no reason to complain about him anymore. Live a little!â
âPlease,â you scoff. âLike Iâd ever willingly think about Gojo ever again. You donât need to tell me that.â
She laughs softly, catching the words just before they disappear with the wind. You watch her back for a few seconds longer before blinking out of your thoughts. For some reason, the sound follows you all the way to the bus stop.
Realistically, Shokoâs words have some truth to them. It is rather easy to forget all about Gojo and his crimes against humanity (you) when you donât see him over the two-week break. Instead, you go to concerts with Utahime, visit art museums with Nanami and gossip and giggle over brunch with Shoko.
There's a peaceful monotony as days blend into each other, until one morning when your alarm rings at an hour once familiar to you and you get up to start another semester.
Checking your timetable one more time, you sigh at your misfortune. It was inevitable that your courses wouldnât always align with the rest of your friends. In fact, it was a miracle that you even had classes with Shoko last semester considering she wasnât even doing the same degree. You shouldnât be too disappointed after all, when you posted a story asking if anyone else was taking this course, a few people you vaguely recognised had swiped up. They're mostly acquaintances, people youâve met once from parties and events, but itâs miles better than being alone.
You double-check the lecture hall number one last time outside the building, hoping the extra second will magically give you the cure to the brewing headache at your temples, before you finally push open the door.
The buzz of conversation hits you immediately. Rows of students fill the lecture hall, voices overlapping as people reunite after the break, bags dropping onto chairs and laptops snapping open performatively. A few heads turn when you walk in, not unusual unfortunately, but you pretend not to notice, adjusting the strap of your tote as you scan the room.
You spot some familiar faces sitting toward the back, relief loosening the tight knot in your chest as you begin to climb the steps.
The smile on your face drops the moment your eyes driftâthose traitorous thingsâto the front row.
Gojo slouches in his seat, the tiny fold-out table already pulled out in front of him, bag resting on top. Heâs the only one sitting front row and centre, and considering how immersed he is with his phone, you doubt he has any plans to share the space with anyone else. He causally lifts his glasses with his finger in a way you thought perfectly suits his pretentious personality.
His hood is thrown over his head, feet stretching out in front of him. One of his hoodie strings is kept between his lips as he absentmindedly chews at it, so relaxed, so casual, so oblivious to the world ending around you.
You freeze.
Someone tries to enter the hall and almost bumps into you, and itâs this near collision that finally jolts you into motion. Your instincts kick in and you hastily duck your head, climbing up the stairs where your friends are waiting.
Nobara waves you closer, tucking her feet closer to her chest to let you into the row. âHey, Y/N! It's been a while.â
âHey,â you say, hoping it comes off casual and not dripped in fear. âYeah, I didnât think you were doing this course too. What a coincidence. Hey, can you give me a second?"
When you sink into your chair, you whip out your phone and frantically type away.
you: no fucking way
im going to kill myself
shoko: ik u have some crazy attachment issues but uâll get over it i promise
utahime: aww i think its cute u miss us so much if not a little pathetic
you: i dont give a gaf about that anymore
u wouldnt believe who else is taking this course
shoko: weâre not the fucking akinator guy y/n
utahime: i could be if u gave me more hints
guy or girl?
are they a youtuber?
you: itâs gojo
utahime: wtf spoilers??
wait gojo oh my god LMAOO
shoko: oh ure definitely gonna tweak
Your eyes only tear away from Gojo when the lecturer enters the room and when the door closes behind him, you feel the sudden, irrational urge to bolt for the exit. Because was it just your imagination or was there a sense of finality to that door slam? Gojo was meant to be a nightmare for one semester, a pain in the ass for one chapter of your life and yet here he is, the back of his head just as infuriating as the front.
âWelcome to neuropharmacology3211.â When the lecturer begins the lesson, you watch as Gojo barely sits up to listen. âIâll pass along the attendance sheet now. Just for everyoneâs sanity I need to let you know that these lectures arenât compulsory, however we do encourage you to attend.â
You panic. An attendance sheet. With your name on it. For all to see.
You watch in despair as it begins its slow journey across your side of the lecture hall. Mournfully, you tick off your name with Nobaraâs pen and pass the paper along, trying not to imagine the inevitable moment it reaches the front row.
Around and around it goes until it stops at the last person, the only person sitting in the front row on the left side of the hall.
Gojo absentmindedly spins his pen, flipping the paper to the other side when he canât find his name. He runs a finger down the list as the lecturer drones though you doubt either you or Gojo are actually paying attention.
From this distance you canât make out his subtle movements but at one point, he stops spinning his pen and looks up, glancing briefly around the room.
You immediately duck down, finding something immensely interesting about your laptop. You donât look up until Nobara elbows you gently and asks if you need any ibuprofen. You shake your head, daring to cautiously peek over the edge of your laptop.
Gojo continues to face the front and you let out a small sigh of relief, straightening just enough to give off your best impression of someone who has been paying attention the entire time.
It's the usual mandatory assessment outline, a rundown on everything that actually mattered in the course: midterms, finals, biweekly quizzes. You mindlessly add the dates to your calendar until the professor highlights the missing 20% of the final grade.
âAnd finally, there is a pair presentation due in week 7.â Your eyes twitch and you cast your gaze back to the front. âThe details of the assessment will be explained during this weekâs lab so ask your questions then.â
A group project. Even worse, in pairs. Your eyes slide instinctively toward Gojo and the dread in your stomach collapses in on itself, condensing into something dense and horrible.
âYour pair and topic will be emailed to you later today.â The professor continues and when groans echo across the room, they only chuckle, undeterred. âDiversity is good for group work. Your colleagues wonât always be your friend.â
You glance around the room. How many people were in this class? Many, so many. What are the chances you get paired with Gojo? Slim, at least you hope so.
The moment the lecture ends, you shove your laptop into your bag, and flash Nobara an apologetic smile as you book it for the door. You keep your head down, both hands clutching your tote as it digs into your shoulder while you weave through the crowd spilling into the aisle.
Freedom appears as a bright light before you, and you almost think youâre safe whenâ
âNo way.â
Your pace stutters and against every instinct in your body screaming at you to keep walking, you freeze.
âY/N?â
Someone knocks into your shoulder on the way out and before you can use the momentum to slip out with the rest of the crowd, a hand grabs your arm and pulls you to the side.
You glare up at Gojoâs stupid face. He peers down at you, all ego and cocky exterior, like heâs discovered something entertaining. He sniffles, rubs his nose and pushes up his glasses all in one making you grimace at his apparent lack of hygiene.
âGod, why did it have to be you?â you grumble, more to yourself than him. You shake off his hold, pressing your arm to your side to prevent any further contact. âDonât touch me.â
âI knew I saw your name on the attendance sheet.â He smirks down at you, taking in the familiar sight of your frown. âCome on, smile a little. Youâre making it look like I'm extorting you.â
âDon't talk to me like weâre familiar, Gojo.â
âArenât we?â
âWe aren't.â
âWe talk though.â
âYou talk, I try my best to ignore you.â
âWe have mutual friends.â He points out next as if this hasnât been the sole reason for your pain and suffering. God bless Shokoâs kind, patient heart for putting up with him, but if you had to see his face at another outing you might decide to wrap your fingers around your neck and squeeze instead of staying.
âUnfortunately.â
His lips only curl into that irritating and carefree smile, worse when you decide begrudgingly that it could also pass as charming. Any potential compliment dies immediately when he speaks again.
âWhat crawled up your ass and died?â
âDonât talk about my ass.â
âCome on, are you still being a sore loser over finals? You had two whole weeks to get over that.â
That gets you. You exhale sharply, eyes narrowing dangerously as you lean forward to poke at his chest.
âFirst of all,â you begin, âI am not being a sore loser over finals. The one making a big deal of things is you so if youâre trying to get my attention, there are far less tedious ways.â
His eyebrows shoot up. âYou think I'm trying to get your attention?â
âIs there another reason why you wonât leave me alone, Gojo?â You sigh like itâs the most obvious thing. âLook, youâre not my type and thatâs okay. Not everyone can be. But seriously, sticking to me like an annoying bug isnât going to fix that. If anything, it worsens your chances, not that you had any to begin with.â
He waits and when you only seethe, he prompts you, âAnd?â
You blink, temporarily off guard. âThatâs it.â
âThen why did you start withâfirst of allâ?â
Your eyes narrow. âItâs like talking to a genie with some of you people.â
His grin is too easy, too casual as if you werenât fighting for your life to restrain from murdering him, as if he isnât standing between you and your only exit from this hell.
âHey, I just wanted to clarify,â he says, raising his hands up in a gesture of surrender that only grinds your gears further. âNo need to get so pissy. Itâs not a good look on you.â
You grit your teeth. âNo defense for the allegations though, I see.â
Gojo looks around with a hum, eyes doing a lazy sweep of the emptying lecture hall, hands lowering slightly. âYouâd think after all this time, youâd finally get the hint.â
He casts his gaze back to you expectantly, failing to elaborate on his cryptic message and you take a moment to think.
There were many things he isnât exactly subtle about:Â
flaunting his academic prowess
how much he seems to thrive off your annoyance
You pick the second. âWhat, that you get off to a pretty woman telling you to kill yourself?â
He presses his lips together, as if giving it serious thought. Your face immediately twists into something that can only be described as a grimace, and he laughs.
âDo you usually spend a lot of time thinking about what gets me off?â
âDo you always have to ask me stupid questions?â
âOnly because you always find a way to make the answers fun.â
âI'm telling you this now, Gojo. Youâve outgrown the age where teasing the girl you like works,â you shoot back with a snarl, unable to hide your frustration.
For a moment, something in his expression shifts.
Gojoâs eyes drop and you feel his gaze burn down your neck and drag from your top to your shoes. You canât help but shiver at the intensity of his stare and maybe he notices because he scoffs, looking away. âThat hurts my reputation. Youâre not my type.â
Your eye twitches. âBat for the other team, do you?â
âHow egotistical. You think just because a guy doesnât like you he must be gay?â
âWell, thereâs definitely a higher likelihood."
âYou must have tested that with a small sample size because that doesnât sound statistically significant.â
You roll your eyes, shifting your weight to edge closer to the door. âOf course you canât help but be a fucking nerd about everything."
âWhining doesnât exactly help your side of the argument."
âNo, but it might stop me from reaching over and punting your head in.â
Gojo whistles low, the noise sharper now that most students have left. âAre you purposefully testing me? I thought we established that I liked girls who keep me on my toes.â
You wrinkle your nose. âThereâs a difference between keeping someone on their toes and wanting to throttle them.â
âYou better be careful because it's a thinner line than most for me.â
âYou are disgusting.â
âThat doesnât explain why you keep talking to me, though.â
âLike I have a choice. Youâre the one who grabbed my arm. If I miss my bus because of you doing whatever this is with me, I will put you in the ground.â
âYouâre still here though.â
You sigh, exasperated. âBecause youâre standing in the fucking doorway, you idiot.â
âOh,â he says, but makes absolutely no move to step aside.
You inhale slowly through your nose, channeling a calm you most certainly do not feel. âMove.â
âSay please.â
Your smile turns dangerously sweet. âI said move.â
âStill not hearing the magic word.â
You give up, sensing youâll only continue to lose. Before you can suck it up and brush past him, dreading even the brief contact of his shoulder against yours, he steps closer. His gaze flutters down for a moment, something foreign passing over his face as he clears his throat.
It makes your heart seize at how unfamiliar he looks, though that fades quickly when his eyes snap back up, that irritating grin firmly in place.
âActually, I was thinking. Are you free thisââ Before he can finish, a loud tune sounds from his pocket and he groans, abandoning his words to pull out his phone. The smile that had been on his face scrunches up, and he absentmindedly types a response with one hand before looking back up at you. âMy bad. I was going say if youâreââ
But in the few seconds his attention is elsewhere, youâve already bolted.
âHey, wait!â His voice chases after you and you press on, echoing faintly against the tiled floors as you round the corner at a pace thatâs just shy of running. âIâm going to count this as my win if you run away from me!â
You jam your airpods into your ears with unnecessary force, scrolling blindly until music floods your head and drowns him out completely.
If the world was going to convince you it wasnât about to end, it better start looking up for you soon.
Unfortunately, the world really doesnât give a shit about what you think because your karmic debt piles high.
Shoko had abandoned you in your time of need, leaving you to tackle the shift alone. You close the cafe door behind you, turning the key so that the handle doesnât rattle under your palm, and sniff when the cold air immediately bites at your face. Your scarf comes up instinctively, burying your nose and mouth as a harsh wind cuts through the street now that youâre no longer protected by the warmth of the cafe.
What a long day.
You clutch your scarf as it flutters wildly until the wind settles, the evening air growing still enough that it stops stinging your cheeks.
Nothing particularly bad had even happened today.
It wasnât overly busy though it was far from quiet. You even managed to pass the long hours when some old friends showed up, though the conversation had only lasted as long as it took to make their coffee.
But when itâs still or in the moments when you wait for a customerâs order, you feel something unpleasant settle in. The air feels too stale, time clicking by too slowly and the sensation of the ground moving beneath is unnerving. Your eyes refuse to move at times and you find yourself zoning out at nothing, hands moving in autopilot as you make drink after drink after drink, the repetition slowly pulling you apart one seam at a time.
Your feet find their way to the bus stop and you breathe out slowly, mist curling into the cold evening air as you look up to watch it dissipate.
How freeing would it be to be up there? The wind in your hair, biting cold against your nose and the tips of your ears, the rush of air in your lungs, and that terrifying exhilaration that comes from rising and falling and rising again. You imagine being weightless, being untouchable, being above it all and finally free.
You shake that nonsense thought away.
Itâs just one of those bad days.
The bus pulls up, blowing exhaust and humid air, and youâve only just placed a foot onto the bus when a loud crash sounds to your left.
You look over just as something flies past and slams into the bus stop, the metal denting under the immense weight. Itâs not your finest moment but you duck, covering your head, and let out a scream as the loud noise deafens you.
The bus drives off in the chaos, certainly breaking several traffic laws, and you curse the driver when you realise youâve been abandoned.
Peeking an eye open as the dust settles, you lower your arms and come face to face with the heavy object that had slammed against the stand.
Slowly, you ask, â...Spiderman?â
The blue and white figure coughs, hitting his chest with his fist. âYou called?â
Spiderman looks up and freezes. It might be your imagination but he looks even more winded when his eyes lock on yours. Actually, youâre certain itâs your imagination because his mask completely obscures his facial expressions, save for the slight widening of the white parts indicating his eyes.
You crawl forward a little. âShit, you went down hard. Do you have a concussion?â
The superhero runs a battered hand down his face, stopping only when it slides down to cover his mouth, and lets out a muffled groan. âYou have got to be fucking kidding.â
You blink. âExcuse me?â
Before he can say anything else, a wet, splintering crack sounds from across the street.
You look over your shoulder as he tilts to look around you. A man staggers out of gate five beside the university-run pharmacy, though stagger might be too human a word for it. Something black and shining writhes over his body, swallowing him from the neck down like spilled tar, except tar doesnât pulse. It stretches over his arms in twitching strands and thickens into jagged unnatural muscle, back hunching with a sickening pop as he lurches forward.
You rub your eyes and stare again.
âI know the feeling,â Spiderman says, pushing himself upright with a wince. âThatâs my exact review too.â
The thingâs head jerks in your direction.
Spiderman notices before you do, wringing out his hands and doing some jumping jacks on the spot. âAnd thatâs my cue to ask you very calmly to start running.â
When the thing charges at you, thereâs no time to pretend to be composed. You let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a shriek and fling yourself backward as the thing barrels forward. A web shoots from behind you and lands on the bus stop-frame, yanking Spiderman into its path just in time to take the hit instead.
He gets absolutely bodied.
âJesus Christ,â you blurt as he falls back further down the road.
Spiderman slings to grab onto a nearby, and luckily deserted car, and slams it into the side of the villain, picking himself up in the few seconds he has to breathe when the figure crashes into a nearby building.
âI know,â he wheezes, dusting off his suit. âEveryone says that when they see me. Iâm basically the second coming of that guy.â
âAre you okay? Do you need⌠backup?â You look around at the site. Cars have started swerving and backing away to avoid the scene and bystanders are ducked somewhere safe. You alone remain inside the heavily damaged bus stop a few metres from where the figure is now pulling itself onto his feet.
Realistically, you should do the smart thing and hide, too. But one feeble attempt to get on your feet tells you what you already know; that youâve managed to fuck up your ankle in your panic.
Spiderman has his hands thrown up. âWhy are you not running? I told you to run.â
âWhy are you losing?â
âIâm not losing,â he snaps, affronted. âAre you always this difficult? Listen to the cityâs superhero and get out of here.â
âIf this is my superhero, then Iâm already cooked.â
The creature roars and charges again, much alike a bull seeing red and youâre the unfortunate sole on the ground in its path.
Spiderman seems to have enough sense to conclude thereâs something wrong with your body and not your head as he swears, shooting two webs in quick succession, one to a traffic light pole and the other to the creatureâs arm, trying to stabilise himself to swing the heavy villain sideways. It works for maybe half a second before the pole lifts off the ground and Spiderman sighs before being the one flung away.
You watch as Spiderman hits the ground hard, again. Thankfully, itâs enough distraction for the figure to leave you alone but you can only grimace especially when he picks himself up.
Spiderman pushes up on one knee, clearly trying to buy time, and calls, âHey, big guy, quick question before you maul me. Is this like, a skincare thing? Because I think whatever routine youâre on is clogging your pores. Thereâs a pharmacy right over there. Want me to get you some pimple patches?â
The figure ignores his provocation by charging forward again and itâs you that looks back over your shoulder at the pharmacy. Frankly put, your trust in the masked vigilante is at an all time low and if thereâs any chance of living beyond this encounter, you need to do something.
Despite the throbbing pain in your ankle, you pull yourself up against the dented wall of the bus stop and edge closer to the campus. Then, you break into a valiant attempt at a sprint.
âThatâs it, get out of here!â he calls out after you.
You grit your teeth both from the pain and general annoyance. âIâm not running!â
âWhat the hell are you doing then?â
âSomething useful, unlike you!â
Spiderman finally looks up from wrangling with the figure. âHuh?â
You manage to limp to the pharmacy and wrench its fire extinguisher free from its bracket, using more effort than expected especially as youâre already winded and nearly fumble with the weight of it. You spin back around just as the creature grabs Spiderman by the throat and slams him into the side of the bus stop again. You hobble back to the scene with a sympathetic wince.
My God, the thing is already gone, leave it alone.
The figure looms over the fallen superhero, the goo oozing off solidifying into a slimy tendril that sharpens. It slides along Spidermanâs jaw and tilts his head up, cutting right through the fabric of his mask before stopping at his throat.
The figure opens its mouth as if to say something but is cut off when you yank the pin with shaking hands. For a moment, nothing happens and youâre all about ready to apologise and excuse yourself from the scene when the extinguisher goes off in a violent burst of white foam that manages to encapsulate the figure despite the distance.
The black mass recoils with a horrible screech, the sound sharp and inhuman, like nails scratching against metal. It peels back in frantic, rippling waves, twitching and writhing away from the spray. The man underneath the goo drops to one knee, gasping as his eyes roll back down from the back of his head, and shudders before collapsing on the ground.
What remains of the gunk ripples along the pavement before slithering down a gutter and leaving nothing behind, almost as if nothing had ever happened. If not for the battered bus stop and the hole in the wall.
You lower the extinguisher slowly, breathless. âMaybe I should give this superhero thing a shot.â
âNah, I donât think you have the guts for it.â
Before you can even turn properly to defend your case, strong arms hook around you and the ground disappears.
The sound that leaves you is less scream and more pure, humiliated terror as gravity tilts sideways. You catch a flash of white, the sharp snap of a web latching somewhere high above, and then heâs hauling you up with it, body lifting clean off the pavement.
âWaitââ
The city drops out beneath you in dizzying blurs of orange streetlights and rooftops, your stomach left somewhere back by the ruined bus stop. Spiderman carries you like you weigh nothing, one arm locked securely around your waist whilst the other shoots webs with impossible precision, each swing smooth despite the fact that he had been getting his ass kicked mere seconds ago. Wind tears at your scarf and shoves tears from your eyes.
You clutch at him with both hands âHold on, we need to go back and help that guy!â
âIâm a superhero, not a paramedic!â Spiderman calls back, voice steady despite the speed. âHeâll be fine, help is already on the way. But thereâs an unconscious guy on the ground, a destroyed bus stop, at least six insurance claims, and Iâm pretty sure your bus abandoned you ages ago. You cannot stay there.â
âAnd thatâs the reason why Iâm up here?â
âSuperhero, my ass,â he might have said but your attention is pulled in far too many directions to be sure.
You make the fatal mistake of looking down. The road below is a smear of headlights and moving colour, terrifyingly far away.
âOh my God,â you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut again. âThis is how I die. Iâm going to become roadkill. Iâm going to go splat.â
âThat is so hurtful after I literally just rescued you.â
âI would still be grateful if you had left it there.â
His laugh is snatched by the wind, warm and infuriating and entirely too amused for someone who had looked so pathetic sprawled out on the ground. He adjusts his grip slightly when your fingers knot tighter in the front of his suit, and if he notices how hard youâre shaking, he has the decency to not make anymore comments, swinging you both up in a smooth arc.
âOkay,â he relents. âDeep breaths, Iâm not actually going to drop you.â
You give your most valiant attempt of a snort. âTelling me to breathe deeply as Iâm not already trying.â
âWould you prefer shallow, panicked ones then?â
âI would prefer to be on the ground!â
âYour wish is my command.â
After another swing and a sharp turn that nearly rips your soul from your body, Spiderman descends toward the quieter edge of campus and lands in a narrow pedestrian lane beside the university security office. Itâs bright here, washed in fluorescent light, and close enough to the main road that you can already hear the traffic and voices navigating the post-chaos.
The second your shoes touch concrete, your knees threaten to fold. You grab his arm on instinct, digging your fingers in as you glance at him. âYou do that every day?â
You can almost hear the smugness in his voice, and something else. âItâs basically my 9-5.â
Itâs most definitely just your imagination but you feel as though his gaze softens, looking at you trembling like a newborn bird. He watches as you regain sensation in your legs though your hand remains on his arm. He doesnât make any move to remove it.
A baffled laugh escapes you, more air than sound. âI canât believe Iâm still alive.â
âDo you need to sit down?â
You shake your head softly. âIâm fine⌠thank you for saving me, Spiderman.â
âI should be thanking you. I was getting my ass kicked out there.â
âI know, I saw.â
He tilts his head. âI thought you were thankful?â
âBoth those things can be true at the same time.â Then, you go on your tippy toes and press a soft kiss to his cheek. âBut Iâm definitely very thankful.âÂ
You feel the superhero stiffen under your touch and the white fabric of his mask widens before he jerks slightly backward, free hand flying up to hover over where you kissed. âDid you justââ
Thereâs something about the tone of his voice, pitched higher now in surprise, that has you blinking. âYou soundâŚâ
If you werenât sure about his tension before, he most definitely freezes now, his hand pulling back down to rest over your hand on his arm and pull it off. âOh, uhâyou should head back, injured and stupid civilian. I know the people in the office. They should be able to get you home.â
âNo wait, hold on.â You narrow your eyes, taking a step forward that he immediately responds to by stepping back. âDo I know you?â
He points at himself, backing away slowly. âMe? You might have seen me on the news or seen one of my promotional posters.â
âNo, because you were weird the second you saw me.â
âI was bleeding out and on the verge of death,â he says. âLetâs not pathologise me.â
âYou looked right at me and said something like, âyou have got to be fucking kiddingâ.â
He tilts his head and takes another step back. âDid I say that? Hm, no, not ringing any bells. Your ankle is injured, maybe stop walking towards me. Youâre freaking me out and I donât do well with girls.â
You open your mouth to say more when he suddenly points at something over your shoulder. âOh shit, is that a bird? A plane?â
You turn instinctively. There is no one there, of course, but itâs a realisation seconds too late. Because by the time you whip back around, heâs already two steps away, web fired high above, body coiled to launch.
âOh, you assholeââ
âGet home safe!â he calls, voice cheerful in a way that irks you.
âWaitââ
He shoots upward before the word can properly leave your mouth. You hobble forward, outrage momentarily stronger than the pain in your ankle.
âYou canât just dump me here and leave!â you yell after him. âIâm literally injured! Jerk!â
âMaâam, can we help you?â
You freeze and your shoulder slump even as you turn around. The staff inside the office have stepped out hearing all the commotion and you realised Spiderman can definitely leave an injured civilian here. Curse his fast thinking and kind heart.
You freeze and your shoulder slump even as you turn around. The staff inside the office have stepped out hearing all the commotion and you realised Spiderman can definitely leave an injured civilian here. Curse his fast thinking and kind heart.
Itâs only when the sun has lowered into a splash of pink and orange in the sky that you finish tolerating the endless questioning from both the security office staff and the police. Thankfully, theyâre kind enough to drive you back to your apartment though youâre slightly annoyed the rest of the day had been wasted on telling them âI donât knowâ over and over again.
The moment you step back into your room, your phone buzzes with multiple notifications. Thereâs an Outlook email from your neuropharmacology course and three texts from an unknown number.
unknown: looks like you lucked out and weâre partners
itâs gojo btw
lets meet tomorrow @ uni library
And because you genuinely cannot feel even worse than you already do, you turn your face to bury into your pillow and groan.Â
You donât end up confirming Gojoâs plans until halfway through your morning tutorial the next day when he double texts.
DO NOT ANSWER: ?
donât leave me on read
you can hate me all u want but the project is worth 20% yk!!!!!!
you: ok
time?
DO NOT ANSWER: ohhh so now u respond huh
id hate to think im forgettable
you: time
DO NOT ANSWER: (âĽďšâĽ)
iâll get on campus at 12 ish so like in ten minutes
you: done
DO NOT ANSWER: >âŠ<
You push the thought that as a grown man, he really shouldnât be texting like that away, and flip your phone back down on the table just as the class ends.
âWant to check out this new bingsu place near the station?â Utahime chatters as she shoves her iPad into her tote and picks up her coffee, watching you follow behind albeit slower with dread. âThey have this new Thai tea bingsu and it looks crazy good. Shoko swears by it butâand you canât tell her I said thisâitâs crazy that she went out for lunch without us. Does she not fuck with us anymore? Who did she even go with?â
You smile wistfully at her. âI wish I could, Utahime, but I already have plans after this.â
âWhat the fuck, et tu?â She processes your words with a frown. âDid you take on a shift today? I thought you only had this one class today.â
âNo, itâs even worse. I need to lock in for my neuropharmacology assessment.â
She pauses, cup halfway to her mouth before her lips split into a wide grin. âOh my God. With Gojo?â
You groan, zipping your bag with more force than necessary. You sling it over your shoulder and try to hurry away from her, but itâs too late and she follows quickly after.
âDonât remind me.â
âYouâre choosing to hang out with Gojo over me?â Her voice peaks at the end, and you hate how happy she looks at the thought of you ditching her.
âThis isnât a choice I want to make at all so donât say it like that. And donât look so happy, freak.â
âOh, this is rich. You were bitching about him all of last semester and now youâre choosing him over me?â Utahime giggles, pulling out her phone with her free hand. âShoko is going to love this.â
You raise an eyebrow, catching the opening. âI thought you were mad at her for getting lunch without you? Youâre so fickle.â
She hums absentmindedly, already outing your situation to the group chat, no doubt. âOur friendship runs deeper than one betrayal.â
You grin as you approach the library stairs, looking back over your shoulder. âFriendship, huh?â
She whips her head up at you, eyes flickering down to her cup where the red words written across the side spells out a cute reminder to have a good day. A flush creeps up her face. âWhat? Donât say that like itâs something to point out! We are friends!â
âI didnât even say anything!â
âYouâre giving me that look again. Iâm not a blind masochist, Y/N. I can tell when you have something to say, and Iâm not taking it lying down.â
âYouâre just lucky I havenât said a word to Shoko yet.â
Utahime grumbles, crossing her arms. âIf you do, Iâll kill myself.â
You laugh, glad to get the last word. âIâll see you later, Utahime. Go say hi to Shoko for me!â
âI will see Shoko, but only to tell her that.â
âSure,â you say, and enter the building.
The library is busy, bustling with students as they lean over textbooks and clack away at their laptops. Itâs not quite midterm season yet, so the fact that the library is so full should be concerning. With so many heads bent down, there is little chance youâll find Gojo.
You swallow your pride and pull out your phone.
you: iâm here
where are you?
DO NOT ANSWER: not her eyet wa it
wait
smth came up
You frown. Heâs the one who set the time and has the audacity to be late? Typical for someone as inconsiderate as him, you decide, and choose a table near the back of the library just so he can struggle to find you when he finally arrives.
You take out your laptop and start a new document, opening the tab for the marking rubric, the assessment notification, and some articles you found doing a quick search on PubMed. You even get around to dot-pointing one of them when someone dumps their bag on the table next to you.
You jump. âFuck.â
âDid I scare you?â
The voice alone is enough to make you freeze though you quickly snap out of it to glare up at the culprit. Gojo stands beside you, panting slightly, running a hand through his messy hair like itâll fix his disheveled appearance. The buttons of his shirt are mismatched and one side of his collar is tucked inward.
âHey,â he greets with a lopsided smile.
âHow are you late when youâre the one who said to meet at twelve?â
Gojo shrugs as if it isnât a big deal and flops into the seat next to you. You had intended for him to sit across the table but you didnât have the time to slip the words into the conversation before he starts talking.
âDidnât I tell you? I had something to do. Did you read my texts with your eyes closed or something?â
âIf you think I could have deciphered that from what you said, then youâre dumber than I thought. Did you run into an electric fence or something?â
He smiles at you like your words had been an inside joke. âI told you after that part.â
âDo you ever take anything seriously? This is worth twenty percent of our grade. You canât just mess around and expect to still do well.â
âCanât I? Itâs always worked before.â
And because you donât doubt that, it only serves to piss you off even more. He catches onto your scowl, smirk widening.
âRelax, youâll pop a blood vessel. We still have weeks to get this done so who cares?â
You roll your eyes and force yourself to be satisfied with just that, turning back to to your laptop in an effort to calm down. âMe, obviously. Look, Iâm only staying on campus until two, so letâs just get this done quickly so we can both leave. Iâm sure you donât want to be here either so letâs just be adults and get this over and done with.â
You take a deep breath and prepare yourself to look back at him and point out what youâve already planned on the document but stop short when you find him already watching you.
You grimace and edge away slightly. âWhat?â
âNothing.â He shifts to pull out his laptop and then a wired mouse.
You eye the chunky device with disbelief, wondering if perhaps his bag is bigger on the inside than the outside and then at its corded pet. Itâs only when he pulls out yet another accessory, a mouse pad, that you blurt, âDo you seriously carry a whole gaming laptop setup with you every day for class?â
Gojo holds down the power button for a couple of seconds, the fans whirring to life and filling the library with insistent static.
âYeah, I love this thing. It can handle all my programs and I can play League on it too so whatâs not to like? It can run Sims 4 and all my CCâs without any lag, itâs literally my baby. Itâs only right that I give it everything it needs in return.â
You scrunch your nose. âYou play into the stereotype way too much.â
âWhat stereotype?â
âWhat else? The nerd stereotype.â
He huffs, apparently offended. âIâm not a nerd.â
âArenât you?â You eye him up and down. âYou tick off all the boxes. The glasses, the smartass attitude, the gaming laptopââ
âYou wear glasses.â He starts listing, holding out his hand to count.
âI wear contacts.â
âBut you wear your glasses in the morning. For morning tutorials and lectures and stuff,â he continues, undeterred. âYou carry yourself like youâre better than everyone elseââ
âI do notââ
âThough youâre probably too broke to buy a gaming laptop so I guess itâs better to be a nerd than whatever you are.â He finishes with a smug grin that makes you want to curl your fingers into a fist and throw that right into his pretty face.
âI donât carry myself like Iâm better than anyone,â you decide to clear up.
He makes an unconvinced sound. âYou do.â
âI donât.â You press your lips together and sigh, breaking the eye contact though not without effort. âStop trying to waste my time.â
âYou found me out. âThrough the whirring of his laptop, you can make out his slight chuckle. He leans onto the table with his elbows, voice almost a childish whine. âLetâs talk. Why do you hate me so much?â
Your fingers stutter on your keyboard. Sucking in a deep breath, you turn your head and face him on. ââI donât hate you. Obviously.
âObviously,â he repeats, the curl of his lips an obvious indicator that he doesnât believe you. âBut youâre always frowning when we talk.â
âWe donât talk,â you emphasise again and against your attempt at nonchalance, your brows pinch together. âAnd I donât hate you.â
âRight? I havenât even done anything to you.â
Your eye twitches at that. You rein it in, rein in that explosive feeling in your chest as if another word from his mouth will send you spiralling. You know it will, as inevitable as the crash-out youâll be having to Shoko later at the cafe.
âGojo,â you start calmly. âWe have four weeks to do this assessment and frankly, I still have a life to live outside this so letâs just get this over and done with, okay?â
He looks at you a little longer and you would have asked what exactly he was searching for on your face, but something tells you that opening this can of worms will only confuse you more so you only stare back.
âAlright,â he says finally. âAdd me to the document.â
You hit share and tilt your laptop towards him, watching as his long fingers dwarf your keyboard. He slides it back over and you nod, satisfied. âI already looked at some sources so you can just start off one of those.â
Gojo glances back at his gaming laptop, clicking on the document. You watch as a new anonymous user hops onto the page: Anonymous Snow Leopard. Heâs already typing away and when you click on the animal to find his cursor, heâs finishing off a second sentence notably not under one of those articles you had found. You frown as you read.
âHold on.â
He sighs, fingers pausing. âWhat now?â
You point to your screen at where heâs stopped typing. âYou canât just say things like this without a source.â
âIâll cite it later.â
âThatâs now how you research. Youâre meant to find an article first and then write your own interpretation afterwards based on it.â
He waves his hand dismissively. âPotato, potahto.â
âOkay, no. We are not doing this.â
âSee, this is where your pretentiousness kicks in.â
âWhat, because I know how to research properly?â
âBecause youâre trying to control every little thing.â
âIâm not being controlling, This counts to my grade too so I have a say.â
âAnd whereâs my say?â
âYouâre thinking too far, maybe focus on actually saying something useful first.â
âSee? Pretentious.â
âPot calling the kettle black.â
âSo you admit it?â
âMaybe, do you?â
He leans in, sneering. âIâve gotten top marks doing it my way and Iâm not going to change it now just because you have some inferiority complex over me.â
You flush, leaning back. âWell, Iâve gotten high marks doing it my way! And I donât have an inferiority complex, much less to you.â
âThen you can use your method and Iâll use mine. We donât have to collaborate any more than we need to.â
You hate to admit that he might be right. Outwardly however, you grit your teeth and summon an inner peace. âGojo. Find an article before you start talking out of your ass.â
He groans as if deeply inconvenienced and though the sound makes you tense as if he might spit out another remark, he only turns back to his laptop and clicks open a new tab with exaggeration.
âFine, fine. Geez. Youâre really annoying, you know that?â he grumbles, slouching in his seat.
Youâre about to drop another snarky response when something on his screen catches your eye, a tab peeking out in a red tab folder titled self indulgent. You lean forward slightly, catching the title when his cursor flicks by. It seems like an impossible task to read the words in the split second when the pop-up shows, if you hadnât been stunlocked on that tab yourself earlier that week.
hoping thereâs a modification of kumamonâs line, r/digimon.
âWait,â you blurt, placing your hand on his arm.
He freezes under your touch, though you pay no attention to the sensation. âWhat?â
âWas that a Digimon Reddit thread?â
Gojo doesnât say anything for a while, and you have to look over at him to check if he was paying attention. His shoulders seem visibly tense, eyes flickering to the tab and then over at you. ââŚNo?â
You donât wait for permission, sliding your own laptop to the side to take a hold of his. He makes a brief noise of protest, hands coming up as if to stop you, but they pause right before touching. The hesitation gives you the chance to click on the tab.
The screen that loads confirms your suspicions. Your eyes widen, taking in the familiar Digimon forum, open to the exact post youâve spent the last week arguing in the comments. âYouâre in the Digimon subreddit?â
âDonât do this. You already give me enough shit about carrying a gaming laptop. Donât ruin this nostalgia for me,â he mutters, looking away, and you finally realise that his tense shoulders might be because heâs bracing for an impact that isnât coming. You find yourself, somewhat absently, marvelling at the sudden quietness of him. Maybe this is what people see when they talk about Gojo like heâs the second coming of Jesus.
You laugh in disbelief.
He only stiffens more until you exclaim, âGojoverrated?â
âLook, I made that username when I was twelve and it just stuck, alright? Iâm sure your usernames at twelve were much worseââ
âSo it was you that wrote that stupid rant about Kumamonâs evolution! It was like, a thousand words!â
Gojo whips around to face you immediately. His eyes take you in, sweeping up and down your appearance as if trying to associate you with your words. âYou pronounced Kumamon right. You know about the post? You read it?â
âAre you questioning my reading comprehension skills now?â
âNo, Iââ he stutters, actually tripping over his words in front of you which only makes your smile widen. He clears his throat and tries again. âI just meantâyou read this?â
âRead it? I responded to it, smartass.â
Thereâs a long pause, and you wait for recognition to dawn. He straightens slowly, eyes opening wide. âThereâs no way. Youâre notââ
You beam. âIâm Digimonlvr3000!ââSurprise aside, you should not be saying that username with so much pride.â But then he stares at you like the ground beneath him has just fallen through. âBut shut up, thereâs no fucking way.â
âYou seriously hate the transition from Grizzmon to GrapLeomon?â you start, elbows resting on the table as you lean in. The same banter falls from your lips, but you refuse to acknowledge how it lacks venom.
âYou canât just go from a bear cub to a bear, and then to some mechanical lion-man, and then a unicorn-panther-headed half-nude dude.â He blinks at you even as he talks, eyes still wide as he struggles to comprehend saying these words to someone other than Suguru, considering his best friend is the only person who would at least pretend to listen.
âI mean, this is Digimon, not PokĂŠmon. You know, digital monsters? Theyâre allowed to be crazy.â
âYeah? Well, I want bears.â
âThen PokĂŠmon might be the franchise for you.â
Gojo flinches like youâve insulted him personally, more than any of your actually hurtful insults have ever managed to make him flinch. âDonât even joke, Y/N. Itâs not a crime to like coherent evolution lines.â
You shrug. âThe randomness makes it fun. Itâs Digimonâs whole brand.â
âAnd yet, the most iconic Digimon evolution lines come from coherent ones. You know, ones that make sense and have a consistent visual theme from Rookie to Mega. There is nothing that ties Grizzmon to GrapLeomon.â His lips quiver as he talks, eyes still wide, shock lingering. He canât help letting his gaze sweep over you again and again. He thinks then that maybe the person who said never to judge a book by its cover had actually been onto something.
You raise a finger, drawing him out of his daze. âUm, actually, there is, though. The whole theme of grappling and fist-fighting? Does that ring a bell?â
âThatâs the same argument you used in your comments.â
âThe same comment you have yet to respond to.â You pause, thinking. âJust like right now, actually.â
âYeah?â he starts, and you know youâve got him again. He presses on regardless. âWell, youâre the one who made that post about disliking Rhinokabuterimon more than Daipenmon.â
âAnd I stand by that.â
âOh my god,â he says slowly, taking you in. âYouâre worse in person.â
âYour Kumamon rant got locked by a mod,â you remind him. âSomehow that makes sense. Youâre as annoying online as you are in person.â
âIt was locked for too many off-topic replies, which is partially your fault.â
âI wasnât going to let you have the last word.â
âLast word, huh. Great segue toââ
âNo, donât bring that up, stopââ
ââto your Digimon fanfiction account that you have linked in your bio.â
You groan, long and low, covering your face with your hands. Warmth creeps up your neck, burning against your cheeks when you hear him laugh at your expense. You try to gather your dignity, peeking between your fingers to accuse him as you say, âHow would you know? Did you read them?â
âOf course I did,â he says without shame, and any thought of turning the tables back on him dissipates. He watches you suffer from embarrassment for only a second longer before resting his chin on his palm, leaning away as if to act casual. âSo. Do you play the TCG?â he asks, despite the fact that he knows heâs seen your username floating around in the Digimon TCG subreddit.
You pull your hands away with a start. âDo I play? Is the sky blue?â
Gojoâs lips quiver upward. âDuel me.â
âOkay,â you say quickly, too quickly, and you clear your throat in an effort to reset yourself. He doesnât seem to notice, already digging through his bag for something. âOh, you meant right now.â
He pauses, looking up. âYeah. Do you not have your deck?â
âI donât carry it on me, no.â For some reason, the thought that he does brings a small smile to your face.
He visibly deflates, and a thought tries to enter your mind, though youâre not quite there just yet. Instead, you laugh softly. âNext time then,â you say, enjoying the way his smile returns to his face. âWhat colour do you play, anyway?â
âPurple, obviously.â
You roll your eyes. âOf course youâre a purple player. You saw the post about how purple wins just about every big event in EX7, didnât you? Let me guess. Leviamon?â
âActually, I play DexDorugoramon. You?â
You hum as if that makes complete sense. âI play yellow. Not for any particular reason, I just like the Digimon in the decks.â
âYellow, huh? So youâre a feelscrafter.â He bites back a goofy smile, but it shows.
âDonât say that word like itâs a slur.â
âDo you even play the meta?â
You scoff. âOf course I do. But playing good isnât even fun anymore.â
Gojo laughs, and from behind him, you catch a few students looking over with narrowed eyes. He pays them no mind, leaning in. âSee? Pretentious.â
You lean forward too, reply on the ready, the only thing missing is the exact wording you want to use to shoot him down, when his phone goes off. Is this the second time now? Just how popular is this guy?
His gaze falters before he pulls back to wrestle his phone out of his pocket. Youâre left facing him, and you draw back too, clearing your throat as you turn to your laptop.
What the fuck was that?
Your fingers type gibberish into the document, then drag your finger across your trackpad to erase it only to type another string of incoherent letters and symbols. Your mind races through the conversation, noting the genuine joy in your voice, the amusement when Gojo responded just as enthusiastically. Thereâs a warmth in your stomach thatâs hard to get rid of.
What the fuck.
Youâre not eavesdropping. Thatâs simply not what youâre doing. Though it isnât your fault if you happen to hear Gojo as he talks into his phone, his voice low out of respect for the library but not so low that you canât make out the conversation.
âAlright, yeah, I got it. Iâm not, so donât even start. God, shut the fuck up, Suguru. Iâll be over, give me ten minutes. Ten minutes. Yeah, probably, but youâre pissing me off, so Iâll be there in ten. Iâm already doing you a favour, man, so quit it before I change my mind.â You catch him rolling his eyes, his freakishly long eyelashes lifting and falling. âYou owe me.â
Gojo hangs up and sighs, running a hand through his hair. âHey, sorry about that. I have to go.â
You look up at him with a start. âGo? You just got here! Weâve only been working forâŚâ You glance down at the bottom right of your laptop screen. âAn hour and a half?â
He grins, though itâs small. âTime flies when youâre having fun.â
âNeuropharmacology is hardly fun.â
âNo, but the company is,â he says, unplugging his mouse and rolling up his mouse pad. As he stuffs his enormous gaming laptop into whatever space remains in his bag, he continues, âIâll text you when Iâm free next.â
âWe hardly got anything done today,â you find yourself saying. âNo thanks to your distraction.â
âMine? You continued it. If you really cared, you would have told me to shut up.â
âAs if you ever listen.â
Itâs far too easy to fall into a rhythm with him, you think begrudgingly. Heâs grinning lazily, lifting his glasses with his knuckle and otherwise unmoving beside your table. You huff, turning back to your laptop.
This feeling, at least, is familiar and comforting. âWhatever, Gojo. Iâll do my part as long as you do yours.â
He watches you for a second longer before taking a step back. âIâll text you.â
You give him a half-hearted wave. Only when youâre positive enough time has elapsed for him to have cleared the building and maybe half the courtyard do you exhale, slumping in your chair. Your eyes flick to the library doors. No sign of white hair.
You tell yourself youâre pissed, that thatâs what is currently sitting in your chest and the reason for your sudden restlessness. I mean, really, who arrives late to a meeting they scheduled and then leaves early?
Itâs a Friday afternoon, and he has you losing your mind over reports and Digimon, of all things. You should be at a bar. Or at home, in pajamas, catching up on backlog episodes of that new trash reality TV youâve been binging, or having that bingsu Utahime mentioned earlier. What you should not find yourself doing is thinking about Gojo and how pretty his genuine smile is, especially when itâs directed at you.
You scoff at your screen, type out a line, and then delete it.
What a joke.
academic freak: jumping on !! let me know if u can work on our project now :3
you: sorry I'm out rn
i can hop on at eight tonight though if youâre still free then?
academic freak: no worries
letâs do a video call then >< (6:43pm)
You stare at his last text, have been staring at his last text ever since you left your friends, hovering your thumb over the screen, unsure. And now it was almost eight pm and you were still staring.
It's not like this is the first time youâve ever video called someone, and itâs not like he matters, but something akin to nervousness settles in your stomach. He's just your annoyingly good-looking, annoyingly smart project partner. Shokoâs childhood best friend. The guy that embarrassed you last semester. Nothing more.
Still, you keep blinking at the message, at the double exclamation marks and all his stupid emoticons.
academic freak: can i call u now?
You flinch when the typing bubble pops up but you fail to swipe out before the message is sent, and the read receipt lights up immediately.
academic freak: ?
waiting for me?
You groan aloud, running a hand down your face. Thereâs no dignified way out of this, so with a sigh, you hit call. The screen rings once, twice, and you suddenly jump up, nervesâor whatever the hell you want to call itâcausing you to sweat.
You should change, brush your hair maybe, fuck, you took out your contacts already. One time in third grade, someone said you looked different with glasses compared to without. What did that mean? Was the difference that extreme? Why couldnât you see it? Would Gojo be able to tell?
Before you can answer any of those questions, your phone flickers to life.
âHey,â Gojo says, grinning as his camera turns on. Heâs a little too close at first, but after seeing your surprised face, he leans back and settles into view. His hair is slightly tousled, glasses perched low on his nose, the logo of the university peeking just into view on his jumper.
âHi.â You clear your throat, adjusting your phone so it sits upright on your table. âI wasnât waiting for your text, by the way. You just messaged me just as I was about to message you. Thatâs all.â
He raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile on his face. Thankfully, he doesnât push. âSorry for ditching you earlier, but Iâm here now.â
You nod, opening your laptop on the table. As it hums to life, your eyes flick back over to your phone and trace what you can see inside his room. He has a lamp on, warm light washing over his face as he leans back into view, a lollipop in his hand, and thereâs an assortment of plushies on his bed behind him. You narrow your eyes.
âIs that Agumon?â
Gojo glances back, then shrugs like itâs the most natural thing in the world. âHe guards my bed.â
You stifle a laugh. âStill getting nightmares at your big age?â
âDonât tell me youâre too cool for plushies.â He rolls his eyes, though his face quickly splits into a grin when you pull out your own plushie, placing it comfortably on your lap, its head peeking into frame. âThere we go. Thatâs more like it.â
His praise does things to you that you donât dare put into words. You squeeze your plushie tight.
You busy yourself with opening the document, taking extra long to fiddle around with opening and closing random tabs. Itâs hard to focus on one thing, you see, not when Gojo is staring at you unabashedly, cheek smushed against his hand like he has nowhere else to be.
You donât look up right away, clicking through your email, Spotify, the university site, waiting for him to get bored and finally free you from his gaze, but he doesnât.
Clearing your throat, you finally drag your gaze up to his face. âWe shouldââ you start, but cut yourself off. âWhat?â
âHm?â He blinks when your eyes meet.
âWhyâre you staring at me like that?â
Gojo lets the silence drag on for a little longer until he chuckles, dropping his head to look down at his own laptop screen. âWho said I was looking at you?â
You arch a brow, glancing over your shoulder, then around your room. âIs there someone else in the room with me now?â
âAsk that question again when we have a Ouija board.â He types something, and you watch the words pop up on your screen. âI was just thinking how different you are when youâre not on campus. Youâre quieter, for one. Less teeth-baring.â
âIf you want me to insult you, you only have to ask.â
He grins, eyes lazy with amusement. âSee? Even that lacks any bite.â
âSays you. Iâm surprised you havenât made a comment on my glasses or something,â you say, unwilling to be outdone.
âAnd what, your messy desk?â
You shove your textbooks out of frame. âI knew it.â
He shrugs offhandedly, returning his attention to his laptop. You follow his lead, blinking in surprise when he doesnât continue with another snarky comment. Itâs silent again for a while.
âIt suits you. You look nice with your hair tied back.â
Your hands fly to the back of your head and close around your claw clip, mouth hanging open as you stare at him. Gojo keeps typing like he didnât just casually compliment you, as if he hadnât just thrown a curveball into your carefully built defences. You swallow hard, blinking as heat creeps into your cheeks.
âI⌠you look nice too?â
You wince as soon as the words leave your mouth, though you canât completely regret them, because theyâre what finally cause him to look up at you, his hands frozen over his keyboard. Then heâs laughing, and you take back that last thought just as quickly.
âAlright, alright, letâs just work on our project,â you mumble, ducking your head. Heâs still laughing, and you grit your teeth with effort. âIf you keep laughing, Iâm going to hang up on you.â
Gojoâs laughter lingers, soft and amused, as he savours the heat on your face for a second longer before nodding. âIâll stop, I swear.â His fingers return to the keyboard, but you catch the flicker of something like warmthâor maybe surpriseâin his eyes before he lowers his head too.
You take a breath and refocus on your document, with only the sounds of shuffling and keys clacking disturbing the space between the two of you. Every now and then, he asks a question about a point youâve made, or corrects something youâve written. His criticisms lack any heat, and you find yourself accepting his words without the usual spike in blood pressure.
Every now and then, his attention slips and he starts scrolling on Twitter in another tab, his snickering making you lift your head. Gojo immediately catches the movement and flips his laptop around to show you, letting you share a laugh with him.
He tells you about the Discord server he runs for hosting Digimon TCG games. You listen, asking for an invite when his voice quietens near the end, and the smile he beams at you makes your stomach flip.
You tell him about your hobbies, how youâve had to let go of piano because of your academic pursuits. He tells you he wants to hear a piece, your favourite piece to play, and you think for a moment that you might want to pick it up again.
At one point, light floods across the screen and you watch as he grumbles, lifting an arm to block the sudden brightness. A voice sounds through your phone speaker distantly, and you recognise it as Geto. You hadnât realised they were roommates.
âYou free tonight, Satoru? Haibaraâs having a get-together in a few hours. He asked me if you wanted to come along since you ditched halfway through theâoh.â Getoâs voice trails off, as if heâs only just noticed Gojoâs pinched expression. âYouâre on the phone to someone. Who? Let me see.â
âItâs none of your business!â He throws you a frantic glance and you shrug. âAnd knock first!â
âYou never knock.â You hear the shuffle of someone entering the room. âAnd you have three friends, and Iâm one of them. Is it Nanami? Shoko?â
You hear Gojoâs protests as something hits the phone and it swirls, landing face-up toward his ceiling. You notice he has light-up neon stars stuck haphazardly across it. Your heart squeezes. Cute.
Then a hand covers the screen and itâs a blur of black and red.
âBack off, Suguru, Iâm not going to Haibaraâs partyââ
âIs that a girl?â
âHey!â
Thereâs a whirl, and then you blink, biting your cheeks at the face suddenly staring back at you. Hesitantly, you raise a hand. âHey, Geto.â
Geto stares at you for a second before laughing, a low melody that has you shifting nervously in your seat. âY/N? I didnât know you and Satoru were so close. I always thought you two had this rivals thing going onââ
He doesnât finish his sentence because Gojo snatches his phone back, and you watch a tilted view of the interaction.
âTell Haibara I wonât be showing up.â
âSomething more important to do, Satoru?â
The world shifts again as Gojo flops back onto his bed, placing you upright on his table once more. He glances sideways at his roommate, directing his words at him even as his hands work to steady his phone. âItâs not what you think. Weâre working on our group project. It canât just evolve past Rookie stage on its own.â
You watch as he shoots a quick glance at you, eyes searching as if to ask, Did you catch that?
You canât help but grin a little, biting back a laugh.
âSure, thatâs all. Iâll go tell Haibara youâll come to the next one.â The light dims slightly and you assume Geto is closing the door. âYou owe me.â
When the light finally fades, Gojo turns back to you with an apologetic smile. Youâre thrilled to see him glance at you, then away, his hands coming up to run through his hair, an uncharacteristic shyness that makes your heart squeeze again.
âSorry about that.â
âNo, itâs okay. You guys seem close.â You absentmindedly rub at your chest, wondering if this is a sign of cardiovascular disease. âYou two dorm together?â
âWe moved out together at the beginning of second year. He lived, like, three hours from campus and needed a roommate. He asked me and I said yes.â
You rest your cheek on your palm, watching him through the small screen of your phone. âI never knew you two had so much history. I guess that makes sense, considering I never see you two apart.â
âHey, itâs not that bad.â
âIsnât it? Gojo and Geto, Geto and Gojo. Thereâs even a name for you two. Goge, though I prefer Gego.â
He frowns, brows pulled together. âThereâs a difference?â
âYeah,â you say, and leave it at that, unwilling to explain the difference. Reading over his last few words, you highlight them with your cursor. âGojo, this doesnât make sense. The rebuttal team will definitely have something to say about this.â
Gojo huffs, and you watch as he backspaces the sentence. âYou know, I almost miss the days when you were comfortably mediocre. Now itâs like Iâm back to being ten years old and getting taught long division by my dad.â
You snort, reaching for something to snap back with. Instead, you feel that sticky ball of unease in your stomach. Clearing your throat, you settle for, âWhat a universal experience.â
He looks up at that. âWhat, not going to tell me to kill myself for comparing you to my dad?â
âWas that an insult? Youâre losing your touch.â
âSays you. You donât even seem mad.â He squints at you, and you wish your Wi-Fi would give out so he could count the pixels on his screen instead of the thoughts threatening to burst free. âYou okay?â
You pause, bracing for the usual deflection to leap off your tongue. But thereâs something about the way heâs looking at you, something about the warmth wrapping around your shoulders, something about the brief glimpse into his private world that has you fidgeting to say something else.
You let out a thin laugh, eyes fixed on the words on your laptop screen. âGuess I didnât really care for grades back then.â
He snorts. âSeriously? And you still beat me on that quiz that one time? You make fun of me for being a prodigy, but I fear the call is coming from inside the house.â
You donât move. âIt was just luck.â
âAnd all your nineties since then? That all luck too?â
You shrug, but your mind screams the answer.
Gojo frowns, as if sensing that this goes deeper. âWhat is this really about, Y/N?â
For once, youâre thankful for his directness. When he says it like that, you find that you canât as easily hide behind an excuse. A part of you aches to be seen, to tell someone else something that might otherwise follow you to the grave. âItâs nothing serious. I guess Iâm just a little worried that Iâm too late to be good at this for real.â
His head tilts on-screen. âHuh?â
Heat creeps up your neck. âYou know, neuroscience. I never cared about my classes until last semester because I never cared for science. But then I realised how much I liked neuroanatomy and I started trying, and it paid off. But weâre in our last year. I feel like Iâve wasted too much time.â
When he doesnât immediately say anything, you barrel on. âYouâve always beenâŚâ You gesture vaguely at him, still not meeting his eyes. âGood. Effortless. And Iâm just now cramming to keep up. Like, whatâs the point, you know? Maybe Iâll never catch up. Even if I do, itâs too late for it to matter. Maybe thatâs why I was always annoyed at you. I wish I started caring like you did way back in first year or whenever it was that you decided you knew what to do.â
You try to laugh it off, but it comes out small and brittle.
Gojo doesnât answer right away. His usual smirk is gone, replaced with something more thoughtful. Finally, he leans forward, chin resting on his palm.
âYou donât give yourself enough credit. You really think youâre behind me?â
âWell, arenât I?â
He snorts softly, but thereâs no bite to it. âYouâre the one who wrote the outline to this report. Youâre the one reading through and correcting everything. Half of this project looks as good as it does because of you.â
Your stomach flips. âYouâre exaggeratingââ
âIâm not.â His tone sharpens just enough to make you stop fidgeting and look up at him. His mouth is curved as if to soften the words, but his gaze is sincere, coaxing you to take in every one. âLook. Who cares when you started? Youâre here now. And youâre good at it, like ridiculously good. Not because you lucked into it, but because you put in the effort. You work hard because you want this, and it shows. Thatâs more than most people ever figure out, even if theyâve been trying since day one.â
âYou donât know that for sure.â
âDonât I?â
âItâs easy for you to say. Youâve got it all figured out.â
His eyebrows shoot up. âYouâre serious about catching up to me?â
The heat creeps back up your neck, hot flushes spreading across your back. âForget it. Just forget everything.â
âNo, wait, I didnât mean it like that.â He runs a hand through his hair, forcing the surprise back. âI thought you knew the feeling was mutual, that Iâm making sure to catch up to you. If anything, youâve been making me work harder than I ever have. If this is you âtoo late,â then Iâd say youâre exactly where youâre supposed to be.â
Your stomach knots at that, a mix of disbelief and something warmer curling under your ribs. You force your gaze back to the words on your screen, blinking against the sting building at the corners of your eyes.
ââŚYouâre ridiculous,â you murmur, more to your laptop than to him.
Across the screen, his grin slips back into place, lazy and self-assured, but not mocking. âRidiculously right, you mean, since you know I always am.â
You shake your head, biting back the urge to argueâand to smile. This time, the silence stretches comfortably, neither of you rushing to fill it. Your cursor blinks steadily on the half-finished paragraph, but your focus is caught on the strange buoyancy in your chest, the faint echo of his words playing on repeat.
When Gojo finally speaks, itâs in his usual drawl. âSo, am I supposed to fix the discussion section, or are you going to keep having an existential crisis about being secretly smart?â
You let out a shaky laugh, the tension finally breaking. âShut up and start writing, Gojo.â
âYes, maâam,â he says, already clicking away, but the small smile tugging at his mouth lingers longer than his usual jokes.
You pretend not to notice how your chest feels lighter than it did a minute ago.
The weekend has slipped through your fingers quickly, leaving much to be desired, and before you know it, youâre waking before the ass crack of dawn to shuffle to the university cafĂŠ. The streets are empty this early out, with only the hush of the wind and the distant hiss of a bus pulling away filling the campus.
Not for the first time, you regret picking up the opening shifts, and you havenât even clocked in yet.
When you look up to behold the cafĂŠ in all its glory, you freeze. Thereâs someone standing just outside, leaning against the brick wall and absentmindedly kicking a pebble along the footpath. At first, the figure is just a silhouette.
But then you walk close, and the picture clarifies.
Spiderman kicks another loose stone, both hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie that hides the bright blue and white design of his tight-fitted suit. Heâs leaning against the wall of the cafe and you hope youâre not misunderstanding that heâs waiting for it to open.
âItâs you!â you exclaim, walking faster. âYou jerk, you ditched me!â
Spiderman pushes off the wall in a heartbeat, body snapping upright with practised reflexes even before he lifts his head. He looks at you in silence and you take the chance to close the gap.
Before he can make the smart move and leave, youâre already grabbing his hand.
âYou left me to talk to the police for hours after that day! Do you know how many questions I answered with âI donât knowâ?â
âOh, great,â he mumbles, voice low and muffled by his mask. âJust what I needed. What are you doing here?â
âThatâs my question. I didnât think our cafe was famous enough to be visited by a superhero. Are you checking out the student discount or something? Are you a student here tooââ
He cuts you off. âGuessing my identity kind of defeats the purpose of the whole masked hero thing.â
You squint at him. âCan you even breathe in that?â
âIâm still standing here, arenât I?â
You raise your hands in surrender. âSo, what, youâre here to sightsee?â
âDo you think I have the luxury for that?â When you only raise your eyebrows pointedly and shrug, he continues. âI was supposed to meet someone here.â
Thereâs only one other person who works morning shifts.
âShoko?â
Spiderman seems to pause. âThe answer isnât no.â
âShokoâs doing closing shifts now so Iâll be taking over the morning shifts. Also, you know Shoko? And she didnât tell me?â
âSecret identities will do that to you,â he groans. âI canât believe you tortured that information out of me.â
âIf anything, you confirmed it out of your own volition.â
He shrugs, taking a step forward as if to leave. You look over at the cafe door beside him.
âYouâre here for a drink, right? Give me a couple minutes to open and Iâll get started on your order for you.â
He shifts, almost imperceptibly shrugging. âForget it. You really shouldnât be involving yourself with me.â
Before he can take another step, you reach out and grab his wrist. The movement is firm enough to make him pause, though if you thought he couldnât pull away, youâd be sorely mistaken. âDonât be shy. Come on, get in here. Iâm not letting you leave that easily again.â
He lets out a small, embarrassed noise, half sigh and half grunt, as if caught somewhere between annoyance and resignation. You tug him gently towards the door again, though the look in your eyes is nothing if not fierce.
Finally, the steadiness of his stance gives way into a reluctant step and youâre able to pull him inside. The warmth of the cafe hits you immediately, a stark contrast to the brittle cold outside. Your breath stops leaving your lips as mist, the windows already dewy from the lack of ventilation inside, and the air smells like yesterdayâs coffee grounds.
Spiderman hovers awkwardly by the door where youâve abandoned him, rocking on his feet. You pretend not to notice how heâs poised to bolt the moment you turn your back and for that reason, you never do.
âYou can sit, you know,â you say lightly, switching on the espresso machine. âYouâre allowed to touch the furniture.â
âIâm good here,â he mutters.
âWhere did all your spark go, Spiderman?â
He shifts at that, his weight rocking between his feet. âYou make me sound like a rescue dog.â
âYouâre acting like one,â you note with amusement. âYouâre all twitchy and skittish. Should I put out a bowl of water? Or, better yet, you can tell me your order and Iâll get started on that for you.â
He pauses. âIced matcha chai with vanilla cold foam and brown sugar syrup. And a caramel rim. Thatâs the best part.â
Your mouth hangs open, ink bleeding into the side of the cup as you try to process his words. âAre you kidding? Thatâs literally just pure sugar. Are you insane?â
âSomeone has to protect the city, sweetheart.â As if emboldened by your surprise, Spiderman walks up to the counter and leans against it, watching you reluctantly write the shorthand for his order on the cup. âAnd whoever is doing it needs something to keep the sleep away.â
You shoot him a look as you cap the pen and get started. âWhen was the last time you slept?â
âTwo nights ago. For, like, four hours.â
âYou know, you should be sleeping seven to eight hours every night otherwise your brain isnât able to clear proteins. When those accumulate they turn into the amyloid plaques and tau tangles they talk about in neurodegenerative disease.â
âOh my God,â he groans, waving your clinical concern away. âDoes this cafe only hire worrywarts? Shoko never shuts up about that.â
You look up sharply. âSo you do know her.â
His hands come up in a placating gesture. âI thought you already came to that conclusion.â
âNo, because you dodged it. How the fuck do you know Shoko? And why the hell has she never told me?â You let out a thoughtful hum as you create his disgusting drink. âMaybe she was embarrassed to know you.â
His hands come down slightly as if baffled. âI saved your life and the only thing leaving your mouth is criticism. The public loves the suit, Iâve gotten no complaints until now.â
You narrow your eyes as you reach for the syrup bottle. âSo you are dodging.â
âIâm protecting the innocent. I hope you know that you also need to keep a tight lip about me.â
âSpare me, Spiderman. Youâre really not all that.â
âYouâll be surprised.â He makes a show of stretching and flexing his muscles in the tight suit. âIâm irresistible.â
You bark a short laugh despite yourself, setting the cup down harder than necessary. âOne of these days youâre going to look at yourself in the mirror and reconsider why exactly you chose tight spandex as the go to material for your suit. You know what people are doing on the streets these days? Catching print.â
âWhatâs that?â
You swirl whipped cream on the top of his drink and drizzle it in caramel before forcing a dome lid on top. Plucking a straw from the dispenser, you slide that and the drink over to him. He catches it easily enough, eyes not yet looking away from you.
âHereâs your drink. Next time, just get more hours of sleep instead of torturing your local barista.â
He lifts his mask just enough to sip, bunching it up under his nose, and you catch the barest flash of his grin before itâs covered again. His shoulders relax, like heâs settling in despite himself.
âStill good,â he murmurs, almost to himself. Then, louder: âAt least you didnât mess it up.â
âThatâs the thanks I get?â You rest your elbows on the counter and lean in, your eyes narrowing at him.
âThis is your job, isnât it? Why should I thank you?â
âI thought since you did unpaid labour for the city, youâd know just how good a thanks feels.â
He chuckles, reaching into his pockets to pay. His fingers close around his phone before freezing, the faint weight of realisation settling in. He doesnât carry cash, and he canât pay contactless like he usually does with Shoko, because then youâd recognise his phone case.
You notice his hesitation. âUnpaid labour indeed.â
âCaught me,â Spider-Man admits easily, leaning against the counter. âSo, what are the chances you put this on my tab?â
You laugh under your breath. âJust make sure to bring cash next time.â
Thereâs a beat of quiet before he tips his head, considering. âNext time, huh?â
You shrug, busying yourself with a rag on the counter. âDidnât you say you needed that sugar bomb to stay awake?â
âTouchĂŠ,â he says, lifting the cup to take another long sip.
The room falls into a quieter rhythm, the hum of the machines filling the silence. You watch as he lingers by the counter, fingers drumming against the cup as he enjoys his drink. Itâs surreal seeing him so close, joking like heâs just any other person and not some masked figure who swings through the city on webs.
You speak up again when the silence drags on a little longer and you begin to worry that the moment might get interrupted by another customer. âYou gonna stand there all day or actually do some superheroing?â
He makes a thoughtful noise. âDepends. Doesnât seem like there are any damsels in distress right now.â
âOh, really? Well, I still need some floors mopped and napkins restocked, soâhey!â
Before you can blink, heâs already tugging his hood back up and slipping towards the door, the same restless energy in his shoulders that he came in with. âAnd thatâs my cue to leave.â
âDonât forget,â you call after him. âCash next time!â
He lifts a hand without turning, a half-wave, half-promise, before opening the door. He flicks his wrist towards the nearest streetlight and, with a tug, shoots forward with a burst of speed that leaves you blinking, impressed.
âShow-off,â you mumble fondly, a small smile tugging at your lips as the door swings closed behind him. His presence is quickly forced to the back of your mind as another customer walks in, and you fall back into the familiar rhythm of your work.
The opening shift quickly becomes the bane of your existence. The grumpy customers clicking in for their own early mornings, the rush of orders that arrives before youâve even fully woken, the relentless beep of the espresso machineâit all feels like a punishment for having the audacity to leave your warm bed before the sun has even risen. And yet, despite the predictable chaos and your own bleary-eyed resentment, you canât stop the small smile that tugs at your lips as you hop off the bus.
The front of the cafe is quiet when you step up and shove the keys in, though you know that calm wonât last long. A sudden movement behind you makes your stomach tighten, and a voice murmurs close to your ear.
âI thought the cafe opens at six.â
You turn to see Spiderman hanging upside down, both hands holding onto his web, feet pressed together to keep balance.
âIt does,â you say in lieu of greeting.
âReally? So why did you only get here at 6:13am?â
You roll your eyes and turn back around to let you both in. The masked vigilante lets go of his web and smoothly drops down, sauntering in behind and catching the door when you let go.
âI could report you for tardiness, you know. And being mean to your customers.â
âI didnât know you were a snitch,â you tease back.
âWhat can I say? I care about the universityâs upkeep,â he says as he leans against the counter to watch you start up the shop.
Ignoring his gaze on your back, you begin to multitask, one hand grabbing a cup to get started on his drink while the other flicks on switches. The whir of grinders hum to life, filling the space between you.
âAnother deathly sweet drink for you Iâm assuming?â
âSomeone has to keep this city up and running.â
Thereâs a brief silence as the espresso machine whirs and you do your job. You recall the first few times this unexpected customer had dropped by, the tension between the two of you neither friends nor strangers, and how his face had seemingly dropped when you slid his drink across the counter the moment he walked in.
âOh,â Spiderman had started, the whites of his mask flicking from you to the cup. âYou already made this for me?â
âYeah. Unless youâre planning to grab something new today.â
His fingers had curled around the cup, mumbling something that sounded like, âNo, thatâs fine. This is fine.â
He had hesitated by the counter until you urged him to pay. He did, albeit slowly, and when he even stalled after the money had passed into your hands, you giggled.
âIâm not going to kick you out just because you have your drink now. You can stay. I like talking to you when I open.â
His face had immediately brightened, or at least you assume so from the way his head shot up and the grip on his cup tightened almost imperceptibly.
Since then, Spiderman has taken it upon himself to stay throughout the duration of making his drink, and thirty minutes after that too.
âYou know,â he muses now, conversational and casual. âI feel like you know more about me than I know about you. You know how I like my drinks, my work, my name. Which is terrible because Iâm the one with the secret hidden identity.â
You roll your eyes, lifting the steamer to pour into a cup with his superhero name on it, something he had insisted you do when you once poured his drink into an empty, unmarked cup, saying the true cafe experience included a named cup. So, in order to give him said full experience, you spell his name wrong every time. Today, itâs âSpy x Dermanâ.
âYou also know where I work,â you say, topping his disgusting drink with cream and another drizzle of sweet sticky syrup. âAnd my name. But honestly, itâs your fault for being so naive and open.â
âIâm trying to say I want to know more about you.â
âAnd Iâm trying to tastefully deflect the conversation elsewhere.â
He chuckles. âWhat harm is there if you tell me something? It doesnât have to be anything crazy. This isnât a first date.â
âHey, thatâs my line.â You stick a paper straw into the lid and slide his drink over the counter. He catches it with ease, not breaking eye contact to take a sip.
âFine, Iâll bite. What do you want to know?
He shrugs, looking around the place. âSurprise me. I wouldnât even know where to start.
âWell, first of all, Iâm a normal person. Which means my coffee order isnât diabetes in a cup.
âTell me your order, then.â
Youâre surprised to see him so interested in something so mundane and useless. âI guess I usually get a vanilla soy latte. Oh, but if they have matcha or something, Iâd get that instead.â
He hums. âPersonally, I usually get an iced matcha chai with vanilla cold foam and brown sugar syrup with a caramel rim.â
You laugh, wiping up the counter after yourself as youâve been trained to do. âI never asked, and yes, Spiderman, I know. Trust me, it hurts my pure barista hands to make your drink every time.â
He chuckles softly with you, eyeing you, toying with the paper straw in his mouth. You know that in about ten minutes, if he stays that long, heâll start complaining about how the paper has already begun to deteriorate in his mouth, and you will be his unwilling recipient for the venting. When he opens his mouth to speak next, you brace yourself for an onslaught of surprisingly childish whining.âSo, any plans this week?â he asks, leaning over the counter. You wonder if it would be a workplace hazard to invite him to the other side.
You catch onto his words after a few blinks. âNot really? I guess I have an assessment due next week so Iâll be grinding for that.â You pause, assuming the silence that follows after is because heâs waiting for more. âYou?â
âThe usual. Saving cats from trees, escorting senior citizens across pedestrian crossing, the typical.â
âDoes that actually happen? Cats getting stuck in trees?â
He shrugs. âNot really. If anything, itâs usually street poles they find themselves in. Anyway, so youâre otherwise free this week? Say, super random day that means absolutely nothingâTuesday?â
You pause, taking in his faux innocence. He even makes a show of looking at his nails as if he could see them through the fabric of his white gloves. âI mean, I guess I am, for the most part. Why?â
He straightens a little, looking over at the dessert display. âNo reason.â
You narrow your eyes at him, a little wary. âAre you sure? I feel like you wouldnât ask that question unless there was something going on.â
âNo, Iâm just wondering what the average citizenâs schedule looks like.â
âOh, really?â You clean off the steamer with an unimpressed look. âVerdict?â
âBoring!â He stretches out the word, loud in the acoustics of the near empty cafe. âDo you even know how to have fun?â
You scoff, wiping your hands on a nearby towel before leaning against the counter to talk to him. Somewhere along the way, the distance between the two of you has shrunk and you find yourself gravitating towards him. He stays on the other side, lifting up his mask as he usually does to take a sip.
âItâs not my fault the exam period is coming up,â you say, trying to subtly memorise the bottom of his face without seeming weird. âAnd I definitely do know how to have fun.
âRight, sure you do. What do you do for fun, then?â
You bite the inside of your cheeks. âYou first.â
âNeed time to think?â
âThis is so unfair, you can literally fly! Obviously what I do for fun isnât going to be as fun as leaping through the air and shooting webs from your wrists!â
âNot with that attitude you wonât. But come on, humour me a little. Tell me what you usually do in your free time.â
âAre we on a bad first date right now? Whatâs happening?â
âDeflect all you want but Iâm immune to it by now. Come on, just tell me,â he coaxes you with a grin, straw between his teeth. âDo you, again super random and means nothing at all, go to anime related events?â
You narrow your eyes at him slightly. âI guess I do.â
âOkay.â He looks around as if inspecting the interior design. âHave you heard about that thing thatâs happening at the main city library?â
You, in fact, have. âSure. I saw the post on their Insta.â
âWas that something you wanted to check out?â
âWith⌠you?â
Spiderman laughs like youâve said something particularly funny. âYouâre joking right? Obviously not with me. Spiderman doesnât do outings, sweets.â
âForgive me for assuming that when you literally asked me when I would be free mere minutes ago.â
âI told you, Iâm just curious about what normal people get up to.â
You eye him, noting how relaxed he now seems and how thereâs a silence that drags out after his last words. âWere there any more questions you wanted to ask, or just the one about when Iâm free and if I wanted to check out the shounen showcase at the library?â
âNo, that was it.â
You nod, slowly. âRight.â
The quiet stretches, just the hiss of the espresso machine and the soft drumming of his fingers against the counter as he muses over your previous words. You roll your eyes and straighten, turning to fiddle around and move forward with the transition of shooing him away.
Just as youâre about to tell him to go do his job or something, the doorbell chimes and you look up instinctively like an activated sleeper agent, plastering a smile on your face to greet the customer. It hasnât been long since you started morning shifts but it was rare for anyone to show up within the ten minutes you open.
You spare Spiderman a glance as if to tell him to leave, but heâs not looking at you.
A man stumbles in, unsteady on his feet, eyes darting around like thereâs someone watching him from the corners. At first, you assume heâs simply clumsy or perhaps nursing a killer hangover so you steel yourself for a tricky conversation.
âGood morning, what can I get started for you today?â you start, looking him up and down subtly to see if heâs a member of the university staff or a stranger who has somehow wandered onto campus.
The man slams his hand down on the counter and you jump, heart skipping. Up close, you can make out the sweat beading on his pale forehead and the way his lips move like heâs saying something, though no sound leaves his dry lips.
You try again. âSir?â
âCoffee,â he rasps.
You force another polite smile because of course you want a coffee from a cafe, donât waste my time, and reach for a cup. âOf course. Would that be a cappuccino or latte or something else?â
Instead of answering you, his head jerks to the side as if hearing a conversation you canât. In doing so, his eyes meet Spidermanâs and they widen almost comically, his body jerking away.
Spiderman stiffens, shoulders tensing as he shoots the customer an incredulous look. âWoah, chill. Itâs just me.â
The man staggers back another step, chest heaving, breath rattling like something is crawling up his throat.
You frown. âSir, youâre looking a little pale. Maybe you should sit down andââ
His head snaps toward you so sharply you swear you hear the crack of his vertebrae. His eyes, wild and bloodshot, fix onto you with a sudden intensity that makes you pause. His lips peel back from his teeth into a nasty snarl, and you realise with a cold shiver that he is talking to himself. You quickly correct yourself. He wasnât talking to himself, but to something else.
The manâs head jerks to the side again, harder this time. âWonât stop⌠wonât stop talkingâŚâ
You swallow. âI mean, itâs kind of my job to ask you.â
His answer comes out distorted, two voices overlapping. âWe said leave him alone!â
His hand suddenly shoots out, slamming into the counter so hard the marble cracks. A slick, black sheen ripples up his arm, coating his fingers like tar before forming claws.
His hand suddenly shoots out, slamming into the counter so hard the marble cracks. A slick, black sheen ripples up his arm, coating his fingers like tar before forming claws.
You stumble back, dropping the cup in your hands and making a sharp noise that has the man turning to you, eyes pitch-black.
âUm, Spiderman?â you whisper, hands clutching the side of the counter as you back away from the man. âWant to do your job orâŚ?â
Before you can even process whatâs happening, the man lunges across the counter at you, knocking over your carefully stacked paper cups. You make an embarrassing sound, half-surprise, half-protest as you instinctively attempt to back away though itâs not enough considering the feral determination the man has in reaching you.
In a blur, Spiderman leaps and lands on his hands and feet on the ceiling, flinging his arm toward you to latch a web around your torso. He yanks you to him, the world tilting for a fraction of a second as the web wraps around your arms and pins them to your side. The momentum spins you round and round until you finally settle, slowly rotating.
Blood rushes to your head and a nearby crash makes you jolt, eyes widening to pinpoint the danger.
Turns out, Spiderman has wrapped you in a cocoon of web and left to dangle like a pinata from the ceiling.
âHey!â you protest, struggling against the web. The movement only causes you to spin around and you hastily jerk your body to the side to watch the scene. âLet me down!â
Spiderman drops to the floor, one hand splayed across the ground, the other tense and alert in the air. He momentarily breaks his focus to give you a double take. âWhat theâIâm keeping you safe. Stop wiggling!â
You can hear it then, the sound the manâs making. Not quite a growl, at least not a human one, but a low, guttural rasp that vibrates through his chest. Panic and fear only grow within you, and you struggle with a little more determination to get down and run for the hills, when the man emerges from behind the counter.
He lunges again, this time faster, propelled by a strength that is definitely not human. Black tendrils burst from his back, flinging chairs aside like toys. Spiderman dodges easily, flipping over a table and ducking behind it, firing a web that snaps against the manâs shoulder.
It doesnât hold.
The black substance simply absorbs it, melting it away like cotton candy in a river.
âOkay,â Spiderman mutters, kicking the table into the man too and watching as he easily smacks it away. âThatâs new.â
The creature lets out a distorted laugh. âSpiderman,â it sneers.
âThatâs me. Have we met before?â
Spiderman doesnât wait for an answer, slinging a web at the manâs wrist and yanking him hard into the counter. The espresso machine crumbles under the intense weight and puffs out a powerful blast of steam as it malfunctions. The figure avoids the steam with a sharp hiss, black tendrils catching from the bulk of the fall and throwing himself back up, grabbing onto the mini fridge display and hurling it back at the superhero.
You gasp when you rotate to face the chaos. âYouâre wrecking my cafe!â
âSeriously? Thatâs what youâre focusing on right now?â Spiderman shoots back, ducking. âFile an insurance claim or something!â
He swings a chair into the side of the figure and you watch mournfully.
âMy chairsâŚâ
âAgain, there might be bigger things to worry about!â
A giant fist surges forward from the black gunk oozing down his chest and knocks Spiderman back.
The superhero lets out a punched-out gasp, slamming into the wall of the cafe and knocking down some purely-for-interior-design-aesthetic fake coffee bean bags. Spiderman tries to sling himself onto the arm and swing around, but the substance only consumes the webbing, swallowing it before it can take hold.
âSpiderman!âÂ
You twist uselessly in your cocoon, the web binding your arms tight to your sides. Your brain scrambles for something, anything that could possibly help. Your eyes lock onto the man as its gooey limbs swell and stretch, pulsing with inhuman strength. Another fist forms, held back in the air as if winding up, clearly aimed at the gasping Spiderman on the cafe floor.
âIs this another tactic of yours? I think you fight better on both feet!â
Spiderman spits blood through the cuts of his mask.
âYeah,â he wheezes, âThatâs the plan.â
The fist hands there for one awful second, huge and glistening and very much about to redecorate the floor with Spidermanâs internal organs.
Your gaze snaps wildly around the cafe, desperate for anything useful beyond the humiliating fact that you are currently trussed up. You make a mental note of everything, the counter, syrup bottles, cups, broken glass, ruined pastries, the espresso machine wheezing its last breath in the corner, split open and spitting angry jets of steam every few seconds.
âSpiderman!â you blurt.
Spiderman, still flat on his back and one near-death experience away from becoming part of the floor plan, tilts his head weakly. âCan this wait? Iâm in the middle of something.â
âThe espresso machine!â
âWhat about it? Do you want a latte before I die?â
âThe steam, you idiot!â
The creature finally slams its fist down, cracking the granite flooring and thankfully not squishing a spider. The superhero rolls onto his side with a pained hiss, flicking his wrist to wrap web around the nuzzle of the steamer.
âOkay,â he starts. âAnd how do I use this exactly?â
The man quickly regains its bearings and starts for Spiderman again as the superhero uselessly fiddles with the steam wand. You jerk in your cocoon.
âThe knob! Turn the silver knob on the side!â
Spiderman slaps the wrong thing and a burst of frothy milk sprays across the counter and onto the floor. âIs that it?â
âThe other one!â
He twists the correct knob just as the creature lunges. The machine screams as it blasts a vicious plume of steam straight forward. You watch as he yanks the steamer around at the last second, aiming it right into the thingâs chest and face.
The black mass recoils with a horrible, scraping cry that makes you wince, and begins to peel back from the manâs skin in a movement not unfamiliar to you. The tendrils make one last feral swish, slamming into shelves and sending coffee beans, ceramic mugs, and one very expensive grinder crashing to the ground.
Spiderman cranks the wand harder, and the machine gives one final screech before coughing out another blast of steam. The goo convulses, writhing up the manâs neck and shoulders almost as if hesitating. The man underneath drops to his knees gasping, his face finally visible beneath the slick black sheen.
Spiderman doesnât hesitate and fires a web at the industrial kettle behind the counter, yanking it straight off the shelf and hurls it at the goo.
The kettle smashes into only the creature and bursts with boiling water, prompting the symbiote to let out another inhuman sound before tearing free and sliding away.
For a few seconds, all you hear is your own pulse in your ears.
Spiderman staggers to his feet, a faux-casualness to his posture that is betrayed entirely by the way his eyes never leave the man.
âOkay,â he pants. âCrisis averted.â
You glare down at him from your cocoon, still swaying gently. âDid you have to take out half the cafĂŠ to do so?â
âIt was a necessary evil.â When the man doesnât move, Spiderman finally relaxes and places his hands on his hips, letting out a slow exhale. âJesus, that really sucked. The worst part is, even after all of that, the real enemy still managed to escape. But no casualties, no broken bones this time, and I saved a citizen. Iâd call that a job well done.â
He grins up at you.
You pull your lips into a smile. âGreat. Iâm so happy for you. Can you please get me down now?â
Spiderman tilts his head thoughtfully. âTrue. This isnât your best angle.â
âSpiderman.â
âAlright, alright.â
He fires a quick web and you drop. Before you can scream, he catches you in his arms and starts cutting through the web with a small knife.
âYou okay?â he asks softly, his mouth ghosting the shell of your ear.
You nod, your heartbeat still racing from it all.
When he pulls away, the webs falling off you like they had never clung to you at all, the two of you survey the cafĂŠ. Distantly, you hear the cry of multiple sirens.
âWhat is that thing, seriously?â you whisper. If you had a penny for every time you had come face to face with an ooey, gooey monster, youâd have two penniesâwhich wasnât a lot, but it was strange that this had happened twice. You turn to Spiderman for answers, but he looks just as blank.
âI think itâs something like a symbiote. Takes over a human host and all that, like a parasite.â Catching your frightened look, Spiderman straightens. âHey, donât look so glum. You handled that better than most.â
âIâd rather never be in the position to find that out in the first place.â
He reaches over and ruffles your hair playfully, ignoring both the involuntary wince that escapes him as he raises his arm and your feeble protests. âYou did great. The steam idea saved us.â
âThe steam⌠the espresso machine!â You hastily pull away to look around the cafĂŠ again, this time properly taking in the damage. âYou broke everything!â
âI saved your life?â he offers, edging away subtly.
âMy manager is going to have my head!â As if on cue, you feel a vibration against your thigh. Reaching down into your pocket for your phone, you read through the notifications with a growing sense of dread.
manager: ?? whatâs going on
why am i seeing a news reporter outside my cafe
why am i seeing it on the news right now
why is the door off its hinges
is that a hole in my window?
y/n pick up
You wince. âSpiderman, mind explaining to my manager what happenedâSpiderman?â
When you turn around, youâre met with nothing, just the sight of tables and chairs on their side and the glass of the window shattered. The sirens get closer and something like deja vu creeps in.
âYou fucking jerk!â
you: hey!! so ik ure oh so busy
but i think we should meet up to rehearse our speech before we present
r u free 12pm today?
toru: woahhh u texted first ?!
you: and probably meet at the library
oh what the hell u replied so fast
toru: maybe i was waiting for ur text all day
you: wait why did i grimace
anyway are u down?
toru: sure iâll try!
meet u at our usual table ><
You climb the stairs up to the library, chuckling softly at the memory of Gojoâs texts. Surprisingly, Gojo is already sitting in his seat when you arrive. He pauses his typing and pulls down one side of his headphones, looking over his shoulder at you. His eyes light up and you offer him a small wave, watching as he responds enthusiastically.
âYou didnât stand me up.â
You chuckle drily, pulling out your seat beside him and sitting down. âWhat is this, some bad first date?â
Gojo grins like youâve said something particularly funny. âIs that your go-to line or something?â
âWhat?â
âOh, uh. Nothing.â He looks away, swiping his finger across the trackpad.
When he doesnât say anything else, you take it as your cue to take out your things, still eyeing him. âDidnât bring your mouse today?â
âYou remembered?â
You make a face at his sudden hopeful expression. âYouâre being weird.â
He slumps back into his chair. âYeah, I gave myself the ick. Iâm just nervous.â
âAbout?â
He hums, looking away at the rest of the library. âStuff.â
You let that sit for a moment, then try to steer things back toward the reason youâre both here. For a while, you make a decent attempt at studying. You open your laptop, pull up your notes, ask him a question about the assessment that he answers after a beat too long. But it quickly becomes obvious that whatever is making him weird hasnât gone away. He keeps glancing down at his notes only to stare straight through them, then out the window, then back at his laptop. Every few seconds he finds a new way to fidget: tapping his pen, rubbing the back of his neck, shifting in his chair, bouncing his leg under the table.
By the time he starts clicking his pen open and shut, you give up pretending not to notice. You lean back slightly and raise an eyebrow at him. âSomething else youâd rather be doing?â
He stills at once, like heâs been caught. âMaybe,â he admits after a second. âKind of.â
You narrow your eyes. âKind of?â
Gojo huffs out a breath and glances at you, then away again. âOkay, donât laugh, but thereâs this shounen manga pop-up showcase at the central library right now. And I thoughtâsince weâve talked about Digimon and all that stuffâmaybe youâd want to go check it out with me.â
You blink. âGo together?â
He scratches the back of his head, suddenly finding the edge of his laptop intensely interesting. âI mean, yeah. Not like a date or anything. Just as friends. Or whatever. Weâve both been staring at the same five pages for the last twenty minutes, so I thought maybe we could take a break before coming back. I heard theyâve got themed pastries at the ground floor cafĂŠ too, and Iâm pretty sure thereâs a huge stand of that one character you like.â
You canât help but laugh softly. âFriends, huh? Alright, sure. Sounds like fun.â
The relief that flashes across his face is immediate and almost embarrassingly obvious. He leans back in his chair, grinning so widely itâs hard not to laugh again. âReally? Alright, cool. Cool. Friends. Totally casual.â
He slams his lid close and starts shoving it into his case. You blink before mirroring his gesture with your own belongings.
âOh, you meant right now?â
He looks up, already halfway done packing.âIs there any better time than the present?â
There probably is, considering you had both technically come here to study, but the fond exasperation that thought should bring never fully arrives. Instead, you find yourself closing your laptop too, slipping your charger back into your bag as he waits with barely restrained excitement.
If you told the version of yourself from a few months ago that youâd willingly abandon studying to follow Gojo somewhere, you wouldâve laughed in your own face. But the walk turns out to be fun. More than fun, actually. He talks the whole way, hands moving animatedly as he jumps between topics and drags you along with him, and by the time the central library comes into view, youâre almost disappointed the walk was so short.
Gojoâs eyes are bright as the automatic doors slide open. He looks almost boyish like this, all open excitement and easy chatter, and youâre still watching him when that expression falters.
You follow his gaze around the corner and toward the signs for the display, your own smile quickly dropping.
Itâs underwhelming, to put it lightly. A small corner of the library has been cordoned off, just a few tables with stacked manga, a sparse display of badges pinned to a board against the wall, and a few posters of famous shounen series plastered against the nearby walls.
Gojo slows, his shoulders slumping as the excitement drains from him. âOh. Uh.â He takes in the scene though, it doesnât take long due to the size of the exhibit. âItâs⌠smaller than I thought.â
âThatâs what she said.â You glance at him, trying to mask your own surprise at the tiny setup. âHey, itâs okay. Maybe thereâs more elsewhere!â
He follows you like a lost puppy as you explore the nearby areas, though it quickly becomes clear thereâs nothing more than the original display. Even the cafĂŠ at the entrance is lacking. It only has one themed dessert, and itâs a poorly designed cake pop of Happy from Fairy Tail, his tiny round chocolate eyes seemingly staring off to the side where a normal chocolate chip cookie sits. Gojo winces at the cake pop and you offer to buy it for him. He shakes his head, hesitant to separate it from the cookie since it seems like it wants it so badly.
When your feet circle back to the pathetic tables, even you struggle to stay upbeat.
He shakes his head, a small, defeated grin forming. âMan, that sucks. I guess I just imagined it being a little more⌠epic. You know, life-sized statues, endless merch, chaos everywhere, notââhe gestures to the badgesââbadges.â
âBadges can be cool,â you try, tracing the edge of one.
âThere are only badges of all the mainstream anime,â he mumbles, coming up to stand beside you. Due to the tiny display, youâre shoulder to shoulder, your arm brushing his. âGod, this fucking sucks. My bad, Y/N. I was hoping we could look at all the manga together, but all I managed to do was waste your time. We can just go back to the library and continue studying.â
You frown at his dejected tone, and when you look over, heâs pouting.
His shoulders are slumped, his hands absentmindedly fidgeting with a badge, spinning it back and forth with no real interest, and his lips are jutted out in an almost cartoonish pout. When his eyes shift at your attention, you quickly look away and hope he didnât catch the slight quiver of your lips.
Then, before you can think better of it, you grab a badge off the display and pin it to his chest. When he starts to look down, you lift his chin with your finger instead.
He blinks at you, owlish, and you canât help but smile at the clueless look in his eyes.
âAsk me a yes-or-no question,â you say. âTo try and guess what characterâs badge I just pinned on you. Câmon, I bet you wonât get it.â
For a moment, you think your forced enthusiasm has put him off and that he wonât play along. But then he suddenly scoffs, his lips tugging up. âAre they a girl?â
âNo.â Itâs contagious and you find yourself smiling back.
He purses his lips, and you recognise the signature glint in his eyes when heâs concentrating. He hums, thinking a little more seriously. âIs the series heâs from released before 2020?â
âYes.â
âIs he part of a trio?â
âSeriously? Weâre talking about shounen right now. Almost every shounen series has a trio.â You giggle. âBut no, he isnât.â
He rolls his eyes. âIs the character the main character of the series?â
âNo, but Iâd say a lot more people like this character over the actual main character.â
âIs he from a sports anime?â
âNo.â
âCould he be in a sports anime?â
That catches you off guard and you scrunch your face up in thought. âI honestly canât imagine him doing any sport. He might be a perma-benched player thatâs only there for strategy.â
âIs he, like, a mentor character?â
You pout a little at how on-the-nose his question is. âYes.â
âDoes he have powers?â
âYes.â
He clicks his fingers. âAh. Does he have a signature weapon?â
âWell, he uses a gun often, but his powers arenât related to his weapon of choice.â
âSo his powers arenât offensive?â
âExactly.â
He hums, a smile growing on his face. âIs the manga based in the modern era?â
âYes.â
âIs he dead?â
âNo, but there was a moment when everyone was freaking out because it almost seemed like he was dead.â
âBrown hair?â
âYes.â
Gojo clicks his fingers in realisation. âOkay, Iâve got it. Is it Dazai?â He might as well have shouted eureka. His face brightens, hanging on your next words to confirm or deny his victory.
You giggle, nodding, and the smile he gives you is full of childlike wonder.
âClose your eyes. Itâs your turn.â
You do so. âI bet I can guess it with fewer questions than you.â
He snorts. âYouâre on.â
A few customers shoot you dirty looks when they walk past, clearly not appreciating your giggles as you and Gojo take turns playing your own chopped version of celebrity heads. Time seems to pass quickly over laughter and jokes until you finally reach up to unpin the latest badge to place it back. He stops you, hands covering yours.
âLet me buy that for you,â he says with a lingering smile.
You raise an eyebrow but let him take it off your hands. âWho said I even want this?â
âCome on, itâll be like weâre matching.â
âTheyâre not even from the same series.â
âNot to anyone else,â he muses, thumb stroking the front of the badge like itâs something precious. âBut we'll know theyâre connected and thatâs good enough to call them matching.â
You turn away, suddenly far too aware of the warmth rising to your face. Clearing your throat, you gesture toward the manga shelves down the aisle. âLetâs go see what else theyâve got. Sure, we came for the pop-up, but weâre still in a library.â
He follows after you, noticeably lighter on his feet than before, and you let out a small sigh of relief. Then, almost immediately, you berate yourself for the tiny flutter in your chest. Why does that even matter? you scold yourself, brushing the feeling aside.
Before you can dwell on it for too long, he pinches your sleeve and tugs you gently toward him when your pace slows.
âHave you read this?â
âNot yet,â you admit, though a small smile creeps onto your face at the sight of his enthusiasm.
Without missing a beat, he launches into an animated explanation of the series, waving his hands as he talks. Sometimes it feels like heâs speaking more with his fingers than with actual words, sketching out invisible diagrams in the air as he links characters and plot points together. His sentences tumble over each other as he rambles about character motivations, why one of them is a complete fraud, and why the plot veers dangerously close to deus ex machina territory, only cutting himself off with an apologetic smile right before he spoils something major.
âAnd I swear the author gave up halfway through the series. The manga finished in 2023, by the way, but I think by the end heâd already landed a deal for a spin-off and started putting all his effort into that instead. You know what I saw on Twitter recently? People were hyping up this one line like it was amazing foreshadowing, but itâs not even good foreshadowing because, come on, the final fight was so cheap. Like whenââ He stops himself abruptly. âOh, wait. You canât know that yet.â
You nod along, trying to keep up with the flood of names, locations, and arc points that mean absolutely nothing to you, but the sheer energy in his voice is contagious. Somehow, itâs impossible to be annoyed or bored when heâs like this, completely in his element.
Eventually, you stop trying to follow every detail. Instead, your attention drifts to him. The way his hair keeps falling into his eyes, forcing him to run a hand through his bangs only for them to slip right back into place seconds later. The way his brows knit together when he rants, only to lift again the moment he gets to a part he genuinely loves. Despite the noise of the busy library, his voice rises above everything else, clear and captivating, demanding your attention without even trying.
Itâs almost impressive how quickly his mouth keeps up with his thoughts. You squint slightly, watching the shape of his lips around each word just to confirm that yes, it really is him speaking that fast and not some video playing in the background.
You realise a second too late that heâs stopped talking.
You blink and look up at him.
His brows are furrowed, though not in the same way as before, and you hate that you now know the difference. âUh, you still with me?â
You blink a few more times, then shake your head slightly as if to clear the haze. âYeah. Yeah, Iâm here.â
Gojo tilts his head, clearly amused. âReally? Because you look a little dazed.â
Heat rushes to your face and you quickly drop your gaze to the manga in his hands, as if that had always been the focus of your attention. âYeah, of course I was listening. Something about deus ex machina, right?â
He snorts softly. âI finished talking about the ending minutes ago. You donât have to pretend if you werenât paying attention.â
You roll your eyes, hoping your embarrassment isnât as obvious as it feels. âFine. Maybe I got a little distracted.â
His grin widens at that, though it softens around the edges as he steps a little closer. âDistracted, huh? By what?â
You hesitate, heart doing something strange at the way heâs looking at you. âNothing.â
âReally?â
âReally,â you shoot back.
âAlright then,â he concedes, though the glint in his eyes never fades. âI guess Iâll just have to step up my explanations next time so you donât get distracted again.â
He slides the manga carefully back onto the shelf, nudging the surrounding volumes aside to make room and making sure none of the pages bend as he slots it into place. There has to be something wrong with you, because even that small gesture makes warmth bloom in your chest. You make a mental note to check the series out when you get home.
Gojo turns back to you and gestures for you to lead the way. âYour turn.â
He listens as you tell him about one of your favourite manga series, and the embarrassment of getting caught fades quickly as you explain exactly why itâs a masterpiece. When itâs his turn again, you make a conscious effort to pay attention and not drift off into another daydream. So when he asks if you were actually listening this time, you huff and answer every one of his questions with ease.
He grins at you like youâve handed him the world.
Eventually, the two of you leave the library with less merch than youâd expected walking in, but with two badges that mean more than youâd ever dare admit. He doesnât fasten his onto the front of his bag with the rest of his pins and accessories, mumbling something about wanting to keep it safe, so you keep yours in your pocket instead, your thumb brushing over its smooth surface as you walk.
You expect him to call it a day after that, maybe peel off with some excuse about having things to do, but instead he tugs lightly on your sleeve.
âCâmon.â
âWhere?â
âCafe run. My treat.â
You raise a brow. âSince when do you buy me coffee?â
âSince you saved this disaster of a day,â he says matter-of-factly, already steering you toward the street with a hand at your shoulder. âBesides, itâd be cruel not to feed you after I made you listen to my manga rants for hours.â
You snort, but you donât fight him on it. The truth is, coffee does sound nice, even if you remain slightly mystified by the idea of going with Gojo of all people. You frown a little when the thought doesnât leave you disgusted.
Youâre still mulling over the drink options when Gojo steps up to the counter to order.
âCan I get an iced matcha latteââ He cuts himself off awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. âJust an iced matcha latte, thanks. Oh, and a vanilla soy latte.â
You eye him as he thanks the cashier, pays, and nods toward the waiting area. Seeing no reason not to follow, you move to stand beside him again.
âAre you drinking two drinks?â
âStupid.â He pokes your forehead in a way that, annoyingly, you canât bring yourself to hate. âOne of them is for you.â
âThe⌠vanilla latte?â
âYeah.âYou dip your head, trying to catch his eye. âWhy arenât you looking at me all of a sudden?â
He shrugs, suddenly fascinated by the blank wall behind the counter. âI have no idea what youâre talking about.â
You study him for a second before letting out a small laugh. âWell, you got lucky. Thatâs kind of my go-to order. How did you know?â
âI guess you just look like youâd want something like that.â
You stare at him. âOh yeah? I just have the look of someone who likes vanilla lattes?â
He only hums in response.
You frown a little as you take him in properly: the way he rocks back and forth on his feet, hands tucked into his pockets, trying very hard to look unaffected. All he needs is a whistle to sell the act. Thankfully, one of the cashiers calls out his number, and he eagerly slips away to collect the drinks.
When he comes back, he hands you the vanilla latte. You take it with a small thanks, then pause as something occurs to you.
âOh. Send me your bank details. Iâll transfer you for the merch and the coffee,â you say, already reaching for your phone.
When he doesnât mirror the gesture, you look up.
âItâs fine. I got it.â
âWhat? No way. I donât want to owe you anything.â
âYou donât owe me anything,â he says. âI got it for you because I wanted to.â
Slowly, you take your hand back out of your bag. âYou did? That doesnât sound like you.â
âI wouldâve thought youâd know me a little better after today,â Gojo says, finally looking at you with a smile. Then he gestures toward the door. âCome on. Youâll miss the bus back to the dorms.â
âYouâre being very weird, you know.â
âI have no idea what youâre talking about,â he says with the kind of smile that only proves your point. He brushes past you, not unkindly, and takes the lead toward the bus stop.
You stare at his back for a moment before letting out an amused huff and hurrying after him. âSo youâre a matcha person, huh? How performative.â
âPlease. I liked matcha before it was cool.â
âSo youâre claiming to be an OG, then? Quick, name every matcha brand.â
âThat would take forever. I can tell you where this one came from, though.â Gojo takes a sip of his drink and hums in exaggerated thought. âThis matcha was ground from the soils of Shizuoka Prefecture. I can even give you the row and column of the specific tea leaves used to make this drink.â
You snort. âWhat is it then?â
â32C, 82G.â
âAre we playing Battleships?â
The two of you share a short laugh at the bit, and the thought hits you strangely hard: you never imagined one day youâd be joking around like this with Gojo of all people.
By the time you reach the station, the two of you stop beneath the shelter.
âWhat number are you catching?â you ask, pulling out your phone to check the bus times.
âOh, Iâm not catching the bus. I take the train.â
You look up at him, incredulous. âWhat? Then why are you here?â
He tilts his head, straw slipping from his mouth as he looks at you like youâve said something ridiculous. âTo make sure you get on the bus safe, obviously. Itâs fine, Iâm already here anyway. Iâll just wait with you until it comes.â
âThatâs⌠actually really nice of you.â
Gojo shrugs. âI guess I just really care about the wellbeing of others.â
âWow. Your compassion for helping citizens would go crazy on a superhero rĂŠsumĂŠ.â
He laughs, though the sound comes out slightly off somehow, enough that you notice even if you canât place why. âWhat? Thatâs insane. You think Iâd make a good superhero? Me? Thatâs ridiculous. Iâm a clutz and a nerd and hardly cut out for the whole saving-the-world thing.â
You think back to the cricket incident and giggle softly. âDonât count yourself short. I think youâre a lot more capable than you give yourself credit for, Gojo.â
At that, he turns his head quickly and takes a sharp sip of his drink. âSatoru.â
âHm?â You look up at him, wondering if the slight flush at the tips of his ears has anything to do with the late afternoon sun.
âEveryone calls me Satoru but you,â he says, still not looking at you. âYou might as well just call me Satoru too. Itâs weird if you donât.â
It takes a few seconds for the words to fully sink in. By then, he only seems to shrink further into himself, taking long, noisy pulls from his straw. By the time you recover enough to smirk, his cup is almost entirely ice.
You lean in slightly, trying to catch his eye. âWhat a cheesy thing to say. Donât tell me youâreââ
The rest dies on your tongue when he finally glances down at you. The same pink tint at his ears has spread across his cheeks.
He frowns despite it, brows drawing together. âForget it. I knew you wouldnât take me seriously.â He pulls the straw from his mouth and shakes the cup for more drink, only for the ice to rattle uselessly. With visible annoyance, he takes the shot and tosses the empty cup into the bin. âSorry for dragging you all the way out here today. Your bus is probably coming soon, so Iâll head offââ
You gape at him. âWait!â
He freezes and turns back slightly. âGoing to tease me? Save it for tomorrow.â
âNo,â you say quickly. âI was just surprised you wanted me to call you by your first name. I thought you hated me.â
âMe?â he scoffs, turning around fully now. âYou have to be joking.â
âIâm serious,â you insist. âYou were awful to me. I mean, you literally went out of your way to embarrass me when we barely knew each other.â
He runs a hand through his hair and exhales. âYeah, I know. I was⌠bad at that. I never hated you, Y/N. I just didnât know what to do with you.â
âThe moment you start making sense, the world is going to end. Iâm sure of it.â
He laughs quietly, then looks at you again. âIâm trying to say that when you showed up and started showing me up, beating me and everything, I got a little intimidated. And maybe you were right all along, but I wanted you to notice me the way Iâd started noticing you. So yeah, maybe I did start tugging on your pigtails just to get your attention. You were just soââ He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. âNever mind.â
âHold on,â you say, stepping closer. âYou canât do that. Finish it.â
âSorry. Free trialâs over. If you want me to keep going, thatâll be 200 diamondsââ
âSatoru.â
He closes his mouth immediately, eyes widening a fraction before he sighs. âDamn. I shouldâve never asked you to say that.â
You tilt your head, catching his gaze. âPlease?â
Something strained flashes across his face, like the word is lodged somewhere painful in his chest. âYou were just soâŚâ He exhales through his nose, defeated. âSo bright that it was annoying. I couldnât ignore you, even if I tried. Every time you laughed, my head would already be turning, and I hated it because you werenât smiling at me.â
You laugh awkwardly. âWe werenât exactly friends.â
âNo,â he says softly. âThat was the issue. But even then, I wouldnât have been satisfied.â
For a moment, neither of you says anything. The confession settles between you, large and impossible to ignore. Youâve given up trying to look at him because thereâs a strange tightness in your chest making it hard to breathe, and Satoru looks like heâs doing everything in his power not to bolt.
âDoes that bother you?â he asks.
Unable to speak, you shake your head.
âOkay.â He exhales slowly. âThen can I try something?â
You look up just as he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His hand hovers there for a moment, giving you an out.
You donât take it. Mostly because your feet feel rooted to the pavement beneath you.
âSatoru,â you whisper, and he seems to find whatever answer he was searching for in your eyes.
He leans in slowly, like heâs afraid the moment might shatter if he moves too quickly. Your breath mingles. He hesitates, and you give him the smallest encouragement by leaning in too. Your noses brush with a ticklish little bump, and the whole world narrows to the space between your mouthsâ
Then a sharp buzz cuts through the quiet.
It doesnât register properly in your mind at first. You only know it sounds ugly against the stillness. But Satoru knows immediately.
He freezes. So do you.bThen comes the second vibration.
His shoulders sag. His forehead drops forward and bumps lightly into yours.
âYouâve got to be kidding me,â he mutters.
âEverything okay?â you ask, though you already know the answer.
He pulls back just enough to take his phone out and glance at the screen. Whatever he sees drains all the softness from his face, replacing it with that familiar unreadable tension.
âYeah,â he says, forcing a crooked smile. âI, uh, have to go. Family emergency. Again.â
You smile back. âI hope everyoneâs okay.â
âRight. Yeah.â
âYou should probably go.â
âRight.â
He lingers for another beat, phone held uselessly in his hand, before clearing his throat and stepping back. âIâll call you tonight?â
âYeah. Tonight.â
âCool,â he says. âCool, cool, cool, cool. Get home safe, yeah?â
âYeah.â You keep smiling even as he starts to walk away. âThanks for today.â
You watch him go for far longer than you should, long enough that his figure starts to blur into the movement of the street beyond the bus stop. Only when he disappears properly do you let your smile falter, your hand tightening slightly around the paper cup.
It hits you then, all at once and without mercy, how badly you are in trouble. You stare down at your coffee like it might offer guidance and find none.
Oh, you are so doomed.
Spidermanâs muscle strain against the cold sticky goo binding his wrists behind his back, the sharp bite of them digging into his skin as he knelt on the rough warehouse floor. His suit clings to him like a second skin, torn across his chest and down his thigh from the brutal fight. Thereâs a gash above his eyebrow thatâs dripping blood into his eyes, but for some reason his vision is clear.
The amazing Spiderman makes it his purpose to never stay down for long. This time, however, he wonders if he even wants to get back up.
Venom looms over him with a maw of jagged teeth and eyes like void fixed down on him with predatory amusement. âSpiderman down on his knees. What a sight.â
Gojo smirks under his mask even as his knees ache and cold air brushes the exposed skin around his mouth.
âI hate to break it to you but Iâm not into oversized ink blots,â he spits. âAnd donât get so cocky too soon. Havenât you played Darkest Dungeon? Overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer.â
âThereâs always a response rearing to go from that tongue of yours, isnât there?â Venom hisses. âAlways so self-assured, always so prepared. I wonder how long that peace you know will last.â
âIf I wanted my fortune read I would have gone to a tarot card reader.â
Venom laughs and the sound is suddenly so achingly familiar that Gojo freezes, something primal overturning into his stomach telling him to run. But thereâs nowhere to run, not when his wrists are tied behind his back, not when heâs kneeled at the feet of his archnemesis, and especially not when the tendrils of the villain slowly pull back to reveal a humanoid form Satoru knows far too well.
The black mass ebbs back from Venomâs face, appendages retracting with a wet slurp, revealingâ
Her. You.
The girl from the 5th floor of the campus library that he kept seeing that one finals season a whole year ago, the one he once told Geto about until he saw you again with his childhood friend and decided you were firmly off-limits. The same girl he suddenly couldnât miss in the crowd when 5pm hits and the tired students pour out seeking night outs or cozy night ins, the same girl who when he finally had a class with, had quickly cut him down with a glare that sent a jolt right through his body. The face he thinks about when heâs alone in the dark of his room, one hand down his pants and the other holding his phone.
Your pretty lips now curl into a smirk as your piercing eyes that he just loves to pretend to hate, locks onto his, full of mocking triumph. The symbiote suit hugs your curves like liquid, accentuating every sway of your hips as you step even closer.
Wait, what the fuck?
Gojo opens his mouth to say something but his breath hitches and the quip dies on his tongue.
âWhat theâY/N? What are youââ He cuts himself off when you laugh, soft and familiar, a sound far too beautiful for a grungy place like this.
âWhatâs wrong, Spidey?â you purr, voice lilting with mock innocence. âYou look like youâve seen a ghost. Or maybeââ
Heâs almost certain he stops breathing altogether as you roughly tilt his chin up with one long tendril, staring at your face because thereâs nothing else to do.
âYou see something you like?â
He splutters. âThis is bullshit. Youâre not Venom, you canât be. This has to be some kind of symbiote mind-fuck trick.â
âWhatâs wrong? Youâve lost your composure all of a sudden.â
Gojo growls, a feral sound dragging up his throat. âDonât fucking look into my mind. Stop looking like her!â
You coo, lips pretty and downturned. âStop? How can I? Spiderman, I am her.â
Your words make him shudder and you press on.
âAh, so itâs about that, is it? Poor, little Spiderman, torn in so many little directions. You canât decide whether to be Satoru or this silly attempt at being a superhero.â
He flinches when his name slips from your lips, remembering how soft it had sounded when you first said it, cheeks pink and eyes fluttering down. Seeing you standing over him now, eyes harsh and unforgiving, he feels a stirring in his gut that only pushes him closer to the edge.
âNo snarky response this time?â
âYou canât be her.â
âWhy not? I could be anyone.â You lift a foot and press it against his thigh, pushing it outwards casually. âWhy donât we be truthful for once, hm? And stop hiding behind all these secrets? Itâs not that I canât be her, itâs that you donât want me to be. Youâve always vented to Suguru about how nice it would be to have it both but this is the one thing you donât want to share with Spiderman. Me. And yet, you go against yourself and seek me out as both. Why?â
Gojo grits his teeth. âI donât have to explain anything to you. You know nothing about me.â
âOh, but I promise you I donât miss much.â Your foot trails higher, nudging now against his inner thigh and despite the situation, he flinches, that unfamiliar feeling spilling into something scarily recognisable.
âHold onââ
âLooks like youâre still not being completely truthful, Satoru,â you purr and he hisses.
Your foot presses against the bulge straining his suit, the pressure firm and deliberate. Gojoâs hips jerk involuntarily, a sharp exhale escaping him as you drag your sole along his length.
âGet off me,â he growls, but it sounds more like a plea, his voice husky and ragged.
He tries to shift away, wrists twisting futilely in the bindings, but his body betrays him and he leans into the friction instead. Your boot works him slowly, the leather cool against the heat building under his suit.
âMake me,â you taunt, eyes gleaming with wicked amusement.
You donât let up, your foot dragging slowly now, tracing the outline of his cock with teasing precision and his hips respond but bucking up involuntarily, pleasure sparking hot and fierce. He clamps his jaw, trying to stifle the sound, but it rumbles out anyway.
âThisâŚâ His eyes flutter as you press down particularly hard, forcing a smirk even as his breaths come out ragged. âThis is your master plan? Youâre more of aânghâpervert than I thought.â
You tilt your head, eyes sparkling with amusement. âMaster plan? Do I need a reason to do any of this? Maybe Iâve finally decided to do something about all that eye-fucking youâve been giving me in class. Thought I wouldnât notice?â
Your boot grinds down harder, the ridged sole catching on the zipper of his suit, right over where his cock throbs insistently. He bites back a moan but it slips out anyway, loud and guttural, his thighs quivering under the pressure.
His face flushes deeper, those blue eyes narrowing in a mix of defiance and desperation. âYouâre⌠not her. Canât be. She'd neverââ His words cut off as you twist your ankle, dragging the bootâs toe along his balls through the tight fabric, making them tighten and draw up.
âNever what? Touch you like this? Make you beg with just a foot?â You lean in closer, whispering in his ear so soft he almost canât hear over his pounding heartbeat. âAdmit it, web-head. You've jerked off thinking about me pinning you down, havenât you? All those stolen glances in the hallway, pretending you didnât pop a boner every time I called you out.â
Gojoâs breath hitches, his cock leaking pre-cum that soaks through the suit, darkening the material. He shakes his head but itâs weak, his hips rolling up to chase the friction despite himself.
âShut up. Justâhahâfuck off.â The growl lacks bite, cracking into a whine when you lift your foot slightly, denying him the pressure for a torturous second before pressing back down, slower this time, stroking from base to tip with deliberate drags.
You chuckle. âSuch a pretty liar. Look at you, kneeling there, dick pathetically hard. Bet youâve never even been touched like this before, huh? Who knew Spiderman was all talk and no action.â
Your boot circles the head of his cock, smearing the wet spot wider.
He groans, loud and unrestrained now, his head tipping back as pleasure coils tight in his gut. âN-not⌠your business.â
But his bodyâs honest, thighs spreading wider on their own and inviting more. Sweat beads on his forehead, trickling down his temple, and he forces his eyes open to glare at you, trying for a smirk. "If this is your idea of a fight, youâre losing. I couldâŚfuck, I could break out anytime.â
You grin, a tendril slashing his suit to free his cock. it springs free, hard and leaking, tip flushed and begging to be touched. Gojoâs eyes flutter again when you touch him bare, a soft whine escaping despite his efforts. He rolls them back slightly, fighting the wave crashing through him, but his hips roll forward, chasing the pressure.
âAdmit it feels good. Or are you going to keep pretending youâre not leaking over my boot right now?"
He bites his lip hard. âFeels likeâŚfeels like nothing. Barely notice it.â
Total bullshit. Every drag sends sparks up his spine, his cock throbbing insistently, begging for more. He can't even seem to focus on what youâre saying anymore, not when youâre twisting your ankle like so, rubbing his sensitive tip and he canât hold back a throaty moan, his body arching into it.
âNothing? Your dickâs twitching like itâs got a mind of its own.â
âI could break these cuffs anytime,â he mumbles again as if convincing himself as if his hips arenât thrusting up greedily, fucking into the rhythm.
âBreak them then. Or donât. We both know you wonât.â
The friction builds up relentlessly, up, down, the ball of your foot grinding against his mushroom head on every pass, sweat beading under his mask, eyes rolling back fully now as the coil winds tighter, pleasure bordering on overload.
âOh, fuckââ Gojo rasps, voice a wrecked mess of gasps and moans.
âToo much? Gonna cum for me?â
He shakes his head frantically, but the denial crumbles into a choked sob when you drag your heel along the underside, pressing firmly over the vein that throbs with every heartbeat. His cock jumps, tip flaring red, and a spurt of pre-cum leaks out, coating your shoe in glossy trails.
âCome on, pretty boy. You're so close,â you coo.
âNo⌠shit, Iâfuck!â His words fracture as you speed up, pumping his length in firm, unyielding strokes, up to smear over the sensitive ridge, down to crush against his balls, rolling them gently before lifting to repeat.
His balls draw tight, heavy and full, aching for release, and he grinds his teeth in an effort to hold back but the pressure mounts, a white-hot knot twisting in his core.
You curl your fingers in his mask and yank it off, his white hair spilling down to reveal his wrecked expression, eyes rolling back and drool dripping from the corner of his lips. you grin, pure evil and glee before you tug his hair to make him look up at you.
âCome on, Satoru,â you purr. âShow me how much you hate this, how much you need it.â
The command shatters him. His entire body seizes, back arching off the cold floor as the orgasm rips through and his cock erupts in thick, forceful jets that splatter across your boot, your calf, even arcing up to hit his own abdomen. He cries out, voice breaking into a raw, uninhibited moan that echoes off the warehouse walls.
âFuck, yesâoh God, Y/N!â
His hips jerk helplessly as you keep stroking him through it, dragging every last shudder from his body until heâs wrung completely dry. Heâs whimpering by the end of it, oversensitive and trembling, head fallen back against the pillow, chest rising and falling in ragged pants. Cum spills down the front of his suit in sticky, obscene streaks, and still you donât let him hide from it, your hand only slowing once heâs been pushed so far past pleasure it borders on cruelty.
âNot bad for a virgin,â you murmur, voice sweet in that way that makes humiliation burn twice as hot. âBet youâve never made yourself cum that hard, huh? All those lonely nights jerking off to thoughts of me, and this is the best you could do?â
Gojoâs face burns crimson, shame and bliss tangling together until he canât tell one from the other. âShut up,â he breathes, though it comes out broken and weak. âThat didnât mean anything.â
âReally?â you ask, and the smile you give him is devastating. âThen why are you hard again?
His gaze drops before he can stop it. Sure enough, his cock is already thickening back to life, flushed and twitching against his stomach as if his body has decided to betray him completely. When he looks up again, youâre licking your lips slowly, deliberately, and his mouth goes dry enough to hurt
âWant me to show you what youâve been missing?â you ask. âOr are you still going to pretend?â
Gojo isnât a weak man, he really isnât. But with your foot still by his thigh, body so close and promises of warmth and softness beyond his filthies fantasies, and that look in your eyes like you already know exactly how this ends, he can feel himself caving. The word is already there, already rising up his throat, yes, yes, pleaseâ
And then his eyes snap open. The darkness of his room hits him like cold water.
For a second he canât move. He just lies there, disoriented, heart hammering against his ribs hard enough to hurt, the last traces of the dream still clinging to him in flashes too vivid to shake. Your voice, your mouth, the heat of your body. The sight of you above him, cruel and beautiful and impossibly close.
Then reality settles in, humiliating in its clarity.
Heâs alone.
Flat on his back in a bed thatâs too warm now, sheets tangled around his legs, boxers sticking damply to his skin. His cock throbs untouched, leaking embarrassingly through the fabric, still hard enough that the loss of the dream feels almost physically painful. He drags in a breath and it catches somewhere in his chest, shaky and shallow.
He groans, burying his face in his pillow, cheeks burning even though no one is there to see it, and lies there in the aftermath of his own disgrace, hard and aching and still haunted by the sound of your voice.Â
Gojo is unfair.
He knows heâs unfair. Itâs hard not to when the reminder comes as easily as catching his own reflection in the dark screen of his laptop, or running a hand through his hair in frustration and knowing that, at the very least, having silky, soft, gorgeous white hair isnât on his list of worries. Itâs as easy as checking his grades at the end of every semester, his eyes drifting from an episode of Frieren on his laptop to the screen of his phone. When his gaze skims over his marks and settles on his final grade, Gojo knows heâs unfair.
A crash in the street, someone yelling for help, and heâs already pulling on the blue-and-white mask and swinging out the window, because apparently good looks and a big brain werenât enough. The universe had to make him Spiderman too.
He knows what he is: smart, strong, and kindhearted (that last one might be a sneak). That robbery he stopped two weeks ago before his cardiovascular final? Yeah, no biggie. Did he just save a hijacked bus the morning of this very neuropharmacology tutorial? Yeah, but no sweat, heâll still pass top of his class like alwaysâ
â97%?â
He watches you freeze and immediately slam the lid of your laptop down. You whip around to face the culprit who aired out your grade, temporarily stunned when itâs someone you donât recognise.
Gojo narrows his eyes. âHow did someone like you get a 97?â
His words come out too harsh to be surprise and lacking any warmth to come off as a congratulations. Because you donât look like the kind of person whoâd flash their grades around or fish for praise. If anything, you look horrified to have been noticed at all, eyes wide and shoulders tense like youâd been caught doing something embarrassing rather than scoring nearly full marks on a quiz the class had been stressing over ten minutes before it began.
âWhat the fuck does that mean?â you hiss back. âDo you mind? Donât look over my shoulder like a creep.â
He smirks warily but it doesnât reach his eyes. âItâs a 97. Thatâs something to gloat about. Didnât think it would come from someone like you though.â
âSo youâve been saying. What does that even mean? I donât look like the type of person to get a 97?â
âYeah,â he says bluntly, an answer seemingly as obvious as asking if grass was green or if the sky was blue.
You press your lips together to avoid cussing him out in the chatty classroom. âDo I even know you?â
âIt would be hard to miss me,â he shoots back. âIâm the one that's been topping these quizzes since the semester started.â
âFell off, did you?â
âPlease, this was a fluke, princess.â
You practically hum with irritation at the nickname. âAnd what did you get?â
He puts up a firewall immediately. âThat's nunya.â
âWhat?â
âNone of your business.â He grins.
You grimace at his evidently childish nature. âI don't think you can say that after shoving your ugly face into my business.â
You decide to take things into your own hands, standing up from your chair to reach back and snatch his laptop. He blinks at the sudden movement, momentarily distracted at your choice of words before it registers.
And Gojo is Spiderman. He could easily grab your wrist and stop you before you get too close but there's something making him hesitate. You smell nice, he notes faintly, like vanilla and something artificial but sweet. It's your perfume no doubt, he just can't wrap his head around why it smelt so good.
Your fingers successfully reach close around his laptop and lifts it off the table, placing it onto your thighs as your finger slides across the trackpad. You let out a victorious, âHah!â which has him blinking out of his daze to follow your gesture and observe the damage, seconds too late from preventing it.
His mark stares back at him.
92%.
Gojo notices you then, which is embarrassing because he doesnât even know your name. All he knows is that ever since the finals season began, youâve taken his spot on the fifth floor of the library, head down, brows furrowed in that cute way indicating your immense concentration as you try to visualise what youâre learning by tracing words and formulas in the air. He doesnât stay for long but the next day youâre still there in his spot, and then the next, and then the day after.
He stopped caring about getting his spot back on the fifth day.
He finds you everywhere else, chatting with friends on the lawn outside the north biological science building, giggling over brunch in the cafeteria, the smile you flash to your friends far kinder than the one you swung at him like a weapon that day in the tutorial room.
Youâre unfair. Gorgeous, always put together, nails adorned with charms and chrome, the confident click of your heels against the pavement introducing your entrance into every building with no shame. His ears always tune him into your conversations, and on the day that he discovered you had a sense of humourâa good one too, God forbidâhe only seemed to hate you more.
Because he is unfair, yes, he knows that. But thereâs something restless in his chest and youâre unfair in a similar way, but finding a fault in you would be an impossible task.
And that doesnât swing with him.
Because sometimes, Gojo feels like a stick adrift a river. Sometimes the currents are fierce and he sways here and there, a puppet to its frivolous nature, and sometimes the waters are calm though he is no less at its mercy than before. Heâll duck his head when people talk to him, do their part in the assessment because itâll be as easy as opening his laptop and writing the first thing that comes to mind. He doesnât care what anyone says about him, doesnât care that they think heâs quiet when truthfully, his mind is always whirring to talk to someone.
He has his friends, he has Geto, he has Shoko. And recently, it seems he has you too.
Bright, sweet, funny. You're beautiful and you donât even know it. He leans in to the sound of your laughter, wants to feel your palm against his cheek, feel your soft pink lips against his eyelids and on his cheeks. He wants to lose himself in your voice, whether itâs to scold him or praise him he doesnât care, just wants to be close again.
âSatoru?â
Gojo flinches, jolting up right, his hand slipping from under his chin to push up his headphones and knocking them clean off his head. They're connected by wire so he catches it easily enough, but they fall down to knock against his hand awkwardly.
He looks up, meeting your bemused eyes as you stare down at him, the sun behind you, your hair tumbling down your shoulders.
âHey,â he says, breathlessly. âOh, uh, want to sit? I meanâwhat are you doing here? I thought you were going for lunch with⌠Shoko.â
His words trail off uselessly when you take him up on his offer, sliding a hand to smoothen your skirt as you sit, thighs brushing his.
âIâve been trying to get Shoko and Utahime together for ages so I thought this might be a good time. Besides, I saw you from up there.â You point up at one of the taller buildings and he mentally cheers for remembering your timetable right, fist bumping his past self for picking this spot to sun bathe.
âStalking me?â he teases softly, eyes searching your face.
You bump your shoulder against his. âAs if. This is a chance meeting.â
He chuckles, unable to take his eyes off you. âSo you're free for the rest of the day, then?â
âShould be.â
âOkay.â
You look up at him and he whips his gaze forward.
âAre you?â
âSorry?â
âAre you free right now, Satoru?â
âUhâyeah! Yes, I am. Free, that is. Iâm free right now.â He clears his throat when his voice comes out a little gravelly, ears burning as his own words come back to him. âSorry, Iâm justâŚâ
Thankfully, you laugh, eyes curving into cute little crescents and he thinks that even though youâre always pretty, this might be the best look on you.Â
âJust what?â you ask, tilting your head. There's something unbearably fond in your expression, so unlike the start of the semester when youâd barely give him the time of day.
âNothing,â he lies instantly.
Your brows lift and he caves under the weight of that look almost at once.
âNot nothing. I meanââ He drags a hand down his face, groaning under his breath. âIâm sorry, Iâm just being weird today.â
âPlease, youâre always weird.â
He turns to you, scandalised. âYou always say such nice things.â
You smile. âYou know what I mean.â
He does, and thatâs the problem. He knows what you mean when you call him weird, knows the exact shape of your affection when you look at him like this, all soft around the edges, voice gone warm enough to sink into. Heâd call himself weird if he was in your position, perhaps crueler words, but you donât say them even if heâs deserving. It makes his chest feel too full, like thereâs something alive in there clawing to get out.
For a moment, neither of you say anything. the campus hums around you in the distance, voices drift past, the rustle of leaves overhead, the low grind of a bus somewhere beyond the gates. But here, tucked away on the bench half drowned in sunlight, it feels strangely private.
You glance down at his hands. âYou okay? Youâre fidgeting.â
He looks too. His fingers are indeed twisting the headphone wire around and around, enough that itâll probably knot if he keeps going. He stills them immediately.
âAm not.â
You give him a look. âNervous?â
He lets out a laugh at that, because itâs either that or admit the truth and simply die on the spot. âWhat would I be nervous for?â
Your shoulder brushes his again when you shift, and it is such a small thing, so accidental it may as well be nothing, and yet he stops breathing for a second anyway.
âI donât know,â you murmur. âYou tell me.â
Gojo stares at you.
There are moments in life, he thinks, that split everything into before and after. Like how thereâs before he got bit and after he got bit, those grandiose moments that define his life. This might be one of them. Maybe there will always be the version of him that sat on this bench with his heart halfway up his throat, and the version after, whatever that may look like. He hopes that version of him is smiling by the end of it.
He swallows. âActually, I've been trying to.â
Your expression changes, playfulness softening. âTrying to tell me something?â
âYeah.â His voice comes out rougher than he means for it to. âYeah, Iââ
He stops. should he really start this off with âyeahâ?
"Iâve kind of been meaning to sayâno, that sounds equally as stupid.â He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. âNot stupid, justâI had this whole thing in my head, and it sounded way better in there, so now Iâm trying to find it again and itâs justââ
Youâre staring at him like heâs hung the moon which makes things infinitely worse. Maybe thatâs your default look. You do always look so pretty.
You open your mouth to say something but he beats you to it.
âNo, wait, I can do this.â He sits up a little straighter, like the posture alone will save him. "I just need one second because I know what I want to say, I do, itâs just every time I look at you, I forget how words work. Which is honestly humiliating and I probably shouldnât have said that, so if you could stop beingâstop looking at me likeâŚâ
âLike?â
You have to be messing with him at this point.
âJustâcan I say something mean?â
You huff, pulling back a little. âWhat the fuck?â
âI justâI feel like I could fight with you for hours over stupid lab questions, and I always know exactly what to say then, but nowââ He shakes his head, cheeks hot. âNow I canât even get through one sentence. So maybe if I just say something mean like I always do, I'llââ
You place a hand on his arm. âDon't ruin this. Iâm not rushing you. You can take your time.â
His body stiffens under your touch, fingers tightening around the wire in his lap. He loosens them forcefully only to tighten them again.
âI think,â he starts, then winces. âNo, I know that when Iâm with you, everything just feels different. Like, way better. I like being around you, I like hearing you talk even when youâre telling me Iâm annoying, which you do a lot, by the way. I like when you laugh at me and when you give me that look on your face right before you say something mean because you look like you want to kill me and thatâsâsomething I probably deserve.â His mouth twitches despite himself. "I like walking you home. and I like when you ask me things you couldâve easily googled just because you know I'll know the answer.â
Thereâs a small smile on your face as you lean in again, hanging off his every word.
âAnd Iââ he stumbles over the word, heart pounding in his chest. "I th-think, maybe, what Iâm trying to say is that Iââ
He cuts himself off with a frustrated exhale, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. âJesus Christ."
A laugh slips out of you and he blushes.
âDon't laugh,â he says, mortified.
âIâm not laughing at you.â
âYou're definitely laughing at me.â
âOkay, but only a little.â You smile wide. âBut didnât you say you like that about me?â
He groans, covering his face with his hands. âThat wasnât originally in the script.â
âSatoru.â
Thereâs something in the way you say his name that makes him look up again at once. Youâre close now, pretty face taking up his field of vision, and he hadnât even realised youâd moved closer. Or maybe heâs the one who did, unable to resist your gravity.
Your gaze drops to his mouth and then lifts again, and the world seems to narrow until it is only this bench, this sunlit patch of afternoon, the space between you shrinking into something fragile and unbearable.
He tries once more, because he has to, because if he doesnât say it now he never will.
"I want to kiss you,â he blurts, the words tumbling out, crooked and breathless. "I really, really want to kiss you, and iâve been trying not to notice for a while now because I wasnât sure if I can and I wasnât sure if youâif you maybeâand I know this is probably not the smoothest way to say this but I justââ
Wait a minute, did he end up saying âI like youâ or did he just out that heâs been staring at your lips for the past five minutes now?
It doesnât seem to matter because you lean forward and kiss him.
There's no great sweep of music, no fireworks, no impossible cinematic pan out encapsulating the sun. Just you, leaning in as if it is the most natural thing in the world, one hand coming up to cup the side of his face, your lips soft against his.
Gojo stops thinking immediately.
His whole body goes rigid for one stunned second before every thought in his buzzing head simply dissipates. Heat floods him all at once, sharp and dizzying, all the way up to the tips of his ears. He's only vaguely aware that heâs stopped breathing and that his eyes are open, and that he has absolutely no clue what to do with his hands.
When you pull back, only just, your thumb brushes over his cheekbone.
He stares at you.
You stare back, mouth curving into a shy smile that nearly kills him where he sits.
âSure,â you say. âYou can kiss me.â
He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. His face must be bright red by now because your smile grows, softer and softer, and God, if he could bottle this moment and live inside it forever, he would.
âYou kissed me,â he says at last, intelligent as always.
"I did.â
âOn purpose?â
You laugh, and he thinks he might pass out. Oh yeah, he really does like it when you laugh at him. âNo Satoru, by accident.â
He makes a strangled noise somewhere between disbelief and delight. He can feel the heat of his face, knows he probably looks ridiculous, but for once he cannot bring himself to care, not even a little. All he can do is look at you with his heart in his throat and try, with limited success, to remember how these things should go.
âOh,â he says.
Your brows pinch together in a fond little crease. âOh?â
âSorry, Iâm still stuck on the part where you kissed me.â
âDo you need me to do it again?â you offer, smiling. âThough first, I think thereâs something you still need to tell me. Want to give it another try?â
Before he can answer, before he can even begin to think of an answer that wouldnât make him sound completely insane, his phone vibrates sharply in his pocket.
The sound cuts through the moment like a blade. He freezes, recognising the sound from one of two phones he always carries with him. It continues to vibrate, and thereâs only one thing he can think of as his stomach drops.
No.
Not now.
You glance down toward the noise. âYou should probably get that. It sounds urgent.â
He nearly says no, nearly ignores it completely. But the device buzzes again, more insistently this time, and cold dread starts threading through the remains of his daze. He fumbles for it with clumsy fingers still not entirely his own, and glances down at the screen.
suguru: venom sighing @ west park
or one of his goons
get over there
All the colour drains and for one awful second, he just stares until the phone turns black and reflects his distraught expression back at him.
Youâre watching him now, the softness in your expression touched through with concern. âEverything okay, Satoru?â
He forces a laugh that sounds thin even to his own ears. âEverything's fine, I justâŚâ his mind scrambles wildly for something plausible, something ordinary, something that wonât make you look at him any closer than you already are and find the gaps in his lies. "Itâs Suguru. He needs me.â
That at least is believable. Suguru has needed him for stupider reasons.
âRight now?â
Guilt crashes through him so hard it almost makes him dizzy. Because your lips are still pink from kissing him, because he hasnât even had a chance to kiss you back properly, because this is the moment heâs wanted for so long and now itâs slipping through his fingers before he can hold onto it.
But people will get hurt if he doesnât go.
âYeah,â he says, quieter now. âIâm sorry.â
âHey.â Your hand finds him again. âItâs okay.â
It is absolutely not okay. Still, he nods.
âI justââ He swallows. âCan IâŚcan weâŚâ
You smile, though he wonders if itâs truly genuine. âYes, idiot. We can talk later. Only if you promise to call me tonight.â
âI will,â heâs quick to say. âI promise.â
He stands too quickly and nearly tangles himself in his own headphone wire. You hide your laugh behind your hand and he feels a fresh wave of heat climb up his neck.
âSmooth,â you quip.
âBe nice to me,â he mutters, trying and failing to sound offended.
You stand too, close enough that he can smell your perfume, can see the tiny details of your face that heâs spent far too much time pretending not to memorise. Now that heâs up, now that heâs about to leave, it feels close to impossible, almost absurd like every part of him is pulled to you.
âGo,â you say softly. âBefore Suguru gets himself in a mess.â
He huffs out a breath. Then, because heâs greedy and because youâve ruined him since a few minutes ago, he leans down and presses the quickest, clumsiest kiss to your cheek. It's barely there, gone almost as soon as it lands, but the look on your face after makes his heart stutter all over again.
âIâll definitely call you tonight. Please wait for me.â
Gojo backs away before he can embarrass himself further or worse, before he changes his mind and decides the rest of the world can burn for ten more minutes. He wants to do something stupid like run back and kiss you properly this time like all the good movies do, but his phone feels heavy in his pocket, dragging him back to the version of himself you still donât know.
But even as urgency takes over, even as the river current catches him by the ribs and yanks, there is one bright impossible thing lodged firmly in his chest.
You kissed him.
You kissed him.
And for the first time in a long time, Gojo thinks maybe he doesnât mind being swept away at all.
Like a girl experiencing the lows of a situationship, your phone remains mercilessly silent the entire night. Itâs the first thing you check the moment your eyes open to a new day, reaching over to check your notifications. Outlook emails, reddit notifications, and nothing from the only person you want to hear from.
Thatâs fine, maybe the issue with Geto ended up being more serious than you initially assumed. Maybe he got caught up with a family emergency and passed out the second he got home. Maybe his phone died, or maybe heâd been too busy to send anything more than a mental apology into the universe and hope it reached you by divine. That is to say, you hear nothing from him all night.
None of these excuses stop the ugly little feeling from settling in your chest.
Your hand closes over your phone, open to your messages with him and embarrassingly showcases or last text to him left on delivered. For a moment, you wonder if the situation is appropriate enough to double triple text considering heâs already ignored your other texts, but eventually settle on nothing because no, actually, he can make the first move for once in his life. He had been the one stammering through half a confession, the one looking at you like you all devote and in awe while you only stared back mildly concerned he was going to burst a blood vessel, the one to kiss your cheek and promised to call all sweet-like. If he wants to disappear after that, then he can deal with the consequences without your help.
The presentation goes just as well as you thought it would considering youâre running on an accumulated two hours of sleep and youâre missing a partner. Considering the assessment is a pair presentation, that seems pretty bad.
You do your section first, voice steadier than you feel, though when you reach the point where heâs supposed to take over, there is a split second where your whole mind goes blank. Humiliation flashes through you hot and clean because this was meant to be the two of you and everyone can see it is not. Because beneath the frustration and embarrassment, there is something much worse curling inside you now.
When you finish, the tutor thanks you with a sympathy that makes your skin crawl.
As you hurry out of the lab, every sensation is suddenly all too much. the feeling of your tote under your arm, the clacking of your shoes against the floor, the bustle of students all around and you groan when you see just how many other people are leaving the building. Your pace slows against your wishes as you attempt to weave the crowd.
He didnât show up.
You bite your lip, hard.
He didnât show up.
You glance down at your phone and swipe. No new notifications.
He didnât show up.
All that talk had been nothing. He never took you seriously at all. Something akin to betrayal fills your chest and you wonder if youâre really going to start crying over a boy who has a digimon keychain on his bag. Said it gave him personality, said it was something like a photo of loved ones glanced at during a war. It's stupid, youâre stupid, you think, because how could you seriously think something new was budding there, that something was actually happening?
A hand catches your wrist in the crowd and tugs you hard to the side. You gasp as your shoulder brushes someone on the way past, the ground shifting under you before youâre pulled into the narrow strip of wall between two noticeboards and a vending machine.
âWait!â
You wrench your arm back on instinct, breath already halfway to a sharp insult, only for it to die the second you look up.
Gojo stands in front of you, chest rising and falling too fast like he ran all the way here. His hair is a mess, his glasses slightly crooked, and thereâs a stiffness to his movements. not that you care, not after this.
âAm Iââ
âYouâre late,â you blurt, all venom and wounded pride. âActually, youâre absent because late implies you cared to show at all.â
His expression crumbles. âI know.â
âDo you?â
âYes,â he swallows, voice rough. âI know.â
âThen what are we doing here?â
People move around you on both sides, students flowing past in little groups, too absorbed in their own conversations to notice how your whole world has narrowed down to this one stupidly tall boy standing in front of you like he hasnât just ripped out your heart and stomped all over it.
âSomething came up,â he says. âI couldnât help it.â
You laugh, ugly and tired. âThatâs crazy because something came up for me too. Does the presentation ring any bells?â
His jaw tightens. âIâm serious, something did come up otherwise I would have been here. Look, I know how this looks but my phone broke.â
The excuse lands heavy in the silence that follows. You stare at him incredulously. Was he really giving you that excuse right now? You start to turn around from his bullshit, not trusting yourself to speak, but he reaches out and holds you there by the wrist.
âI know how it sounds, trust me, I wouldnât believe you either If I were youââ
âYouâre right, I donât believe you.â
âThat's not fair,â he says, desperate.
You take a step back, but the wall is there and the crowd is there and he is still there, looking at you with that same helpless expression from yesterday like he can plead his way back into your good graces. âYou dropped your phone? What else did you drop, your common sense? Your sense of responsibility?â
âCome on, thatâs not fair. Youâre not even letting me apologise.â
âYou donât have a choice,â you snap back. You take a deep breath to reset your thoughts, exhaling out any emotion leaving your voice empty. âLook, I get it. We didn't start off on the same side and maybe you never really stopped feeling that way, even when I thought we were friends.
âY/Nââ
âMaybe it was my mistake for ever thinking that. So Iâm sorry Iâm so gullible.â Once you start, you find the words rushing out without much thought. Briefly, a small voice wonders if youâre really going to crash out like this in the middle of the busy science building, but oh well. Thereâs a twisted kind of satisfaction when you watch his face crumble. âI almost believed you really cared about whatever the fuck was happening between us, friendship orâwhatever the hell it was. If this was revenge for everything thatâs happened before, then youâre a real piece of shit, Satoru.â
âI said I was sorry.â
âAnd Iâm supposed to do what with that exactly?â
âBelieve me.â
You scoff. âWhy should I?â
His eyes widen a fraction and you press on.
âSeriously, why? You say things and you disappear and every time something important is about to happen, you leave. You act like I matter and then the second I start to believe it, youâre gone again. So why should I believe you now?â
âBecause Iâm here now,â he says, sharper than before.
You laugh. âNow. Youâre here now.â
âI came as fast as I could.â
âAnd I was supposed to know that how?â
His nostrils flare. âWhat do you want me to say?â
âWell, what am I supposed to think?â you demand. âBecause right now it kind of looks like you freaked out after yesterday and decided avoiding me was easier. So it's fine. I see now that you donât care about anything that was happening between us so, whatever. I donât care either.â
âThat's not true.â Gojo forces out through clenched teeth. his face tightens and for a second, he looks angry too, and the sight of it sends a mean little thrill through your chest because good. Good. Let him feel bad. âI do care.â
âBut not enough to show up to the day of the presentation?â You make noise of disbelief. âNot showing up doesnât even have anything to do with us, itâs just common sense if you care about your grades like I know you do!â
âExactly, so do you really think I wanted to miss out? Obviously I didnât want to miss out on 20% too!â
You canât help it, you feel petty and latch onto his words. âOh, so thatâs your biggest concern after all, huh?â
âDon't twist my words, you brought it up first.â He runs his free hand through his hair. âWhat are we even⌠look, I didnât want to make you present by yourself. Something just genuinely came up.â
You find a small part of yourself believing him. âWhat came up? a family emergency?â
He doesn't say anything. You laugh. Nothing about this is funny. You feel like youâre losing your mind. âOkay. Sure. Something came up. You definitely didnât do this to piss me off.â
He groans. âNot everything is about you.â
The silence after is immediate and total. His eyes widen almost at once, horror flashing across his face like he can hear himself only after the words are already out in the world.
He takes half a step forward. âWaitââ
âOkay, great.â
âI didnât mean to say that.â
âNo?â Your laugh comes out thin and shaky. âBecause it sounded pretty clear to me.â
âY/N.â
âIâm not making this about me, Satoru. You made it about me the second you promised something and then disappeared.â Your voice catches, but you force it steady again. âAll I did was believe you.â
He steps forward again, hand circling your wrist. You move to pull away but when you look up, you freeze.
He looks awful up close. Paler than usual, lips chapped, a faint shadow purpling the skin just above the collar of his shirt where fabric has shifted just enough to expose it. His hand on your wrist is warm, too warm, and his fingers are shaking.
A smarter, calmer version of you would ask why. This version however, only notices that he still wonât answer.
âWhat?â you ask, because your voice has to be empty or you will break. âWhat exactly do you want from me?â
He stares at you like the answer should be obvious.
âTime,â he says at last. âJust give me more time.â
For one beat, two, you canât even process his words. Then something hot and sharp tears through your chest.
âYou cannot be serious. more time?â you repeat disbelief making the words go thin. âYou say you care, you say you were trying, and then when I ask for one actual answer you tell me to wait. Again. Gonna tell me youâll tell me later again too?â
âJust listen to me for a second.â
âNo.â You take a shaky breath and it does nothing to steady you. âNo, I am so tired, Satoru. I am tired of feeling stupid around you, I always have. Iâm tired of guessing and Iâm tired of every conversation with you ending like this, with me standing here waiting for you to stop looking at me like thereâs something youâre dying to say but you wonât say it.â
âThat's not what this is.â
âThen tell me what it is!â
âI canât!â
The outburst turns heads this time and people slow as they pass. He notices a second too late and drags a hand over his face, breathing hard. When he speaks again, his voice drops, but it is no less intense for it.
âI canât,â he repeats. âNot here. Not like this.â
You press your lips together. âThen maybe whatever this is isnât worth it.â
The words shatter the conversation. You donât mean them and you know you donât mean them the second they leave your mouth. But youâre too proud, too hurt, to take them back and Gojo has gone still.
You watch the moment it lands, watch him stop moving altogether, even to breathe. His mouth parts then closes, and he looks at you like he doesnât recognise you for half a second, the sight making regret flash hot and immediate through your body.
âSatoruââ
A ringtone cuts through the air and you both freeze.
The sound of the ringtone is so familiar by now, a haunting melody that signals the end of almost every conversation youâve had with him. Your eyes follow the sound to his pocket.
He told you his phone broke. Something in you just gives.
You scoff at first, then laughter quickly follows. His face falls and he knows heâs lost you even before you shake his hold off, stepping back and looking away.
His hand moves toward his pocket and stops. âOkay, I know this is really bad but please just wait.ââEnough, Satoru. I donât know why youâre even making this that big of a deal,â you choke out, crossing your arms over your chest like itâll succeed in placing something stronger than your self-restraint between the two of you. âThe project is over whether you cared to show up or not.â
He flinches and you can practically see him split in two, body angled toward you while something else keeps him from moving. His jaw is tight, hand flexing uselessly at his side, eyes on yours like heâs trying to hold the moment together through sheer force.
âListen to meââ
âI need to get home,â you say.
He steps forward. âIâll walk you to the station.â
You actually laugh and when you speak, you hate how tired you sound, how flat. âWhy would you do that? I said the project is over, Gojo. And so is any reason for us to talk.
Gojo stiffens, arm falling slack to his side.
For a second, you think he might stop you or say something more. Instead, he just stands there, the phone finally gone silent in his pocket, his face stricken and too pale beneath the fluorescent lights.
You make it out of the building with your hands clenched and your mouth pressed into a thin line. The walk to the bus stop feels unreal, like moving through water. By the time you get there, your phone buzzes once and your heart lurches so hard it hurts.
shoko: u okay???
That bastard probably texted her about the situation. Of course he did. Somehow he could make time for that, but not for you. Something bitter and awful curls in your stomach.
You type back: âof course!!!!!!â because lying is contagious apparently, and add enough exclamation marks to make it look convincing before shoving your phone into your bag and sitting down when the bus pulls up to the curb.
The doors fold close and still, stupidly, some part of you looks up expecting him to be there.
Gojo should have known the two of you wouldnât talk after the argument.
There are no late-night calls anymore, no accidental lingering in the same space, no easy back-and-forth that used to slip so naturally between you, no watching you from the corner of his eye when he thinks you arenât paying attention. The silence that settles in the space left behind is slow and heavy and Gojo feels like heâs drowning.
He tells himself itâs for the best. Maybe he flew too close to the sun and now heâs melting and falling and nothing, not his spider instincts nor his web, can catch him. Youâre simply too radiant and too civilian for someone of his status quo.
But then if that was true, why does it get under his skin every time he sees you with Suguru, laughing together somewhere on campus? Why does something in him still ache whenever he comes across a tweet he knows would make you laugh, only to remember youâve blocked him? And why canât he stop thinking about how easy it used to be between you, back when you looked at him like he was someone worth knowing, before everything got so complicated?
And if he truly believed having you is as impossible as it seemed, then why was he following you back home?
Spiderman shakes his head, wishing he didnât have this restrictive masks on so he could run a hand through his hair and shake out his thoughts. Because he doesnât have any ulterior motives as he follows close behind, rooftop to rooftop, as you make your way back from campus, no matter how sinister it sounds. No, heâs simply making sure a kind, helpless civilian gets home safe now that the sun has set and night creeps in.
After all, youâre walking alone with your hands buried deep in your pockets and your shoulders curled in against the cold. He catches the slight shiver that runs through you, the quiet sneeze you try to stifle, the irritated little kick you give a loose rock after it nearly sent you stumbling. You look tired, closed off in a way he isnât used to, and it hurts him to believe it might be his fault.
âThis is stupid,â he reasons. âI look like a creep.â
Despite the truth of his words, he lingers above you anyway, haunted by the contrast of it all, the way you once smiled at him so easily, the way your face fell when he disappointed you, the softness of your voice when you left him. You look at Spiderman with a warmth and openness you no longer spare Gojo, and he hates how selfishly relieved he is to get even that much.
Fine. If you wonât have him as Gojo, heâll take being Spiderman.Â
Spiderman drops down in front of you in one smooth motion, feet hitting the pavement with a soft thud. âHeyââ
You move instantly, lunging forward to grab the back of his neck, other hand on his tricep, and hook your leg behind one of his. He blinks, standing upright one moment, before you pull his leg out from under him and heâs flipped onto his back on the ground.Â
Your face softens as you look down at your perpetrator. âWhat theâSpiderman?â
You quickly let go and step back before realising you should at least help him up. He takes your hand, standing up and rubbing his shoulder.Â
Kind and helpless civilian, my ass.Â
âAre you okay?â you fuss, hands hovering uncertainly. âI mean, that was kind of your fault for scaring me though. But are you okay? Seriously, donât do that ever again you could get hurt. But are you hurt?â
He winces, rolling his shoulder once more before chuckling. âThere goes any worries I might have had about you.â
âWhat are you doing here? Donât you have a city to save?â
Spiderman drops his hands to his side. âItâs strange because it sounds like you donât want me to be here.â
âIt took you this long to realise?â you tease with a smile.Â
âActually,â he says, quieter now, âI wanted to thank you.â
That catches you off guard enough to still. âFor what?âÂ
âFor all the help recently.â He lifts one shoulder in a careless half-shrug, but thereâs something more deliberate under it, something oddly sincere. âI donât usually do sidekicks. They steal all my thunder, and everybody knows the side characters end up more popular than the lead anyway. Bad for morale. But you came pretty close.â
âThat wasâŚâ You blink. âAlmost nice. Thanks?âÂ
âDonât get used to it. I have a reputation to maintain.â
âIs that what this is?â you ask. âA gratitude tour?â
âGod, no. I do enough free labour as it is.â He watches you laugh for a moment, eyes softening behind his mask before he says, âSo. Are you free right now?â
You narrow your eyes immediately. âIs this another deeply scientific survey on how normal civilians spend their evenings? Because your sample size is getting weirdly specific.â
He huffs a laugh and rocks back on his heels. âNot exactly. Although for the record, your data has been invaluable. Very compelling stuff. Lots of sarcasm. Mild threat level. Surprisingly strong upper body.â
âFlattery is not going to save you here.â You study him for a second. âWhat do you mean, then?â
He gestures vaguely down the street, then up at the skyline like he hasnât fully committed to the idea himself. âI mean⌠you look like youâve had a rough week, and Iâve had a rough week, and I thought maybe we could do something that doesnât involve property damage or mutual yelling.â
You raise an eyebrow. âGeez, that narrows it down a little, doesnât it?â
âIâm being serious.â
The joking edge in his voice softens into something a little more fragile and when you look at him more carefully, at the mask, at the battered suit, at the way heâs trying to sound casual about something he clearly thought through before showing up, you feel something warm blossom in your chest.Â
âAnd what,â you ask slowly, âdoes Spiderman do when heâs not concussed?â
He spreads his hands. âTonight? He was hoping to take a very pretty girl on a low-budget date.âÂ
You stare at him stunned before laughing softly, looking away before flickering your gaze back. âI bet you only say stuff like that behind the mask.â
âThat was smooth, you can be honest.â He grins behind the mask, you can hear it in the shape of his voice. âBut that complaint doesnât exactly sound like a no.âÂ
You look away again, toward the empty stretch of pavement ahead, the city washed in evening light and the first hints of neon waking up around you. You think of the hollow room waiting at the end of this street, your cold sheets and tear-stained pillow, and then of how light you suddenly feel standing here with him. It is not enough to erase everything, but it is enough to loosen something in your chest that has been wound painfully tight for days.
When you look back at him, youâre smiling despite yourself. âIâm free.â
âGreat,â he says immediately, a little too fast, then reins himself back in. âGreat. Cool. Cool, cool, cool. You said yes. Thatâs good, thatâs great, even.âÂ
You snort. âSo where are we going?â
He steps closer, lowering his voice like heâs about to let you in on a secret. âThat depends. Are you going to scream if I say I had something less walkable in mind?â
It takes a second for the meaning to land, and when it does you gesture sharply upward. âPlease donât tell me youâre slinging me up there again. Thatâs happened to me twice now and neither of those experiences were fun.â
âI wouldnât sling you,â he says, offended. âThat sounds so careless and crass. Iâd hold you very, very securely. In my arms, even.âÂ
âCan you even hold me? I just flipped you onto your back.âÂ
He laughs, then offers you his hand, gloved palm open between you. âCome on, just one swing. Iâll take it slow this time.â
You eye his hand, then his mask, then back to his hand. âYou didnât take it slow last time.â
âIn my defence, we were under attack by sentient goo both times. Be gentle with me.âÂ
You hesitate before gently placing your hand in his. âFine. But if I die, Iâll come back as a supervillain and haunt you specifically.âÂ
His fingers curl around yours, warm even through the suit.Â
âNo promises.â
Before you can second-guess yourself, he steps in, one arm sliding around your waist with practiced ease. The closeness knocks the breath from your lungs more effectively than the sudden lift when his feet leave the ground. You make a sharp noise and grab at his shoulders.Â
âThere it is,â he says, voice bright with delight and close to your ear. âThatâs the exact reaction I was hoping for. My masculinity is doing just great, by the way.â
âDo not make this about you,â you snap, though the words come out thinner than intended.
âBit hard not to,â he says lightly. âYou are, technically, in my arms.â
His web catches somewhere high above with a sharp thwip and you only have a moment to gasp out the beginnings of a final protest before the pavement drops away beneath you.Â
The city opens under you in one dizzying rush, all glowing traffic and dark rooftops and windows lit gold against the deepening blue of the evening. Your stomach lurches so violently youâre certain it gets left behind somewhere around the second floor of the nearest building, and your grip on his shoulders tightens with enough force to probably leave bruises through his suit.Â
âOh my God,â you choke out, voice snatched by the wind. âOh my God, Iâm flying. Oh my God, this is how I die.âÂ
He laughs, shameless and much too pleased with himself for someone who is holding your life in his hands. âThatâs a little grim. If youâd only open your eyes, youâd see how beautiful it is.âÂ
âOpen my eyes?â you repeat, incredulously. âSpiderman, my eyes will dry out and roll out of my head!â
His hold shifts just slightly, firmer at your waist as he catches another web and swings you both into a smoother arc. âTrust me,â he says, quieter this time, the teasing still there but softened around the edges. âJust for a second. Look.â
You crack your eyes open in narrow slits, and for one disorienting beat all you can really see is himâmask blurred at the edges, the line of his jaw beneath it, the hood rippling back with the force of the wind. Then your gaze drifts past him, out and down and everywhere at once.
Below, the harbour stretches out, black-blue and endless, broken only by the ribbons of reflected light from the bridge and the waterfront. Boasts sit like small, blinking stars, bobbing in the gentle waves, and the skyline curves around the edge of the bay, glittering and frankly unreal.Â
âThere,â he says, gentler now. âThatâs better. I told you Iâd take it easy this time.â
âYou said a lot of things,â you mutter, though some of the panic has begun to leak out of your voice replaced by quiet awe. âMost of them were stupid.â
âYeah, but were they charming stupid or just regular stupid?â
That manages to pull a short, unwilling laugh out of you, the gesture tipping your head back to look at the sky. The first stars are visible now, faint but there, and above them the clouds are smeared thin and silver. Then you look down at the water again, at how impossibly far below it is, and somehow that distance no longer terrifies you quite as much.
The water below catches the lights in broken gold, and he swings you through another perfect arc, close enough now that you can hear the faint slap of waves against the pylons. The city around you glitters as the sky deepens. His arm around your waist stays firm and sure, and with every swing your fear ebbs a little more, making room for something warm and foreign.Â
He must feel the change in you because after a moment, he turns his head just enough for his voice to reach you clearly.Â
âOkay,â he says. âNow that you trust me a little more, let me take you somewhere.âÂ
You lift your head to look at him. âSomewhere? I thought this was the date.âÂ
âThis is the foreplay.âÂ
You grimace, wishing you werenât being held hostage miles above deep water to pull back. âAnd just like that, Iâm dry.âÂ
He laughs, the sound warm and easy. âBut your complaining has finally stopped so Iâd take that as a win. And for the record, I meant thereâs more I still want to show you. Iâm not blowing my entire budget on just one dramatic entrance.â
The next arc carries you around the edge of a low building, and then the shape of it begins to emerge properly. The amusement park stretches out in front of you, lights flickering on as dusk settles fully. The ferris wheel looms overhead, its metal frame catching the last of the sunset, and with most of the rides closed, the whole place feels strangely eerie in its emptiness. But then the water catches the light in soft ripples, the sky deepens into indigo, the first stars begin to blink into view, and it becomes something quietly beautiful.Â
Spiderman watches you from the side, the light from the nearest streetlights in your eyes. His body is uncharacteristically still, mask tilted toward you.Â
âWoah,â you breathe out at last.Â
His shoulders relax just a fraction.Â
âYeah,â he says softly. âThought you might like it. And look, I reserved the entire place out for you. Itâs all yours for the entire night.â
âThatâs because itâs closed.âÂ
He grins and holds out his hand. âCome on. I know a way for you to get a view of the city high up and without your eyeballs drying out on you. Iâm trying to be accommodating now that I know youâre apparently very fragile about flying.â
âAs any normal person would, I fear.âÂ
You eye his outstretched hand and then at the pier around you. The place feels suspended in time, the shuttered stalls, the way the lights glow without the usual crowds to dull them.Â
âYouâre very confident for someone who almost got flipped onto concrete five minutes ago,â you say, but take his hand anyway.Â
âWhat can I say?â he shrugs, fingers warm as he interlaces them. âI trust you not to do it again. Weâre close like that, right? But seriously, can we stop bringing that up? Itâs a sensitive topic for me.âÂ
He leads you past a locked gate, showing off his lockpicking skills which prompts a raised brow and not the fawning he had initially expected, then to another gate to which you just had to look away from while he broke in. You walk beside him until heâs standing beneath the ferris wheel, metal bones creaking softly.Â
Spiderman glances up then looks back down at you, holding out his hand in a flourish.Â
âMy lady,â he says, dipping his head. âWould you care to have a go?âÂ
âReal original,â you say but donât protest when he guides you into one of the empty carriages.Â
It sways slightly as you settle in, the door closing with a soft sound. Then the wheel jerks once, twice, then starts moving ever so slowly. Your breath catches as the ground drifts away, the pier shrinking beneath, lights blurring into a soft constellation of their own. Thereâs no rush like when you were swinging, just a gentle, steady climb lifting you above the city skyline.
You lean forward, hands gripping the edge of the carriage as the city opens up before you. It stretches out endlessly, lights scattered like spilled glitter, the dark water reflecting everything through a dreamy haze.Â
âIs this what you see everyday?â you ask.Â
Spiderman hums, relaxing into the seat opposite you âMaybe something close adjacent.â
âWell itâs gorgeous. I canât believe I forgot how freeing it feels to go to amusement parks. Thereâs just something about being so high up, you know? But I guess I donât need to be telling you that.âÂ
âEnamoured already? We havenât even reached the top yet.â He stares at you for a moment. âOkay, pop quiz. Which do you like better, the ferris wheel or the swinging?âÂ
âDefinitely the ferris wheel.â
âThat hurts.â
You glance back at him over your shoulder to shoot him a cheeky grin. âWhy are you sitting on the other side? Is the view better over there?â
He tilts his head and looks at you for a beat too long. âYeah,â he says at last. âItâs pretty.â
He doesnât pull his gaze away from you and it takes a second for the words to land properly, and another second for the warmth in your face to catch up with them. You laugh softly, more because you need somewhere to put the sudden nervousness than because itâs especially funny.
âYouâre really pulling out all the stops today, arenât you?â Your gaze flicker from the view back to him. âIs this something you do with all the civilians you save? Iâd hate to embarrass myself by thinking Iâm special.âÂ
âWould you compliment me back if I said it was just you?âÂ
âMaybe. Are you telling the truth?âÂ
âYes.â He turns his body slightly so he can rest his elbow on the back of the seat, unabashedly staring right at you. âItâs just you.â
The carriage creaks softly. The wheel keeps turning and somewhere below, music too faint to make out drifts from some unseen speaker, somewhat staticky and distant.Â
With nothing else to do, you laugh again, buying you some much needed time to figure out what to say next. âIf you needed a boost to your ego, you could have just said so. You didnât have to bring me to a half-abandoned amusement park and make me stare at the harbour to get it.â
âAnd the compliment?â
âI guess youâre not as annoying as I initially assumed you were.âÂ
âMy ego definitely does not need the help,â he says easily. âAnd what kind of compliment is that? Give me something a little more impersonal.â
âYouâre humble,â you observe with a good mannered snort.Â
âIt comes with the whole superhero thing.â He continues to watch you until he realises that this prolonged eye contact should come with some form of conversation.
Spiderman sits up a little, crossing one leg over the other. HIs ankle dangles and bumps into yours, a mere accident that makes you freeze so your body doesnât move away.
âHow have you been doing?â he asks, and the question comes out with an almost awkward plainness to it, stripped of the usual easy swagger. A second later he seems to hear himself and tries to recover, lifting one shoulder. âYou seem a little quieter than usual. Not that Iâve been paying attention or anything. I just have, you know, a lot of care for the citizens of this city.â
The ferris wheel creaks as it carries you both a little higher, the lights of the pier shifting below in soft, sleepy colours. He watches you for a beat too long, and you know the joke gave him cover, but not much. The question is still sitting there between you, small and strangely careful.
You glance at him. âThat was subtle. Really invisible work there.â
âThank you,â he says. âI pride myself on my restraint. I couldâve been much creepier about it.â
âIâm sure that was difficult for you.â
âIt was,â he says with a sigh. âYou have no idea how hard Iâm working right now to seem normal.â
You look back out over the water, the lights trembling across the surface. âIâve been fine. Thatâs the official answer.â
âI think Iâve earned myself the unofficial answer,â he says quietly.Â
You fold your arms loosely over your middle. âItâs ridiculously stupid. Like, who hangs out with a superhero and starts ranting about their situationship?â
He makes a little choked sound which makes you look over in concern. He quickly covers his mouth and waves you on. âSituationship? I didnât know it would have counted as a situationship.â
You frown because what exactly does he know about what âitâ is? âItâs 2026, everyoneâs idea of love is warped. If it doesnât have a label then people will just slap the word âsituationshipâ over it and pray for the best.â
âRight, right. Please continue.âÂ
âWell, there was someone. Obviously.â You stop and let out a sigh, slumping. âOr maybe there wasnât and I just made him into someone in my head. I canât really tell anymore, itâs all just so messy. I thought maybe there was something there, I thought that was what everything was building up towards and then⌠we had this argument and it was honestly embarrassing looking back at it and now we donât talk. So.âÂ
âDid you want there to be something?âÂ
Ignoring the fact that youâre having a love life talk with Spiderman, of all people, you answer honestly. âOf course. I wouldnât be this annoyed if I didnât.â
Spiderman lets his head knock against the window as he groans. âOkay. That makes sense. That makes a lot of sense. Of course you wanted something, of course.â
You glance sideways at him. âWhy do you sound like that?âÂ
âSecond-hand sorrow.â
âI think they call that empathy.â
âI just think,â he says, his voice a little rougher now, âit wouldâve been easier if youâd said no. Iâm only saying that because Iâm looking out for you, obviously. As a public servant.â
You snort despite yourself but the heaviness settles back in quickly enough. âIt would have been easier if he just kept being an asshole like when it all started. If heâd just kept being a dick, then fine, whatever, I could have lived with that if I never found out the kind of guy he is. But he wasn't, he ended up being kind. And funny. And actually decent and that really pisses me off. He made me hopeful and I think that might be the worst part.â
Spiderman goes very still across from you, shoulders pulling tighter and chin dipping just slightly so heâs staring a hole through the floor of the carriage. When he finally speaks, his voice has gone quieter.
âYeah,â he says. âThat does sound pretty bad. Especially if he knew what he was doing.â
You frown. âI donât even know if he did. I canât tell if he was just oblivious, or if he really did mean something by it but then freaked himself over nothing.â
âThatâs not better,â Spiderman retorts. âThat makes him sound very pathetic.â
You look at him properly now, the dim lights from below catching on the higher points of his face. âYouâre taking this really personally for someone who doesnât know him.â
He lets out a short laugh. âMaybe I just have strong opinions about men disappointing women. Somebody has to, the bar is in hell.â
You exhale a laugh through your nose. âExactly.â
The carriage gives a small creak as it keeps moving and for a few creaky moments, neither of you say anything. The quiet isnât awkward, and he hasnât said enough to put you in your thoughts, but itâs quiet anyway. Then Spiderman clears his throat and leans forward, elbow braced on his knees.
âOkay, Iâm going to say one more thing about it and then Iâm going to stop being so emotionally available. It feels a little off brand to what we have going on.â
You snort. âSure, go for it.â
âI think,â he starts carefully, âthat if someone made you feel seen and hopeful for more and then disappeared, youâre allowed to think heâs a jerk. You donât have to make excuses just because he also had some good qualities. Because being kind in some moments doesnât cancel out making you feel abandoned in others. But maybeâŚâ
He takes a breath. âDonât give up on him. Please.â
For some reason, the sincerity in his voice makes you pause.
Damn, so even superheroes experience situationships? Because he sounded really invested just then in a way that can only be explained as first-hand experience. You wonder what kind of person could break Spidermanâs heart like that.
âThanks for the love advice, Spiderman.â
He nods solemnly. âNo problem.â
And because the entire situation is simply too ridiculous to keep a straight face, you laugh. He smiles too, watching you for a moment before letting out his own laugh.
âThere you are,â he says. âI was wondering what other crimes Iâd have to commit tonight to fix the mood.â
âWeâre going to have to circle back and talk about the lockpicking eventually.â
âAs long as it isnât today.â
The carriage gives a gentler, longer groan as it continues descending. You let your head tip back against the seat and, almost absentmindedly, your eyes drift out toward the skyline again. You frown.
âOh.â
He looks out too. âThat sounded like a bad oh. What kind of oh was that?â
You look past him, past the window, toward the stretch of harbour and the city beyond. âI think we missed the top.â
He blinks. âWhat?â
âThe peak,â you say, sitting forward. âThe very top of the ferris wheel? We were talking and I didnât even notice weâd already gone over it.â
âOh wow, that guy is the worst. He stole your ferris wheel climax too.â
âIs it also part of your superhero job description to ruin every moment with some sexual innuendo?â
He lifts both hands. âOkay, fair, Iâm having a bad wording night. But this is hard on me okay? I arrange a beautiful nighttime ferris wheel, I listen supportively while you talk about another man, and still somehow Iâm the bad guy.â
âRight? How do you do it?â
The carriage is nearly at the bottom now. Below, the pier glows in soft strings of light and you feel a strange sense of finality when it shudders to a stop. Before you can maneuver around a âthanks for tonight, see you first thing in the morning!â, Spiderman leans forward.
âDonât look so ready to go just yet, thereâs still the aftercare part.â
You sigh but donât berate him. âThereâs still more? Someone save me.â
The carriage door clicks open with a soft metallic sound. He stands first and offers you his hand again, less theatrical this time, and more sincere.
âCome on,â he says, voice soft in the wind. âDonât go home yet. Stay with me a little longer, thatâs all Iâm asking. Let me be the part of tonight you remember better.â
You look at the hand heâs still holding half between you. Then, before you can overthink it, you slip your hand into his.
âBut only because Iâm curious what exactly counts as better.â
He turns his hand, catching yours properly, and something in your stomach flips at the gesture.
âGood,â he says, low and warm. âBecause Iâve been trying very hard all night not to ask too obviously.â
You lied before. Swinging is leaps and bounds better than sitting stationary in a small carriage inching along at a snailâs pace. Itâs exhilarating and freeing, and yes, your eyes still hurt when you open them too wide, but youâve figured out the perfect amount of squinting to keep them from tearing up. Instead, you whoop and cheer as he swings you in high arcs and dramatic drops, skimming close enough to the ground that you might believe the end of your life is waiting there, if not for your growing trust that Spiderman will always pull you back up.
Half your screams are still terror, though.
Spiderman isnât silent either. He laughs right into your ear when you cling to him tighter, praises you when you throw your head back and cheer, and points out his favourite places to sit and watch the sunrise. He complains that the cityâs architecture doesnât cater nearly enough to his swinging needs, as though that should have been a priority in urban planning. He carries you over a football stadium and you marvel at its size, the bright field below looking almost unreal from up here.
âThink you can handle a little more?â he murmurs against your ear.
High on adrenaline, you nod against his neck.
Then he drops you.
His arms slide out from under your knees and he quickly unwinds your hands from around his neck. One moment you are safe in his hold, and the next you are falling, a heavy body surrendered to gravity as the ground rushes up to meet you. Your scream could wake the whole city if it were not already awake.
You look up. The sky above is vast, endless, strewn with stars so beautiful they almost make you forget the terror roaring through you. The wind screams in your ears, your clothes snapping against your body, and somewhere inside the panic there is a strange, suspended calm that feels almost like freedom.
Just before the ground can meet your back, Spiderman swoops in from the side and catches you cleanly in his arms. The force of it steals another cry from you, but then he is already pulling you upward again, the momentum sweeping you into another great arc before gravity draws you back, over and over until the motion finally begins to slow.
For one suspended moment, the two of you dangle in the air, saved from certain death by nothing but the web shot from his wrists. Metres above the ground, your life held so easily in someone elseâs hands, you find that you feel no fear at all.
In fact, you are laughing.
It starts as a breathless, disbelieving sound, then spills into something uncontrollable, and he chuckles at first before his own laughter joins yours. You laugh until your lungs ache, until your face hurts, until all you can feel is the warmth of his breath against your cheek and the solid certainty of his arms around your back.
He makes no move to set you down or sling you back to safety. Instead, he only keeps you there, held against his chest, his masked face angled down toward yours. You want to believe he is looking at you the way you are looking at him, full of wonder and something even softer than that, but it is hard to be certain when his face is hidden.
Your laughter dwindles into one last helpless giggle as you peer up at him. âNice catch.â
Your gaze drops from the white of his eyes to the shape of the mask stretched over the bridge of his nose, the faint outline of his mouth beneath the fabric. There has not been a single moment in your strange, ridiculous friendship with Spiderman when you have been so curious about who he is under that mask.
âThanks,â he says, his voice warm and low. âI kind of do this for a living.â
You laugh softly, and he shivers when your breath mists against the fabric over his lips.
âDo you remember when you first saved me?â you ask.
âYes, I slammed into a bus stop and ruined it forever. I also remember telling you to never mention that again,â he says immediately.
You nod, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. âWe were so different back then. I almost thought you were shy the amount of times you ran away.â
He is quiet for just long enough to make your chest tighten. Then, softly, âPretty girls fluster me.â
You snort, but thereâs no hiding the warmth that spreads across your face, and for once you make no move to cover it. Let him see it. Let him know the effect he has on you, just how fiercely this thing burns within you, this aching desire to hold him close, to whisper his name and feel him shiver beneath your touch.
Slowly, as if afraid to snap the fragile thread of tension between you, you pull your hand away from your chest and trail it up the side of his neck, your touch feather-light.
You hear his breath catch. Feel it, too.
Your fingers drift higher until your palm cups his cheek through the mask. âI want to know who you are,â you say softly.
He flinches. âYou canât.â
âWhy not?â you ask, voice gentle. âYou donât trust me?â
âThatâs not it.â
âReally?â Your thumb brushes the edge of his jaw. âBecause I wouldâve accepted that as an answer.â
He goes oddly still. âWhat?â
Spidermanâs stunned silence makes you smile, and a quiet laugh slips out of you at how easy he is to read despite the mask. âWhatâs wrong? Iâve read the comics. Iâve seen the movies. I know what happens when the superhero reveals his identity.â You tip your head, eyes never leaving him. âSomething bad always follows. Itâs like punishment for their hubris. The main companion dies, or the hero has to choose between their lover and the world. It always ends in tragedy.â
He recovers quickly enough, his arms tightening around your waist as if instinctively holding you closer. âYou think I couldnât save both you and the world?â
You ignore the implications of his words, biting back a smile. âAnd that would be the hubris part.â
He scoffs, though the sound comes out a touch too strained to be convincing. âThatâs not why I canât tell you my identity, princess.â
âThen tell me why.â Your voice drops lower, soft as breath. âBecause right now it feels like youâre making up rules as you go.â
He hesitates. It is brief, but not brief enough.
âYou wouldnâtâŚâ He swallows. âYou wouldnât feel the same. It would change things. It would change whatever this is.â
You go quiet at that, mulling the words over. Then your hands drift from his neck to rest lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath the suit.
Looking up at him, you hum. âDo I know you?â
Spiderman flinches again. âNo.â
You laugh softly at how bad he is at lying. âAlright. Are we friends?â
He doesnât react quite as strongly to that, which tells you enough to keep going.
âDo we not get along?â
âHold onââ
You immediately compose a mental list of all those who had once wronged you in some way. Some were easy to recall, their offences more recent like the cyclist that had rode past you one morning and knocked your coffee out of your hands leaving you confused and uncaffeinated for class, or your neighbour who is always throwing parties. Maybe itâs someone closer to you than that, like Naoya, or Toji, or Mei Mei, or that old lady that always comes in at 8am on a Thursday and routinely complains about her coffee not being hot enough. You frown at that last thought and Spiderman catches it, opening his mouth to stop you.
âAre you a student, orââ
He hisses loud enough to cut you off. âDonât guess. Donât you dare. If you have to know, itâll be because I told you, not because you stumbled into it by accident.â He pauses, then adds, more mutinously, âAnd I definitely donât need to hear who you think I am. Iâm sure you can imagine how terrible that might be for my ego.â
You tilt your head, amused. âI get that, but I was only going to ask ifââ
âNo.â
âBut Iââ
âI said no.â
âSpiderman.â Your tone sharpens just enough to shut him up. âI was going to ask if youâre that old lady who always demands her coffee be molten before I hand it over. You know, the one who acts like I personally invented workplace safety regulations.â
Spiderman doesnât say anything for a long while. âWhat?â
You laugh under your breath. âI definitely told you about her before. Orââ you pause, smiling to yourself, âtold you about you, maybe. The one who always comes through drive-thru.â
âPrincess,â he says dryly, âI am not sixty years old.â
âPerfect,â you reply. âThen Iâm sure I wouldnât otherwise care who you are.â
And then heâs laughing. It bursts out of him bright and helpless, so sudden and genuine that it makes something in your chest go warm and dizzy. His head tips back, the white lenses of the mask curving with the shape of his smile, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep your own grin from widening too much. If he laughed in your face every day for the rest of your life, you think you might let him, if only to know that thisâhim, here, nowâis real.
Heâs talking again, you realise belatedly, his mask shifting with the movement of his mouth, but the words barely register. Youâre too busy watching the fabric stretch and crease, too aware of how close he is, how little separates you now.
Your fingers trail back up the side of his neck, and that silences him instantly.
Despite all his earlier objections, he stills completely when your hand settles there. Your thumb grazes the seam where mask meets suit, and you stop, glancing up at him.
âCan I?â
âYou canât,â he whispers, just as softly, though he doesnât move away. If anything, his hand only tightens on your waist.
âI wonât look, I promise.â Your thumb traces small circles against his neck, your gaze locked on his. âI just want to touch you.â
He shivers. You feel it run through him, sharp and involuntary.
He says your name in a low rumble, the sound almost enough to undo you on its own. âThis is a bad idea.â
âIf you tell me to stop, I will.â Looking down, you slip the tip of your finger beneath the narrow break between his bodysuit and the edge of his mask.
âMy arm is going to cramp,â he mutters weakly, and the attempt at humour only makes your smile deepen.
You begin to peel the mask back. Just a little at first, just enough to reveal the bare line of his neck and feel the tense muscle there. Your fingertips glide over the exposed skin, and his breath catches again, but he still doesnât stop you.
You wonder how far heâll let you go.
You lift the mask higher, over the line of his jaw, and your eyes snag there before they can help it. Then over his mouth, where you pause for the briefest second, struck silent by the sight of him, before leaving the fabric gathered just beneath his nose.
He tries for a smirk and you watch it form. âWas that all you wanted to see?â
You lean in slowly, stopping just short of him to gauge his reaction. When he doesnât move away, you close the distance until your nose brushes his.
âFor now,â you whisper.
His eyes search yours through the mask, and whatever he finds there makes his mouth flatten into something almost pained.
âIâm not going to do anything you donât want,â you murmur, and though you mean it, there is a terrible hollow ache opening in your chest now. Gojoâs face flashes uninvited through your mind and you shove it back, determined to bury it, though itâs clear enough from the way Spiderman goes tense that you havenât done nearly as good a job as youâd hoped.
You donât want to use him like this.
Over the past few months, Spiderman has become something steady in your life, a source of comfort in ways you never expected. Maybe it is because he has no face, no fixed place in your world, no history to complicate things. Maybe thatâs why you have been able to tell him things you canât even bring yourself to say to your friends.
And now you are asking him for something you cannot take back. Still, your fingers curl into the fabric of his suit.
âPlease.â
He moves before you can prepare for it, leaning in so suddenly your breath catches, your startled yelp cut off by the harsh press of his lips against yours.
For one disorienting second, all thought disappears. Then he kisses you again, harder this time, and your hand flies up to hold him there, fingers tangling against his neck as though you can keep the moment from slipping away. His mouth is warm and real and a little clumsy with restraint, like he wants more and is trying very hard not to take it. The hand at your waist tightens, enough to make your pulse jump.
And then he groans into the kiss, fierce and guttural before pulling away. The break leaves you both panting.
You donât speak at first but neither does he. You just stare at one another, lips swollen, breath unsteady, the last minute catching up all at once in a rush so overwhelming it feels almost unreal.You are already leaning in again before you fully register it, drawn by instinct more than thought, wanting to close the distance and do it all overâ
When suddenly gravity shifts.
You let out a startled scream as the ground drops from under you and you pitch forward into him. His arms close around you automatically, holding you flush against his chest as the city begins to move beneath you.
âWhat are youââ
âIâm taking you back,â he says, voice rough.
âWhat?â You twist, trying to look up at him, but he keeps you tucked in tight against him. âWait a minute!â
âIâm dropping you back at your dorm.â
âHold on a second!â
âI canât.â The words come out strained, almost frayed at the edges, and because his voice sounds like thatâbecause the kiss is still there between you, lingering like heatâyou let your protests falter.
The flight back is too quick. When he finally sets you down outside your dorm, your legs feel unsteady for more reasons than one. The second your feet hit the ground, your hands shoot to his arms, keeping hold so he canât just disappear again.
âYou didnât want it?â
He doesnât answer immediately, but with the mask still pushed halfway up, you see the way his jaw clenches.
The truth hits you all at once, sharp and humiliating and you find your lips, once pressed against him, now forming the sound of an apology. âIâm sorry it was bad.â
He makes a vague movement, like he wants to run a hand through his hair and has only just remembered the mask. âThatâs not it.â
âThen what is it?â The desperation in your voice makes you cringe the moment you hear it, but itâs too late to take back.
He looks at you for a long, silent moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is unbearably soft.
âYou said it yourself, didnât you? Revealing my identity would only hurt you.â
Your grip on his arms tightens. âIâm fine with that. I donât need to know who you are. It doesnât matter.â The words rush out now, tripping over each other. âThe one Iââ You falter, heart hammering. âThe one I care about is you.â
Spiderman watches you wordlessly as you trip over your own tongue. Then, after a beat that feels much longer than it is, he says, âI never said it was your mistake.â
You inhale sharply and, before you can think better of it, lean in and steal a kiss from his lips. There isnât enough time to consider what the hell youâre doing because he answers immediately.
Whatever hesitation heâd been clinging to burns away the second your mouth meets his, seared off by heat and want and the unmistakable fact that this is really happening. This kiss is nothing like the last. It is harder, hungrier, and when his hand catches your wrist to pull you closer, it still doesnât feel like enough. A low groan tears from him into your mouth, impatient and wrecked, and then heâs biting lightly at your bottom lip as though restraint is already slipping through his fingers.
You gasp, and he takes the invitation immediately. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, coaxing every breathless sound from you until your whimpers are swallowed down by him. Still, it isnât enough. How could it be? Not when he finally has you in his arms like this after wanting you for so long, after all the distance and hurt and wrong timing. His body urges you back a step, then another, until your shoulders brush the wall and he follows, crowding you there.
His hands slide up your waist and back down again, settling hard at your hips, while the other cups your jaw to hold you steady for the fierce, dizzying press of his mouth. You cling to him like he is the only solid thing in the world, and maybe right now he is. Your knees have gone weak enough that you donât trust them to hold you without him.
A crash sounds somewhere in the alley below.
You jolt, teeth catching accidentally against his lip. He groans at the sting but pulls back, shooting the darkness beyond the window a withering glare like he could kill whatever interrupted him. You follow his line of sight, but nothing else happens. The alley settles back into stillness. After a second, he exhales and leans down until his forehead rests against yours.
âYou should probably check that out,â you murmur, more to break the thick, dizzy silence than out of any real conviction.
He hums, the sound warm against your skin. âThen why arenât you letting me go?â
Only then do you realise your fingers have curled tight into the front of his suit. They only tighten further, pathetic and needy in a way youâd usually hate, but his answering chuckle is filthy and starved enough to make warmth bloom through you.
âStay,â you whisper.
âOkay,â he says softly. âI wonât go.â
You shake your head and lift it just enough to meet the white gaze of his mask, your own eyes dropping to his mouth for the briefest second. âNo. Stay.â
He doesnât need to be told twice.
His hand slips from your cheek and a second later a web shoots from his wrist and catches on the frame of your third-floor window. His other arm locks around you and suddenly heâs lifting you with him.
Getting through the window is clumsy and breathless and far less graceful than the way he moves through the city. One of your shoes catches on the ledge, his shoulder bumps the frame, and you have to slap a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from laughing too loudly. It feels absurdly scandalous, sneaking through your own window like this, and the absurdity only makes it worse.
He climbs in first, then turns immediately and offers you his hand. You take it with less hesitation than before, and he guides you through carefully, steadying you the moment your feet touch the floor, and for a second he doesnât let go. He just keeps hold of you, standing close in the dimness of your room, eyes fixed on your face.
âAre you sure?â he asks.
You donât hesitate. âI wouldnât have kissed you if I wasnât.â
Something in him softens at that, though his voice stays low. âI still canât let you see me.â
You shake your head and close your eyes before your nerve can fail you. Your hands rise to the seam of his mask. âTrust me.â
And because he does, he lets you pull it away.
Truthfully, thereâs a moment where temptation almost gets the better of you. He's right there, close enough to touch, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his skin and the shape of his mouth. Youâre touching him, your tongue has been inside his mouth and now you know his taste intimately. All it would take is a moment of weakness and the opening of your eyes to finally know who has been under the mask this entire time. Just one peek, one action to end the curiosity. Still, you hold yourself back.
Donât ruin the moment.
A soft chuckle brushes your lips, his bare breath warm against them now that the mask is out of the way. You steady your hands against his chest and feel the frantic pound of his heart beneath your palms. He shivers at the contact.
He tries to be patient, he really does. Tries to make this moment careful, almost reverent, like you deserve. But Gojo is greedy. Heâs greedy for your attention, for the spark in your eyes to flare up the moment his eyes lock on yours, heâs greedy for your touch, the brushing of fingers when you pass him his coffee in the morning, for that smile that you only ever seem to give him when heâs Spiderman. He is greedy for this version of you, soft and wanting and close enough to ruin him.
His brow twitches, something cruel twisting in his stomach and he traces the seam of your lips with his tongue, pushing in even before you open your mouth to him.
His tongue finds yours again before he can stop himself, the kiss turning deeper, hungrier. He presses you back against the window, one hand bracing against the sill behind you so the edge doesnât dig into your spine while the other settles hard at your waist. He devours you completely, nothing tentative about him now. He kisses you like heâs starving as all his late night fantasies, your name on his tongue and his hand wrapped around his cock, become finally realised when he tastes you.
You lightly tap his arm, and he pulls back to let you breathe but his lips donât leave you for long.
âGod, I've wanted you for so long.â he nuzzles your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. His hardness presses against your thigh, leaving you with no doubts about his words. "I canât stop thinking about you, every time I close my eyes, youâre there. You're haunting me.â He continues to confess between heated kisses along your jawline.
The utter longing in his voice, the depraved desperation as he presses impossibly closer, hands wanting to trace up your side but to also push you up into him, the heat of his mouth against your pulse point, itâs all too much and you let out a whimper.
He groans softly against your skin, his restraint fraying even further at the noise.
âStop teasing me,â you gasp, tilting your head to give him more room and hating how needy you sound.
His answer is rough and low. "I canât help it.â
Deciding youâve had enough of him making you melt where you stand, you push at him instead. He lets himself be moved, following your blind guidance as you walk him backwards toward where you think your bed is. When the backs of his legs hit the mattress, he sits, and his fingers curl around your wrist to tug you closer between his knees.
Your hands find his face again, fumbling slightly as they trace bare skin for the first time. The line of his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, the shape of a face you still refuse to see. He lets you explore him in silence, stilling beneath your touch in a way that feels almost unbearably intimate, pressing a kiss to your palm when your hand drifts closer to his mouth.
Your fingers linger on the warmth of his skin, tracing the soft curve of his lips before dipping lower, brushing against the sharp line of his jaw. He's so still under your touch, like he's afraid one wrong move will shatter this fragile moment, and it sends a thrill through youâthe power you hold, even blinded. With your eyes closed, it blocks out everything but sensation, heightening every graze of your fingertips, every hitch in his breath. You can feel the rapid thump of his pulse beneath your palm, matching the frantic beat of your own heart.
He tilts his head slightly, nuzzling into your hand like a dog seeking affection, and the vulnerability in that small gesture makes your chest tighten. This masked hero, the one who swings through the city saving lives, is reduced to thisâpanting softly, body tense with barely contained need. It's intoxicating, knowing you can unravel him like this.
âYou're killing me,â he murmurs, voice rough and low, laced with that desperate edge that makes your core clench. His hands slide up your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just below the hem of your skirt, not pushing further but holding you there, grounding himself. âPlease donât stop here, touch me more.â
Your finger grazes his boner through the tight fabric of his suit and he hisses, bowing inward.
âShit!â
You pause. âA thought has occurred.â
He lets out a long suffering sigh. âPlease donât ruin the mood.â
You laugh softly, dragging your nails over his erection over and over, drinking in every flinch you feel from where youâre pressed against him. âI canât help you if youâre still in this⌠spandex.â
Spiderman huffs again but you feel him pull back and unzip his suit, wherever that zipper might be. âIâm so glad you canât see me right now. There was no way I could get out of this suit in a hot way.â
âTrust me, my imagination isnât doing you any favours either.â You pause. âDo you have to wear a thong under your suit?â
âThe mood was really good five seconds ago. Don't ruin it because youâre curious about what Iâm wearing underneath.â
You giggle and your nerves evaporate. Sure, youâre about to have sex with the friendly neighbourhood Spiderman and that might forever change the trajectory of your relationship with him, but at least itâs still him. When he sits back on the bed and guides you forward, you follow him without a second thought and kneel between his legs.
âWhat are youâoh fuck.â He inhales sharply, hands never leaving you for long as they find purchase in your hair. âFuck, you look so pretty.â
His thumb traces your bottom lip, feeling it give way under his touch. He curses again. âI need your mouth on me, pretty girl.â
You laugh at his eagerness and reward his honesty with your hands down his chest, breath quickening when he lets out a small sigh as your fingers graze his lower stomach. You allow yourself the time to trail a finger down his bare chest now that he is free from his spandex, marveling at the muscle you find tensing under your touch.
Eventually, you find the waistband of his boxers. âSo you do wear boxers?â
âY/N, please. The mood.â
You tug his boxers down, slightly upset you canât see the way his cock swings up, finally free from its restraints. The sounds he makes compensates and you find it hard to stay disappointed as he groans, the hand in your hair closing around to tug you impatiently towards his dick.
âSorry,â he mumbles, eyes heavy-lidded as he watches you. Despite his apology, he doesnât make an effort to loosen his hold that much.Â
You drag your hands up his thighs to find where they converge. You wrap your fingers around him, feeling out his shape. If he asked in that narcissistic way of his, youâd tell him heâs average size. Truthfully, heâs thicker and longer than youâd dare to admit, the slight curve a feature that has you pressing your thighs together.
He bucks involuntarily, a whine escaping his lips that sounds so damn needy it makes you wetter.
âTake your time,â he manages to grit out though itâs breathless. âIâm not going anywhere.â
You wonder who heâs talking to because youâre sure as hell not going to take your time. Instead, you lean in closer, your breath ghosting his length and smell himâmusky and hot after being trapped in that suit for so long.
âYouâre shaking already,â you whisper. âHavenât you ever had a girl on her knees for you?â
He doesn't answer, just lets out a shaky exhale, his hands fisting the sheets beside him. The silence is answer enough, and it makes you laugh, hard enough to be distracted by the pathetic twitch his cock gives at his own humiliation.
âNo way? The amazing Spiderman gets no game? My god, I almost feel sorry for you,â you coo mockingly, tongue flicking out to lap at the bead of pre-cum on his tip. He jolts, a strangled gasp ripping from his throat, you smile against his flushed skin. âAll that heroic web-slinging but no oneâs ever taken care of this?â
Before he can respond, you take him into your mouth, lips sealing around the head as you suck gently. He tastes salty and slightly bitter, but the way he gasps all high and desperate makes you hum in approval, the vibration drawing another shiver from him. Your hands brace on his thighs, nails digging in as you bob your head, taking him deeper inch by inch. Heâs not huge but heâs certainly responsive, hips twitching like he canât help it, fucking shallowly into your mouth.
âShitâoh God, your mouth!â His words dissolve into a groan, his hand tightening in your messy strands.
You hollow your cheeks, tongue swirling around the underside, tracing the vein that pulses against it. With your eyes closed, every sensation is amplified, the wet sounds of your sucking, the salty drip down your throat, the way his cock twitches on your tongue.
You pull back slightly, letting spit string from your lips to his tip, and pump him with your hand, remembering to twist a little at the top.
âThereâs no way youâre going to cum already, are you?â Once again, you desperately wish to see him, to see him writhing under your touch, flushed with his eyes rolling back.
âDonât stop,â he begs, voice cracking.
You oblige, leaning back down to swallow around him, nose brushing the coarse hair at his base. He smells like sweat and arousal, and you gag a little when he thrusts too eagerly, but you don't pull away. Instead, you moan, letting him feel how much you want this, how his desperation turns you on.
His free hand claws at the bed, knuckles white, and you can feel the tension coiling in his body, the way he's fighting not to come too soon. You speed up, slurping obscenely, one hand slipping down to cup his balls, rolling them gently. He cries outâactually cries outâhead thrown back, and you feel powerful, desired, even as the mean streak in you wants to edge him until he breaks.
But youâre aching too, pussy throbbing with neglect and its slickness soaks your thighs. You pop off him with a wet sound to which he whines in protest, hips jerking forward seeking more.
âNot yet,â you say breathlessly and rise to your feet to push him back fully onto your bed.
He goes willingly, sprawling out with the audible sounds of his pants. You climb over him, straddling his waist, and grind your soaked panties against his thick length. The friction makes you both moan, his hands flying to your hips to hold you there.
âPlease,â he pants. âLet me touch you. I need toââ
You cut him off with a kiss, letting him taste himself from where your mouth met his cock. Itâs messy and you rock against him harder, chasing that pressure on your clit. But itâs not enough. You need more.
Pulling back, you guide one of his hands between your legs, pressing his fingers against your clothed pussy. âFeel how wet I am? Itâs all for you. Now do something about it.â
His fingers tremble as they slip under the fabric and brush against your folds, making you hiss at the contact. Heâs clumsy at first, virgin nerves showing in the hesitant circles he rubs over your clit, but the sensation burns with your eyes closed, turning every awkward stroke into fire. You grind down to guide his rhythm and he learns fast, thumb pressing firmer, two fingers finding your entrance.
âLike this?â he asks, voice small and eager, and you nod, biting your lip to stifle a moan as he pushes inside.
Heâs not skilled, all bumping knuckles, but God does the stretch feel good. You clench around him, riding his hand, the wet squelch filling the room.
âFaster,â you demand, and he obeys, curling them experimentally, hitting that spot that makes your thighs quake. Sensory deprivation turns it overwhelming, leaving you drowning in the slide of his fingers, the heat of his palm grinding against your clit. You whimper as the pleasure builds and he drinks in every sound, pumping harder, thumb flicking relentlessly.
âYouâre so tight,â he murmurs in awe, free hand roaming your body, squeezing your breast through your shirt, pinching the nipple until you arch. âSo wet for me. Fuck, I could do this all night.â
But you canât wait anymore. You shove his hand away, panting, and fumble with your clothes, stripping off your top and skirt, panties last. He helps, clumsy but enthusiastic, suit peeled down to his hips. Naked now, you feel exposed and vulnerable, but his hands are everywhereâstroking your sides, cupping your ass, pulling you down.
He positions himself between your legs, leaning down to kiss you deeply while his hands memorise your curves, gliding them over your soft skin. Itâs not enough. You roll your hips against him, trying to press him in, seeking that friction you desperately need.
Spiderman lets out a low groan against your ear, his control slipping at your eager movements. He pulls back to watch, to drink in the sight of you writhing under him, at your hands fumbling desperately at his arms to draw him back in.
âGive me a second,â he mumbles. âI want to take my time with you.â
âPlease donât,â you whine. Itâs infuriating, having him so close you can feel his heat against your skin and yet, it only emphasises the emptiness inside you. âPlease just touch me.â
âIâve got you, baby.â Unable to resist your needy sounds any longer, he finally gives in. He readjusts his position, guiding himself to your entrance. He thrusts up slightly, his dick gathering your slick at his tip, the both of you moaning at the friction. âTell me what you want, Y/N. I need to hear how badly you need me.â He all but pleads, repeating the action over and over, eyes closed shut at every nudge against your clit.
You whimper, fingers finding purchase on his biceps. âIâm not going to beg you, jerk.â
He ruts up, the tip catching on your entrance and you almost believe itâs in until it slides right past. âBeg me,â he pleads again, mouth planting desperate kisses at your neck.
The teasing drags on, his cockhead slipping through your folds, bumping your clit with every shallow thrust, but never filling you. It's torture, the heat of him so close, the slick sounds obscene in the quiet room. You buck up, trying to impale yourself, but he holds your hips down, chuckling breathlessly against your throat.
âCome on,â he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. âJust say it. Tell me you want my cock inside you.â
Your pride wars with the ache until itâs finally too much. âFine,â you gasp, nails raking his back. âFuck me. Please, justâput it in. I need it.â
The words break him. With a guttural moan, he lines up and thrusts in, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. You're stretched full, walls fluttering around his thickness, and you cry out, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper.
âOh God, yes,â he groans, stilling for a moment to adjust, forehead pressed to yours. âYouâre perfect. So fucking tight.â
You clench around him deliberately, and he whines, that puppy-like desperation surfacing again.
âMove,â you plead as you rock up, and he does, pulling out halfway before slamming back in. The pace starts slow, experimental as his inexperience shows in the uneven rhythm. But it builds, thrusts deepening, the bed creaking under you. Each snap of his hips grinds his pubic bone against your clit, and with your eyes closed, itâs all you can focus on: the slap of skin, the wet glide of his cock, the way he fills you completely.
He buries his face in your neck, kissing and sucking marks into your skin, hands gripping your thighs to spread you wider. âFeels so good,â he mumbles between thrusts. "Like you were made for me. Canât believeâfuckââ
The tension coils tight in your belly, pleasure spiking with every plunge. Heâs hitting deep now, tip kissing your cervix, and you arch sharply.
But heâs greedy, wanting more, always more. One hand slips between you to find your clit again, rubbing in tight circles that make stars burst behind your eyelids. âCum for me,â he pleads, voice hoarse. âWanna feel you squeeze my dick. Please, Y/N.â
The command, laced with desperation, tips you over. You shatter, pussy convulsing around him, milking his cock as waves crash through you. He follows seconds later, thrusting erratically before spilling inside, hot spurts painting your walls. He doesnât even stop then, instead opting to slowly grind against your ass to push it all in. Finally, he collapses onto you as you both pant, bodies slick with sweat.
For a moment, thereâs only the aftershocks and his softening cock still twitching inside you. Then he lifts his head and kisses you softly, reverently.
âThat was incredible,â he whispers.
You smile lazily, fingers tracing his jaw once more. âYeah?â
He doesnât pull out right away, staying buried deep as his breathing evens out, like he can't bear to leave your warmth. His hands roam lazily now, no longer frantic but exploratory as he maps out the dip of your waist, the swell of your breasts. You must possess some kind of iron will because you keep your eyes closed even then such that you can feel every callus on his palms, every tremble in his touch. Itâs intimate, this post-climax haze, and it stirs something softer in you despite the teasing edge you cling to.
âYou're still hard,â you murmur, shifting your hips experimentally and feel him twitch inside you. He groans, low and needy, burying his face in your shoulder.
âCanât help it,â he admits, voice muffled. âYou feel too good. Like... I donât want to stop. Ever.â
The confession hangs there, vulnerable and raw, and you canât resist poking at it.
âAw, puppy,â you coo, running your fingers through his hair.
He nips at your collarbone in retaliation, but thereâs no bite to it. âYou like it,â he says, confidence peeking through the desperation. âThe way I beg. Admit it.â
You huff, but your body betrays you, clenching around him again. He takes it as an invitation and starts to rock slowly, shallow thrusts that keep him seated deep. Itâs lazy and sensual and builds up friction without urgency.
âMaybe,â you concede breathlessly, hands guiding his head. âBut donât think it makes you special.â
âLiar.â He chuckles against your skin, the vibration sending tingles down your spine.
His pace picks up slightly, one hand sliding down to where youâre joined, thumb circling your oversensitive clit. You gasp, the pleasure sharp after your orgasm, but he doesnât stop, drawing out whimpers you canât suppress.
The room fills with the soft sounds of your shared breaths, the wet slide of him moving inside you, the occasional creak of the bed. He kisses up your neck, lips brushing the edge of the blindfold.
âIs this okay?â he asks.
âYeah,â you whisper, turning your head to capture his mouth.
The kiss is slower this time as you focus on simply exploring and memorising his taste. He pulls back eventually to sit up and change the angle, hooking your legs over his shoulders. The stretch is deeper like this, his cock hitting new spots that make you moan.
âGod, youâre beautiful,â he breathes. âI always thought you were but when youâre like this⌠fuck.â
The praise warms you and you reach for him blindly, fingers finding his chest. âShut up and fuck me harder.â
He laughs, but obeys, snapping his hips with renewed vigor. The position lets him grind deep, balls slapping against your ass, and you feel another climax building. His hand returns to your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts, and you shatter again, crying out, though not with his superhero name because that feels a little impersonal.
He follows and spills with a whine, collapsing beside you this time. Now, when the darkness creeps in from the edges, itâs not because youâre making the conscious decision to keep your eyes closed. The afterglow lures you to sleep and he holds you throughout it all.
But Spidermanâno, Gojoâlies there with his heart still refusing to slow, greed silent for only a moment but never truly gone. His fingers trace absent patterns over your back as if committing every inch of you to memory like the repetition might somehow make this enough. As if this version of the night, this version of you, can be folded up and hidden somewhere safe for later.
Because he knows, even now, that this is the only way he gets to have you.
Not in daylight, not with your eyes open and knowing. Not as the boy who sits two rows away and grins when he beats everyone to the answer. Not as Gojo, all sharp edges and arrogance and every stupid mistake heâs made with you piling up behind him like a wall.
He presses a kiss to your hair before he can stop himself.
It is a stupid thing to do, indulgent and dangerous, but there is no one here to catch him at it, no one but the sleeping girl in his arms who doesnât know the shape of his face and trusts him anyway. That makes it worse, makes his heart hurt so badly he has to take in a shuddering gasp to calm it, if only slightly.
As Spiderman, you had pulled him inside your room by hand. As Spiderman, you had touched his face with your eyes closed and trusted what you found there. As Spiderman, you had kissed him like you meant it, let him close enough to hear the soft wrecked sounds you make when you say his name.
It should feel like a victory. Some ugly, secret part of him has wanted this for too long not to recognise the shape of triumph when it finally arrives. And yet it settles strangely in his chest, tangled up with something meaner and sadder.
He tips his head back against your pillow and stares up at the dark ceiling, one arm still curved protectively around you. Outside your window the city hums low and distant, all traffic and wind and sirens dulled by height and glass. Somewhere out there, the rest of his life is still moving along with deadlines, classes, the version of himself you will face tomorrow and maybe hate a little more than you did today.
His throat tightens.
You shift against him again, this time with a sleepy little sigh, and his eyes close at once. If he were better, he thinks, he would leave now before the night can twist this into something cruel, before staying turns this into something impossible to explain later. Before morning puts light on all the parts of him that he intentionally leaves in the shadows away from your gaze.
He tips his head back against your pillow and stares up at the dark ceiling, one arm still curved protectively around you. Outside your window the city hums low and distant, all traffic and wind and sirens dulled by height and glass. Somewhere out there, the rest of his life is still moving along with deadlines, classes, the version of himself you will face tomorrow and maybe hate a little more than you did today.
But Gojo is a weak man so he stays.
Long enough for your breathing to deepen fully and for your body to grow loose and heavy with sleep beside him. Long enough that he starts to imagine, against all reason, what it would be like if he didnât have to move at all. If he could still be here when your eyes opened. if he could watch you wake and let himself be seen, just once, just enough to catch the flicker of emotion across your face. Would you be happy? Mad? Disappointed?
But the universe is rarely this forgiving and patient, and he eventually pulls himself up on his elbows.
Youâre still asleep, face half-buried in the pillow now, hair spilled across the sheets, mouth parted slightly on a soft exhale. The sight of you unguarded in such a way makes something ache low and hopeless inside him. Thereâs a mark near your collarbone he has to drag his gaze away from before he becomes truly pathetic.
âDon't do this to me,â he whispers, though whether he means you or fate or himself, he isnât sure.
Obviously, no one answers him.
It would be easier if you werenât like this. If you were messy or careless or cruel in your sleep. If you took up too much space, kicked him in that old wound that still refuses to heal. If you snored. If you drooled on the pillow. If there were anything in the world that made leaving you here feel less like carving something out of himself with his own hands and leaving it on the pillow next to your head.
But there isnât. So Gojo leans down and presses one last kiss to your temple.
Before he goes, he stands beside the bed for one suspended moment, looking down at you with all the wretched fondness he never manages to contain well enough.
âI'm sorry,â he whispers softly.
Then heâs gone, slipping back through the window into the thinning dark before dawn.
Morning comes gently.
You wake slowly, feeling the ache of too little sleep and something duller lower down, soothed by the warmth trapped under your blanket. Itâs a gloomy day outside and faint grey light slips in through the curtains. For one sweet, stupid second, the memory of the night before reaches you before your eyes properly open, and your mouth almost curves with it.
You reach out to touch him and find nothing.
Your eyes snap open.
âSpiderman?â
The name sounds ridiculous in the morning quiet.
The space beside you is empty, no lingering body heat, no weight in the mattress, no messy shape of someone else, just rumpled sheets and a half-opened window blowing a chill into your room. It all looks so unbearably ordinary for a place where your life had felt, only hours ago, like it was tilting into something secret and miraculous.
Something strange moves through you then, too tangled to name cleanly. The first is an easy one to decipher, disappointment, sharp and immediate. Then embarrassment, because some soft foolish part of you had expected to wake up and find him still there. Perhaps not unmasked, maybe not staying forever, but at the very least there to share the same sense of sheepishness you feel. Enough to prove last night hadnât been a beautiful, selfish thing borrowed from the dark.
You reach out and smooth your hand over the cold sheet once, as if you might find traces of your common sense there and regain some rational thought.
It doesnât, to no surprise. All it does is confirm what you already know.
Your bed is empty.
Has the sun always felt so good on his skin?Â
Gojo swings through the city as he does every morning. Itâs a habit that comes from the obligation, something Geto had said in passing about the responsibilities of being a superheroâor something. Satoru never really listens when Geto scolds him and he certainly doesnât care enough now to pull those words to the surface.Â
His morning patrols are little more than a guilty pleasure anyway. To be above the city made everyone else seem like ants, feeble things that needed saving every minute of every day. But itâs fine.Â
Because speaking of guilt, thatâs what he should be feeling right now. But he doesnât. In fact, Satoru is having a rather fine and dandy day.Â
He high fives the police chief when they start scolding him on the mess of webs he left behind during the car chase. He tips the convenient store cashier when he pays for his energy drink, forgoing the whole âleave the store and then web cash to the workerâs chestâ bit that he always does. He smiles at the senior citizens when they eye him even though he knows the gesture wonât show through the mask.Â
He finger guns the kids as they ride by in scooters and bulky, too-big helmets. He graciously rescues a balloon from a tree. He pets a dog on the way to class.Â
His phone buzzes in the pocket of his jacket that he wears to keep away the winter chill, the new personal phone that he got, not his work phone, and that does a really good job of extinguishing his mood.Â
Gojo settles down on the ground and ducks into a thin alleyway, pulling out his phone to check.Â
Itâs a calendar notification reminding him that today was the big outing, some aquarium outing he had to beg Shoko to be invited to. Once, he had looked forward to it but now, all he can think of is the hurt in your eyes, the way your mouth falls open in soft pleasure, the slight flutter in your eyes as you arch against hisâ
He shoves his phone back into his pocket and hurries back to his dorm.Â
Ignoring Geto's casual greetings, Gojo opts to instead ceremoniously flop into his top bunk the moment he slings in through the open window.Â
âHow was patrol?â
âDonât ask me stupid questions.â
âOkay.â Geto looks up from his book, turning in his chair to look up at the blue and white lump. âWhatâs wrong with you?âÂ
Gojo tugs off his mask, ruffling his hair as it falls messy before faceplanting back into his unmade bed. âNothing.â
âYou left the dorm beaming like everyday is just sunshine and rainbows to you, and now youâre back sulking. I wouldnât call that nothing.â He pauses when he receives no response, before sighing. âJust make sure to ditch the attitude before we meet up with Shoko. And donât take it out on Y/N.â
Gojo canât help it, he chokes on his own breath. Geto , of course, notices.Â
âWhat was that sound?âÂ
âThatâs just how I breathe.âÂ
âYou donât always sound like a kicked puppy when youâre breathing.â His roommate stands to peek over the frame of the bunk bed, raising an eyebrow when heâs met with Gojo's devastated state. âIs this about your tragic loss to Venom? Look, heâll come back and youâll get another shot at being a good superhero, I promise.â
âItâs not that.â
âIs it Y/N then?â
Gojo lifts his head just enough to give him an incredulous look. âHow did youâŚ?â
âI saw what you were reposting on Tiktok.â
Gojo flops onto his back, hands over his face, feet kicking about in frustration. âGod, even when sheâs not around she drives me crazy!â
âNot that Iâm not super sympathetic about your situation, but maybe itâs not the best idea to freak out about your normal civilian life when youâre Spiderman-ing. Itâs better to keep those things separate, you know?âÂ
Gojo grabs his pillow and shoves it over his face.Â
âWas that an agreement or an act of rebellion? Satoru, Iâm serious. You canât mix your personal life and your superhero activities together.âÂ
He stays quiet, or maybe heâs suffocated himself. Gojo kind of hopes itâs the latter if itâll save him from telling the truth.Â
Geto shakes his shoulder. âDude, stop moping. We have that thing to go to and Shoko wonât be happy if you flake.â
Gojo remains limp and after a few more shakes, Geto frowns with the tiniest hint of worry.Â
âOkay, out with it. What did you do?âÂ
At this, Gojo finally turns his head to look at his roommate mournfully. A slow, sinking sensation of dread drops in Geto's stomach as he searches this thin glimpse of his roommateâs face.Â
âPlease tell me you didnât.â
âI did.â
âHow bad? Does she know?â
Gojo lets out a long, suffering sigh. âWorse.â
âYou kissed her.âÂ
âWorse.âÂ
Geto's mouth drops open. âYou fucked her? Satoru, what the fuck?â
âI donât know, okay, it just happened!âÂ
Geto pulled his hand back as if burnt. âJust happened? These things donât just happen! Sex doesnât just happen!â
Gojo groans into his pillow. âWe were both consenting adults in this, Suguru, itâs not a big deal!â
âThatâs not the issue! She doesnât know who you are, Satoru!â
âI know that!â
âDo you? Because if you did I donât think you would have done that!â He runs a hand through his hair. âHow does she not know?â
âShe kept her eyes closed,â Gojo says.
âYou kinky bitch.â
âIt was the only way she wouldnât see!â
âReally? Because I can think of other ways. Have you considered the tactic of just not fucking her in the first place?â
Gojo frowns as if in genuine thought before shaking his head.Â
âHell. This is my superhero. Weâre all fucked.â
âSuguru, you have to help me.â Gojo sits up, head ducked slightly so as to not hit his head on the ceiling above. âI fucked up okay, I know I did. But itâs complicated, alright? Y/N and I arenât⌠good right now. I thought we were and then I dropped my phone and then we fought and now sheâs blocked me on everything. Even Linkedin. And Spotify!â
âSatoru, I help you with Spiderman stuff. I help you with last minute homework deadlines because you were too busy saving the world. I help you with lying to our friends about why you disappeared during a bathroom break for an hour that doesnât involve emptying your guts into a toilet. Iâm not helping you when you fumble a girl.â
âBut what if I fumbled her because Iâm Spiderman. I feel like that counts, right?âÂ
Geto turns and drops himself into his chair, the seat turning slightly at the momentum until he plants his feet down. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. âYou still havenât told me what happened.â
âY/N and I broke up.â
âYou werenât dating.â
âA friendship break up then. A situationship break up.â
âFine, whatever you want to call it. What even happened? Because every time we talked about her before that it sounded like things were going well.âÂ
âThings were going well. I almost kissed her like, five times. The sixth time would have definitely been the charm.â
Geto makes a face.âI feel like thatâs an indication that things arenât going well, but okay.â
âAnyway, remember when venom showed up a few days ago and I broke my phone?â
âAnd how you were knocked out for a night? I remember.â
âRight well,â Gojo takes in a deep breath that indicates heâs about to ramble, âbecause I broke my phone I wasnât able to tell her something came up and I wouldnât be able to make the presentation. I only woke up after we had to present, meaning she had to do it herself and now she hates me because she thinks I donât take her seriously. and I canât clarify that I do take her seriously because, again, she blocked me on everything. She also unadded me on every Google Doc she shared to me.â
âDamn, sheâs serious.â For a moment, Geto seems genuinely apologetic. âThat sucks man, Iâm sorry you were cockblocked by Venom.â
âWell, it comes with the powers and responsibility and all that.â Gojo falls back onto his bed, starfished as far as his limbs can go before they hit the sides of his bunk bed. âYou always have a solution to everything. Canât you fix my love life too?â
âI canât perform miracles, dumbass.â
âThat's not your line. Youâre meant to be sympathetic and helpful. Do you even care about me?âÂ
âNo,â Geto says mournfully. âUnfortunately youâre the only one saving our city these days so I kind of have to stick around to make sure you donât mess that up.âÂ
Gojo grabs his Agumon plushie and throws it down over the side of the railing. He doesnât have to look over the edge to know it hit its target. âIâm serious, Suguru.â
Geto catches the plushie with ease and gives it a pat on its head, placing it gently on his lap. âIâm serious too. Maybe this is a good thing. I keep telling you that you have to keep your superhero life and your boring, normal person life separate. This just shows you what happens when you donât do that.â
âWoah, thank you, Mr sunshine and rainbows.â
âLife isnât sunshine and rainbows.â
âIt is when you have the eyes to see it,â he sighs dramatically. âIs it too much to ask that I can just be Satoru and Spiderman without losing anything?âÂ
Thereâs something in Gojo's voice that makes Geto pause. Maybe itâs the lack of that whiny tilt to his cadence, maybe itâs the fact that heâs shoved his face into another plushie on his bed, voice muffled and hiding the desperate sound.Â
Geto wants to tell him the truth, that if the world was good and just he could be every side of him, that he shouldnât have to pick between being a weapon for the cityâs safety and an actual person with hopes and dreams and wants. Geto wants to tell him that he shouldnât have to pick being a superhero over being a person, but he canât tell him that. Because as the world stands right now, Gojo simply canât have both.Â
âThere's still that outing,â Geto finds himself saying. âLook, it sounds like you really hurt Y/N but sheâs not unreasonable, you know that. Iâm sure if you talk to her you can clear things up. Or just apologise now that time has settled.â
Gojo shuffles a little and sits up to look down at his roommate. "Weren't you just telling me I shouldnât mix personal and work life?â
âYou see Spider-Man as work?â
âAnswer my question, man.â
Geto sighs. âThe part of me that just wants to make sure youâre not hurt doing this whole superhero thing wants to tell you that. But the part of me thatâs your friend doesnât. It sucks that in this world no one can be their genuine self. But I mean it when I say that I want to see you happy and if youâre happy with Y/N then I hope things work out between the both of you.â
No one says anything for a while. Geto looks up.Â
âDude, what did you eat today to make you sprout all that feelings bullshit?â Gojo mimes throwing up.Â
Geto rolls his eyes, grabbing the plushie on his lap to throw it back up at him. Gojo catches it, his Spiderman instincts never letting him down, and when he puts it down on his bed, heâs smiling.Â
âSo, any tips?â
âJust be yourself.âÂ
âI was and look how everything turned out.â
Geto hums. âThen maybe letâs start with your wardrobe. If youâre going to win Y/N back, you canât show up to the function wearing the same one shirt.â
The aquarium is a shitty place to take someone youâre no longer on speaking terms with.Â
It seems even the fish have figured out how to move around without touching. Silver fish turn as one body and never collide. Stingrays glide past each other like silk dragged through water. Even sharks know how to circle without making contact, all smooth instinct and measured distance, and that would be deeply meaningful if you werenât currently trapped in a dark blue tunnel feeling like shit.Â
It is, Shoko had said in the groupchat three days ago, supposed to be a fun, normal outing. You should have known then that something demonic had possessed her.Â
The tunnel curves overhead in a long arc of glass, seawater casting wavering patterns of light over the floor and over the faces of people passing through. Children press their sticky palms to the glass, and a baby somewhere up ahead lets out a delighted shriek at the sight of some broad, ghostly thing drifting above. Couples walk slowly enough to be irritating, stopping every two steps to point things out to each other in soft voices.Â
The entire place is built for wonder and you are having a terrible time.Â
âLook,â you say from beside Shoko, pointing upward with none of the enthusiasm the gesture should probably contain, âa fish.âÂ
âI think thatâs obviously a shark,â Utahime says, squinting upward.Â
Geto hums, a telltale sign that heâs about to launch into his typical ragebaiting. âIâm pretty sure sharks are fish though, so what do you mean by that?â
âOh come on, Geto. You know what I mean. Thereâs fish, and then thereâs shark. If I say fish, no one is picturing that. Theyâre thinking of, like, a normal fish. Small, swimmy, not that giant thing above our heads.âÂ
âSo now weâre racially profiling fish and sharks?â Geto pauses as if in deep thought. âSo then by your logic, is a stingray fish-looking fish or shark-looking fish.âÂ
âA stingray is its own thing,â Utahime snaps. âDonât piss me off in public.âÂ
âSeems complicated. Not very obvious then, is it?âÂ
On any other day, thereâd be nothing more joyous than joining in and annoying Utahime. Today, however, youâre still figuring out how to move around without being touched.Â
âAt least give yourself the chance to have a good time,â Shoko remarks from beside you, none too impressed with your sulky mood.Â
You know it isnât fair to her but to say youâre in a bad mood is an understatement. Every voice only serves to grind your gears and the way people shove past you here and there makes you want to rip off your skin.Â
Maybe because you got approximately no sleep. Maybe because your body still feels the phantom touch of another, the roughness in his voice as he utters your name all deprived and pleading. Maybe because Gojo is still six inches to your left, all long limbs and damp shadows under his eyes, and every time the crowd bottlenecks in the tunnel, you catch the faint clean scent of his soap like he took a shower earlier this morning.Â
The tunnel narrows as it curves, forcing all of you into an untidy line. Shoko and Utahime end up leading, Geto just behind them, pointing out silly little things that pisses her Utahime and makes Shoko laugh. You had slowed down for all of three seconds to let a family with two children pass and made the tactical error of allowing Gojo to fall into step beside you. Now the two of you are trapped by the flow of bodies moving through the tunnel at exactly the kind of sluggish, reverent pace that grates against your frayed nerves.
Above, something glides over the glass. The baby up ahead screams again, only louder, such that it echoes down the winding tunnel.
âSee, that wouldn't be a fish,â Geto is saying from up ahead.
You can hear utahime through the murmur of the crowd. âI figured.â
âCanât be too sure.â
There's another shuffle of people from up ahead as if the presence of the stingray is a thing to fawn over, a stop-start of prams and schoolbags and a father trying to explain in a stage whisper why no, his child cannot touch the stingray, and the whole line compresses.
Gojoâs shoulder brushes yours.
You stiffen before you can even try to pretend it had no effect on you and he shifts back, creating what little space he can in a tunnel full of tourists and toddlers. You can feel his hesitation without even looking at him, that careful slouching in on himself he's been doing all day.
âSorry,â he says quietly.Â
You donât bother with a response, looking in the opposite direction as if you had suddenly gained a deep appreciation for marine life.Â
Shoko glances back over her shoulder to make sure she hasnât lost either of you, and catches the way the two of you repel from each other. Her eyes flick from your face to Gojoâs, and narrow.Â
Great, so not only are you miserable, but now youâre probably going to get grilled.Â
âYou two are weirdly quiet,â she cleverly deduces.Â
âWeâre in an aquarium,â you reply. âThe whole point is to be quiet and to look at the fish. Or the sharks orâwhatever.âÂ
âAre you at least having fun?â she tries again, though judging from her look, itâs clear she already has an answer in mind.Â
âDefinitely,â you mumble at the same time Gojo says, âSo much fun.âÂ
You keep your mouth shut, refusing to look over at him. And Shoko, bless her patient heart, only tries again.Â
âWeâre about to reach the actual shark section. You love sharks, donât you, Y/N?â
âPartial at best.â
âOr we could divert to look at the rock pools and touch some starfish. Doesnât that sound like fun, Gojo?âÂ
âI guess.â He kicks at the ground, stubbornly glaring at the path.Â
Shoko rolls her eyes, dropping her gentle parenting act just as the tunnel begins to open up again. The two of you separate like magnets of the same charge when thereâs space to move, only heightening her annoyance.Â
âYou both are impossible! Youâre acting like kids! Letâs age check real quick, how long are you two going to keep up this silent treatment act for?â
Gojo sighs, running a hand through his hair. âCan you just drop it, Shoko? Itâs really none of your business.â
âWoah,â Shoko says. âGojoâs arrived.âÂ
âIâm serious.â He grits his teeth. âLeave it.â
Shoko looks over at you for your input but you keep quiet, hiding your own guilt by looking away. Youâre acting like a kid, you know you are, but itâs hard not to when you have this man child walking beside you.Â
And because Gojo has never won an argument against with Shoko, never has in the many, many years theyâve known each other, she grabs your hand and his arm and pulls you both together, positive versus positive charge be damned. You visibly flinch when his skin brushes yours, but her hands keep you together.Â
âI donât know what happened between you two,â she says, âbut youâre going to sort it out right here right now, you hear me? The shark section is up ahead. I donât care what happens in there, but when you walk out of it, youâre both going to get along. Understood?â
Gojo looks up from where heâs staring at the point of contact where your bodies touch.Â
âI said, understood?â Shoko presses, drawing you both closer.Â
You grimace and relent. âFine, fine. Just let go, wonât you?â
She doesnât, turning her fierce gaze to Gojo. âYour turn.â
âShoko,â he starts, but his eyes are fixed over her shoulder. âLet go.âÂ
âI wonât until you tell me the two of you are going to start behaving like adults again."Â
âShoko, seriouslyââ
âGojo, Iâm not letting go untilââ
You let out a frustrated exhale. âJust get it over with and say that you will.âÂ
âThatâs not it.âÂ
His voice sharpens so suddenly that the three of you freeze. His hand closes around your arm, knocking Shokoâs grip off him in one abrupt movement, and you almost wince at how tight his fingers are.Â
âDuck!âÂ
Considering youâre at an aquarium and not a zoo, his words confuse you. But the word barely leaves his mouth before the world ends, or at least the tunnel does.Â
One moment youâre upright and irritated, and the next youâre on the slick aquarium floor with Gojo half over you, his hand clamped around the back of your head as glass bursts somewhere overhead in a noise so violent it seems to deafen you. Water follows half a second later, a freezing, roaring wall of it that slams into your legs and floods the corridor in one breathless rush.Â
You gasp, inhaling panic with it. For one awful second, all you can see is dark water and something silver whipping past your face so quickly you canât process whether itâs debris or fish or some secret third option. Gojoâs arms tighten around you just before the current hits full force, shielding you from the bulk of it.Â
When the initial wave passes, he pushes himself up first, still braced over you, blinking the water from his eyes. âAre you okay? Actually, donât answer straight away because then youâre probably lying. Are you hurt?â
You stare at him for half a second with your chest heaving, before snapping back into your body. âI think so. Was that enough time to seem genuine?â
âYeah,â he says, then grabs your hand and hauls you upright with startling efficiency.Â
A jagged hole has been torn through the glass overhead and water is still pouring through in punishing sheets, waves upon waves lapping at your feet. You ignore it all.Â
âShoko!â you shout immediately. âUtahime? Guys?â
âWeâre here!â Shokoâs voice comes from somewhere to your right, thin through the alarms and the water. âWeâre all okay!â
Through the flashing red light and beyond a rush of water you canât imagine brushing past, you spot them.
Shoko has one arm around Utahimeâs waist and the other braced against the wall, her hair plastered to her face by spray. Utahime is upright, but only just, one hand pressed over her calf where blood is already mixing into the water in thin red ribbons. Suguru is beside them, shoving a fallen display sign out of the way so a knot of panicked visitors can force themselves toward the nearest exit.
âWeâre fine!â Geto yells. âUtahime got cut by the glass, but she can walk. Weâre heading for the side stairs.â
Shoko twists back, catches sight of you and Gojo still standing there, and immediately cups her hands around her mouth. âWhat are you two doing? Move! I paid money for this outing and frankly Iâd like at least four of us to live!â
Before either of you can answer, something booms deeper in the aquarium hard enough to rattle the glass beneath your feet. All around you, people are still trying to push toward the exits in a mess of uncoordinated panic. One aquarium staff member is shouting for everyone to stay calm in a voice already fraying at the edges and thereâs a child sobbing somewhere to your right. Another tank further down the hall has cracked into a spiderweb of fractures that spread wider with every violent thud from beyond.
Gojo tenses, sensing something you canât before he turns to you, hands on your shoulders. âGet to the exit.â
âRight, okay,â you say automatically, already reaching for his hand to drag him with you. Your fingers slide around his wrist and tug. âCome on.â
He doesnât move.
You look back at him. âWhat are you doing?â
âYou go with them,â he says, already looking past you toward the ruined hall. âIâll follow after you.â
You stare at him in disbelief. âUm, no?â
Your voice comes out louder than you mean it to, sharpened by the cold and the adrenaline and the immediate, furious certainty that no, absolutely not, you are not doing this with him again. Not here, not now, not when the floor is flooding and the walls are breaking and he still thinks he can look you in the face and say Iâll follow after like you were born yesterday.
âDo you have a death wish?â you demand. âCome on, the water is rising!â
âLook, I can handle myself.â His fingers tighten once against your shoulder, almost pleading. âI know what Iâm doing so just wait outside. Don't worry about me and go.â
It is such a stupid thing to say that for a second you can only look at him.
Donât worry about me.
As if that has ever worked. As if you havenât spent weeks trying to ignore him and failing every single time. As if he hasnât somehow made himself your problem since the moment he had called your grade out in the middle of that irrelevant tutorial room.
You glare at him, at his stupid fluffy white hair gone damp at the edges, at the thick-framed glasses he always pushes up his nose when he starts rambling about something ridiculous, at the stupid blue eyes that seem to shift colour with his mood and are now fixed on the corridor behind you instead of properly on you.
âI canât,â you say.
His head snaps back to yours. âWhat?â
âI canât just ignore you.â The words come out thinner than you want them to, but thereâs no taking them back now. âIâve tried and I just canât.â
âThis isnât the time for that,â he says, brows furrowed in that way he gets when heâs annoyed.âDonât be ridiculous, you could get hurt.â
âYou could get hurt.â
âThatâs different.â
âIs it?â you scoff before looking back at him. âYou know what your problem is?â
He rolls his eyes with a sigh. âOh, here we go. Tell me, tell me what my problem isââ
âOh, I will. Iâll tell you what your fucking problem isââ
âOh yeah, youâll tell me? Cause you know me better than I know myself?âÂ
âSomeone has to,â you snap, stepping toward him, daring him to take a step back. âBecause clearly youâve got no clue what youâre doing. Not with this, not with women, certainly not with me.â
He exhales. âYeah? Well, youâre stuck up and impossible to control and you piss me off.â
âAre you a kid? You sound so dumb right nowââ
A crash tears through the corridor hard enough to shake the ground beneath your feet and whatever insult youâve both had gearing up immediately dies. You both look toward the corridor then to each other.Â
âProbably not the best time for this,â you say.Â
âYeah,â he says. âLetâs shelf this for later.â
âIâm still not going to ditch you so get that through your thick skull and whatever vast air bubble hugs your brain.âÂ
For one ridiculous second, despite the alarms and the flooding and the horrifying sounds of public infrastructure being turned inside out, Gojo actually looks like he wants to laugh.Â
âDid you just call me an air head?â he asks, the words breathless and almost fond. âYouâre never going to make things easy for me, are you?âÂ
You shoot him an incredulous look. âPeople are dying, Satoru. Lock in. Whatâs the plan?âÂ
He shakes his head like a dog.Â
âOkay,â he says, back in motion now, words quick and sharp and all business because he clearly doesnât trust himself to stay in the other mode any longer. âNew plan. We get everyone we can to the exit, and then if you still want to tell me what my problem is, Iâll stand there and let you monologue. But donât leave my sight and donât try to be self-sacrificing.âÂ
âYouâre telling me?â You snort. âSays the guy who was just about to run off and do exactly that.â
You brush past him, heading towards the tunnel where the sound originated.Â
Despite every instinct telling him to grab you and pull you out, Gojo finds himself just standing there. Heâs always been weak to you, this revelation is not one that comes with any surprise. All youâve ever really had to do was look at himâproperly look at him, with that sharp little glare that says heâs annoyed you againâand some pathetic part of him was already halfway to heel, tail practically wagging. Itâs degrading almost, the Spiderman, reduced to nothing but a desperate man in love, but for some reason Gojo canât find himself hating it completely. That was just how far he had fallen.
He drags a hand through his hair and exhales sharply through his nose as he catches up behind you. The mask in his pocket feels impossibly heavy, like it knows better than he does, like itâs already calling him toward the moment heâs been putting off for too long. But he doesn't yet, and settles instead for following behind, every muscle bracing for the second this goes wrong.Â
You are having much less sophisticated thoughts.
You wonder to yourself as you trudge through the ankle deep water, what the fuck are you doing?
Your shoes are full of cold, disgusting salt water and what is, realistically, probably fish shit, when the safe outside had been right there within reach moments ago. You could have left. You could have gone with Shoko and Utahime and Geto and let the staff and the police and whoever else handles aquarium disasters deal with the rest. Instead, you had willingly walked back into where disaster struck. And for what? A boy?
Well, you think. At least you have the experience of fighting off two villains now. One and a half. Okay, more like two halves. That made one. So youâve had one (1) moment of experience. That was enough, right?Â
âDonât worry,â you tell Gojo, noticing his uncharacteristic silence. âIf anything happens, Iâll protect you.â
He opens his mouth to reply, but whatever smart thing he had lined up dies the second the tunnel widens into the main shark gallery.
A man in a torn aquarium polo staggers through the burst corridor with black slick crawling up one arm and along the side of his throat, jerking in wet, ugly pulses under the emergency lights. A member of staff, who looks maybe nineteen and one bad shift away from quitting forever, is trying to wave people toward the side exit while very obviously trying not to cry.
Gojo is already moving, ignoring the way the room shudders when the symbiote host slams his fist into a pillar.
âIâm going to distract it so the people have time to get out of here. Stay here or go help them but do not get in the way.âÂ
He doesnât check to see if youâll agree before grabbing the nearest floating wet floor sign and hurling it at the manâs face with a pitcherâs accuracy. It smacks the figureâs shoulder and bounces away harmlessly, but it does the important thing.Â
The ex-aquarium staff turns toward him and subsequently, you.Â
âOkay,â you mutter, already moving. âLooks like youâve got it from here!â
The host makes a low, distorted sound, half growl and half wet static, and barrels toward Gojo with one blackened arm swelling grotesquely around the elbow. Gojo ducks the first swing, grabs the edge of an overturned brochure stand, and yanks it into the path of the next. It shatters immediately, but the delay buys the nearest cluster of trapped visitors just enough time to break into motion.
You hurry to the sobbing staff member, a girl with her short black hair tied to one side, two hair clips holding her bangs away from her eyes. âHey, hey, itâs okay! Just think of all the hazard pay youâll get after this. For now, grab those two and head to the side exit.âÂ
She blinks at you, tears still flowing freely down her cheeks, but eventually nods. âWhat about you?âÂ
You jab a thumb behind you. âIâm kind of stuck here with this idiot. Now hurry.âÂ
Behind you, thereâs a huge crash followed by Gojo saying, âYou know, this is why no one likes staff team building exercises. Thereâs always one guy who takes it too far.â
The villain seems to not enjoy Gojoâs commentary because it roars. You turn in time to see Gojo skid sideways through the floodwater, one hand catching the low railing to keep from going down entirely. The black slick lashes for him again and misses, carving a line of ugly cracks through the decorative panel behind him instead.Â
Itâs not hard to tell that Gojo is losing and in fact, youâd be severely deluded if your nerd situationship sort-of close friend would win against a seemingly inhuman sentient black goo. At least he isnât losing without dignity. He makes valiant attempts to shove the thing back a step, ducking under a swing only for the next to catch him high in the shoulder and throw him sideways into the viewing rail.Â
Your heart drops to your ass quick, watching as Gojo drives himself back upright with a wince and a desperate glare for you to stay there.Â
The symbiote host lurches toward him again, blackened arm distending with a wet, horrific ripple.Â
Your brain finally catches up.Â
Okay. Okay, think.Â
You have seen this stupid black goo twice before now, which feels like two times too many. The first time, you used a fire extinguisher. The second, the steam wand from the cafe had done enough to make the goo retreat. So this thing clearly does not enjoy pressure or heat.Â
You spin in place, eyes skittering wildly over the wrecked shark gallery.Â
Thereâs debris everywhere, broken signage, upside down benches and a cardboard cutout of some mascot shark swims past you in ankle deep water. Thereâs a staff-only closet near the back, more brochure stands, maps on the wall, when your eyes finally see it. There, near the entrance of the tunnel, is a thick industrial hose line feeding into one of the side filtration systems, its pressure valve mounted low on the wall, bright red against the blue gloom.Â
One of the sanitation steam lines that run along the upper maintenance track has ruptured where debris struck, hissing softly in the rumble of the crumbling aquarium. White vapour coughs out in fitful bursts, weak now but still there.Â
âSatoru!â
He glances your way at the exact second the host slams him in the chest, sending him skidding through the water on his back. You wince. âOh, sorry. Whenever you have the time.â
âIâm fine,â he chokes out, rolling out of the way in time to avoid a second blow. âThanks for asking.â
You splash toward the pressure valve, shoes slipping against the tiles. âShut up and use the environment! Thereâs a pressurised line here and steam up there. Youâre just going to have to trust me on this one but I think I have an idea!â
The host, as if sensing your plan, turns towards you. Gojo curses, any sarcasm vanishing in an instant.Â
âNo! Donât get closer!â
âToo late!â you yell back, already grabbing the valve wheel. âYouâre getting your ass beat, Satoru, Iâm not going to stand here and just let your ego handle it!âÂ
He rises to his feet, running to you though in the water, itâs only a pathetic sloshing that almost gives you the ick. âMy ego? And you think your pride will handle it any better?â
No.Â
âYes!âÂ
You wrench at the valve and, because your life has always been full of miracles and good fortune, nothing happens.Â
The host lunges in your direction again. Gojo catches him from the side, arm hooking around his neck for one desperate second before the black slick ripples up and flings him off. He crashes shoulder-first into the low barrier by the shark viewing glass.
He gasps and coughs, eyes blearily finding yours. âGetâget out of here. Now, Y/N.â
âIâm not giving up.â You brace one foot against the wall. âNo pressure, literally.â
You yank at the wheel again but nothing still happens. Thereâs got to be a safety catch, a pin or latch or something. Your eyes dart over the assembly frantically even as the figure draws itself back on its legs.Â
âY/N!â Gojo calls out again, water sloshing around his body as he tries to follow.Â
Your eyes skim frantically over the valve housing, over rusted bolts and warped metal and a tangle of pipes slick with spray, until they finally catch on a metal locking pin bent half-flat against the side.
Without another thought, you lunge for it and wrap both hands around the pin.Â
Behind you, thereâs a sharp, ugly soundâGojo sucking in a breath through his teethâfollowed by the violent splash of him slamming back into the host. You risk a glance over your shoulder just in time to see him catch the thing by the arm, twist with the momentum, and drive a punch into its face hard enough to make black slick spray across the floodwater.
Pulse spiking, you put your whole weight into the pin. And finally, it gives all at once, slipping free so suddenly you nearly fall backward into the floorwater.Â
âGot you!â you hiss at the valve before throwing yourself against the wheel.Â
This time, it turns. The line shudders to life with a deep, violent thump and water pressure surges through the pipes hard enough to rattle the wall.Â
âSatoru!â you shout, looking up wildly. âTo your left! Bring him here!âÂ
He turns his head fast, sees the line, sees you, and somehow understands immediately despite looking one bad hit away from passing out. You suppose he isnât a genius for nothing.
Gojo stands with more purpose, moving in a tight arc through the floodwater, letting the thing follow. His movements are messier than they should be, attributed to the wounds heâs sustained. You can see it every time he favours his right side, every time his mouth tightens with every dodge.Â
But he still keeps moving, still keeping the thin on him, keeping it away from you. Trusting your ridiculous plan that was concocted in under a minute.Â
âCome on,â he calls, breathless and taunting all at once. âCome on and get me, you big ugly thing. Iâve had worse nights.â
The host lunges under the broken steam line.Â
âNow!â you shout, a command for just yourself really, and crank the pressure line open fully.Â
A brutal blast of high-pressure water erupts across the gallery and catches the host broadside, slamming into its blackened shoulder and neck with enough force to wrench it half off its feet. At the same time, a fresh burst of steam hisses from overhead where the damaged line gives way under the renewed vibration. And just as youâd hoped, the black slick convulses.
It peels back in twitching bands from the hostâs throat and shoulder, recoiling from the steam with an ugly, wet shiver. It starts to back away on unsteady feet.Â
âThere!â you yell, voice cracking with triumph and panic all at once. âAgain, use it again!â
Gojo doesnât hesitate. He grabs the dangling steam pipe with both hands and yanks hard enough to shear the remaining bracket loose. The line drops lower, shrieking vapour across the hostâs side.
The thingânot the man, but the thingâlets out a shrill cry, a sound so wrong it feels like it goes through your bones instead of your ears.
Gojo uses the opening immediately, slamming his shoulder into the hostâs chest and driving him back into the support beam beside the shark viewing glass. The whole gallery shudders under the impact, but this time the host goes down hard, knees buckling under him as the black slick writhes and spasms under the steam.
You donât realise youâve moved until youâre already splashing toward him, relief making you stupid and light all at once. In your head, it should have been graceful, some dramatic run into his arms after shared survival and mutual competence. In reality, the water turns it into a pathetic, uneven waddle that Gojo, in an act of true mercy, only pretends not to notice.
âWe did it!â you say, breathless and bright with adrenaline. âThat was insane, but we did it. And Iâm taking at least seventy percent of the credit, by the way, because without me you were just getting beaten up in a public aquariumââ
He smiles, just barely, and turns to look at you.
âYeah,â he says, chest heaving. âI guess weââ
Something moves in the corner of his eye.
It isnât the frantic, wild sort of movement from before, but something uglier for how deliberate it feels. A last-ditch effort. The host drags one arm free of the steam and the floodwater just enough for the black slick to surge violently down its length and gather into one long, brutal lash of muscle and tar.
It comes not for Gojo, but for you.
Gojo sucks in a sharp breath at the sight, his whole face changing before you can even register why. His mouth opens around the start of your name, warning already there, panic rising faster than the sound can leave him.
You are still a few crucial seconds behind.
By the time you catch the movement in your peripheral vision and start to turn, Gojo is already lunging forward. But the thing is too fast, the distance too wrong, and you can see the exact instant he realises he wonât make it to you in time as himself.
You turn just enough to see it.
Ah.
So this is how stupid people die.
Something white snaps through the air.
The strike jerks violently sideways before it can hit you, yanked off course so hard it slams into the side wall instead, cracking the tile with a wet, horrible impact. A scream tears from your throat, loud and sharp in the aftermath, but the thing barely registers to you now, not even when the goo gives one last shudder and forms something like a trembling fist aimed in your direction.
You donât care about that anymore.
Instead, your eyes track the white line stretched taut across the gallery.
You follow it all the way back.
All the way to Gojo.
He stands there with his arm still half outstretched. His face is stricken with lingering panic, but there is something else there too, something like resignation, like he knows whatever happens next might end his world right here in a crumbling aquarium.
You look from his face to his wrist and then back again.
âWhat,â you say, finding no other words that fit the moment. âWhat the fuck.â
Gojo lowers his arm very slowly. Water drips from his sleeve, from his fingers, from the impossible thin connecting him to the wall beside you.Â
âThis is not how I wanted to tell you,â he says, his voice suddenly rough in a way you recognise far too well.
The host roars, and itâs that sound that snaps both of you back into motion.
Gojoâs hand goes to his pocket and comes back with the maskâof course itâs the mask. Blue and white, worn at the edges, and, hell, maybe youâre hallucinating now, but is that still the little tear you left in the fabric that night?
He hesitates just before pulling it over his head, eyes darting back to you as he says, âPlease wait for me. Just this once, please wait.â
There is no time to process the fact that his eyes look almost frightened. No time to process the fact that the voice youâve heard in your ear and the voice that has said your name in two different ways now belong to the same infuriating man. There is really no time to process anything at all.
So, shockingly, you do the mature thing.
You nod.
âOkay,â you say, and your voice sounds strange to your own ears. âOkay. Go.â
You watch as Gojo stares at you, hopeless and pleading all at once, the mask slipping over his face. But now that youâve seen himâseen him bare and vulnerable and desperately hopingâthe blue and white can no longer hide it.
Spider-Man keeps looking at you even as he slings onto the adjacent wall, the sticky material catching with a faint smack.
âIâm going to explain everything,â he says. âI promise. Justâplease. Please still be here when I come back.â
He doesnât wait for your response, not properly. Maybe because heâs worried whatever words leave your gaping mouth will be a rejection. Maybe because if he waits another second, heâll stay here looking at you until the whole room caves in around you.Â
Spiderman slings out onto the adjacent wall, the web catching with a faint, sticky smack, and for one absurd second all you can think is that even upside down and half-bleeding heâs still showy.Â
Then he launches and whatever restraint Gojo had been fighting with until now is gone.Â
The host lunges towards you but you donât flinch. Thereâs simply no fight in your body anymore. Not that it matters because Spiderman meets him in the centre of the gallery.Â
What had looked clumsy and desperate when Gojo was still trying to pass for your average citizen becomes something else entirely now that heâs abandoned his facade. His body understands the room in ways you never could, every rail, every shattered edge, every unstable surface becomes a part of him when the web attaches to it, part of the fight. He lips under the hostâs first strike and plants a hand against the flood tile, driving both feet into its chest hard enough to send it skidding backward through the water.Â
He flicks his wrists out before the host can recover, pinning one arm to a fractured support beam, another line catching its ankle.Â
The black slick surges and peels away from the first web, but it's too slow. Spiderman is already gone from where he was, slinging upward into the steam and dropping back down from above with enough force to slam the hose into the floor.Â
The black mass writhes and lashes and tries to reform over the hostâs body, but now there is no hesitation in the man fighting it, no room left for restraint. Spiderman moves with frightening precision, using every opening, every recoil, every half-second where the thing peels back under heat and sound. He webs one wrist, then the throat, then the opposite shoulder, dragging the host back into the pressure line each time he tears free. The slick recoils violently, shrieking, trying and failing to hold together.
Was it just you but did it look like Gojo was taking his frustration out on this thing?Â
Your mind keeps trying and failing to fit the pieces together. It all comes together anyway, the way Gojo had always disappeared at the wrong times, the way Spidermanâs voice had felt familiar even when you told yourself that was ridiculous and known things about you he couldnât have. The way he touched you, the way the other never quite did, not completely, as if afraid of what would happen if he started.Â
All of it was him. Every humiliating, infuriating, impossible piece of it.Â
The host tears free one last time, black goo surging over his chest in a final desperate wave. But by now, it should learn that doing something over and over again is a sign of insanity because Spiderman is already there.Â
A webline catches high overhead and with a yank, the hanging steam pipe drops lower. Another shot takes the alarm cable and rips it loose in a shower of sparks. He drives forward, one hand wrapped around his web, the other braced against the hostâs chest, and hurls him back into the flooded floor beneath the full force of the steam.Â
The black mass writhes and shrieks then tears free all at once. It peels from the manâs body in one final, violent shudder and streaks away through the fractured wall paneling, vanishing into the dark beyond the gallery even as Spiderman attempts to stop it.Â
Then the host collapses, dead.Â
Then nothing. Of course, not complete silence as the alarms still ring and water still drips. But between the two of you, across the room now suddenly empty of the thing that had stood there, there is a different kind of stillness.Â
Spiderman straightens slowly. He stands in front of the steam and the ruin and the broken shark glass, chest heaving, mask still over the face you now know too well, and even from here you can see the way his body sags just slightly under the cost of what heâs just done.
You stare at each other, the gap between endlessly vast until you decide to close it.Â
Your shoes drag through the floodwater, sending up ugly little splashes with every step, and by the time you reach him, any dignity you might have salvaged from the reveal is long dead and buried beneath three inches of fish water. He stands there waiting, one hand hanging at his side while the other presses hard against his ribs.Â
Your hands fist the front of his hoodie and he lets you.
âYou are the biggest liar I have ever met in my entire life,â you say, voice trembling with the weight of everything.Â
SpidermanâGojoâlets out a weak laugh. âThat sounds about right.â
You yank the mask up without another word.Â
It catches for half a second on his nose before sliding free, damp and warm in your hand, and there he is. Just Satoru now. Heâs pale, soaked through, hair plastered to his forehead, lips parted around the hard pull of his breathing. Thereâs blood at the corner of his mouth and more blooming darkly beneath his hoodie where heâd been hit, but his eyes are on you and only you with that same awful, naked openness they had before he put the mask on.
âSatoru,â you say, and his name comes out rough, almost wounded.
His eyes lift to yours at once, terrified of what he might find there.Â
You slap him. And honestly, compared to everything he went through less than a minute ago, compared to what he deals with everyday, youâd call the slap a puny, pathetic hit. Still, the hand from his side flies up to cup his cheek, looking more startled than in pain.Â
âThat,â you start,â is for lying to me.â
He gapes at you wordlessly.Â
Then all at once, the rest of it rises inside youâthe fear, the relief, the horrible rush of seeing that black strike coming at you and knowing, with perfect clarity, that Gojo would throw it all away to save you, even if it meant revealing his identity.Â
You lift your hand again but this time not to strike. Instead, your fingers brush his jaw, trembling against the damp skin there, tracing the shape of him you thought you knew so well. You feel his pulse leap, hear his breath catch.Â
âThis,â you whisper, steadier now that you know this is what you want, âis for saving me.âÂ
You go up on your tippy toes, lean forward, and kiss him.Â
Gojo freezes, arms held out in the air as he pieces together the scene. Youâre not mad, well maybe youâre mad, but youâre over that now because youâre kissing him. Wait, youâre kissing him? Then what is he doing just standing there?Â
A soft, startled sound escapes him, swallowed immediately by your mouth, before heâs drowning in it. The kiss turns desperate, all relief and fear and weeks of restrained feeling collapsing into one reckless, aching moment.Â
One wraps around your waist and the other catches at your back, hauling you flush against him with desperation. You feel the wound in his ribs in the way his body tightens, the way his breath catches sharply through his nose, but he ignores it completely, pressing you closer like he needs the proof of you there, solid and real and choosing him.
When you finally pull back, itâs only because breathing becomes a necessity again.Â
His forehead knocks against yours, his eyes fluttering close as he rests there, panting.Â
The alarms are still going off somewhere beyond the ruined gallery. Water still laps around your ankles, cold and foul and full of things you would rather not identify. Security is shouting in the distance, voices getting closer, but here, in this stupid little pocket of aftermath, the world has narrowed down to the heat of his hands on you and the shape of his breath fanning over your mouth.
When he finally opens his eyes again, he looks a little dazed. Not concussed, though probably that too.
âYou kissed me,â he says, and his voice comes out low and rough and almost disbelieving. âAfter everything?â
You stare at him. âDo you want me to take it back?â
His hands tighten instinctively at your waist. âNo!â The answer leaves him quickly before he swallows, eyes flickering over your face to gauge your response. âNo, please donât do that.âÂ
âIâm still angry at you, you know.âÂ
âI know.â
âYou lied to me.â
âI know.â
âYou kept lying to me.â You stop. âYou also knew. This entire time you knew and you just played me twice over.âÂ
He winces a little at that. âYeah. That oneâs harder to defend.â
His gaze drops to your mouth for half a second before climbing back to your eyes, slower this time, more careful.
âI kept thinking thereâd be a better time to tell you,â he says. âA version of this where I could do it right. Then every time I almost said something, it got harder because the longer I waited, the worse it got, and I knew that. I knew I was making it worse, I justâI was scared. It was easier for me that way but I also know it was cowardly and Iâm sorry.â
You nod once. âAnd?âÂ
âAnd?â he repeats before he catches the disapproving look in your eyes and starts scrambling for more. âAnd⌠Iâm sorry forâwell. Actually Iâm not sorry about that part.â
You hit him lightly on the arm. âSay youâre sorry for deceiving me.â
âRight, right. Sorry for deceiving you.âÂ
âAnd that you wonât do it again.âÂ
âAnd I wonât have sex with you in the Spiderman suit again.â
You hit him again but your mouth twitches before you can stop it, the familiarity of the banter easing the uncertainty. He catches it, of course, that tiny almost-smile, and his expression softens.
âI really am sorry,â he says again. âFor all of it. The disappearing. The missed presentation. The lies. Being me, I guess.â
âBeing you is, unfortunately, one of your biggest issues.â You pause, eyes flickering down to his lips. âBut I think Iâm willing to work around that one.âÂ
You watch his eyes drop to your mouth in turn, watch the decision happen in him, quiet and unmistakable. He leans in first this time, just enough for his breath to warm your lips, just enough to make your pulse trip over itselfâ
âTheyâre in here somewhere!â
The shout tears through the gallery from the corridor behind you, followed immediately by the unmistakable chaos of multiple people splashing through floodwater at once.
âPlease save them!â
âUtahime,â Suguruâs voice says, strained and much closer now, âif you scream at the police one more time, theyâre going to leave us hereââ
You jerk back so fast you nearly headbutt him and then his maybe concussion would have been a definite one.
Gojo blinks at you, dazed and breathing hard, his mouth still parted from the kiss you almost had before he too regains his senses and pulls back just enough to stop sharing the same air. Then, the both of you turn to that tunnel.
Utahime barrels into the gallery first, wild-eyed and soaked,hands cupping around her mouth as she calls your names, the wound on her leg now wrapped up. Shoko walks in right behind her with a tight expression that immediately crumbles at the scene. Geto is just behind them followed by two officers and what appears to be the entire remaining aquarium emergency staff.
You shove the mask still in your hand into your pocket, fingers fumbling once against the wet fabric, but donât do much more to break away from the incriminating position. His hand is still on your waist, your own fingers are still hooked into the front of his hoodie, and your chest is pressed flush against his.Â
Shoko is the first to say something. âWell. I guess you guys did make up after all.âÂ
âDid this happen before or after you took the crazy madman down?â Utahime says, deciding that is the most important detail to clarify.Â
âAre you two not done yet or should we come back in a bit?âÂ
Itâs Getoâs words that finally has you pulling apart, blushing madly and eyes looking frantically away from each other.
And when the police finally reach the two of you, shouting over one another and very tactfully ignoring your swollen lips, you feel something brush against your hand. Gojoâs fingers curl carefully around yours, warm and tentative despite everything, and, more importantly, despite the very audible snickering coming from your right where your friends have been herded aside to let the officers work, you lace your fingers through his without hesitation.
Because with Gojoâs thumb brushing against the side of your hand while an officer asks if either of you can walk unassisted, itâs hard to feel like the world is ending anymore. You had spent so long acting like meeting Gojo Satoru on March 15th at 10:12am was the beginning of your personal apocalypse. Granted, he is still infuriating and he is still a liar. But standing there in a flooded aquarium with his hand in yours and his blood on his shirt and a superhero mask hidden in your pocket, you canât help thinking maybe youâd been a little dramatic.
Or maybe not. Maybe the world really had ended when you met Gojo Satoru. Itâs just that, now that youâve survived the aftermath, youâre starting to think the next one might be better.
a/n: PHEWW thank u for making it to the end! this has been the unwanted child in my drafts for three whole years and rewriting it was a pain considering how unfunny i was but if thereâs one less lonely girl in the world then itâs worth it <3 this was a lot longer but i had to cut down for tumblrâs character limit âšď¸ rip to all the shoko + utahime silly scenes and the injured spiderman scene and the lab satoru scene and theâ[GUNSHOT] regardless !! shoutout to flatline as always and to all the national days we missed the deadlines to <3 see you guys on the 28th for national burger day on this fine burger month đ
fucking surfer!gojo on the beach after a bad breakup. 18+
The coast brushes the shore with soft kisses in secret. Blanket laid out beneath your feet, you find yourself nearing the coastline, letting your toes dip in the teasing water. The sun was hardly out, rising from the waves like it spent the night giving light to the sea.
Your mind was a torrent of terrible anger, a stark contrast to the calm waters. That stupid man who is your now ex-boyfriend still lingers in your thoughts. Dumping you out of the blue after a fight so idiotic, you couldnât even bear to see that promise ring he slid on your finger anymore.
So, you pried it off, angrily chucking it into the water, not bothering to see where it lands before you close your eyes again.
âHey!â a voice calls, sultry yet demanding.
Your eyes wrench open.
A man rises from the water, cerulean surfboard tucked under his arm. An unfeeling frown set on his pink lips.
âYou canât chuck your valuables in the ocean,â he holds up the promise ring you had just discarded. âIt hit me in the eye.â
Your gaze trails from his veiny hands, down his muscular drenched frame. His soaked white locks, like water lilies in a pond, drip with the salty water of the sea, skating down his pearly, hardened abs.
âThat cheap thingâs not valuable,â you grumble, waving dismissively. âItâs probably from a pawn shop. You can do whatever with it.â
He cocks a snowy brow over his brilliant blue eyes, an indifferent crease between them as he eyed you from head to toe. âYou get dumped or something?â
Your eyes sharply shoot toward him, âIs it that obvious?â
He holds up the ring as a silent response. You remain quiet, continuing to eye his every feature and his bulky frame.
He throws the ring into the ocean, chucking it over his shoulder. âYou want to get over him?â
You furrow your brows.
Your face buries into the blanket sprawled out on the sand. Satoru has you on your side, hand cupped underneath your thigh, holding it up as his dick slips in and out of you with a precision so baffling it has you choking back on your own moans.
âYeah, thatâs it,â he rumbles, cock plowing in and out of your cunt like itâs second nature. âLet it out. He fuck you like this?â
His lips feather over the curve of your shoulder, cock rutting so deep into your sopping wet pussy that his balls making an obscene squelching sound with each force of contact. Prodding so deep inside you, the head of his cock bustles at an angle so delicious, it truly feels like he is in your stomach. In fact, if you make the brave decision of looking down, then you can see the way it leaves an outline bulging on your tummy.
Mindlessly whimpering, you shake your head. Not paying any mind to the fact that you are fucking an absolute stranger because his dick prods so deliciously inside you, it feels like complete insanity.
âOh god,â your back arches away from him, fingers trailing down between your thighs, pads of your digits rub loose circles against your clit, already glistening and wet from your mixed arousal.
âThis pussyâclenching so hard around meââ Satoru grunted, hand slipping around your jaw to force your mouth to his. âThat guyâs a fucking idiot.â
And just like that, his lips capture yours in a sloppy open-mouthed kiss where a mesh of tongues and saliva is all you can comprehend.
âGonna make you forget all about him.â
Panting like wild dogs in heat into each otherâs mouths, your tongues slide against one another, and you hardly even remember who Satoru is referring to.
Your fingers curl into the blanket you had sprawled out before sunrise to sit and mope on. The bagel you brought was probably rotting away in your tote. And bit by bit, the sky is becoming brighter and brighter.
You could hardly process how it happened, one moment youâre talking to Satoru about getting dumped, and the next he has you on your back and hovers over you.
Satoruâs thrusts into you one final time, and when he stills for only a second, you worry that he wonât move after that. Except he doesnât, with one muscly arm, he lifts you off your side and gruffly plops you in his lap.
Out of breath, you gaze down at him, catching a full and proper glimpse of how irrevocably beautiful he is, even when in such a debauched state. Before anything could be said, he lifts your hips with effortless ease, and sinks you down on him again.
The edge of his lip twitches when your jaw falls open, brows pinching together when he guides your movements on his cock, helping you ride him to filth.
âToo pretty to be miserable,â he whispers, unsmiling. âRide that cock, baby, yeah, just like that.â
You whimper just at the praise, hands falling to his chest as you lift yourself off of him, to sheath back down. You work yourself up to a pace so heady and quick, the salt air begins to feel like clammy steam, the gentle waves feel like blurring music, and your spinning head begins to feel like the world around you is spinning in your stead.
Satoru pulls you flush against himself, eliciting a shocked squeal from you when your still-covered breasts meet his chest, and he holds you in place. Planting his feet flat on the ground, he fucks up into you, thrusting at a rough and fast pace.
âFuckâahâIâm gonna cum,â you whine into his ear, hair a mess and face buried in his neck.
His hand curls around your shoulder, holding you in place while fucking up into you. You feel the way his fingers imprint into your skin, all the while his cock slips out of you till your walls hug his flushed tip, and ruts so harshly back into you.
And heâs not giving anytime begin each thrust to recover. Beyond the waves of the waves of the ocean, all you can hear is the obscene pap pap pap of his skin slapping against yours. Your moans come broken, mingling with the wretched breaths that spill from his own mouth.
A gasp so sharp rips from your throat when your vision goes completely blurry, stars painting on the darks of your eyelids when you squeezed them shut, unraveling all over his cock.
With your forehead pressed against his sweat slicked temple, you can hear every sound that drips from his lips. How he grunts when he bucks his hips up into you, how he almost chokes on his breath when you squeeze around his length, how it sounds like a strangled moan because he is so caught up in the way he barely fits in you.
âJust a pretty little cock sleeve, huh?â his voice cracks with the groan. âNeeded a stranger to give you good dick.â
He doesnât let up his tempo, beginning to throw his head back as he reached his climax, tilting your jaw towards him, âHey, pretty, itâs okay for me to cum inside, yeah?â
Whimpering like a pathetic mess, you nod, âMhmââ
He smirks a smirk so subtle, you miss it. You miss the devious undertone to his question, the lewd dirty pleasure in his desire. How you two are out in the open and donât know each other at all, and youâre letting him ruin you before the elderly couples that walk the coast for their morning walks could emerge.
And when he plunges into you one final time and releases all that pent up tension in the form of white warm ropes inside your cunt, dripping down your thighs and his own, trickling onto that blanket you had laid out.
You both stay quiet, your breaths heavy and winded are all that fill the air.
Until he sits up, saying, âLetâs go. I can show you how I eat pussy better than that dumbass too.â
jiyu's letter á°.á soo i kind of gave up at the end lolol. it's just... feral snow leopard!satoru was too good to resist. perderme by miguel is such a fitting song for this fic i don't suggest i demand you listen to it while reading. hope you enjoy <3
=á˘=áľáľ smut smut smut!! p w/o p, heat season, satoru's a desperate whimpering mess, f! oral and fingering, p in v, marathon sex, overstim, satoru is FERALLL (and rough), dry humping, biting (on satoru's end), mating press
wc: 3.7k (can u tell i was ovulating GAHSHS)
fanart by: @/xxlorinmower
ever since you fostered the mischievous snow leopard hybrid, satoru had been a handful. demanding nothing but the best shampoos and conditioners to keep his tail, ears, and hair absolutely pristine and glossy and being especially picky about what you fed him (you basically had to change your diet to cater to his needs without going broke).
you kept him plenty entertained when you left for work, giving him enough enrichment to keep him from going wild in your apartment.
despite being very high maintenance, satoru was unbelievably independent. unlike many of the hybrids you had fostered, you hardly saw him outside of meal time, and he mostly did everything on his own. you didn't mind much; sometimes it was unnerving to see the large predator appear from the depths of his room at random, though.
especially today.
it was an unusually hot day during the first blooms of spring, windows springing up to bring in the relief of gusty winds.
to no avail, however, because it seemed as though satoru couldn't find reprieve from the sweltering temperature. sweat clung so heavily to his skin he practically had to peel his shirt off of his torso. he felt his face, a horrible flush arising. his heart was begging to pound out of his chest. it hit him so suddenly, he didn't know what was going on. a fever?
it wasn't until he caught your scent in the air and the filthiest fantasies roused in his mind did he realize just what was happening to him...
fuck, this wasn't good.
he tried to restrain himself, he really didâ he stripped himself down to his boxers, laid on the floor to get some relief, splashed cold water on his face to snap out of it. he even tried getting his raging boner down. multiple times.
nothing was helping.
he needed help, as hard as it was to admit. your help.
you were watching television in the living room, a fan plugged in right in front of the couch in your best attempts to cool off. you settled into the comfort of the cushions with a strawberry popsicle, hair tied out of the way of your face. a silly romcom played, capturing your attention. though, you wondered how satoru was doing with this unpredictable heat. you knew how much he detested the warm weather, especially because he already ran so hot temperature-wise.
as satoru was lethally silent, you hardly realized he had come out from his room, and you were entirely too invested in your show.
until you got a spine-chilling feeling that someone was looking at you. a sharp, primal instinct made you turn your head to the source, shoulders tenseâ
oh, god. it was just satoru.
"oh, hey. need anything?" you asked, a gentle cadence to your voice and a welcoming smile. you always acted as if you would scare him off if you spoke to him too casually.
his stare was almost expectant, pupils unmoving as he glanced at you. it was disconcerting, making you sit up straighter with half a mind to flee. it reminded you that you were housing a predator.
after a tense moment, he looks away. "no, just getting water." he turns towards the glass cabinet, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.
he chugged down the water, trying to wash away the filthy desires that clouded his mind when he saw you.
you had to be doing it on purpose. dressed in a flimsy cami top that he could easily rip off with a claw, and shorts that rode up your delectable thighs as you sat curled up on the couch. the way your tied-up hair left your dĂŠcolletĂŠ exposed and disappointingly unmarked.
satoru could fix that. he could sink his fangs into your prized flesh, blooming bruises across your skin, mark every inch of visible skin to claimâ
he adjusted his uncomfortable erection. no relief.
fuck it.
you tried to resume your show, but the looming presence of the snow leopard hybrid made you hyper-vigilant. he's never stayed out this long, nor stared at you like you were a whole meal. it was as if his elusive aura wrapped around the entire apartment whenever he came around. it made you curious, in various ways you didn't dare entertain.
his room was probably too hot to handle, and he needed some relief.
relief indeed.
unable to stand the silence any longer, you craned your head to where he was supposed to be in the kitchen, only to find him standing right in front of you, his pupils like eclipses.
you jolted, grasping the cushions below so you didn't fly from the very earth from being scared shitless. you needed to get him a bell or something.
"fuckâ sorry, you scared me. you okay, satoru?" you asked, swallowing thickly.
wordlessly, satoru plops down to his knees right in front of you. your scent, slightly salty, something rich, made his mind go static.
your eyes widen, and you sit up pin straight. you were expecting anything but that.
closer, you can see the furious flush coloring his cheeks red, the hair clinging to his forehead from sweat, the sheen glistening upon his shirtless torso. your cheeks sting as you watch his abdominals flex with every heaved breath, heavier and quicker than normal. and further downâ
you don't dare rationalize what you just witnessed.
"satoruâ you don't look very well... do you needâ"
he was purring. purring and rubbing his head against your legs, ears twitching as they made contact with your bare skin. his white hair was incredibly soft, tickling your shins. you didn't know what to do. why was he acting so strange? this sudden affection, his spiked temperature... it wasn't just the heat.
you sputtered, ears hot, "s-satoru, what are you---"
"i need help... this is so embarrassing," satoru said. his voice was low and strangely vulnerable. "fuck, i need you. please."
huh?
suddenly, everything clicked. the dilated pupils, the quick pulse, heavy breathing, high temperature---
shit. it was spring season. and it's not like the snow leopard had a partner to help with this, either.
this put you in a very bad place.
to make matters worse, satoru was sliding his hands up your calves and dragging himself closer, his crotch making contact with your leg.
shame went right out the door once he felt it. relieving pressure right at your feet.
an experimental roll of his hips had a quiet moan slipping from his pouty lips, his head nestling on your knees to hide his rosy face. his forehead was burning as it made contact with your skin.
you could barely breathe. this was wrong, wasn't it? you were giving this hybrid a home, taking care of his needs.
all cognizant thoughts were shattered right through when satoru grinded his erection right up against you again, and he propped his head up on your knees, lips pink from biting them, hair disheveled, his expression utterly ruined.
"help me, please."
well, taking care of his needs was your duty, after all.
satoru hated asking for help. it was simply not in his nature to do so, being a rather solitary hybrid.
so, when he got like this during his heat, he usually holed up in his room for the four days it lasted, curled up beneath the covers like a house cat, and tried to get through it the best he could.
he wasn't sure why he came to you for assistance. maybe because he could smell you from his room and it was fucking with him badly. maybe because you once told him he could come to you whenever he needed something.
maybe because, deep down, he was horribly attracted to you. and whenever he talked to you and you replied in that honey-sweet tone of yours, having to crane your head to gaze at his towering stature, he'd have to take a chastising cold shower immediately after to calm down.
maybe it wasn't just the heat making him act like a desperate whore.
satoru had waited for you to give him the go-ahead. a small nod was enough to have him kissing every available spot on your legs, his pearlescent fangs poking out as they got sloppier. his large hands paw your thighs apart, slipping between them to kiss further and further.
the rolling of his hips was insistent, a beg for release as his arousal grew near painful. soft moans left his mouth as he continued closer to the apex of your thighs, the doughy texture of your inner thighs giving him an irresistible urge to bite and suckle to his heart's content.
fuck, he was aimless. he had no idea how to proceed, where to go on besides clinging to you and humping your leg like a damn dog.
your teeth were tugging on your bottom lip as he placed those sinful kisses upon your skin, trying to mark you subconsciously. it was strangely pleasing, yet all the same not enough.
your hands threaded through his hair, brushing his ears. the sensation made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, an audible shudder leaving his lithe figure.
"satoru... touch me," you whispered, a hint of something dangerously close to titillation in your breathy voice.
that completely snapped him free of restraint.
in a blur, the light was shadowed by his broad shoulders, your body pushed into the cushions of the sofa, and your clothes were all but ripped off.
satoru didn't tease. didn't build up to anything.
he made sure you felt it all. the dark, primal instincts that were telling him to breed you, the lustful desires his boyish attraction to you had festered, how his thick fingers could reach deeper than any toy that you pretend satisfied you.
he pinned your legs down by your chest with one firm arm, keeping you defenseless to his merciless gestures.
satoru's rough, feline tongue made you twitch with every lap at your clit, his fingers driving into your fluttering walls with such intensity it had your eyes crossing. his purrs vibrated into your cunt as he latched onto your sopping cunt, groans languid and yet unsatisfied.
you were left scrambling to anchor yourself to the couch, hands grabbing hold onto the pillow on which your head rested on, your back bowing with each electric pulse satoru sent rushing up your spine.
you gasp as he plunges his digits deep inside of your cunt, curling right against the spongey spot that makes you keen. he does it over, and over again, relentless in making you feel.
"oh, godâ satoru!" you cry, breath ripped straight from your lungs. your hand flails to find purchase, landing in his pale locks. his ears twitch as you pull roughly, whether to push him away or hold him closer, and he shivers.
it only serves to make his rhythm quicken, wet squelches echoing from your spilling hole as his fingers piston inside, your walls clenching desperately to halt the inevitable climax.
"you're clenching around me so tightly... you want it that bad, huh?" satoru was slurring. you bet he hardly knew what he was saying. his eyes are low, predatory as he gazes up at you, dangerous with lust.
"s-satoru, haah, please, slow downâ" you beg indecisively, the pleasure so mind-shattering that your orgasm was quick to wash over you without warning.
you whine, legs straining against the weight he's beared down on you, head tossing back into the cushioning as he fingers you through the aftershocks, each wave seemingly stronger than the last. his pink muscle tongues at your over-sensitive bundle of nerves as if it was a bowl of milk, your cum adding a sweetened taste to your syrupy arousal.
"slow down?" satoru's grin is feral, entirely hungered as he watched your cunt quiver around his long fingers. "how could i when your perfect pussy is crying for me like this?"
he continued fucking you through your orgasm, playing with your overwhelmed clit, your hypersensitive nerves sent into overdrive. your moans turn whiny, writhing away from his ruthless hands.
âplease, satoruâ itâs too much⌠âm too sensitive, ahââ your hand grabs his wrist, shakily trying to push him away.
the look he gives you is enough to make your breath halt. âmove your hand.â the demand is low, borderline territorial.
you listen, your heart pounding in your ears. your babbling incoherently, knuckles whitening with how tightly you hold onto the cushions.
satoru throws you into another toe-curling orgasm, making you squeal his name with tears brimming your eyes. while youâre trying to collect yourself, he kisses your mound, then all the way up your body, gnawing teasingly at your flesh as if he wanted to eat you up.
he pulls you into a deep, unadulterated kiss, a mix of teeth and spit and tongue. it's messy, intense, and you find yourself moaning into his mouth. his body presses against yours, bare chest to chest, your legs wrapping around his waist.
satoru is drunk on your taste. he whines without realizing it, all thoughts beside you faded from his mind. his hips grind against yours, rubbing his clothed erection against your sodden pussy. your thighs clench around his waist, the friction making you sigh.
he easily picks you up from the couch, not breaking the kiss once as he takes you to his bedroom. kicking the door shut. he slowly lowers you down to the mattress, a stark contrast to how he was making it his goal to completely ravish you.Â
âshit,â satoru almost growls into the clasp of your kiss, the sound entirely animalistic. âneed you. need you so bad. please, pleaseââ
you gently run up your fingers along his heated back, the muscles rippling with pleasure as you do so, moving to hold the back of his nape. you pull away from the kiss, foreheads resting against each other. intimate. a grounding gesture.
âtake what you need,â you whisper.
thatâs enough for satoru, enough for him to push himself off of you, blown-out pupils holding your gaze as he pulls down his boxers, bare to you. his cock is flushed, painfully so. the curve making the veins that run along his shaft apparent. heâs hard, and has been for so damn long, heâs surprised he hasnât gone insane.
you sit up, somewhat in a daze. you grab the length, pumping a few strokes along it. you almost felt bad.Â
âhow long have you been like this?â you murmur, keeping your pace slow.Â
his long, white eyelashes flutter as his eyes shut, brows furrowing as a needy moan punches out of his lungs.
âfuâ fuck, since⌠this morning,â satoru stammers. his hand reaches for your wrist, gently circling around it as if unsure whether to stop you or let you continue. âplease, shit⌠need to be inside. wanna be inside. please.â
you don't resist. you lie back against the sheets, spreading your legs easily. he swallows, his eyes as wide as saucers. this was a sight better than anything he could ever be offered, better than any expensive goat meat you bought for him. his tail flicks behind him, heavy and unguarded. he crawls over to you as if he were stalking prey, slow and meticulous. he kisses your knee before shrouding you, pressing his lips to your pulse.
he lines himself up to your drooling hole, slowly sliding inside. the pressure is burning, his girth stretches your hole, making your pussy flutter from the sudden intrusion. you hiss, digging your nails into his shoulder.Â
âahâ itâs not gonna fit,â you gasp, keening as he slips past the ring of muscle, sucking him in deeper. satoru whimpers, trying to restrain himself from ramming his entire cock inside.
âshhh, shhh, itâll fit. relax. you can take it.â he contains himself just enough to comfort you, sliding kisses across your collarbone, down to your nipples where he suckles and fondles your breasts to get you to relax.
he slowly rolls his hips, moving according to your comfort. you moan lowly, your hand migrating to tease his ears which has him purring.
once your walls are able to accommodate all of him, he is no longer gentle. he fucks you deep, hard enough to have the headboard smack the wall with each pronounced thrust. he is unabashedly loud. whining your name like a curse, whimpering when you clench around him, his spotty tail swinging wildly with his rigor. Â
tears are streaming down your face by then, your back bowing, nails digging into his back. your voice croaks from mewling his name, pitchy and cracking. what makes you really scream is when satoru grabs the backs of your knees, roughly pushing your legs down to your chest, pistoning deep enough to prod at your cervix.Â
âah, ahâ! s⌠âtoru! so fucking deep, ngh!â every noise you make is punctuated by his relentless thrusts, each pressing you into the mattress.
âfuck⌠oh, fuckkk⌠you're clenching around me, haah, yesyesyes!â satoru babbles, lost in the wet sloshes of your pussy. it's so much yet not enough all in the same. he wants more, craves more, he wants to absorb himself in you and your scent and godâ
he wants to make you his.Â
the thought curls darkly in his mind, roiling with hormones and earnest want. it makes his pace impossibly faster, with energy you thought would be at least toned down from effort. as if in reaction to his revelation, his tail wraps across your abdomen, fur tickling you with its claim.
he lets out a growly moan, sucking on your collarbone, plunging deeper inside of you, hitting your sweet spot with mind-numbing precision.Â
âoh, my godâ ohmygodohmygodâ shit! right there, don't stop!â you whine, meeting his thrusts with a small cant of your hips. your legs quiver in his grasp, gratification rattling your nerves. satoru lets out a groan, his face dipping into the crook of your neck, small whimpers falling directly into your ear while he suckles on your shoulder.
âfeel so⌠hngh, goodâ g-gonna make you mine. hm? say you're mine, please.â his words hardly register in your head, but you are nodding regardless, nails clawing at his back with every push of his cock. a sharp twinge pinches the skin of your shoulder, satoru's feline fangs biting into flesh. it makes you gasp, a broken moan erupting from your lips.Â
âahâ ah! iâm yours, yours, mnghââ those words only serve to make satoruâs thrusts grow sloppy, his tip kissing your sweet spot with each deep plunge.Â
it was filthy, entirely primalâ and yet intensely passionate.Â
ââm gonna cumâ shit, shit, iâm cumming, yes!â he spills into your velvet walls with a choked sob, spurts of thick white painting your walls. he clings onto you, fucking you through your own release, indistinct sweet nothings purring into your ears as he kisses you along your collarbone.
âso good fâme⌠pretty girl, doing so well. love you, love youâŚâ he pulled you into a kiss, one that asserted you weren't leaving this bed for a whileâŚ
minutes fade into merciless hours. even after making you orgasm so much you nearly forgot your own name, satoru's stamina seemed limitless. it was as if he was trying to carve his very existence into you with each thrust of his cock, as if it was his single goal to imprint on you. which, it probably was; deep marks littered your skin, bite marks plentiful on across your shoulders.Â
not to mention the way he had flipped you every which way just to stuff you full of his cum. the sheets beneath you were evidence, his seed dripping out of your tired hole, parts of the fabric ripped from satoruâs claws trying to find purchase.
after you grew too tired to hold yourself up, he laid both of you down on your sides, his fervent thrusts becoming messy grinds of his hips, though they were just as eager.Â
satoru was barely comprehensible. moaning your name, soft cries leaving his kiss-swollen lips when he bottomed out. his voice became a hoarse whisper as he murmured praises into your ear, biting and licking at the skin just below.
âhnghhh⌠you feel so good, wanna keep you like this forever, mngh⌠you're fucking amazing,â he groans, forehead sweltering hot as he presses it against your shoulder. his hand moves from its place at your stomach, fondling your breast, eliciting a tired whine from you.
ââtoru⌠can't⌠i canât, it's too much,â you say, legs still shaking from your previous climaxes.
he hushes you tenderly, thumb rubbing over your receptive nipple while he litters kisses on your shoulder. âshhh, you can. one more, okay? can you do that for me?âÂ
his fingers tease your skin as he lowers to the apex of your thighs, finding your clit and rubbing tight circles. you let out a low moan, head leaning back against his chest.Â
âcum for me, pretty girl.â he rolls his hips right into the spongey part of your walls, your shuddering release washing over you.Â
satoruâs comes not too long after, a growly whimper muffled by your skin that he presses his lips against. the base of his shaft is frothy with your mixed releases, a sinful vision that has him rearing for more. yet, with the way your body slumps against him, rationality slightly unfogs his heat-addled mind.Â
you needed rest. and to be cleaned up.Â
with a few kisses to your heated skin and murmurs of praise, satoru lays you down, leaving to retrieve a warm, damp cloth. he cleans you, the gesture oddly intimate. after tossing the towel away, he crawls over to you, pressing his cheek against your chest as he plops himself on top of you, strong arms enwrapping your waist.Â
you are just barely conscious enough to hear:
âthink you can take a few days off work? might be like this a while.â
Summary: You have been Satoru's best friend for such a long time, and one day he asks you a really big favor- marry him. What!?!? Well, Satoru has to take a wife as he's running the Gojo corporation, and what better way to get them off his back than 'marry'? In name only, just best friends living together for a year to calm them down, sounds so perfect and uncomplicated, right!!! Well, living with Satoru Gojo makes you both question everything, is this fake marriage feeling... real? and can you just be friends after this?
CW: NSFT-MDNI- Going to have smut at the end (three parts!) lots of sexual tension, light angst but mostly fluffy, friends to lovers AND marriage of convenience trope lol. Explicit sex, oral sex, it's me so a breed kink, gonna be a miniseries, Satoru is a lil sweetie and a lil freaky ass- falls hard, ya'll both down bad.
WC- 22 k- completed
Preview- click above for the chapters!
âYou love me, right?â
You blink a bit, as you stare at Satoru Gojo, heâs been your best friend all throughout high school and even before youâve known him. Youâre sitting across from him, while heâs sipping boba with you, his Gucci shades perched on the bridge of that straight nose, a smirk on his glossy lips. You tilt your head curiously at him, of course you love Satoru, but he only pulls this when he needs a favor.
âWhatâd you get into this time, Toru?â You demand, he gasps then, affronted, a hand to his chest.
âExcuse me, missy? Iâm just asking if you love me.â
You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat in the little cafe. âOf course, you know I love your goofy ass.â
Satoru takes off his glasses, those swirling blue eyes wrecking you as they have all these years, usually you can put up enough of a barrier not to let them consume you, but apparently you havenât today. You watch those snowy lashes lower when his eyes bore into you, swirling storms of bright blue, you have to snap yourself out of it.
Being Satoru Gojoâs best friend wasnât for the weak.
âHow much you love me, hmm?â
âWhat is it you need, an alibi?â He snorts then, shaking his head and wrapping his lips around the straw.
âMânot Suguru, shit⌠no, I need a really big favor. Like⌠the biggest favor, but if you agree, I can really make it worth your while.â
âOkay this isnât a mobster movie, Toru, what is it?â Satoru looks down then, long fingers swirling around the top of his cup, before his eyes snap back to yours.
âWhat if I said Iâd help you with all that student loan debt, and buy you a shiny brand new car?â
âI donât want your money, I do fine okay?â
âYour car is old enough to drink.â
âFuck off!â Your glare makes him snort in laughter. âIt is not, itâs like⌠not even old enough to vote⌠I donât think.â
âItâs old, sweets. Say you also had a place to stay, for free?â
âSatoru this isnât Pretty Woman-â
âI love that movie!â
âSatoru! What are you getting at!?â Youâre crossing your arms then, raising a brow at the lanky man across from you, whose legs are spread wide in his dark blue dress pants, heâs pulling just a bit at his silky black tie.
Satoru has taken a huge role recently in his family business, the conglomerate that owned a million different things, you know how much he detests it, but once Satoru graduated college his family pushed it more and more. At this point he was thriving, doing most of the work with his father taking much more of a back seat, his health starting to deteriorate.
You and Gojo spend more time together than ever, you know he needs his friend, especially with Suguru having left for some time, the two of them not together was always hard on him. Youâd been friends with both of them, but Suguru seems to have left and found his own calling, swinging through to see you both from time to time, but much is different since those days at Tokyo high.
Not you and Satoru though.
For the longest time you pined away for him, but you never made that move, aside from one stolen kiss in a closet during seven minutes in heaven, and Satoru had it bad for you all of Junior and Senior year, but the two of you never risked it, your friendship. And now youâre glad to have him in your life, but itâs hard to even think of someone serious when heâs so brightly and firmly in your life.
âThis is a huge favor I need, itâs⌠a lot to ask.â Satoru murmurs softly, you tense a bit, brows drawing together.
âWhatâs wrong, is everything okay?â Your voice is a low hum as you murmur, he nods just a bit.
âYeah itâs fine just⌠Iâm being forced to choose a bride, and they have many candidates.â He laughs humorlessly, and your heart breaks for him.
âShit, Iâm so sorry, Satoru. I thought youâd have longer?â
âYeah, I wish.â He runs a hand through his silky white locks, looking down for a moment, lips that always smirk or maybe pout actually frowning. âI need to just get it done, get em off my ass.â
âThat doesnât sound like you, why not tell em to fuck themselves, hmm? Whereâs my Toru!?â
âHeâs exhausted.â He swipes a hand across his face, and you lean closer, hand on his leg, his eyes sliding back to yours.
âDo you want me to help find someone? I have a lot of good friends in high families⌠find you someone not money hungry, not a psycho? How much time do you even have?â
âThatâs not what I'm asking.â He puts his big hand over yours now, sighing, leaning closer to you. âIâm asking if you want to.â
âIf I want to, what exactly?â
âMarry me?â
âWhat!?â He chuckles then, but even that sound is exhausted.
âYou forget youâre from a top family, nah itâs not the Gojo clan butâŚâ
âSatoruâŚâ
âJust for like a bit? To get em to leave me alone, let me gain some more power. All for show, and Iâll help you with anything, I promise.â Heâs clutching your hand, and suddenly the room feels like itâs spinning.
âWh-why me? We⌠you⌠IâŚâ
âYouâre my best friend, it would be like being roommates damn near. You could⌠do your thing as long as youâre discrete.â He murmurs, you want to laugh then, as if youâve done anything in a couple of years now. âAnd I would be discrete, respectful, weâd just be in name, appearance. Weâre best friends, it will be a piece of cake, and most of all⌠I trust you.â
You try to digest all the information, blinking and trying not to think the insane thoughts that come with it, but you fail. âBut wonât they want⌠an heir?â
Satoruâs cheeks flush bright pink now. âWe donât need to⌠Iâd never ask you to do that, ever I swear. Iâd never be an ass like that.â
You feel your heart racing as you shove back all of the images you should not have for your friend. âI know, I know. But⌠theyâd-â
âThatâs the thing, a year or so and theyâll back off. Give me time to fix some mistakes, with dad being sick⌠Iâm not saying I wonât miss him, but how he is running shit? No, I know I can make things better, take down these shitty higher ups who are so greedy. You just could give me more time, and I promise Iâll do anything I can to help you too.â
âItâs insane, this is marriage!â You blink a bit, shifting, his hand now brushing back a lock of hair from your forehead, a familiar gesture that now takes on something more intimate.
âIt can just be for show, weâll be the same best friends as always. I have no one I can imagine even living with but you, maybe Suguru but⌠heâs not a girl.â
âHe has that long silky hair?â You both laugh a little, softly then.
âHe sure does, but⌠youâre prettier to look at.â
âFlattery? Stop that. Itâs insane, and⌠how would we even explain it in such a rush?â
âWeâve been friends forever. Who wouldnât believe that we got together? Itâs even easier. I mean, maybe a couple kisses and things for show, but⌠youâve kissed me before, remember?â Heâs grinning wide then, you shove at him playfully. âThat closet was cramped, hmm?â
âOh shut it, that was so long ago. I mean, if you really need me, you know Iâll do this for you. I donât expect you to go all out on anything for me in return.â Satoru pauses now, watching how the light streaming in through the large cafe windows hits your pretty face, as you explain to him that youâd want nothing in return for this!? For this huge imposition on your life.
You have always been the sweetest, best friend he has had, so important to him heâs never dared to cross that line, and he knows it will tempt him to no end to do this, but he also knows he can trust you. âLet me just take care of a few things for you, you can almost see it as a job. There will be events, meetings with the other leaders, trust me. Like anything I can do, youâll be helping me so much.â
âAlright.â
âWhat!?â
Heâs hugging you tightly to him, you giggle a bit, breathless. âYeah, Iâll do it⌠I need a nice car though, Toru. A BMW?â
âIâll get you ten BMWs.â
âJesus, no. Silly boy.â You giggle as you look up at him, your best friend, but then your heart falters when heâs just a bit too close.
âShould we practice kissing now?â He teases, voice husky.
âSatoru, you're insufferable.â
He pouts now, and you swallow down the fact that you donât know if you can even handle kissing his lips.
aita for fucking a dilf when my boyfriend couldnât get the job doneâs.gojo
âfuuuuck your boyfriend canât treat you right, can he?â
âhnnnngâsâsatoru slow downnnnâ.â you mewled into his expensive sheets, tears staining the covers while he relentlessly pounded into you, his massive cock bullying your poor pussy while you held onto his back, scratching down his torso while his pace quirked against yours.
in hindsight, you shouldnât have been here. your good for nothing boyfriend was waiting for you at home, in your cute little apartment, probably blowing up your phone while you had your shit rocked by a man presumably two decades older than you were.
you loved him, sure, but guys your age just werenât enough anymore. you needed someone who knew how to treat you right.
you could feel him stretching you open, the sickening squelch of your pussy trying to take all of him filling his expensive penthouse, your tear stained eyes trying to look over the city through the massive glass windows he had in his bedroom.
âsuch a sweet girl, you always this obedient around older men?â he whispered into your ears, moving your ankles past your ears while digging his nails into the plush fat of your thighs while he snapped his hips against yours.
ânâno..â you moaned, trying to hide your face in the pillows, while he thrust into you like youâd run away if he didnât, every inch of your skin dressed in the prettiest bite marks, your soft whimpers and screams filling the room alongside the sinful smell of sex.
âa boy like that wouldnât know what to do with a good girl like you even if he tried.â all you could was whimper in response, the nickname he purred into your ears going straight to your pussy, your slick dripping down your thighs while you clenched around his cock.
his voice sounded almost mocking, his blue eyes staring you down while he shifted his hands to your hips, his grip almost bruising while his pace didnât slow.
âiâisnât your son hckâin the next roomâ.â
âshh, if you stay quiet, weâll be fine, baby.â he cooed while you were practically choking a sob because of him and his stupidly fat cock.
âheâs not gonnaâŚ.hnnng like this, old man.â
he cocked his eyebrows at you, his pace moving to a slow languid thrust just so you could feel every inch of his cock, every vein and ridge while your walls clenched around him, his tip kissing the head of your cervix before he pulled out, only to snap his hips back again.
âold man? this old man is gonna breed you until you canât walk, pretty.â
âhckâw-waitâ.â you could see his eyes glint under the dull moonlight cast from his windows, his massive arms caging you, his pretty, flushed, leaking cock stretching you wiiiide openâ
âgojoâplease.â
âthatâs sir to you.â
âsâsorry.â
âsorry, what, baby?â
âsir.â
âthat wasnât so hard, was it?â his hips were now rutting against yours frantically, his abs straining with every little movement, a sheen of sweat covering his sculpted body while he buried himself inside you.
âfuuuck sâ big toru.â
âi know, baby.â
you could feel your eyes roll back, your vision blurring while you chased your own high, and before you knew it, warm cum filled your insides, with gojo collapsing on top you, his entire body enveloping yours, your moans filling the expanse of his room while he kisses your forehead.
âso your boyfriend couldnât handle all that, huh?â
âyou are too old to be talking like that.â you grimaced, trying to roll his body off of yours.
âoh please, itâs not like youâre rushing to leave, pretty.â he grinned while you looked through your phone, that was until you noticed that your boyfriend had called you.
and satoru gojo, this slick son of a bitch had answered that callâyou frantically ended it, internally making a note to never trust strange men on sites for hot dilfs in your area with your phone.
âsatoru gojo. what the fuck did you do.â
âyou should be a lot more careful trusting older men on the internet, pretty.â
and against your will, you could feel yourself rubbing your thighs together, while gojo managed to get himself out his bed to go make sure his son was fast asleep.
âoh, and the roomâs soundproofed, wouldnât wanna wake megumi, he gets cranky.â
âyouâ.â
âgenius? oh, baby, tell me something i donât know.â
annnnyways. tysm for the lovely @kalatiii & @suganoms for feeding my worms for this fic ily guys mmmmwah. @yoonsucks @yorikae @sugusplaything !! & @lynf1n1ty this oneâs for YOU
dividers: @/pixopix .
all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon tojiâs worm to crawl up your ass.
It's your ten year high school reunion and there's just one person you're don't want to see, your first love - Satoru Gojo. He was the football captain, you were the cheerleader, it was that high school love that consumed you, only for it to all fall apart when Satoru broke your heart. Even after all these years, you still resent him for it, you hate him, in fact - so how do you two end up in the backseat of his sports car!?
ËâšâĄ pairings- ex bf! gojo x reader
ËâšâĄwarnings- a little angsty, past emotions, high school sweethearts, you were a cheer captain and he was an allstar player, flashbacks, idiots in love, insecurities, teasing, mutual pining, longing, oral ( f receiving) fingering, squirting, riding him in the backseat, love confessions, happy ending <3
this one just randomly popped into my head out of nowhere, comments/rbs always appreciated if you enjoy! Wc- 7.3k
Art creds right here!
Ten years - it's been ten years since you saw him, your first love, your first kiss, the first everything.
High school reunion and truly the two of you look the same, he's a little buffer, his shoulders are broader, perhaps his jaw has sharpened ever so slightly - but it's undeniably him and you. Satoru Gojo - the top football player in the school and you - the pretty cheerleader who was always with him.
On him, near him, on top of him in the front seat of his sports car, smacking your head and giggling as he fucked up into you, stretching you out on his cock. He'd been sweet that first time, even as you all snuck around and parked in the middle of nowhere, even with the cramped confines.
Yet he'd been there - kissing you deep, messy and slow, pumping you up and down that veiny length as you took more and more from him, kissing you with his tongue ring clicking against your teeth. You'd whined out, desperately arching for more, shattering and fluttering your eyes shut.
The memories heat you up as you stand there across from him, trembling with your thighs pressed together, nails pressing into your palms, seeing him catching up with all his friends. He'd gone to university, but you'd gone out of state, and that was when it had all fallen apart.
The pain is there, lingering, eating at you - yet those feelings linger, the first love, the youth you all had where you couldn't get enough of each other, just for it all to end.
When those eerie blue eyes catch you across the room, however, he's not smirking, not laughing and shoving his friends, no he's got them locked on you now. Suguru and Nanami pause, peering over at you, then at each other, as you turn and rush to grab a drink.
You can't even stand to be in the same room with him after ten years.
You run into Shoko and Utahime, they give you a hug and the three of you throw back a shot, laughing a bit as you catch up with them.
âYou two together, hmm?â Your lips twitch up in amusement, they look at each other and then kiss. âStop that, youâre making me jealous!â
âHave you decided to stop being into men?â
âNo I wish,â you pout and lean back, letting Shoko grab you another shot. âItâs been nothing but hell.â
âAnother shithead?â Utahime asks, frowning a bit.
âYeah, but it was three yearsâŚâ You shake your head. âI shouldnât talk about it, Iâll cry again, and I am not crying with Gojo at this party.â
âAh, Gojo,â Utahime makes Shoko laugh. âWhat, I canât stand him!â
âHeâs not that bad, just an idiot,â she grabs her pack of cigarettes and starts smacking them on her palm, raising a dark brow as you look over at him, turning quickly when he catches you staring.
âYou still have it bad, all these years, sweets?â
âNo! Shoko!â You cover your face and shake your head. âNever again, I havenât even spoken to him.â
âIn ten years?â Shoko asks, surprise clear on her features.
âNo, Iâve not even been in the country for five years, but he never reached out to me, and neither did I, aside from when his parents were sick and it was on the news. I did write to him, but he just⌠hearted it. Iâm sure he had a lot going on.â
And that fucking hurt, that you couldnât even comfort him, that you knew he faced a fuck ton of responsibilities now. Yet all these years Satoru hearted one of your photos, and reacted to the only message you sent â you swear the heart must have been a misclick, too.
It hurts so bad, that you were too stubborn to reach out in the darkest times, that he wouldnât leave your memories. Sure â it faded, you went and got your masterâs degree, you went abroad, now youâre back home, though, and you couldnât help but wonder if youâd run into him somewhere. Yet, Satoru had been doing a lot of traveling himself this past year.
Youâd know, you stalked his IG.
How pathetic after a decade to still want to know about him, but there was nothing to be done â since the breakup youâve been even more so thinking of him.
Of how nothing ever felt like him touching you, him inside you, him looking at you the way he did. Yet itâs always overshadowed by the fact that you never heard him say those words, just three words that you craved so badly as a young girl. Even now, the words that spill from your lips never feel the same as that confession.
âHe takes care of the company now, I think thatâs hard for him.â
âHeâs still just a dick,â Utahime says to Shoko, she laughs and shakes her head at her. âSorry, but he is.â
âYou two always hated each other,â you muse, peeking again to see him walking over. âShit!â
âIâm⌠gonna smoke,â you gasp and Shoko grabs Utahime. âOutside⌠bye, baby!â
âYou brats!â You hiss as they laugh and rush out, you tense as you smell his goddamn cologne the closer he gets.
Bergamot.
It was so distinctly him â even when he had none of it on, his smell on clean skin just did something â especially with raging hormones as a teenager. You clench your thighs just inhaling him, trying to ignore his very presence, but heâs already standing next to you, murmuring your name.
âGojo.â He raises a brow, heâs just gotten hotter, his jaw is so cut itâs unfair, his blue eyes peeking at you.
Suddenly youâre nervous, tugging at your dress â youâre not eighteen anymore, your tits donât sit up quite like they did, your hips widened, youâre just⌠different. And Satoru looks the same, if not more cut.
You become conscious of everything, almost holding your breath as he takes you in, smiling at you. His girl youâd seen him with was a fucking actress, youâre just a small town girl, nothing glamorous. Surely he wanted-
Why do you care what he wants?
Why is he sending you spiraling just coming near you?
âWhat do you want?â He sighs at that, the cocky grin off his face, easing back when you push at his chest just a bit, hand pausing before you tug it back, staring down into your drink.
âThatâs the greeting I get, sweetheart? After a decade?â
âShould just smack you.â
âIâd probably like it,â you snort and roll your eyes, making his tentative little smile come back, sitting next to you. âCanât I get a hi?â
âHi,â you narrow your eyes now. âAnd bye.â
âGod youâre mean,â he leans close, lips brushing against your ear, your heart hammers in your chest. âItâs hot on you.â
âYouâre so full of it,â you lean back and sip your drink, narrowing your eyes at him. âAs if you donât have a girlfriend or five.â
âYeah, no,â you raise a brow. âI was engaged, but that was over as of⌠letâs see,â he calculates in his head. âA month now.â
âOh,â you frown, looking down at your own finger, the little change of color where the band once was. âMe too, but like two months.â
âShit, Iâm sorry,â you shrug a bit, seeing his eyes dart to your finger.
âHe fucked my former best friend â and she got pregnant.â
âWhat!?â
âYeah,â you throw back the rest of your wine, shaking your head. âGo ahead, laugh at it.â
âWhy would I fucking do that?â You look at him and feel your heart pound in your chest at his face, at how he looks at you in that moment.
Fuck you missed him, didnât you?
âYou were mean then,â you whisper, and he falters, looking down, hurt clear on his features. âSo mean to me at the end.â
âI know that,â it kills him to think of then, how upset he had been that you werenât going to his university, the sheer upset of you moving, the fear of how desperately in love he was already.
He never even got to tell you.
His parents were pushing him to marry even back then, and it was anyone but you â a pretty middle class girl wasnât up to âtheir standardâ. It had killed him to try to keep up with that, but even so he never wanted to lose you â though he was scared shitless by what he felt for you, by the sheer obsession he had.
Even ten years ago he was searching for you, pictures of you where youâd moved, trying to keep tabs â fuck, last year he saw you with that fiance and almost got sick from it. His fiance was just someone his parents pushed enough, and with him having to take over their place soon, heâd gone along with it.
Itâs not like he could ever love anyone after you.
There was nothing like what he felt, countless women underneath him, on top of him, bent over with their asses arched, but nothing came close to the breathless way he held you, how your lips brushed together. He wondered often if it was because you were his first love, you were so many of his firsts, no he wasnât a virgin, but he didnât do all the things you two did before you.
Before that it was awkward, fumbling around, heâd usually been so nervous heâd let the girls take the lead, but everything about you made him want to â the way you fell apart when he learned to eat pussy with every flick of his tongue on you. You didnât know that, of course, he ended up being sort of a prodigy at it rather quickly.
Satoru may have been a jock, but he was also very much a nerd at heart, so he studied it all extensively â porn wasnât even for jerking his cock, it was to learn how to make you squirt. It was to make his girlfriend feel good.
Satoru was good at making you cum.
Yet he failed in so many other areas of your relationship â royally failed, especially that day you said good bye at the airport, and he was so very fucking hurt by you. It rushes through his head â and is if he is on the same wavelength âyou say it softly.
âThat day at the airport, I canât forget that,â you shake your head. âCall me petty, a ten year long grudge holder, I agree.â
âYouâre notâŚâ He trails off then, cupping your face in a way he shouldnât.
How does Satoru remember your scent still? After a decade itâs as vivid as ever, the scent that if he even caught a whiff of it heâd search for you, even now.
Thatâs what scared him the most â how obsessed he was then.
How hopeless in love he was, and scared of getting hurt â only to hurt you.
*****
Ten years ago
You were trembling, tears streaming down your face â you get it, why Satoru didnât think long distance could work, some fucking promise to be friends, but staring at him now has you furious. You see him holding back, his own eyes glassy with unshed tears, fists clenched at his sides.
âYouâre happy Iâm going far away,â you whisper, clutching your luggage as he glares.
âIâm not fucking happy, what?â
âYou are,â you laugh then, swiping at your cheeks, hating those trails that revealed just how upset you were. âWhyâd you take me here? To make the break up more permanent?â
âI donât want toâŚâ He didnât want to lose you, itâs on the tip of his dumb ass eighteen your old brain to say it.
â I donât want to lose you. â
Yet those words never spill â he just cups your face, thumb brushing a tear away, looking into the face of the girl heâs terrified of. Heâs scared to feel it all, to lose you to someone, to be put under all that pressure to marry and cause you more pain. Then he didnât truly know how to handle it.
âWanted to feel better by saying goodbye?â
âWe were friends for years before this,â he desperately cups your face, leaning low as the rush of people walk past you all, headed toward their flight, and the attendant is making her announcements. âI just want whatâs best for you, how would us being across the country ever going to be okay?â
âIâd have made it work,â you had shut your eyes, tugged him close by his lettermanâs jacket, the one you used to wear all the time after you both went on dates. Heâd wrap it all around your shoulders, enveloping you in that scent, the warmth. Now itâs a cruel joke to have it underneath your fingers.
âIâm your first boyfriend, what if youâŚâ He had swallowed down that bile in his throat at the thought. âWhat if you regret only being with me, what if you wanted more experience?â
âYou think that?â You asked, lost in his eyes, unsure how he thinks youâd ever want a boy but him. âNo, I-â
âBoarding flight 111 now, five minutes to board.â
You curse, turning to leave when he slams his lips down on yours, and for just a moment youâre done for, youâre melting in his arms, hands slipping up his chest as he presses you right against one of the pillars, uncaring of who walked by. You meet his kisses, exhaling and letting his tongue slide in, the familiar barbell dancing on the roof of your mouth.
His hands are firm on your waist, pulling back and looking down at you. âIâm doing this for you.â
You glare then, shoving at him. âFor me!? Leaving me?â
âYouâre the one leaving!â
âNo, Iâm going to college, youâre the one who wonât try! I canât believe I let you kiss me again!â you rush off and he grabs your wrist, you jerk back and glare up at him again. âIâm done. Satoru, just let me go â donât hurt me more.â
âI donât want you to-â
âYou donât know what you want,â he lets your wrist go, his own eyes glazing over with emotion, pretty even under the harsh lights of the airport. âYou donât get to tell me what Iâll want in the future, you donât get to decide that for me, and you sure donât get to tell me that this is âfor my own goodâ. It hurts, and you have to deal with that.â
âPlease, just,â you canât. You canât fall into his arms, how would you let him go? âJust keep talking to me, keep-â
âItâll kill me,â you stepped forward and tiptoed then, kissing his lips softly, tasting the salt of both your tears. âItâll kill me to have to talk to you when I canât have you.â
âSweetheart-â
âI love you,â he faltered then, youâd not said it because he hadnât, but there was no stopping it now. âIâll miss you, Toru.â
You rushed off before he could say anything, tears hot down your cheeks, Satoru had rushed to catch you, but you wereâŚ
Gone.
*****
âI shouldnât have broken up with you,â you pause, leaning back in shock. âThough now youâre probably glad I did.â
âYou⌠youâre⌠saying sorry?â
âIs it so surprising?â He rubs the back of his neck, youâre in shock clearly. âGuess so, I wasnât one to admit I was wrong then.â
âWhy do you say you shouldnât have?â He sips his own drink, eyes shutting for a moment. âYou feel bad how it happened?â
No, Satoru knows heâll never feel that way about anyone â and a decade of loneliness has only made him regret that shit more. He could have three babies with you by now, have given you anything you wanted â he stalks your pages, he knows you work constantly, and he loves that. But another part of him wishes you didnât have to, that you were taken care of.
Youâd probably smack him and call him a misogynist for that shit, and he loves that about you.
He still loves that girl from high school, the woman sitting here with her face just a bit more defined, with her tits so soft and pretty looking, hips he bets would feel so good to grab as he bent her over. Thighs that he has to touch, they just look too smooth with whatever shimmery lotion you put on them.
He gives into the urge, fingertips brushing on your skin, eliciting a shaky little breath from your lips, your eyes catching each other. âYeah, you could say I feel bad about how I did it. I never saidâŚâ
Heâs not really gonna apologize is he?
âShh,â you put a finger to his lips, he smirks a bit. âDonât make me like you, Toru.â
âToru, fuck, been forever since I heard that,â he grins all dopey and cute, taking your wrist in his hand, long fingers wrapping it. He presses a little kiss to your fingers, a gesture he used to do forever ago, pausing as it feels too natural.
âI donât want to like you.â He nods a bit, thumb brushing over your knuckles, eyeing the place where that ring was.
âHe was an idiot.â
âYeah?â
âIâd know, Iâm a big fucking idiot,â you laugh a bit, nodding. âDonât agree with me!? Brat.â
âWell, you are,â you sigh then, he nips your finger hard with his sharp ass teeth, and Shoko and Utahime walk back in, watching you both.
You have the eyes of your entire graduating class on you both.
Satoru and you, the perfect couple â that perky cheerleader and the star player, voted in the yearbook to be the best couple in fact, most popular, the best looking, you name it. You and Satoru won so many they had to give them to other people â and all for what?
To hate looking at your yearbook?
To look at how happy you were?
âDo you ever wonderâŚâ He eases your hand down now, but he doesnât let it go. âIf it was just the first love, the hormones, the high school puppy love?â
âPuppy loveâŚâ Youâve never even heard him say that word â love. Though he means it differently, it gets you. âI guess everyoneâs first love is kind of epic.â
âNah, not really,â he sips on his drink, a little droplet clinging to his lips, one of his thighs brushing against yours and you barely hold back a gasp at the contact. âI havenât found many people that had⌠what we did.â
âA toxic ass relationship, nasty breakup?â
âThat was some of it,â he admits, heart racing like heâs some inexperienced boy and not a grown man â you just make him feel that way.
âYes I wonder,â you sigh, admitting it finally. âI wonder if it was hyped up in my head, if the nostalgia and the⌠pain of you breaking up mess with me more. All the what ifs.â
âI hurt you.â Itâs a quiet little statement.
âYou hurt me, and I hated you,â he looks down where your hand brushes on his thigh, covering it with his huge one. âYou were a dick.â
âI know, I just-â you lean forward and kiss him before you can stop yourself, making him tense up, his hand on the small of your back tugging close as he relaxes into it, exhaling against your lips. You pull back with a little dazed look, lips glossy. âWhat did I do to deserve that?â
âI was trying to see if thatâs what it was,â you whisper softly. âPuppy love.â
âAh,â he tilts your chin up, kissing you again, your earrings fall back, brushing the side of your neck as he tugs you close until your ass is half off that barstool. âWe should see, yeah? If itâs just nostalgia.â
âYeah just for um⌠closure,â he laughs a bit, and you glare. âClosure and Iâm horny and single.â
âIâll take it,â fuck heâd take any of you. âFor true nostalgia we shouldâŚâ
Heâs kissing down the side of your neck, your eyes flutter closed as his mouth leaves a wet trail, his tongue flicking over your racing pulse. You cling so tightly, itâs hard to let go, whining out and arching your hips, thankful there is loud music reverberating all over.
Satoru heard it, though, leaking pre and pulsing from your taste, your scent, the softness of your skin.
Fuck he canât ever do this and hope to be ânormalâ.
But there was no way he didnât take one night with you.
âShould what?â You murmur, biting down on your lip when he gently nips behind your ear, your nails cling to his jacket tightly.
âFor old times sake, Iâd say we go to my car,â you laugh then, shaking your head as he pulls back, kissing your lips again. âLemme drink your pretty little cunt up again, finger you till you squirt all over my new seats.â
Fuck.
Fuck him, really.
âIn your car? Are we in high school?â He looks around and you laugh then, shaking your head. âFine, but Iâm not as flexible, I havenât tumbled since college.â
âI bet you still are,â he teases. âUsed to fold you right in-â
âNow.â
âNow?â You hop down with his help, turning and just walking. âWait!â
Itâs moments and you all are devouring each other, stumbling against the cool brick wall outside as the night air brushes against your skin, youâre shivering as he walks you to his car â by walking, that meant him carrying your ass, cock pressing your needy cunt as your thighs wrap his hips.
The car is nicer than his in high school â a fancy ass Audi â you arenât one to know anything about cars, but the damn thing looked like it was exactly what Satoru would drive. The expensive leather hits your senses as he slides you in, your mouths are all over each other, needy and desperate.
"Missed this," you almost donât believe it, that he ever could, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before trailing his mouth down your jaw. "Missed you."
âYou donâtâŚâ
âNo?â You sigh, shaking your head as Satoru shifts, maneuvering you both until you're lying back across the wide seats, his body covering yours, an even heavier weight than you remembered, pinning you down with his hand on your wrists, his mouth claiming yours in a bruising, possessive kiss.
It's a tight fit even with how surprisingly big the interior is, the cramped space reminding you of every stolen moment you had in his old car, sneaking before curfew, fuck you two would ditch school and go drive in that car, youâd lay your feet in his lap and just let him drive you around with the tops down. The memory of his smile, of his laugh, of his kisses all come together as he captures your very breath.
This isn't the sweet, messy kissing of teenage versions of you and Satoru â this is pent up need, a decade of frustration poured into a single, desperate kiss, his hands all over you, huge palms taking you over. Satoruâs tongue is delving in and out of the hot recesses of your mouth, tongue gliding right along yours, the click of his tongue ring against your teeth shooting every bit of memory back.
God you remember when he pierced it.
You remember him buying that vibrating tongue ring so he could eat your pussy out â and oh, he did it every time he could, no one has made you feel that way since, no one could figure your body out like him. The nostalgia hits as much as the need, the pleasure, your nails digging into the corded muscles of his shoulders over his dress shirt.
âNeed more,â you whisper out, pausing then as he looks at you under his lashes. âJust tonight, right?â
He doesnât say anything â as if heâd take only one night and be fine with that.
"Fuck, I've thought about this so often itâs pathetic," he laughs out without humor, hands slipping up your hips and bunching that little dress up your hips.
âYou thought of me?â You ask, and he stares at you then â swollen lips all pretty and glossy in the night, ruining him.
You donât think he remembers?
You donât think he regrets it all?
He kisses you softer, nipping a plump lower lip between his sharp teeth, drinking up your little gasp. "Thought about this mouth, this body, the way you used to squirt all over me."
âSatoruâŚâ You shake your head, moaning softly when he tugs your neckline down, hands squishing your pretty tits. âYou donât mean it.â
âNo?â You shake your head, eyes rolling back in your skull when his tongue swirls around your nipple ever so slowly, tongue ring flicking that sensitive peak. âYou think I forgot you, huh?â
âI know you did, ah!â His fingers find you, sliding your panties aside and swiping up and down in that mess. âToruâŚâ
âGod please,â heâs plunging them inside you, she clamps right down, spasming as he finds that spot he remembers in those tacky walls, watching your face as he presses over and over. âCall me that again.â
âSh-should call you dickhead,â he laughs breathlessly, curving those fingers again so that your head smacks back, almost hitting the handle in the car door, he kisses your lips as he fucks his fingers into you, the stretch making you ache. âNgh!â
âTight as ever, god, howâŚâ he marvels as he plays with your cunt, all pretense gone when he looks down at you, breaking the kiss, breathless from you. âIâve thought of you an embarrassing amount of times.â
âDonât say it,â you sniffle just a bit. âI canât handle it.â
âThe truth?â
âI canât believe you thought of me tooâŚâ You trail off, emotional even as you are soaking wet and needy, Satoru keeps kissing down, lower, lower, feeling his breath against your skin makes you jolt. âYou didnât.â
âI did, sweetheart, I missed this so much, the sounds you make⌠how soaking wet you got,â heâs running his thumb on your clit, gauging your reaction, shoving your thighs even higher. âHow pretty you looked when you fell apart fâme.â
âYou canât remember,â he sighs and watches you get closer, getting you so, so close until he knows itâs not enough. Heâs shoving you up, damn near folding you in half. âAh! Toru I canât bend like that?!â
âNo?â he murmurs, big hands gripping your thighs bruisingly, pushing them up and apart, you blink a bit, gasping when heâs licking the trails of slick from your inner thigh, inhaling your cunt and bumping your clit affectionately almost. âGod, your scent drives me fucking crazy, why do you have to smell sâgood?â
âDo I? I â ah! Satoru, what are youâŚ" He places an open mouthed kiss on your messy, dripping entrance, peeking up at you. âYouâre umâŚâ
âIâm starving,â he teases softly, kissing it again, you feel that pleasure shoot up your body until youâre dizzy, weak from it, so exposed to him when he tugs those panties further aside, on one side of those puffy lips. âPrettiest pussy Iâve ever fucking seen.â
âNoâŚâ
âYeah, and Iâve seen alot,â you glare and he chuckles, resting his hands on those knees and flicking his tongue to gather the drops of arousal falling down between your slit. âWhat, ya jealous?â
âNo!?â Yes.
âNo?â
âNo,â he smirks just a bit and then he folds you in half, those broad shoulders pressing against the backs of your thighs, forcing your knees to your chest, your dress hopelessly shoved up.
âSee? Still a cheerleader,â you want to laugh but youâre smushed.
âI so am not, ah!â You're completely exposed to him then, utterly vulnerable in a way that makes you nervous.
âRelax,â he says then, softly, peeking up at you and kissing your inner thigh. âIf you want me to stop, just tell me. It was enough I got to kiss you again.â
You falter, that boy you fell in love with â the sweet, nerdy one? The jock who was also an entire nerd? Goofy and yet ultimately serious Satoru Gojo, leaning his head against your inner knee, nuzzling you damn near. Youâre weak then, as every feeling youâve shoved down for over a third of your life comes back full force.
âWe can go back in, or just look at the stars,â he eases up, and sees how nervous you are. âYouâre so beautiful, if thatâs what youâre worried about.â
âIâm not in high school now,â you whisper, he eases up your body then, brushing your cheek and shaking his head.
âNeither am I, sweetheart.â
âYet you look even better-â
âYouâre even sexier, even prettier than the first time I saw you,â you kiss him again, lost in his every kiss, his every touch, afraid that heâll just disappear, clinging to him so tightly you donât know if you can ever let go. âYou are.â
âYou havenât seen me all nakedâŚâ
âI wanna,â he grins and you giggle, even as heâs kissing up your cheeks. âI wanna see every part of you.â
God you canât take it â it feels just like that first date all over again. âYeah?â
âMhm,â he slides your dress up and off you then, breath catching as he takes in your body â youâve only gotten sexier, itâs so evident when he just looks down at you, folded in half in his damn car and the prettiest thing heâs seen.
You cover yourself a bit then ease your hands off, breasts rising and falling as Satoru looks at you, his gaze heating you up before his fingers can touch. âYouâre seeing all of me.â
âI am,â he grips a tit and squishes it in his hand, that familiar barbell flicking an areola, having your back arch in the cramped confines of the car, still humming softly underneath you. âIs it bad if I say I jerked it to your IG?â
âSatoru!â Heâs chuckling now, grinning all big as you smack at him. âWe were having a touching moment!?â
âYeah I know,â heâs back down between your thighs, shoving them high and sighing.
âDid you really?â His lips curve up in amusement, watching your slick pussy drip down.
âYou love that, huh?â
âNo!?â
Yes.
âHow often?â Heâs laughing now.
âIâm not tellinâ ya, no way.â
âHmmph,â heâs too gone then, every bit of this moment the very thing heâs searched for.
He could have had it.
Heâll think of that later, the hot regret of letting you go, of being young and dumb and then too fucking stubborn, for now youâre his, underneath him, looking up in that way that you used to â like he was the very stars in the sky. The ones peppering the sky overhead and shining through that little sky light in his car, illuminating your pretty body for his gaze.
âA lot. Happy?â He whispers, you just bite your lip, not answering, letting his lips graze your entrance once more.
âSatoru!â Your eyes roll back in your skull, pleasure shooting as the tip of that tongue swirls your clit lazily, like heâs got all the time in the world.
"Look at this pretty little cunt," he breathes out softly, feeling your slick coat his tongue, lapping another filthy stripe achingly slow. "Still so fucking perfect.â
âYou d-donât have toâŚâ
âSâperfect,â he whispers, holding back what he truly wants to say.
Mine.
Youâre not his, he canât get possessive and psychotic, even when faced with your winking hole and the soft give of your thighs underneath his fingertips. He buries his face in you, his mouth hot and messy as it drinks up every bit of those juices your pussy is pouring, lavving a broad, flat stripe up your slit and slurping you up, eliciting the prettiest whines for his ears.
âMmm, thatâs it,â he whispers, flicking his tongue on your clit and groaning as he parts those lips. âSheâs jumpinâ all around, fuck⌠look at her.â
You cry out, your fingers tangling in the soft white strands of Satoruâs hair, only for him to place them on your thighs, looking at you in that way only Satoru Gojo can.
âHold âem up fâme,â heâs slurring, mouth just full of that messy cunt, swallowing it as he watches you do just that. âGood girl.â
Fuck him.
Fuck him truly and completely, for what those damn words do to you, how they have you a needy mess for him. He groans at the sight of your manicured nails pressing on the back of your thighs, the vibrations rushing on your pretty pussy, and then his tongue is inside you, fucking your hole as if heâs never forgotten how.
âToru!â Youâre quivering, thighs threatening to close, he groans, that barbell smacking your spongy spot over and over, with the same intensity he used to use with his cock.
Your first time with him flits through your mind, heâd made sure to lick your pussy for thirty minutes, even then heâd been worried heâd hurt you â even then heâd eased into you, watching your every movement. That Satoru and this one merge â the jock and the cheerleader now groan business people.
But youâre still just the two of you.
He's lavishing every crevice, every bit of your cunt like itâs worship â his tongue, his lips, the sharp edge of those fangs of his scraping against your clit just making you scream out, weak from it. He bites it again, groaning as your juices spill over his mouth, his chin, down his neck.
Satoru wants to drown in you.
"You like that, huh?" he murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin glistening embarrassingly with how much youâre gushing. He swirls two fingers down it, raising a thin white brow. "Like me eating this pussy?â
âYes⌠ah!â Heâs curving his fingers up, rutting his cock along the leather seats, dying to bury it inside you.
âMissed this, didn't you? Missed my tongue on you?"
You can only nod quickly and let out a pathetic little moan, wishing you could play coy or tease â but how can you, when heâs taking you over. One hand pumping fingers into you, his tongue finding your clit again, sucking it into his mouth with a mean little hum, and the cold metal of his tongue ring just flicking.
âToru! Iâm so⌠IâmâŚâ
He pulls back and sighs.
Youâre so beautiful like this.
âCum for me,â he says softly, curving up one more time, and you shatter for him, peak crashing into you so hard you see stars â ones that arenât the ones hanging in the sky. No, theyâre right behind your eyelids, pussy spasming as moans escape those lips that hold you in that kiss.
Satoru eases back, curving his fingers a few more times, every slide sensitive. âPleaseâŚâ
âPlease what, baby?â He whispers â he hadnât called you that since the last time you saw him, brushing your hair back and kissing you, your juices spilling into your own mouth with a push of his tongue.
âNeed you.â
âIâm here-â
âNeed more,â he pauses, blushing a bit and making you giggle. âWhat, you think I donât want more?â
âI didnât know,â he trails off now, sitting up and dragging you on his lap, undoing his zipper as youâre on your knees, head smacking the ceiling, Satoru chuckles and puts his hand right over it, sighing. âYou want my cock inside you?â
âYouâre such a jerk,â he grins now, running his hands down your waist. âYou gonna make me say it?â
âNah but itâd be fun to hear,â he frees his cock, watching the blush dance across your cheeks when faced with his pearly pink cock, thick and veiny, leaking all that white. You gather some and swirl it on your thumb, sucking it off. âGodâŚâ
Itâs moments when heâs got you positioned on his cock, slamming you down in one mean stroke, filling you so full you feel him everywhere â in your stomach, so fucking deep your cervix hurts. But fuck you want it, you want more, but he holds you down for a moment, hands brutal on your hips.
âFuck, donât move yet,â he barely bites out those words, looking up at you underneath that fringe of lashes, breaths coming in short pants, fogging up all the car windows. âPlease, baby. Hold on a sec.â
âFeel good, Toru?â You tease, he glares and bites your shoulder. âAh! Sharp t-teethâŚâ
âJusâ stay here for a minute,â heâs mumbling against your skin, exhaling at the feeling of your pussy wrapping around his cock. âYouâre so warm, so tight⌠god you feel sâgoodâŚâ
Youâre holding there, cunt gripping him so tight heâs gonna bust, and he was not doing that after ten damn years. He has stamina now, he canât bust inside you in one minute â has it even been a minute!?
âWanna move, please,â youâre damn near whining, wriggling as he pins you even more firmly. âToru!â
âYouâre bratty still,â he murmurs, lifting you up and slamming you back down, that mess of slick pouring all over. âYou want me to cum in three pumps?â
You blush then, realizing that one key thing â heâd never cum inside you, the two of you were careful to make sure it never happened. âI um⌠inside me?â
âOnly if you wanted⌠god imagine breeding your cunt,â you suck in a breath as his hands press into your hips. âBreedable fucking hips, bet youâd have so many babies for me.â
âBabies!?â
âGod yes, bet youâd give me three, hahâŚâ heâs fucking lost it now, fucking up into your cunt, your head smacks his ceiling, your hand up to brace yourself as he begins to move, feet planted on the floor of the car, cock gliding in and out of your mess even faster. âSorry baby.â
âSorry? Youâre psychotic, j-just once,â he holds you down and runs his thumb on your clit then, watching your eyes flutter closed as you cum again, this time milking him. âNgh!â
âSo beautiful, fuck,â heâs looking right at you with those blue eyes, your arms wrap his neck, letting him lift you up and down him, huge hands just using you, youâre quivering around him, cunt squelching in the backseat of that car, his lips slamming on yours and drinking down your whines.
You hear the faint noises of the party with your ringing ears, his thumb brushing faster, your tits bouncing right in his face. âBreed k-kink tracks for youâŚâ
He chuckles, grinning up at you, painting those pretty patterns until youâre overstimulated, thighs twitching on either side of his hips, the open leather belt pressing on your heated skin. His lips are swollen when his tongue runs across them, as if to catch any lingering juices he can, his brows drawing together as he gets closer, cheeks flushed pink in the dark.
âShould I pump you full? Hmm?â Your answer is to roll your hips, making his own eyes shut, those fluffy lashes sweeping across his cheeks. Heâs pinning you down, slipping that thumb in between your lips and letting you suck as his cock twitches. âI used to jerk it to your cheer pictures b-before we w-went outâŚâ
âToru, you freak,â youâre breathless, struggling to take that stretch, whining out as his veiny length brushes your walls, white pre kissinâ your cute little cervix with every pump. âYou did?â
âYeah,â heâs full of confessions, you guess, but that one has you blushing, even mid fuck, giggling a bit until he slams hard, your head falling back. âYou love it.â
âCum inside,â he moans â you donât have to tell him twice â cock pumping your hole full, so much your walls are just coated, those puffy ropes flooding you. âAh!â
Youâve never been so full, his warmth rushing in hot and sticky as you kiss him desperately, needy, shaking as your teeth click together, your mouths messy and dripping saliva. Itâs filthy, the sounds of your whines mixing with the squishing and clicking of his cock pumping impossibly more, his moans filling your mouth, tongues dancing along each other as his cock keeps twitching.
âF-fuckâŚâ Heâs whimpering in your ear as he holds you tight, burying his face in the crook of your neck, arms wrapping your waist as he bucks his hips up and fucks more cum inside you. âGod I love you.â
âWha-? Huh?â You must be fucked out and hearing shit, you barely blink any sense into yourself, as he pulls back, looking at you and sighing.
âI should have said it then, not let you leave thinkingâŚâ He swallows now, cupping your face with one hand, thumb slipping across your cheek reverently. âThat I didnât.â
âYou canât⌠I didnât⌠youâŚâ Youâre trembling now as it all hits, breaths mingling as you hardly hold back. âYou did then?â
âOf course I fucking loved you, how couldnât I?â You kiss him then, tears slipping down between your mouths, salty on his tongue as his hand slips up the curve of your spine, the two of your hearts racing in your own ears. âI never stopped.â
âDonât say thatâŚâ You pull back now, hands on his wrists. âThatâs impossible, itâs been t-ten years and⌠you donât know me now, andâŚâ
âDo you still love me?â He asks, voice breaking, still intimately joined with you, easing you off and eyeing the mess that pours, sighing. âFuck I shouldnât ask that.â
âYes,â he blinks a bit, looking up in shock as you go back to sitting on his lap, cunt pouring him right back down on his cock. âI never stopped loving you, even though I hated you, too. I hated you so much for so long⌠but I never quit loving you, Satoru.â
âI hated me too, sâokay,â you shake your head. âI did, for being so dumb. For letting you go â pushing you away.â
âWe were so young, Toru⌠so young.â
âThere was all that time we could have had this,â he sighs now, nose brushing yours, looking into your eyes with utter devotion. âI canât let you go again. I canât let this be once, this? Iâve never felt anything close to you.â
âI knowâŚâ youâre kissing again, forgetting about anything else, and soon youâre in Satoruâs pretty penthouse, fucked out after heâd lifted you right up on that glass, so many stories up.
After heâd ate his cum out of you, and youâd lapped your pussy off â after your friends started texting you both, making sure youâre all right since you two had disappeared. After Satoru orders you food, and the two of you are laughing in bed, and youâre in one of his big shirts, does he bring out that jacket, making you pause.
âToruâŚâ
âThis was yours,â he exhales and throws it over your shoulders, tugging the lapels closed and kissing your head. Youâre all flushed and pretty, your hair a tangled mess, that mascara long gone, swallowed by that lettermanâs jacket. âYouâre so beautiful like this.â
âI get to keep it this time?â You tease, but the emotions are rushing still, tummy fluttering as you toy with the snaps, the familiar scent bringing you right back.
The heavy glass doors of the boutique hissed shut behind you, but the clinical chill of the air conditioning did nothing to cool the fire simmering under your skin. This wasn't just a shopping trip; it was a declaration of war. After the explosive argument youâd had with Jimin this morning, you had set out with one goal: to see how many zeros you could drain from his bank account before he noticed.
Jimin was the type of man who would happily drape you in diamonds if you asked, but he loathed being manipulated. He hated this game,the way you used his own wealth as a weapon against his patience.
"How would y-you like to pay, ma'am?" the sales assistant stammered, her gaze darting nervously between your cold expression and the wall of stone-faced guards looming behind you.
"Card," you replied curtly, sliding Jiminâs signature black card across the marble counter.
You waited, tapping your manicured nails against the surface, already imagining the look on his face when the transaction alerts began flooding his phone. But as the seconds ticked by, the assistantâs face paled.
"Um, excuse me, ma'am... it seems your card has been... declined. Itâs blocked."
Your heart skipped a beat, but not out of embarrassment. Out of pure, unadulterated fury. "What? No way. Try it again."
"I did, ma'am. Itâs not going through."
You scoffed, reaching into your Chanel clutch and pulling out a secondary card. "Use this one."
Another minute of agonizing silence followed. The assistant looked like she wanted to disappear into the floorboards as she handed it back with trembling fingers. "This one isn't working either, ma'am."
You felt your jaw tighten until it ached. Jimin. That calculated, arrogant traitor. He hadn't just anticipated your move; he had dismantled it before you even reached the mall.
You settled the balance through a private transfer from your personal account, a bitter pill to swallow and swept out of the store. Every step toward the waiting car was fueled by a fresh wave of adrenaline.
As the door of the SUV clicked shut, you sank into the leather seat, staring out the tinted window. You had underestimated him. You often forgot that beneath the doting husband was a man whose wit was as sharp as his ego. Jimin wasn't the type to just sit back and let you bleed him dry out of spite. He was always one step ahead, playing a game of chess while you were still throwing pieces.
The war wasn't over, but round one clearly belonged to Park Jimin.
The car hadn't even come to a full stop before you were out, the gravel crunching beneath your designer heels as you stormed toward the massive front doors. You didn't just enter the mansion; you invaded it.
The living room was quiet, save for the low murmur of business talk. Jimin was perched on the sofa, looking effortlessly composed as he scrolled through a tablet. His assistant stood nearby, and Taehyung, Jiminâs closest associate was lounging in the armchair opposite him.
"Park Jimin!" Your voice roared through the high ceilings, sharp enough to cut the air.
The assistant visibly flinched, shifting on his feet. Taehyungâs eyes darted from you to Jimin, a silent 'here we go' written all over his face. Jimin, however, didn't even flinch. A slow, infuriating smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as his fingers continued to dance across the screen.
"I am talking to you!" you snapped, your chest heaving with indignation.
Finally, he looked up. His gaze was cool, hooded, and entirely too calm for your liking. "Yes, love?"
With a dismissive wave of his hand, he signaled for the others to leave. Taehyung let out a weary sigh, pushing himself up and shoving his hands into his pockets. He spared Jimin a pointed look. "Fix your shit, man," he muttered under his breath before heading toward the exit.
The moment the doors clicked shut, Jimin returned his attention to the tablet. The blatant disregard was the final straw. You lunged forward and snatched the device right out of his hand.
"Y/N," he said, his voice dropping an octave. There was a dangerous edge to his tone, a warning you were far too angry to heed.
"What?! You fucking blocked my cards! Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?" you screamed, the embarrassment of the boutique rushing back to haunt you.
Jimin stood up slowly, his tall frame looming over yours until you were forced to tilt your head back. The proximity was stifling, charged with a tension that felt like static electricity.
"Was it? Then perhaps you shouldn't have behaved like such a brat the other night," he said, his voice terrifyingly steady.
"I was behaving like a brat? You didn't come to the event, Jimin!" You jabbed a finger into his chest, punctuating every word. "I had to stand there and make excuses for you all night while everyone whispered!"
He didn't move. He simply looked down at your finger against his shirt, then back into your eyes. "Careful, baby. I don't like that tone."
"Shove what you like up your ass," you hissed. You reached into your handbag, gripped the two useless pieces of plastic, and flung them directly at his face. "And shove these while you're at it!"
You didn't wait for a reaction. You turned on your heel and stormed toward the grand staircase, the echoes of your footsteps matching the frantic beating of your heart.
It had all spiraled from yesterday. Your charity galaâthe event you had spent months planningâhad been a solo performance because Jimin claimed he had important work. The humiliation of answering a hundred variations of "Where is your husband?" had boiled over into a screaming match last night, ending with you locking him out of the master suite.
You had wanted to hurt his pride. He had responded by cutting off your lifeline.
As you reached the bedroom door, you knew one thing for certain, in the high-stakes game of the Park marriage, the honeymoon phase had officially been replaced by scorched earth.
°
The bedroom was bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun, the silence heavy and suffocating. Jimin stepped inside, the rhythmic click of his shoes on the hardwood floor the only sound. He loosened his tie, the tension of the day still knotted in his shoulders.
"Y/n?" he called out, tossing his blazer onto the chaise lounge. No response. He checked the ensuite bathroom, then the walk-in closetânothing but the lingering scent of your perfume.
He sighed, a low, frustrated sound. He knew you; you weren't just hiding. You were making a point. Cursing under his breath, he pulled out his phone and dialed your number, only to be met with the cold finality of your voicemail. He immediately diverted the call to your lead security detail.
"Where is she?" he demanded, pacing the length of the room like a caged predator.
"At her parents' estate, sir."
"I told you to inform me the second she goes somewhere!" he hissed, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. He didn't wait for an excuse. He grabbed his blazer and headed for the garage, the engine of his car roaring to life seconds later.
The atmosphere at your parents' house was a stark contrast to the cold war at the mansion. When Jimin walked in, he found you nestled on the sofa between your father and Liamâa "family friend" whose very existence had always been a thorn in Jiminâs side.
"Jimin! What a surprise," your mother exclaimed, balancing a tray of fresh cookies.
Jimin offered your parents a practiced, polite greeting, but his eyes were locked on you. You didn't even look up, instead choosing to lean slightly closer to Liam as you scoffed. Jiminâs jaw tightened. He hated the way Liam looked at you, and he hated even more that you were using him as a shield.
"Come, Jimin, sit down," your father gestured toward an armchair.
"No, thank you. Iâm just here for Y/n," Jimin replied, his voice clipped.
You finally looked at him, crossing your legs and arms in a defensive posture that screamed defiance. "Iâm not coming back."
The air in the room grew thick with sudden tension. Your mother glanced between the two of you, her eyebrows shooting up in a silent interrogation. What have you done now?
"Y/n," Jimin repeated, his patience fraying at the edges. "Weâre leaving."
"Y/n, sweetheart, what is this?" your mother interjected, trying to play peacemaker. "Did you two have a fight?"
"Maybe they did," Liam chimed in, his tone casually provocative. He leaned back, a smug look on his face. "Let her be, Jimin. It looks like you're the one in the wrong here."
That was it. The small thread of Jiminâs restraint snapped. He ignored Liam entirely, treating him like a buzzing insect, and marched straight toward you. Before you could even register the movement, he leaned down, hooked his arm firmly around your waist, and hoisted you over his shoulder in one fluid, powerful motion.
"Jimin! Put me down!" you squealed, your face flushing as you began to hammer your fists against his broad back.
"Mom! Dad! Do something!"
But your parents merely exchanged a knowing look and shared a small, amused smile. They knew Jimin, and they knew you; this was just another Tuesday in the volatile world of the Parks.
"Goodnight, everyone," Jimin called out over your protests, his grip like iron as he carried his prize out toward the car.
The drive back was a symphony of silence, punctuated only by the aggressive click of your tongue and the hum of the engine. The moment the car rolled to a stop, you bolted, slamming the door with a bone-rattling force that echoed through the driveway.
Jimin was right on your heels, his stride effortless but determined. "Y/n, stop."
You reached the bedroom and tried to shove the heavy oak door shut, but his foot was already there, acting as a solid wedge. He pushed his way inside with a calm strength that only infuriated you further. You whirled around, eyes flashing with lightning.
"What is this, Y/n? Are you a child?" he asked, his voice low and level.
"Fuck off!"
"Y/n." He stepped into your personal space, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, but you swatted his hand away violently.
"Get away! Go!" You began a frantic assault of palms against his chest, your hands drumming a rhythm of frustration against his firm muscles. He let you vent for a heartbeat before his hand shot out, capturing both of your wrists in a single, unbreakable grip. He let out a long, weary sigh.
"I am sorry," he murmured, his eyes searching yours. "I should have been at the event I was wrong, and Iâm sorry."
You glared up at him, your chest heaving. "An apology doesn't fix it! You didn't call me all day! And then you had the audacity to block my cards!"
A ghost of a smirk played on Jiminâs lips. "I unlocked them this morning, love."
Your anger faltered for a fraction of a second. "You did?"
"Yes." He released your wrists, his thumb grazing your pulse point before he stepped back.
You quickly recovered, crossing your arms and pouting. "Iâm not melting. Not a chance. Go away."
You sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. Jimin followed, but instead of sitting beside you, he dropped to his knees on the floor. His hand found your thigh, his thumb tracing slow, hypnotic circles against the fabric of your skirt.
"I'm sorry, baby. Truly," he pleaded.
He looked up at you, his sharp, intimidating features softening into an expression of pure, unadulterated devotion. It was the puppy eyesâthe one weapon in his arsenal you hadn't built a defense for. No one in the outside world would believe that the ruthless Park Jimin was currently on his knees, begging for his wifeâs forgiveness.
You felt your throat go dry. "Fuck off," you whispered, though the bite was gone from your voice.
Jiminâs eyes darkened, the "uppy facade vanishing to reveal the predator beneath. "You want the exact opposite of that, don't you?"
He leaned forward, his lips pressing a lingering, searing kiss to the sensitive skin of your knee. You gasped softly as he began to pepper your thighs with slow, deliberate kisses, his gaze never leaving yours. Slowly, almost traitorously, your knees began to part for him.
He urged your thighs further apart, his hands sliding up to bunch the fabric of your skirt. Jiminâs breath hitched as he took in the sight of your lace panties, the silk already darkened and clinging to your skin.
"When did you get this wet for me, huh?" he whispered against your skin, his voice a gravelly caress that made you ache.
The friction of his lips against your inner thighs sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core. Your breath hitched, your chest heaving as the last remnants of your anger dissolved into pure, primal need.
"Fuck!" You groaned, your fingers tangling in his soft hair. You didn't just pull him closer; you guided his face directly into the heat radiating from between your legs.
Jimin let out a low, vibrating hum of approval, his mouth pressing firmly against the silk of your panties. He didn't wait. He nipped at the fabric, his tongue swirling over your folds until the damp lace offered no more resistance.
"Ah!" Your head fell back against the pillows, a desperate sound escaping your throat.
"So good," he whispered, his voice a dark rasp against your skin as he finally hooked his thumbs into the waistband and slid the lace down your legs. He didn't waste a second, burying his face in your softness and dragging his tongue over your clit in long, punishing strokes.
The room filled with the sound of your dangerous noisesâthe kind of wrecked, breathless moans that only he could draw out of you. Jimin gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you steady as he transitioned from teasing licks to deep, rhythmic laps. He pushed his tongue inside you, mimicking the motion of a thrust, while his thumb found your peak and circled it with dizzying speed.
"Jimin... more! Please!" you cried out, your knuckles whitening as you tugged at his hair.
He hummed against you, a vibration that rattled your very bones, and suddenly two fingers were sliding inside, hot and insistent. He began to massage your internal walls, his rhythm relentless.
"Fuck, baby, youâre so tight. Clench for me," he growled.
You obeyed, your muscles spasming around his intrusion. The combination was too muchâthe suction of his mouth on your clit and the friction of his fingers deep inside you. You were a beautiful mess of squirming limbs and broken pleas until the first wave of your climax hit, sending a shudder through your entire frame. You came hard, your release coating his hand, and you could only gasp as he slowly licked every drop of you from his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Fuck yeah... lick me clean, baby," you panted, your voice thick with honey.
Jiminâs smirk returned, dark and possessive. He delivered a sharp, playful slap against your sensitive skin, making you jump and moan all over again. Before you could catch your breath, he was back at it, his fingers working even faster.
"I can't... it's too much..." you whimpered, trying to pull your thighs together to escape the overwhelming sensation.
"No," he murmured, prying your legs back open and pinning them wide. "Squirt for me, baby. I want to see you lose it."
He intensified the assault, his fingers curling against your G-spot while his thumb hammered against your clit. The tension built until it felt like a physical weight in your chest. You whined, your body arching off the bed as the edge loomed closer.
"Ahh, fuck... J-Jimin!"
"Do it. Give it all to me."
A loud, broken cry tore from your lungs as a gush of liquid erupted from you. Jimin didn't flinch; he watched with hooded, hungry eyes as you clenched and pulsed, his tongue catching the liquid as it fell. You were shaking now, your legs trembling uncontrollably from the sheer force of it.
Finally, he pulled back. He took the two fingers that had been deep inside you and slid them into his own mouth, sucking them clean with a slow, deliberate sensuality that made your heart race for an entirely different reason.
"I am sorry," he said again, his voice dropping to that soft, melodic tone that always won you over.
You couldn't help the small, triumphant smile that tugged at your lips. Reaching out, you grabbed him by the collar and hauled him upward. He hovered over you, his weight a welcome pressure, and as his lips met yours.
summary: after you break up with your boyfriend, you begin receiving ominous messages from a burner account that seems to know too much.
ËË°â˘*ââˇ
NOBODY IS AFRAID of Satoru Gojo until it is too late.Â
Itâs a shame reallyâthey should be, but they arenât because he appears too harmless to be anything more than a cute campus nerd. As if a sweater vest, a soft voice, and a perfect 4.0 GPA are enough to make someone safe.Â
Oh, how wrong they are. Pretty boys, just like everything else on this planet, are capable of being rotten.
Unfortunately though, he is the kind of student professors adore because he answers questions that no one dares to. Girls whisper about him in the back of lecture halls, gossiping over the way he sits with one ankle crossed over his knee, long deft fingers curled around a mechanical pencil, captivating blue eyes half-lidded behind thin silver frames like heâs bored by the entire world and still better at it than everyone else.Â
Double majoring in both computer science and mathematics. Exceptionally gifted with an IQ of 173. A genius according to the Wechsler scale, an academic weapon in every sense. He ruins the curves in all of his classes and corrects tenured professors so gently that they thank him afterward.Â
People like that about himâthe intelligence and arrogance that somehow becomes charming when it comes wrapped in snowy white hair and a sweet smile.Â
Sure, they also think heâs strange, I mean how could they not? Heâs always the smartest person in the room, absurdly quiet at times, far too watchful and observant and hard to read when he goes still and stares at someone a breath too long.Â
But thatâs just SatoruâŚisnât it?
Brilliant people like him are allowed to be strange. Boys that are attractive are allowed to be forgiven for things others would be ostracized for or considered creepy. No one ever looks at him and thinks danger.Â
No.Â
They see Satoru Gojo and think genius.Â
Innocent.Â
Yours.Â
WellâŚthey used to call him that last one. Right before you ended.Â
Now? His number, his Instagram, his TikTok, his Twitter, his LinkedIn, his Gmail, and even his school email have been blocked.Â
Youâve changed your entire routineâaltered your route to classes, switched coffee shops, stopped studying on the third floor of the library because that was where he always found you.Â
Found.
That was the word you utilized back then to define it, before you knew better.Â
At first, it had felt romantic, the way Gojo always seemed to know where you were. You would look up from your laptop at some hushed corner table and there heâd be, sliding into the chair across from you with an iced latte in one hand and that infuriating little smile already pulling at his mouth.Â
âStalking me?â Youâd ask as he pushed the latte toward you.
âPoorly,â Heâd joke, smirk deepening, âYou make it easy.â
And youâd giggle blithely because you were stupid.Â
Because back then, his odd behavior made you feel wanted.Â
It felt like devotion when he remembered your exact drink order after hearing it only once. It felt like love when he noticed you were cold before you did, tugging his hoodie over your head wordlessly, fingers grazing your jaw as he fiddled with the drawstrings. It felt like something precious when he recalled every detail you ever gave him, every offhand comment, every tiny confession you dropped without meaning to.Â
Gojo remembered everything.
The side of the bed you slept on, the exact brand and shade of lipgloss you constantly reapplied on those pretty lips, the way your voice wavered when you were trying not to cry, each building your last class ended in.
He knew all of it.Â
And you foolishly believed that his attention to the details meant he loved you. But slowly, you understood it. Because soon enough, it began to feel like he was keeping inventory as if you were just another subject for him to master.Â
Though the worst part is, he never acted like the kind of boyfriend your friends could easily hate. He never raised his voice. Didnât punch walls or scream outside your apartment or call you names in the middle of a party. Of course he wouldnâtâhe was too calculated and careful to make himself look like a bad boyfriend from an outsiderâs perspective.
And he wasnât necessarily âbadâ either, more so he was suffocating. If you mentioned studying with someone from class, heâd tilt his head and say, âHope that someone is a girl.â
Whenever you wore something new, his inquisitive eyes would drag over your figure, just once, slow and meticulous, before asking, âWho are you dressing up for?â
And God forbid the times youâd come home later than usual, because oh, he remembered that too. Your phone would be lighting up the second you turned the doorknob to enter.Â
toru đ¤
|| you good?
Then, when you didnât answer quick enough, thirty seconds later heâd sendâ
toru đ¤
|| donât ignore me baby.
Before you could even set your stuff down to settle in, heâd message again.
toru đ¤
|| iâm outside.Â
Youâd open your front door and there heâd be. Standing in a black hoodie, luminous hair reflecting light under the streetlamps, hands tucked into the pockets of his joggers like he hadnât just crossed campus because you took three minutes too long to respond.Â
Apparently that was normal. Love was supposed to feel like being tracked.Â
Yet, you couldnât help but get upset at times, and thatâs when he would make it all sound reasonableâas if youâre the crazy one.Â
âI worry about you, babyâŚâ Heâd coo, voice soft enough to make guilt curl under your ribs and the frustration to die, âIs that a crime?â
No. Of course not. Worrying wasnât a crime, neither was remembering or showing up or loving someone so intensely that it started to feel like a noose tightening around your neck.Â
At least, thatâs what you convinced yourself of until you simply couldnât anymore.Â
You ended it with him because some awful, exhausted part of you knew that if you stayed, Gojo would swallow your whole life and disguise it as care. He would make a home out of your skin and feign hurt when you asked for room to breathe.  Â
And the breakup itself was quiet, almost too quiet. He sat on the edge of your bed with his elbows resting on his knees, glasses pushed up into his hair, staring at the floor like he was solving a coding error so difficult it would require even his full concentration.Â
You had expected him to display anger, maybe even some begging, or that terrifying calm of his finally cracking into something ugly to prove that you werenât losing your mind.Â
Instead, he only peered up at you and murmured, âYou donât mean that.â
Your hands shook when you replied with, âI do.â
And for the first time in his life, Satoru Gojo appeared genuinely confused; this was a glitch in the software he had never encountered. Despite that, he smiled, barely. A small, empty thing that never reached his eyes, âOkay.â
That was it. Okay.Â
He didnât cause a scene, shed not a single tear, no doors were slammed. All he did was leave your apartment with the same eerie composure he did everything else, and for one stupid, fleeting second, you almost called him back.Â
Because that was the thing about Gojo. Even when he scared you, you missed him. And though he smothered you consistently, some depraved sliver of you craved being held down by the weight of his devout attention.Â
You hated that most. So you blocked him entirely before it could win. His number first, then every account you knew of, then every account you suspected.Â
For the next two weeks, you rebuilt your life around avoiding him and miraculously, he let you.Â
He didnât corner you after classes or wait outside your building. Didnât send an absurdly large bouquet of flowers in an attempt to say Iâm sorry. Didnât ask your friends about you, at least not in any way that got back to you.
He justâŚdisappeared so cleanly it felt like he had never been in your life at all. The realization shouldâve made you feel better, but it didnât.Â
Why? You donât even know.Â
Maybe you anticipated more fight out of him, more willingness to do whatever necessary to get you back. Somethingâanything, but nothing?
The silence was unsettling, Satoru Gojo was not the type of guy who let things go. He obsessed, studied, fixated until every last detail had been memorized, picked apart, and tucked away behind those gorgeous cerulean blues for later use.Â
So no, his absence did not feel like peace. It felt like waiting.Â
And on a Thursday night, your phone buzzes, hardly pulling a glance from you. Itâs late, your laptop is open across your thighs with some half-finished assignment glowing uselessly back, a vanilla scented candle burning low on your desk. Your brain is fried enough after an exhausting day that you assume itâs a friend sending you some stupid TikTok or a class group chat blowing up over an upcoming exam.Â
Itâs neither of the two. Itâs Instagram. A message request from an account you didnât recognize.Â
@.6iX3y3s
Your brows pinch; thereâs no profile picture, no posts, no mutual following, no bio. Just the ominous username and the message attached.Â
@.6iX3y3s
|| you looked pretty today.
You stare at it for a second. Weird? Sure. But not enough to make your stomach fully drop.Â
Girls get strange messages all the time. Random horny losers with burner accounts and a shit ton of audacity. Pathetic, easy to ignore.Â
So thatâs exactly what you do. You leave it there unanswered and lock your phone, rolling your eyes before forcing yourself back to your homework.Â
By the time the next message comes in the following afternoon, you had almost forgotten about it. Youâre leaving class when your phone vibrates in your handâsame account.Â
@.6iX3y3s
|| you ignored me last night.Â
|| i dare you to ignore this one, love.
|| youâre wearing pink today. how cute.Â
Your steps falter, itâs the pet name that does it. Or maybe, the way your stomach churns when you look down at the soft knitted sleeves clinging to your arms and realize, with an abhorrent, creeping sort of nausea that yesâŚ
Youâre wearing pink. Â
That doesnât mean much though, does it? Pink is a lucky guess. People wear pink all the time. Half the campus has probably already seen you in it. Anyone from lecture couldâve; anyone from the hallways, the stairwells, the quad.Â
Still.
Still, something about the messages feels wrong in a way the one last night hadnât. Less like some random freak saying dumb shit and more like someone smiling while they watched you read it.Â
Your gaze lifts from your phone on instinct, eyes skimming over the crowds spilling out of the buildings around you. Students move in loose swarms down the concrete steps, laughing too loudly, shoulders brushing, backpacks bouncing against their spines. Normal. Everything appears painfully normal.Â
Nobody is staring at you or making it obvious that they are, which only makes it worse. Because whoever sent the messages is here. They have to be. Somewhere in the blur of bodies passing too close, possibly hiding behind a pair of sunglasses or beneath a baseball cap or pretending to be in conversation. Your mouth goes dry and again, you choose to not reply. You shove your phone into your tote bag and start walking, pace a little quicker now, heartbeat annoyingly irregular.   Â
You keep telling yourself itâs nothing, some creep from class. Some fucking loser who noticed your outfit and thought anonymity would make them interesting. Yet, when you return home, your shoulders are drawn tighter than usual. And later that night, they send more DMs.Â
Youâre in the middle of microwaving leftover pad thai, one hip braced against the counter.Â
@.6iX3y3s
|| still ignoring me?
|| thatâs not very nice.Â
|| i can be patient though.Â
And before you could even decide what to do with that, another message comes through.
@.6iX3y3sÂ
|| besidesâŚyou always were prettier when you got mean.
The microwave beeps and you nearly drop your phone. This one is differentâit shows familiarity. Whoever this person is, they must know you. Or at least, know you in a way that allows them to say something like that, right? Or is this all some sick fucking game?
Your thumb hovers over the screen, tempted to type out who the fuck is this?
But you donât. You won't give them the satisfaction of knowing that you let some anonymous asshole get to you.Â
Instead, you set your phone face down on the counter and try to eat dinner like your appetite hadnât just vanished. You make it all of five minutes before flipping it back over andânope. Nothing new.Â
That should be relieving, but it does nothing of the sort. Because now, youâre waiting for the next one, anticipating other weird shit, and that more than anything, pisses you off.Â
But the messages do keep coming after that, of course, not in rapid succession though. No, whoever is behind the burner account is much smarter than that. They let hours pass sometimes; a whole day, once. Just long enough for you to start convincing yourself that maybe theyâre bored. Maybe itâs over. Maybe you imagined how wrong it all felt.Â
And as soon as those thoughts cross your mind thatâs when your phone lights up again.Â
@.6iX3y3s
|| did you know that you bite your lip when you read?Â
|| such a pretty little habit.
Another afternoon, you getâ
@.6iX3y3s
|| you looked tired this morning.
|| poor thing.Â
One time when you come home a little too late, they sendâ
@.6iX3y3s
|| you really shouldnât walk alone at night.Â
|| itâs dangerous.
|| someone could hurt you.
Is the last message a threat? Fuck. Theyâre getting worse. Too close and observant to the point where even blocking them feels like it may potentially do more harm than good.
And underneath thatâŚa part of you kept circling back to him.
To Satoru.Â
You hated yourself for it.
Noâyouâd think every time the possibility surfaced. No, if it were Gojo, you would knowâŚwouldnât you?Â
There would be something smug in it, something sharper. Some arrogant little phrasing that gave him away. These messages were creepy, yes, but theyâre hollow too.Â
They could belong to anybody, thatâs what you keep repeating to yourself.Â
Right up until the night they didn't.
It happened so ordinarily that you almost missed the horror of it. Fresh out of the shower, skin still damp beneath an oversized T-shirt, you stand in the middle of your bedroom lazily rifling through your dresser for underwear. The apartment was unusually quiet save for the hum of the ceiling fan and the faint traffic murmuring outside your window. Youâre tired, barely thinking, running on routine.Â
Your phone vibrates somewhere behind you on the bed and you reach for it absentmindedly, thumb already unlocking the screen before your brain catches up.Â
@.6iX3y3s
|| mm. you always did look better right out of the shower.Â
Your entire body freezes, as did the room, like the whole world decided to pause with you. All you can do is glare at the message while your pulse gives one hard, sickening thud against the inside of your throat.Â
No. No, that doesnâtâyour mind rushes to explain it away before the panic could get there first.
Thatâs another lucky guess. Plenty of people shower at night. Lots of girls throw on a big shirt after. It means nothing.Â
@.6iX3y3s
|| slick skin. bare legs. and oh, my favorite partâŚ
|| no bra.
A repulsive, slow feeling begins to unfurl within your insides.. Now, the messages were growing vile. Too vile.Â
Another buzz reverberates. You donât want to look, but do so anyway.Â
@.6iX3y3s
|| black lace panties tonight?
|| adorable.Â
|| you should see the look on your face right now.
And that is the moment your eyes leave the phone and lift to the room, not in confusion anymore; fear has finally taken over. Your gaze cuts violently across the spaceâwindow, curtains, mirror, closet door left cracked open, desk, bookshelves, the black screen of your laptop, the dim amber glow of your lamp.Â
Nothing was out of place, nothing was amiss. Nothing. This makes the dread worsen.Â
Whoever is behind the burner account isnât guessing. They arenât pulling details out of their ass or listing off observations between classes.Â
No, theyâre seeing you. Right now. In your fucking bedroom.Â
Your heartbeat starts to pound so hard it aches, roaring in your ears as you take one careful step backward, then another. The room looks exactly the same as it always does and still, somehow, someone is in here with you.Â
A shaky breath hooks in your throat as your eyes drag over the space again, frantically. Until your gaze snags on something small and soft propped in the far corner of your deskâŚ
A teddy bear.
Okay, thatâs nothing. Just another useless object in here.Â
Oh, but then as you keep looking at it, one of its eyes catches the light wrong. Too glossy, unlike plastic or thread, ratherâglass. Your stomach plummets so abruptly it feels like missing a stair.Â
Satoru gave it to you six months ago while you were still together. Summer break, back when everything between you was all sweet and perfect. You had teased him for hovering too much while you read a book, complained that he acted like he needed to keep eyes on you at all times, and he had only smiledâthat easy, charming smile, and dropped the plushy into your lap.Â
âThere,â He said, âA replacement.â
You had laughed and called him ridiculous, yet took it home anyway. Why wouldnât you? It was cute, harmless at the time. But now, you see it clearly. There is nothing harmless about it. If he couldnât have physical eyes on you at all times, heâll have a stuffed animal do the job for him.Â
So heâs the one behind the burner account. Of fucking course itâs him. Deep down, you knew it too.Â
Your heart hammers within your chest, but you donât move toward the bear, because if Gojo is watching, then the second you react heâll know youâve figured it all out.Â
And for some reason, that matters.Â
Satoru thinks heâs clever.Â
Fine. Let him think that.Â
Slowly, you take your eyes off the bear and place them back onto what you were doing. The dresser, right. You were about to put on the pair of black lace panties you grabbed before Gojo poisoned the moment.Â
Act normal. That is the only thought in your head now. Act like you donât know.Â
You step into the underwear with deliberate calm, every movement controlled. You toss your wet towel into the hamper, reach for the lotion sitting on your nightstand and rub it over your legs with unhurried strokes, forcing yourself not to glance at the desk in the corner.Â
After you finish with that, you lock your phone and set it face down like nothing had even happened. As if your privacy hadnât been violated and the stupid little bear with the red satin ribbon wasnât staring at your bed with one surveillant eye and your ex-boyfriend wasnât somewhere on the other end of that feed feeling smug and victorious.Â
The performance of ignorance starts now.Â
Because if Satoru thinks that the power still belongs to him, he is mistaken. Heâs not the only one with a secret now.Â
You know about everything. And he doesnât know that you know.Â
Ever since that night, you start performing without ever letting it look like a performance. A towel wrapped dangerously low on your chest, sliding a pair of jeans off slower than necessary, bending over on purpose to pick up certain things.Â
And every time, he takes the bait. Every single time.Â
@.6iX3y3s
|| there you are.Â
@.6iX3y3s
|| the prettiest girl.Â
@.6iX3y3s
|| keep the light on.
@.6iX3y3s
|| i could watch you bend over all day.Â
The last one almost makes you throw your phone, but instead you smile at it. The shape of the game is glaringly obvious now. He thinks heâs winning and getting away with something, yet all the while he has no idea that every glimpse he gets is one youâve already decided to hand him.
For as intelligent as he is, Gojo is easier to manipulate than he thinks. That, more than anything, makes you bold. You start crossing the room in only a bra and panties without rushing, sit on your bed after showers with a sheer thong and T-shirt on, pretending to scroll through your phone as the hem creeps past your hips.Â
His messages, of course, get greedier and entitled.Â
@.6iX3y3s
|| youâre such a tease.
@.6iX3y3s
|| god, that mouth.Â
@.6iX3y3s
|| spread your legs like that again.
You stare at the words for a long moment. Then you lock your phone and do exactly as he asks, wanting to see how far he can bend until he breaks, and then, the idea finally comes to you.Â
If Satoru Gojo wants to watch you, youâll give him a fucking show.Â
The next night, after you shower and go through your post-shower routine as usual, youâre propped up in your bed on top of pillows with your legs spread wide, T-shirt riding up all the way. Unlike the other nights, youâre not wearing panties, no, youâre on full display.Â
And somewhere across campus, Gojo is already watching intently.Â
The camera feed on his desktop monitor glows against the dark of his room, painting everything in pale blues and soft goldsâhis laptop screen, the discarded notes spread uselessly across his desk, the half-finished cup of coffee by his elbow. He has work due by midnight; two assignments open, a problem set half solved.Â
He hasnât looked at any of it in the last twenty minutes, because there you are. Your thighs are parted obscenely, knees bent, heels digging into the mattress so your pretty pussy glistens right in the center of the frame. His breath catches and stays caught.Â
He should feel ashamed, but he doesnât. Or at least, not enough to stop.Â
Because after everythingâthe break up, the blocking, the way you cut him out of every part of your life like he was something easy to remove, this is all he has left.Â
The sight of you; the sick little comfort of knowing that even if you wonât answer him or look at him or let him near you, there is still this one private place where he can watch and remember and pretend that means something.
It has to mean something. That is the lie he has been feeding himself for days now.Â
All the times youâve peeled your clothes off slower and slower, when you sat on the edge of your bed with your shirt riding up to reveal whatever panties youâre wearing, every message heâd send and youâd obey.Â
He tells himself itâs accidental, a gift. Well, he tells himself a lot of things. What he does not let himself say out loud is the ugliest one.
Show me you still think about me.Â
His jaw tightens as he watches your hand trail down your stomach, languid and lazy, fingers brushing over your lower belly before dipping between your legs.Â
Two fingers glide through your folds, parting them so the bearâs eye catches the slick shine of your arousal already coating your cunt. Youâre soaked; glossy and puffy and dripping. The wet sound of it carries through the feed when you drag those fingers back up to circle your swollen clit.
Gojoâs throat works, cock twitching hard in his sweatpants. There it is again; that awful, hot hope crawling through him like a disease.
Show me you missed me.Â
Itâs humiliating how badly he wants it. The proof that he still lives somewhere inside you. That blocking his number did not erase the shape he left behind and when youâre alone, some part of you still curves instinctively toward him.
He wants his name, if heâs being truthful. He wants it in your mouth and on your breath as you shift your hips, roll them up to meet your own touch, and push two fingers inside with a lewd squelchâtentative at first, then deeper, giving him exactly what he wants to see.Â
His pulse is hammering now.Â
Say it.
Say my name.Â
Show me itâs still me.
Because who else would it be? Who else has known you like he has?Â
Who else would catalog every minute detail about you with such care?
His breathing turns shallow as your moans get louder, needier; hips snapping to meet every thrust of your fingers. You finally speak, softly, and the name that leaves your mouth is not his.
âSukunaâŚâ
For one full second, Satoru does not understand what he heard. The room around him goes entirely still and his body does too, fingers slipping from the desk edge.
No.
No, thatâ
His jaw locks so hard it aches as he stares at the monitor like he can glare the name back into your mouth and replace it with his own, but the damage is already done.Â
Sukuna.Â
Not Satoru.Â
Ryomen fucking Sukuna.
The frat boy, dope dealer. The smug, loud, filthy shit stain on campus Gojo has despised on instinct since the first week of freshman year.Â
And suddenly, the whole thing curdles. The feed of you fucking yourself; the hot, breathless tension he had been drawing in just seconds ago. All of it sours.Â
Because the emotions that flood him are immediate, humiliating, and vicious in a way that makes his skin feel too tight.Â
Sukuna?
That pathetic asshole with the face tats from Greek Row who fucks everything that walks?Â
His name is the one in your mouth?
Thatâs who you choose?
Something hot and ugly rises through Gojo so fast it makes him dizzy. Because up until now? He had been arrogant enough to believe this moment was for him. That no matter how you tried to push him away there would still be this one private place where he remained, a place no one else gets to touchâŚand then you say another manâs name.
Oh, but not just any manâSukuna, of all men.Â
The guy he detests most. A choice that feels engineered to piss him off.Â
Yet, somewhere in the back of Satoruâs racing mind, buried beneath the jealousy and rage and sudden nauseating flare of humiliation, a thought stirs too late.
Why him?
His phone is in his hand before he consciously registers reaching for it, fingers moving faster than his pride can catch up; faster than logic or the cold, careful part of him that should have stopped this exact thing from happening.Â
@.6iX3y3s
|| donât.
Once the message is sent, the world comes rushing back in around him. His own breathing, the coffee mug at his elbow that has gone entirely cold, the blue-white light of the monitor, the fact that his pulse is thundering so hard he can feel it in his teeth.Â
His eyes lock onto the monitor, youâve stopped moving now. Pulling your fingers out of your clenched walls, you reach for your phone on the nightstand instead and glance down at the Instagram notification.Â
He watches you unlock your phone, your eyes moving as you read. Then his own phone buzzes and his gaze drops instantly. A new message, from you, of course.Â
@(y/n)(l/n)
|| donât what, satoru?
Everything in him goes rigid.Â
AhâŚso you know.Â
You know itâs him behind the burner account. You know about the bear and the hidden camera inside and that heâs been watching.Â
Slowly, almost against his will, Gojo lifts his head to look back at the monitor, and there you are.Â
Already staring straight into the lensâstraight at him.Â
His breath punches out of him in one sharp, silent rush. It was as if you were waiting for him to look up and wanted him to feel the full, awful weight of being caught all at once; every hidden, ugly thing inside him getting dragged into the light.Â
Suddenly, everything starts to make sense. All those slow, purposeful movements over the last few days, each careful pause, every night he sat here letting himself believe he was the one in control and stealing something from you in secret.Â
That was because you let him.Â
No, worseâyou orchestrated it.Â
On the screen, your mouth curves. A mean, small, devastating grin that sends heat rushing violently up the nape of his neck.Â
A trap. Thatâs what this was.Â
He has no right to be angry, he knows that. Yet, despite the blood in the water, Satoru Gojo is still too obsessive and gone to stop himself from what he does next. He stands abruptly, shoving his chair back with such force the wheels protest.Â
Thereâs no point in answering your message. This situation calls for more than that.Â
Instead, heâll go right to your front door.Â
And it takes him less than three minutes to get there.Â
He knocks, three little taps of his knuckles and in his other hand heâs holding his phone, already typingâ
@.6iX3y3s
|| open it.Â
Beyond the door, there's a heartbeat of silence so prolonged it makes his pulse kick harder. Eventually, the lock clicks and it opens. When it does, Satoru forgets every single thing he meant to say.
Because youâre standing right in front of him, still flushed from the orgasm he just watched you ride out on camera, wearing only that oversized T-shirt. The hem skims the top of your bare thighs and he can see the faint shine of your own cum still glistening on the inside of one leg.Â
Fuck, seeing it in person after watching it through a screen feels way worse than he anticipated.Â
Your face, though, is the opposite of his. Itâs calm, almost bored. Like you didnât just say another manâs name into the eye of his camera to break him.Â
âYou came fast,â You say flatly, tone utterly conversational. Which somehow makes it crueler.Â
Gojoâs gaze flicks down once before he can stop it, one sharp, involuntary glance at your naked thighs disappearing beneath the cotton fabric, then jerks back to your face, âYou knew.â
You lean one shoulder against the doorframe, blocking the entrance with your body, âYou watched.â
He tenses at the words, already aware that he should deny it. He should try to claw back some semblance of control or a lie so clean it can give him room to breathe, but he does none of that.Â
Being caught this thoroughly means that lying starts to feel even more pathetic than the fact that heâs been watching all this time.Â
With his voice low, rough, and fraying at the edges, he opts for, âHow long?â
Your expression barely shifts, âLong enough.â
He understands what that means. Long enough to turn yourself into a performance and let him think he was the one running the show.Â
âYou shouldâve thrown it away,â He seethes.
âYou shouldâve hidden it better.â
Satoru nearly laughs, but bites it back, grip tightening around his phone, âYou played me.â
A tiny tilt of your head when you ask, âDid I?â
He takes one step closer, the space between you feeling too narrow now, âYou knew I was watching.â
âI knew someone was.â
âSukuna?â The name comes out fouler than he means it to, thick with something too ugly to bother disguising.
Thereâs a slight, satisfied change in your face that tells him heâs exactly where you wanted him. He fucking hates that, âWhat about him?â
Gojoâs smile is humorless, âYou knew what you were doing.â
Your lips curve again, the little wicked one from before, âYes.â
The honesty of it stings more than the denial would have. You did it on purposeâchose the one personâs name on campus guaranteed to make him snap.
âMove.â
âNo.â
His eyes behind those silver frames narrow, you donât budge from the doorway. The oversized shirt slips just barely on one thigh as you shift your weight and the movement is so small and subconscious that it almost ruins him entirely. Probably because it doesnât feel subconscious at all. Now, he canât trust a single thing you do to not be deliberate.Â
âSo you let me come here just to keep me outside?â
âYou got yourself here,â You shoot back as he takes another step.
Heâs close enough to the point that the toe of his sneaker nearly touches the threshold. He can see the flush still ghosting across your cheeks and feels the charged heat radiating off your body or maybe thatâs just him; his own blood is running too hot under his skin after everything heâs witnessed.Â
âYou gonna tell me to go?â
You should. Thatâs the rational thing to do. Tell him to leave, slam the door in his stupid face, and let him stand there with his ridiculous jealousy and whatever pathetic excuse for love made him hide a camera in a teddy bear to watch you through it like a total fucking creep.
But the problem isâŚthat some horrible part of you likes this.Â
Not what he did exactly, no, thereâs no justifying that, but thisâthe sight of him outside your door destroyed, caught, and still wanting. The way he came running over the second you pulled the right string. All that genius and polished composure rotting so quickly into something needy and pitiful.Â
You like how badly he wants you.Â
You like that he watched.Â
You like that he couldnât stay away.Â
And maybe that makes you just as disgusting as he is.Â
Your fingers flex once against the edge of the door and Satoru notices. His gaze drags over your face like heâs trying to read the answer before you ever say it, but what he finds only seems to make him hungrier.Â
Because he knows you too well and he knows that look.
âI asked you something,â He murmurs, voice quieter and roughened.Â
Your eyes flick down to his mouth without permission, and that mere slip is all it takes. Something dangerous flashes behind his glasses, and God, you hate the way that affects you too. It should repulse you. Hell, it does, but not enough.Â
Your hand leaves the edge of the door and catches loosely in the front of his hoodie; Gojo freezes, waiting patiently for your next move. The charged silence stretches further and further, you can feel your pulse thrumming practically everywhere, âIâm still angry,â You admit.Â
He nods once, âI know.â
âThis fixes nothing.â
A faint chuckle crawls up his throat, âWeâll see about that.â
His cockiness alone makes you want to shove him back, yet you donât. Instead, your fingers tighten in the collar of his hoodie and yank. The second Gojo crosses the threshold you slam the door behind with your heel; he doesnât even get a chance to speak before your mouth is on hisâangry, open, biting. The taste of bitter coffee floods your senses, and for one treacherous breath you recall kissing him in the past, remembering how he always tasted like this.
His hands are already slipping under the hem of your oversized shirt, palms hot against the bare skin of your waist, gripping hard enough to bruise, âYouâre such a fucking creep,â You hiss against his lips, but youâre already walking him backward toward your bed, shoving at his chest.
âI know,â He breathes, low and wrecked, glasses fogging from how hard heâs heaving, but he doesnât take them off. He just lets you push until the back of his knees hit the mattress and he sits, âBut you enjoyed it. Every second.â
You climb into his lap, straddling him, shirt riding all the way up to your hips. The slick heat of your cunt presses right against his sweatpants and you both feel itâhow hard he already is, thick and straining under the fabric. You grind down once, teasingly, watching his head tip back and throat bob.
âSay it again,â He demands, fingers digging into your ass, pulling you impossibly closer, âSay his name again while youâre this wet for me, I dare you.â
You laugh, a hint of mischief in it, âSukunââ
His hand is in your hair before you finish the last syllable, yanking your head back so suddenly your spine arches. The sting makes you moan and the sound breaks something in him. Gojo surges up, mouth latching onto your throat, sucking a mark right under your jaw like he has to prove to everyone that youâre still his.Â
âDonât ever say that shit again,â He growls against your skin, teeth scraping. One of his hands leaves your ass to shove between your bodies. Two long fingers drag through your folds, gathering the mess you made earlier, and he pushes them inside you.Â
You gasp, hips jerking, because he knows exactly how you like it, âFuckâSatoruââ
âThere is it,â His voice is smooth silk, âThatâs the only name I want in this pretty mouth.â
He fucks you with his fingers like heâs determined to do it better than you did, thumb circling your clit in tight, relentless strokes. Your thighs tremble around his hips, the obscene sounds of how wet you are fill the air every time he thrusts in, and he watches your face the whole time with intense devotion. Those brilliant blue eyes half-lidded behind fogged glasses, drink in every flutter of your lashes.Â
You grab the front of his hoodie again and yank it up. He helps, ripping it off one-handed, shirt underneath following a second later revealing pale skin and lean muscles you used to trace when you were still pretending he was harmless. You rake your nails down his chest so deep they leave pink lines and he groans, hips bucking so his clothes cock grinds against your clit.Â
âOff,â You order, tugging at his sweatpants.Â
Gojo lifts his hips and you shove them down just far enough for his cock to spring freeâlong, flushed at the tip, already leaking, and you donât give him time to think. You wrap your hand around him then sink down in one smooth motion; the stretch burns so good your mouth falls open on a silent cry. Heâs big, always has been, but tonight it feels like heâs splitting you open.Â
His head drops forward, forehead pressed to your collarbone, a broken sound ripping out of him, âFuckâbabyâstill so fucking tight for meââ
Not letting him catch his breath, you start riding him hard, rolling your hips and using him exactly how you want. Every time you drop down he bottoms out, the tip kissing that spot that makes your vision spark white. His hands roam everywhere; gripping your ass, sliding up your back under the shirt, tearing it off so he can watch your tits bounce with each thrust.Â
âMm, look at you,â He pants, âTaking me so wellâlike youâve been empty without it.â
You laugh again, but it comes out shaky, âYou wish.â
He snaps his hips suddenly, driving into you so deep you see stars, âLiar.â
You brace your hands on his shoulders as he fucks up into faster and harder, one arm locked around your waist to keep you pinned, âSay it,â He demands, lips brushing your ear, âSay you missed me.â
You bite your lip, refusing, even though your walls twitch around him. He slows to a torturous grind, rolling his hips so the head of his cock drags right against that perfect spot over and over, âSay it, babyâŚor I stop.â
You hate how quickly you break, âMissedâyou, Toruâfuck.â
A wicked grin spreads across his face, âYeahâŚI know.â
Then he flips you over, back hitting the mattress and him on top before you can even react. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, folds you in half, and pistons in so deep your back arches clean off the bed. The new angle has you sobbing his name repeatedly like itâs the only word you know, fingers clawing at any part of him that you can reach.Â
He fucks you like heâs trying to crawl inside your ribcage and live there; deep, punishing strokes that make your full sized bed creak and headboard slam against the wall. You can feel your orgasm building fast, coiling tight and vicious in your lower belly.Â
âSatoruâgonnaââ
âCum for me, baby,â He coos, thumb finding your clit again, âLet me feel how much you still need me.â
It hits you with such intensity that your vision whites out, walls clamping around him so tight that he groans like heâs in pain, but he doesnât falter. He rides you through it, chasing his own release, âMine,â He chants against your neck, voice cracking, âStill fucking mineââ
Gojo buries himself to the hilt and cums with a broken moan, hips stuttering as he spills deep inside you, hot and thick. He keeps grinding you through it as if he wants to push every drop as far in as itâll go, claiming you from the inside out.Â
For a long moment, the only sound in the room is both of you panting with sweat-slick bodies tangled together. Satoru lifts his head, glasses completely fogged, white hair a tethered mess, cheeks flushed. He looks both ruined and perfectâyours.
He presses a surprisingly soft kiss to your swollen lips, âIâm sorry.â
âFor what?â
Thereâs a long pause, until he answers with, âFor all of it.â
All of it. The camera, the burner account, the surveillance, showing up here like this.
You donât answer right away; forgiveness is too pure of a word for whatever this is and one night of wanting doesnât erase the violation or redeem him. You reach up and remove the fogged glasses off his face, set them aside on the nightstand, and look at him properly.
âYouâre still a sick fuck, you know that?â
A smile flickers at the corner of his mouth, âI do.â
Your nails drag lightly down his spine, âBut, next time you want to watch meâŚâ
His eyes lift to yours as you trail off and you hold them there deliberately, addingâ
