#( thank you so much for taking a chance on us and i hope you have a lot of fun here !)

[peppermintquartz]

Buck volunteers for the Thanksgiving shift. When Maddie asks, he apologizes, saying, "I don't really feel festive right now. But keep some leftovers for me?"

On the day, firehouses around the country all have similar calls to deal with: kitchen grease fires from frying turkeys, sprains in backyard games of football, people injuring one another because "did you hear what she said about our Emma/Francis/Kailey?". Buck is kept too busy to think, and it's nice having the time to catch up with Ravi, who's thinking of going to school to study law.

Their brothers and sisters in uniform also drop off dishes at the station, so between calls, they get pretty good food. Captain Graham gives them an hour offline after four consecutive calls. Buck collapses into a chair and serves himself pasta salad and a delicious honey baked ham, while his dinner rolls warm up in the oven.

He's scrolling through his phone, diligently avoiding the messaging apps, when a message preview pops up.

Tommy.

Buck almost drops his fork. He scrambles away from the dinner table, even though no one on C shift will try to take his phone from him, and finds a spot in the stairwell to read it.

Tommy: hope you have a good & safe Thanksgiving

As he's reading, another bubble appears and Buck's heart skips several beats, but this time it doesn't disappear. A second message arrives, followed by a third.

Tommy: don't know why I texted that

Tommy: guess I just wanted to say something to you

Tommy: you don't have to reply

Tommy: anyway. Happy holidays

Buck feels a slight loosening of the vice around his heart that has been there since that night. With a smile on his face, he types, deletes, types again.

Buck: happy Thanksgiving to you too

Buck: how many kitchen grease fires you got this year? We had 3

Tommy: you're working today?

Tommy: 4, but one of it was in the backyard

They're having a conversation. They're having an actual casual conversation, as easy as they used to on calmer shifts. Buck wants to cry. But he has to answer Tommy's question or have this conversation end too soon. Thinking about his options, he decides that he has nothing to lose anyway.

Buck: I didn't wanna sit around and smile and pretend I'm thankful for everything

Buck: it's better to keep busy

Tommy: I know that feeling

Tommy: I'm sorry

Buck: I'm sorry too

Buck: I wish we could've celebrated together

Buck: I would've said that I'm thankful for you

Tommy: I would have said that too

Tommy: I'm still thankful for you jsyk. I'll always be grateful to have got to know you

Does Tommy think he can't stay in Buck's life just because they broke up?

Buck: I don't think you know me well enough

Tommy: sorry

Buck wishes he'd run after Tommy that night, or done something since to show that he wants Tommy. Well, here's your chance, his brain reminds him. Do something.

He takes a deep breath. Then he types.

Buck: I want to meet. If I come over after Thanksgiving shift, will you please be home?

Tommy: is that a good idea

Buck: idk. But I can't stop thinking about you, and I miss you, and I wanna know what I did wrong. I wanna meet.

Tommy: I miss you too. You didn't do anything wrong, I just didn't want to... Idk. I didn't want to get my hopes up too much.

Buck: we need to talk in person. Texting is not good enough.

It isn't. He needs to see Tommy again. Tommy with his storm blue eyes and tender smile and broad shoulders and soft clothes. Tommy whose crinkly smile drives Buck a little (a lot) insane. Tommy whose lips he now knows the shape of by touch alone, whose body he has mapped out in detail, who knows how it feels to be inside Buck in the most intimate of ways.

He waits for a response. Hopes there will be one. It comes several minutes after, like Tommy had to really think about it.

Tommy: maybe not immediately after Thanksgiving shift

Tommy: are you off on Monday

The relief that crashes into Buck feels almost as overwhelming as the tsunami he was caught in years ago.

Buck: yes

Buck: your place this time

Buck: I'll bring cake

Tommy: you don't have to bribe me to open the door

Buck: no I just baked too much stuff is all. I'll explain when we meet

Buck: I'm really thankful you texted

Tommy: I'm thankful you replied

Tommy: have a good rest of the shift, Evan

It's Evan again. Buck can't hide his smile at all. Tucking his phone into his pocket, he goes back to dinner. Monday can't be here fast enough.

[prettyboykatsuki]

mixed messages | r. sukuna

✮  tags ; gn + afab!reader, unhealthy relationships, not cheating but reader flirts with gojo while tipsy for fun, undefined relationships, fingering / making out, jealousy, modern!sukuna, sukuna and yuuji r brothers 18+

✮ wc ; 2k

✮  a/n ; a snippet / extension of my modern sukuna post for @arguablyferal. i hope it gives a clear-ish idea of what he's like!!

some more like. relationship explanation in an authors note at the end.

✮  synopsis ; you've never been able to get a good read on him. would he really come to a party just to keep you from flirting with another guy ?

somehow you doubt it.

He's hitting on you.

Gojo is, you think. Though you can't be sure since it feels...a little conceited to believe that a guy like that suddenly developed a genuine interest in you. You can think of a couple reasons he would hit on you, all of them to do with getting on Sukuna's last nerve in their never-ending rivalry.

But it's weird because it doesn't really feel like he's just messing around. As in, it doesn't seem like it's just for that reason.

You know Gojo. Not as close as Shoko or Getou might but enough to comfortably call yourself a distant friend. A little more than acquaintance but less then close.

He's facetious—melodramatic, really—totally by design. By necessity, some of it is an act, but you're good enough at reading him to know what's playful and what's not.

That's why you think that Gojo is really hitting on you. He's using the fact Sukuna, your...whatever, isn't here attending with you. He was supposed to be here but he flaked last minuted on coming with you. You ended up taking Yuuji and his friends though, anyhow.

You're letting him do it. He's serious about hitting on you, and he probably knows you're not very serious about returning his feelings.

But you're entertaining it, despite yourself.

Everyone you know is looking the other way while it happens too. Gojo is leaned close, sitting next to you in a plastic chair, and you're just a little bit buzzed. Humid summer air warms your skin, makes you want to sink into the night.

You're not touching, but you're too close for not-quite-friends. Gojo edges on touchy. A soft nudge here and there, the kind of proximity you shouldn't have. Gojo is a breath away, sober because he doesn't like alcohol.

And he's super friendly, which is nice.

A beat of silence settles between you as the night rolls in a little heavier.

Gojo says you what you assume he's been thinking about all night, without any real introduction.

"You should break up with him," He says, just over a can of soda with a kind of sincerity that makes you restless. You feel your nerves flip.

Your mouth moves before your mind has a chance to fill in the answer. You laugh. "I know."

"You're really too good for him, tsk," Gojo laments, clicking his teeth. Playful again, using just enough drawback so that you don't suffocate in the honesty. You shouldn't entertain this but the attention is nice. "And gosh, you're so much more fun without that dark cloud hanging around you, y'know"

You giggle unconsciously at the thought of Sukuna as a dark cloud. Big and broad with a deep voice—it's an astute comparison. Shaking your head, you give him a playful glance. "Am I really more fun? I feel like I'm not as good a conversationalist as a certain someone,"

Gojo smiles at you proudly. "I'm having fun at least."

You close your eyes and take another, much longer drink. "Yeah, me too."

"If you know you can do better, why bother with him? I figure that bastard might be holding you hostage but," He's serious again, brows raised. "You've got more options, you know?"

You shrug, absently. You don't know the answer yourself. It's one thing that Sukuna never quite lets you leave but it's another thing you come back to him every time. You settle on your reply with closed eyes then laugh a little too loud. Gojo doesn't startle.

"Who knows? But you know, thank you anyway. It's good to have options. Maybe it'll knock some sense into me,"

Friendly again. He's a nice guy you think.

"If it doesn't, make sure to give me a call. I'm pretty great too, y'know."

You give him a lighthearted smile.

It's hard to hear much over the loud thump of music. You're not very in touch with your surroundings and the pleasant air around you all but swallows you.

It takes you a minute. Longer than you care to admit, to realize that someone is approaching you. Even longer to realize who.

Sukuna is looming over you and Gojo when you finally look up.

"Having fun?"

You blink, pulling away to make sure you're hearing correctly. Sinking back into your chair, your eyes flicker up to whats casting shadow overhead. His voice almost bellows, deep and coarse but not loud.

"I thought you weren't coming," Is all you can think to say. Sukuna rolls his eyes.

"Yeah. I thought so too,"

He doesn't ask you to get up as much as he tugs you towards him. He's careful not to pull too hard but you come up still on a stumble, drink still in hand, and face in his chest. Your heart thumps, embarrassed by the sudden warmth. His hand sits on your lower back and suddenly there's a conversation happening overhead.

"Quit sticking your nose where it doesn't belong," He spits. He's talking to Gojo you realize.

"Be careful there, nii-san. You're gonna make it seem like you care."

Sukuna tenses under you before he relaxes again - rolling his eyes. He's not happy about it but you can hear that he's trying not to let it show.

"Stay out of it." Sukuna demands. Gojo whistles.

"Sure, sure. You two have fun there."

Sukuna turns you around like that, your face still in his chest as he drags you away. You hear Gojo laugh faintly as you walk further away from the crowd.

__

You don't really get any explanation from Sukuna as he packs you and himself in the backseat of his car.

He's quiet the entire walk there, and the air is so heavy your lungs can't find a breath around it. He doesn't say anything to you even as he opens the back door. He tells you to get in but doesn't show any emotion you discern.

Instead you end up laying in the backseat with Sukuna over you - cramped as his tongue slips all the way into your mouth and his hands grab your waist. All too sudden, without any ceremony at all.

You kiss back because he's being so suffocating and it's all you can think to do to appease him. As soon as he lets you breathe, you put a hand on his chest and push him away.

You make eye contact but he still hasn't said a word. "Are you mad?"

He sneers. "You tell me,"

He ducks down again to kiss you and you let him this time, doing your best to gauge what exactly he's thinking. You know he's upset, rather - but it's weird. Something is different about it.

His mouth is hot as he hands slide underneath your shirt further- his knees keeping your legs apart as his thigh presses against your clothed sex. You shiver, moaning into his mouth and Sukuna swallows the noise. Gasping, you pull back again.

"All you do is piss me off you brat," He tugs your lip back between his incisors as he speaks, voice bordering on a snarl. "You should know better than to cozy up to that idiot."

You squirm. "I wasn't cozying—"

"You think I'm fucking stupid? Think I don't got eyes to see with?" And then, like he's predicting your next question. "Yuuji texted me."

"And you came?" You stop, keeping him from going any further. "You came 'cause Yuu-chan sent you a picture of me and Gojo-kun....?"

He ignores your question. "Take your pants off,"

You make a face at him but oblige, hands unbuttoning your jeans as Sukuna practically tugs you out of them and your panties in one go. He sits back up on his legs and maneuvers carefully to keep his hands between your thighs. His middle finger runs through your slit, palm putting pressure on your clit.

He's rushing more than normal, mouth crushing yours again in a kiss so heavy it makes you gasp. You feel like you're imagining it but each time you pull back - his teeth sink into your lips until they're throbbing from how hard he's bitten them up.

He's possessive. Always has been. He's territorial over you in one way or another over everything, but it's usually only when you threaten to leave. There's a merit to what Gojo said about keeping you held down. But even in that, there's never any emotion stronger than annoyance to follow your little tantrums. You wouldn't call what you feel now desperation by any stretch.

But it's something more then simple possession and it makes you ache.

"I wasn't gonna do anything with him." You say half-way between a breath. You see his jaw tick with irritation at the mere thought. "It was just for fun—"

He quiets you with his fingers. With his hands, rough - spitting hard on your clit from where above making it splatter against your thighs. His fingers fingers the thick layer of spit and drag them down against your throbbing clit to make it wetter. He touches you hard and fast, places kisses against your jaw and collar before sinking his teeth into the clothed shape of your tits.

His fingers find your pussy not long after. Thick, scarred, intrusive - he slips them in one at a time. As much as he knows you can take until he touches that spot inside of you that leaves your whole body tingling. Knuckle deep, he presses his palms up against your clit to make sure you have the right friction. You moan his name loud, eyes rolling up into your head,

The windows are starting to fog.

"Sukuna,"

He grabs hold of your face with free hand, bordering on a snarl. It's mean you think, but more then that there's a genuine frustration to it that makes you shiver almost shamefully.

"You're mine." He sneers. You feel your cunt twitch unhelpfully at but Sukuna doesn't budge. Doesn't even go to make fun of you He just keeps growling, leaning in to kiss you - forcing his tongue into your mouth and pulling away again. "Get close with that bastard and I'll kill him."

Your stomach flutters in arousal at the aggression in it. The unreasonable, unhelpful, trained part of your brain nearly screams. He wants you, he wants you, he wants. It makes you wanna—

"G-gonna—gonna cum, fuck, Sukuna."

He kisses you again, murmuring against your lips. "Cum,"

Your thighs clamp around Sukuna's wrists as he continues to finger you, grinding yourself the edge of his palm as you ride out your high. Your voice pitches into a high whine, spine arching. It's rushed but intense, scratching the itch but not enough to tamp down the heat completely. You squirt around his fingers in a full blown gasp and find you can barely get your head above water.

You cum hard, convulsing. He doesn't move his hand until you grab him by the wrist and shake your head. Surprisingly, he listens easily and pulls away.

You pause and stare at him after you've caught your breath.

"What's wrong with you today?"

"Stay the fuck away from that guy."

You roll your eyes. "He's right. It's starting to sound like you love me or something. I wasn't gonna sleep with him anyway so chill out."

He scoffs. "Don't even fucking dream of it. I'd kill you both."

You take a second to look at him. You can't read him to save your life. But he's looking back at you, into you maybe, in a way that makes you wonder if there's something about him you're missing. You wrap your arms around his neck just to see if he'll tell you to stop clinging.

He doesn't though.

"Did you really come all the way here 'cause of what Yuu-chan sent you?"

He glares at you. "Are you deaf? Didn't I say that?"

"But then it sounds like you were jealous."

He rolls his eyes. "You're stupid."

"....You were jealous? Really?"

"Shut up already," He says. And maybe it's the alcohol but you swear his face goes warm. "And seriously stay away from that idiot. If I see some shit like that again I'm locking you in the house and chaining you to my bed."

"Weird proposal but okay."

"Dumbass."

"You love me,"

He rolls his eyes and goes to kiss you. Doesn't deny it, you notice. You pretend not to be giddy.

"Whatever."

✮ extended authors note ; hi!! i hope sukunas personality made sense here.

my point with sukuna in modern is that i think it takes away a lot of his unsavory aspects but the deep sense of possession and ownership sort of stays. this is a modern au so he's different from canon in many ways.

he has a hard time committing but he also does not do things he doesnt want to so him spending time with you and wanting your loyalty are both genuine desires. he understands why you're entertaining gojo's flirting and rationally knows it's unfair to want loyalty from you.

but he's into you so he gets. fucking pissed anyway. skjsjd. anyways i hope u liked it and i hope it made sense!! i just wanted to add this incase!!!

[galactic-magick]

I Love You, I'm Sorry: Viktor x Reader

Based off of this reply on my last Viktor fic:

@lillycore : Duddee, imagine after the final scene between Viktor and Jayce they just disappear (I refuse to believe they both died, I’m just going believe, until it’s confirmed, that they simply teleported somewhere else), leaving reader alone without a chance to confront Viktor and believing they both died. So now, reader is left to pick up the pieces of her closest friend and love of her life gone, while believing Viktor no longer loves her (he does though, he was just a little confused with everything, but he still loves her)

Words: 1.2k

Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for the notes and kind words on my last Viktor fic, it truly means the world to me as a writer to see so many people touched by my writing. I hope you enjoy this equally devastating part 2.

They’re gone. They’re really gone.

No family, no friends, not a single loved one of yours survived this damn war. All this world has done is take, take, take.

You’re haunted by the last time you saw your beloved Viktor—completely unrecognizable. He had turned himself into a monster, disappearing with Jayce trying to save him. You didn’t even get to say goodbye, you didn’t even get to tell him you still love him.

Or ask if he still loved you.

You don’t know what would hurt less, believing he stopped loving you, or believing he did everything he did while loving you.

-

“Why can’t she hear me?” Viktor shouts into the void. He’s been calling your name for what feels like an eternity, his voice no longer carrying to your world.

Jayce puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, “You don’t have vessels to speak through anymore. She probably thinks we’re dead. Well, maybe we are…”

“No, no, this can’t be the end,” Viktor shakes his head vigorously. “I have to get back to her. She...she needs to know I love her. She needs to know I’m sorry.”

He falls to his knees amongst the stars, cursing himself for everything. How could he choose the hexcore over you? Why didn’t he seek you out when he survived the explosion? How did he let himself descend so far into madness that he forgot about your importance to him?

He’s now desperate for you to hear him, pleading the forces that bind his consciousness to this astral plane for another chance. He searches this dimension he’s come to know so well, looking for a loophole or tear in the fabric, but it’s no use. Everything has been closed—his supposed eternal consequence for his abuse of power.

Jayce saved him from himself, a feat he will forever be indebted to him for, but what is the point of redemption if he cannot live it out in his own flesh?

Would there have been a body left for him anyway? Would you still have loved him as the monstrosity he became?

Why must he still be cursed with the full vision of the universe? He sees you continue your life so clearly, but he can’t touch you, can’t speak to you. Your form shines the brightest light he’s ever seem in this dimension, an achievement that is not easily matched. He wonders if you can feel him reaching out to you, some sort of spiritual pull back to him. He will do anything to find a way to talk to you again.

-

You’ve been having dreams—dreams you can’t explain. Ever since Viktor’s disappearance, he’s tormented you day and night, constantly occupying your thoughts without mercy. You can hear his voice, but it sounds so far away you can never make out the words. You just wish it would all stop. You wish you could just erase him and all of the pain from your memory.

Sometimes you still feel a presence, the feeling you used to feel when he was in the same vicinity with you, admiring you from across a room. It’s a familiar warmth that used to wash you with peace, whereas now it makes your heart ache. You suppose it’s a normal symptom of grief, subconsciously denying that he’s really gone.

You start to go through his things he left at your house, beginning with his various textbooks and notebooks he would bring over for studying. Seeing his scribbles and handwriting again brings tears to your eyes, a single drop falling onto the paper as you read.

You blink a few times, seeing a couple of letters on the page start to glow. You must be seeing things, hallucinating from sleep deprivation. You close the journal and open it again, but the glowing letters are still there.

You grab a separate piece of paper and write down each glowing letter, finding fifteen total.

“I - L-O-V-E - Y-O-U - I-M - S-O-R-R-Y”

This isn’t happening. It can’t be.

-

“It’s working! She got my message!” Viktor exclaims.

“How...how are you doing that?” Jayce asks.

“Tiny rips in space—not big enough for either of us to escape through—but certainly big enough to briefly touch that reality,” Viktor pauses, still waiting for a response from you, but it doesn’t come.

-

You close the journal and sob, praying for an end to this misery. Your mind is playing tricks on you, deceiving you to a level you never thought possible. Must you be haunted by this forever? Must you endure the aftermath of this trauma?

You open it once again, the letters still glowing, but they start to fade right in front of your eyes. A new set of letters begin to glow, so you write those down as well.

“I-T-S - M-E - D-A-R-L-I-N-G”

And then another set of letters.

“P-L-E-A-S-E - T-A-L-K - T-O - M-E”

Maybe you’re not imagining.

You’ve heard of magicians who can converse with the dead, and the possibility of other dimensional planes and universes. Viktor himself had some theories about it, although he never pursued proving them. Could it really be possible that your beloved was speaking to you?

“Viktor?” you say out loud. “Are you...are you alive?”

“I - D-O-N-T - K-N-O-W”

The pencil drops from your hand again as your head falls to the table. His consciousness is somehow alive, clearly, but there’s no way he can explain to you where he is and how to get him out one letter at a time. You’re nowhere near his level of intellect—even if he explained how to rescue him like you’re five years old—you fear you still would mess something up.

“Viktor...I can’t do this. You can’t do this to me,” you sigh, daring to look at the words again. “You abandoned me, and now my life is a living hell because of the destruction you helped cause. I want nothing to do with your war and stupid glorious evolution. So if you’re not here to take me away from this life, please go away.”

The same original words start glowing again, brighter each time they sequence:

I love you, I’m sorry.

I love you, I’m sorry.

I love you, I’m sorry.

“Love doesn’t do what you did. Love doesn’t abandon its humanity for power.”

Please forgive me.

“I do forgive you for everything, Viktor. That’s exactly why I need to forget about you, because I will never stop loving you and hurting for it if I don’t.”

With blurry eyes, you close the journal and throw it into the fireplace, regretting it almost immediately. You grab a stick and pull it out, your tears falling onto the soot-stained cover.

“Please, just...find a way back to me.”

I will.

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

See, hear and speak no evil - Carlos Sainz x reader

You usually loved race weekends. Any chance for you to watch your boyfriend do his thing was appreciated. But not Miami. Your poor European sleep cycle was not used to this. Toto was wrong about no one watching the races in your time zone. Carlos would make fun of you for it, especially as he was living it. He teased you relentlessly for sleeping through half of the Chinese GP. Oh, the irony of you getting into the sport because your partner was an F1 driver and not the opposite. Even worse, he refused to explain the "lore" as you called it. So you Googled frantically and added the Netflix documentary to your queue. Unexplainable, you found yourself watching Tiktok edits instead. And you were gonna give it to these people with Capcut and a dream. They managed to capture Carlos' sex appeal. You had new obsessions with every clip on your fyp. His hair, his thighs, and of course, him going ballistic on the radio. You had heard your boyfriend being a little grumpy at quali or race positions before. Yapping about strategies or other drivers. Even Charles wasn't immune to a snarky comment. But then you were using your efforts to calm him or to let him talk it out. Now, when it was a loop of him pissed on air, you realized that maybe you liked angry, vocal Carlos a little more than you guessed. The memes about your boyfriend being written by Lana del Rey were sometimes true. He had a poised reputation to uphold. Even when it was just the two of you, he was either stoic or bubbly and funny. If he was sad, he'd be sulky or melancholic. Never angry or possessive. Never letting you see him lose his cool. It wasn't like he didn't trust you enough to let you in. It was more due to the fact that you were precious and fragile to him, breakable. But that was gonna change soon. With special courtesy of his radios during his battles with Oscar.

Carlos liked to have you in your "lovers nest" before Imola. Called you his lucky charm, his amuleto. Truth be told, it was a little early. Cohabitation was usually reserved for "seasoned couples". Carlos and you joked that you weren't living together, you were occasional roommates with benefits. The new arrangement meant that every couple of weeks, between triple headers, you would be in Spain. You knew a frequent flier discount hated to see you coming. Luckily, you had somewhat managed to make your job more remote, negotiating different hours and taking on a freelancing type of everyday tasks.

But like any person in love, you were most productive when alone. Thanks to the copious amounts of coffee you needed to watch the Miami GP, you had pulled 2 all nighters, basically flying through your professional to-do list. As soon as your weekly meeting was over, you started going through the most boring and easy parts of what you do. As soon as your lunch break rolled around, you were napping, hoping no one from the office decided to check up on you.

You're saving up the completed tasks as leverage, waiting for the right moment. And it arrives with the sound of a door unlocking and Carlos' familiar voice echoing through the apartment. You call him in the office space and let him know that you're almost finished. Sending out your tasks to your supervisor, you utilise their checking time and turn it into boyfriend time. Within a few minutes, you're in bed with Carlos, both in lounge wear that left little to the imagination. It was a little game you came up with in the honeymoon period of the relationship. Who could break easier after the long distance. You would think that no kissing would be easy, given that not much else was off limits. With his lips between your neck and your ear, he wasn't helping himself, so he asked.

"Did you manage to stay up for my race, gorgeous?"

"Yes, I watched it live, every second. I think I annoyed everyone on Twitter with my recap, even your fans." you reply.

"Yeah? Any standout thoughts I should know about?" He says, curious.

"Your radios, they sounded, good." You give him nothing, but he knows how to take from you. The gears in his brain turn, looking for a way to make you loose. At the end of the day, he was a simple man. All he had to do was ask.

"If you give me a kiss, I ......" He tries to finish his sentence but his mind blanks. He goes for the low hanging fruit, offering to buy you dream outfits and bags. Even when he puts real money where his mouth is, you refuse. Even though it's stupid, you don't want to give him the impression that you're dating him for the money. Carlos moves on to more individual things, promising to make you cum over and over again, to do the thing that makes your legs shake. You gently remind him they if he kisses you first, you make the rules. Therefore you could easily ask for all that and more. You can see it's driving Carlos mad to not be in control. He pulls out the "big guns".

"If you kiss me, I'll consider the threesome idea with Charles?" he tries.

"That was one dream and I regret telling you about it. No thanks, don't wanna be a homewrecker." you counter.

"I'll actually arrange a threesome with Fernando?" he comments.

"Stop slutting out people on the grid. Just because I fantasized about something a couple times doesn't mean I'm suddenly ready to be Eiffel towered or split roasted or whatever you two freaks could come up with." you hold your ground.

"You are the only guy for me. In F1, or outside of it, I only want to be with you. No sharing." You kiss him, aware that you'd loose. Whatever he had planned for you was gonna be good and you knew it.

"Good. I was gonna be worried if you'd said yes. Now, on the topic of saying things, you were awfully quiet earlier. So, we're gonna play another little game, called team radio." You quirk up an eyebrow and ask him to explain.

"It's easy. You tell me what to do and I'll do it. You don't say anything, I'll stop. I'm all about teamwork and following orders, baby." He boasts.

"Yeah, always, huh? Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night. You're a driver. You can't help it. It's in your blood. Being fast, being fucking selfish." You taunt him. Truth is what attracted you most to your boyfriend. His drive, no fucking pun intended.

Carlos pins you down onto the matres, his athlete's reflexes immediately evident. You're trapped beneath his body as he kisses and bites your neck.

"You're already failing at your game there, sweetheart. Thought you'd be the one obeying me. " you remind him. Asking your boyfriend to give up control was like asking a broken clock to display the right time. Yet, even those were right twice a day. Carlos pulled away, waiting for you to tell him what to do. Even though it was his idea, he was already turning against it. Though he had a trick up his sleeve.

You were trying out your new power. First, you asked him to switch to let you be on top. You kissed his neck and chest in a way to bid for time. Usually, by now, his hands would be on your waist, pulling down your underwear. Yet, he was still waiting for a que from you.

"Carlos, can you touch me, please? Just I don't know, rub my clit until I come or something." You ask.

Your boyfriend must be a member of r/maliciouscompliance, because that's what he does. He doesn't take your panties off, he just slides two fingers and presses them against where you need him and rubs. His pace is mundane, not too slow, and not too fast that it feels like he's trying to start a fire. It's just right, the perfect tease.

"You know, you're not very good at this. I know you're all about the flow of things and you shut off your brain when we fuck, sweetheart. But don't make me teach you a lesson here." He says.

You wonder what he means. You can feel his hardness under you, despite the layers of cotton there. You're not a tyrant, so you rub against his cock, needing more. Your futile moans of "Carlos please." don't earn you anything. You're wet, so close thanks to the new stimulation and his repetitive rhythm. You cum and as soon as your boyfriend senses it, he stops.

"Carlos, what the actual fuck?" you ask, your orgasm ruined. He'd never pulled that move before, always touching you more, so you could ride it out, going until your thighs clamp against him in a vice grip.

"You said to rub your clit until you came. You came. I did my job, no?" He replies, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Oh,so that's how he was gonna play it. Well two people could tease.

You tell him to take off your underwear and his too. Tossing your boyfriend a condom, you ask to see him put it on. He hisses as his fingers trail down his length. Truth it, he's just as needy as you. He was just better at hiding it.

"Do you have a favorite position, hmm Carlos? I wanna see it." You ask. He uses his strength to flip you, ass up in the air. Even in this, he's still careful. With your back arched and face half-burried in the pillow, you say.

"Show me your passion, I want you to go fucking feral, use me like there's no tomorrow."

And he obeys. He burries himself to the hilt inside you. He could be snarky and wait for you to ask him for every thrust. But he lacks the patience for that. He pulls out, almost all the way and thrust back in ferociously. Every "faster" and "harder" he follows. Carlos feels you clench around him, and says.

"If you wanna cum properly, you have to ask. Give team orders to your roque driver."

"Carlos Sainz, you better give me an orgasm and fuck me through it, unless you." You don't get to finish your thought, because your boyfriend's hand makes its way to your clit. This time he makes sure you feel everything to the fullest, giving you more and more. When you recover from your orgasm, you notice that he's still desperate to cum too. You know his tells. His hands gripping your waist a little stronger. The faint drops of sweat on his forehead. The way his thrusts are slower. You could show him that revenge is best served cold. But you can't resist him just after he blows his load, the moment where he's still fucking into you, as if intent on making it stick. On making your pussy memorize the shape of his cock.

"Carlos, fuck, go ahead and come. You deserve it, pretty boy." You say and watch him as he falls apart, bottom lip between his teeth.

You're both spent. After he cleans up and tosses the condom in the trash and you pee, you melt in his arms.

"I think this made me sweatier than Miami." He says. Aftercare sweet talk was obviously not his forte.

"I think that if we go for a second round, my work shift will end. Wanna make your girl steal some company time?" You reply.

[cultlix]

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝

pair. surfer! chris x felix's soon-to-be wife! fem reader | genre. unrequited love (?), angst, slight smut| warnings. use of pet names, mentions of smoke, allusion to cheating, penetrative/unprotected sex.

synopsis. He's a tidal wave, sudden and unrestrainable, cataclysmic, sweeping away everything getting on its way. "You've never been more human to my eyes than you are right now," you confess.

author's note. learning to surf has always been on my bucket list, as much as being mr. bahng and mr. lee's object of desire. yup! thanks in advance for any form of feedback you'll decide to give to this new story. happy reading, guys!

➽──────────────❥

Chris drives the coast with the windows open and the radio turned off, in solemn contemplation, cradled by the regenerating caress of crisp air and the spellbinding play of lights on the waves crest. Everything around him feels like a promise of reconciliation, a long-awaited second chance. As his thoughts dart fast like the wheels on the asphalt, his heart succumbs to a flicker of hope. Nothing lasts forever.

What's not fated to perdure, always falls apart. That's an incontrovertible truth, a solace. Sandcastles dissolve into the fury of the ocean, unspeakable desires plummet gracefully into the forgiveness of the unknown, of the unresolved, becoming nothing more than spectres of draining obsessions.

It's a gory war the one against them, Chris knows better. So he patiently relies on whatever God is available, merciful, choleric, on weekdays or on holidays, and waits. Waits for an exemplary punishment to accomplish, for this arcane design to spare him from his demons, unslakable, compelling, always shaped on something - or someone - he can't have but he'd kill for, always voraciously aiming for his wandering soul.

But if this agony can help avoiding his entire universe to collapse on itself, he'll gladly greet a request of immolation, mastering the art of camouflaging, of denying, burying secrets and crucifying longings. It won't last forever, and it's a relief. Though sometimes it feels just like a blatant lie he tell himself to stay anchored to his sanity.

He finds you sat on the wooden porch steps, loose braid, white tank top and a pair of worn out jean shorts, a gaze crossing horizon lines and vanishing points, astray, imperscrutable. You wave listlessly in his direction, a cigarette butt still firmly set between your fingers, a form of latent slavery you seem to accept willingly, uglier but less striking than the other you show off on your left hand, a glaring warning, a coveted chain for many.

You walk towards the vehicle and bend down over the passenger window, the strap of your black bra falling off your shoulder. "I'm afraid we'll ride the waves alone today, lone wolf. Felix can't make it," you start off, throwing the cig on the gravelly ground.

Chris nods unsurprised while he connects the dots. Earlier that week, Felix, his undisputed soulmate, the only home he has ever known, suggested him to spend some extra free time with you to strenghten your bond. Chris didn't even know you two had one, until his little brother decided so.

"I'd do anything for her," Felix confessed him, watching you while you were feeding stray cats roaming around his beach cottage.

"I know," Chris answered, passing him a bottle of water after their daily run.

"No, I don't think you really do," he insisted, taking a long sip, asking his body one last effort to take you by surprise with a back hug, making you scream, laugh, turning you around to lock lips and then vanish inside that instant forever.

But Chris looked hard enough to perceive it, to watch it while it put roots in his rotten brain and invaded his heavy heart. He knew all the burdens and the ordeals of selflessness and deep veneration in their most virulent shades, and tolerated them. He knew, and fervently prayed he didn't.

"Surfing without sunshine. Ironic, isn't it?" He hints, staring absentmindedly at the road in front of him.

"Sacrilegious," you add sarcastically, shielding your eyes from the scorching sun, the elegant gem almost cleaving the air with its sharp facetings as you raise your hand, capturing egoistically the morning glow and returning it as countless thunderbolts, forcing Chris to look away, blinded, deafeted by its ruthless splendor.

"You still feel like doin' this, yeah?"

"Why shoudn't I?"

He shrugs, rubbing his nape. "Just thought that's the kind of thing a girl does only with her fiancé."

"Unlike you, I still can survive a day without sunshine," you clarify.

"Better not telling him. He thinks you're such a damsel in distress when he's not around," he warns, vaguely sore by your assertion.

"Yeah, I know. That's the kind of thing a girl does for her fiancé."

Is it really like this, Y/N? Well, it must be. Feeding a man's narcissism, enchanting him with your fatal feminine artifices, meekness, submissiveness, pretending you're his to take, to mold, while you turn his vanity, his naiveness into your trophy. Nasty, brillant little thing. You deserve to be taught a lesson, you deserve an award.

"Seriously, the wind is crazy. We can always reschedule this first lesson if you—"

"Wow, you're really doin' it, aren't you? You tryna back out, lone wolf?"

"No, it's just...it's gonna be tough," he explains dryly.

"Never expected you to go easy on me," you cut him off, getting in the car and pulling your pack of cigarettes out of your shorts pocket, but Chris promptly takes it away from your hands.

"My car, my rules, buttercup," he says with an authoritative stance.

"Fuck Christopher. Why do you even care so much?" you protest, rolling your eyes in a very childish way.

It's rare, unheralded. No silly nickname, no endearing mockery. Christopher. Vowels and consonants coated in honey and insolence, a venomous balm delighting his ears and hurting his pride.

"I've been asking myself the same question a lot lately."

His hand's steady on the gear shift, his jaw clenched. He feels his loins on fire each time you rock your bare upper tigh from side to side, rhythmically, hitting his calloused fingers, turning unbearably itchy, curious to plunge into your luscious flesh, glistening in the warmth of the sun filtering through the windows and inundating the narrow car cabin. He commands himself to regret it the moment he indulges in the mirage of sinking his teeth into every inch of your skin, of healing every deep wound with his mouth, sucking, draining, swept away by an orgiastic dance of blood and mellow nectars.

In the darkness of his unmade bed, enveloped by the hot steam of the pouring shower stream, these fantasies come to inebriate his mind, to take control of his muscles, of his arts, aching, yielding as these visions become vivider, nerve-wrecking, leading him to chase a crumble of inner peace by satisfying their disgraceful nature. He runs his hand over his stiff lenght, his grip firm and tight, emulating your walls, pulsing, contracting, engulfing him, swallowing him in to the hilt, driving him insane with the friction against your slippery crevice. He dreams of pushing himself inside you violently, hurriedly, from behind, nails digging into the softness of your buttocks, your bones hitting his just the way he needs, as a punishment, because he knows he shouldn't have you like this, on your fours, spine breaking under the weight of his quivering body and his guilt, he begs his reason to manifest again soon just to take him back from this mortal rapture, to reveal, or remind him the truth he's desperately trying to elude. You'll never be his. You'll never choose the traitor over the hero. He comes in groans and moans, with the raging force of a torrent, his fluid slipping through his digits because you're not there to contain it, to let it nourish your immaculate womb, and you never will.

"Lone wolf?"

Chris flinches, eyes still glued to the pavement. "Mmh?"

"I know what you're thinking."

No, Y/N, you don't. If you did, you'd see the monster you've made out of me, and you'd be aghast. You'd watch me meandering in the ghost lands this delirium has generated, eager to betray the man I was before this passion ate every shred of my heart, becoming the bastard I am right now, a shadow who bends to your fucking will even if you don't ask to, don't notice it, don't even care.

He clears his throat, tapping nervously his thumb on the steering wheel. "I—"

"I know you think I don't deserve him, but let me show you I do, I will."

He smirks, relieved, resigned.

"Oh buttercup, no one will ever deserve Felix."

"We're gonna get wet anyway," you protest, watching rain falling inesorably from the outdoor shed as Chris applies a layer of wax on your surfboard.

"Typical of beginners," he comments, chuckling, not giving in to your pleas. "Don't you know half of the fascination with this sport is the mental preparation and waiting for the perfect weather?"

"How could I? I'm a beginner," you retort, mocking him and rasing an eyebrow. "Anyway, isn't it the instructor's responsabilty to check the forecast and surf conditions before a session?"

"You can't predict everything, that's what makes surfing hard and rewarding," he elucidates patiently, undressing himself to wear his wetsuit, forcing you to look away.

"I thought in Australia you only knew about rain for movies and songs," you mumble.

Chris smiles fondly. "Considering it's gonna be your new home, I thought you knew more about Australia than what they tell you in movies and songs," he remarks, handing you your rented wetsuit.

"He is gonna be my new home," you state, taking the garment, gazing into his eyes purposely.

He turns around to let you change, hearing the muffled sound of your clothes falling on the ground confusing with the melodious crashing of the waves against the shore, seeing out of the corner of his eye you throwing your bra and your knickers on the only stool present, just over his boxers.

"The only good thing I've ever done in my entire life was protecting Felix, committing myself everyday to make him feel safe. I can't do anything else. It's a mission, a curse. My life revolves around him. And I know you love him, I can feel it, but it's hard to accept how easily he can get along without me. It's not about you, Y/N. But, what will be left to do for me then, if I lose the only thing that still makes me human?"

He's a tidal wave, sudden and unrestrainable, cataclysmic, sweeping away everything getting on its way.

"You've never been more human to my eyes than you are right now," you confess.

He gets closer, the superb gem still there, looking heavier, bigger, more blinding and menacing each time Chris avoids the distance between your exposed back and his covered chest, just enough to inhale sublime notes of lavender when your braid moves on your shoulders. The sillage trails him in a narcotic embrace that lulls his senses, dazing his lucidity, coaxing him to let his guards down, to swim towards the current, the trap, the end.

He brushes his lips gently on your nape, shivers mantling your skin when he places them on your neck, a weary butterfly dying on an autumn leaf.

"Lone wolf..." you say under your breath, paralyzed, afraid.

"What will be left to do for me, if I take the only thing that still makes him human?"

© cultlix, 2024. all rights reserved.

[peach-top]

❝𝙑𝙄𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉❞

➤ ACT I. | CHAPTER III.

➤ FLOWER CROWNS

“White Lily Cookie! His majesty told us about your awakening!” Silverbell beamed with excitement upon hearing the news. “Are you ok? How are you feeling?!”

“Silverbell Cookie. Sorry, I'm still trying to get used to this.” White Lily Cookie frowned.

The silver haired male nodded with understanding, “It’s ok. We'll leave you alone to catch your breath. You can call me whenever you need me.”

“Thank you…” White Lily nodded with a soft smile on her face. Silverbell gives the female a grin before leaving her with her thoughts. White Lily’s smile turned upside, replacing it with a frown. She gripped on the railing of the bridge and looked down at her reflection in the water.

“Dark Enchantress Cookie is still out there…So, why am I here…?” White Lily whispered. “My soul jam…they're gone. If I remember correctly, they were scattered into pieces. Some pieces of my memories are still blurry.”

“...” The white haired female then looked up at the night sky, “I wonder…”

White Lily Cookie stares at the moon that appears to never be a full moon. It's just a crescent moon. Why? It never seems to show the full moon for a long time now. However, White Lily remembers reading in the book that the moon was broken by a cookie with a work of dark magic that no other had seen before.

There's these times when a blood moon appears once a year. White Lily always witnessed it when she had the time just to study about it and the cookie responsible for it. However, she was forbidden to learn any further because of risk.

But the moon doesn't matter anymore. It's [Y] she's wondering about. Someone who has awakened her with the work of his magic and life jam. The magic aura surrounding him is a familiar feeling. She never encountered this sort of magic, but it gives her a feeling that she has met him before…or did she?

❝i envy you…white lily cookie…❞

White Lily gasped at the unsettled voice echoed in her head. She then jumps when she hears someone approaching her. It was [Y], who happened to arrive at the bridge.

“Oh, it's you. Shouldn't you be with Elder Faerie?” White Lily asked.

“Ah. Elder Faerie has important matters to attend to. We'll have a tour another time. I've come here to explore the kingdom myself until I've found you here.” [Y] said. “Am I interrupting something? Hope I'm not disturbing you or anything.”

“...N…no. I was just deep in thought…” White Lily mumbled before turning back at the water.

“Oh, then I'll leave you to it, then.” The taller male said as he was about to walk away.

“Um…About that life stone you're carrying…” The white haired female spoke, stopping the male mid-step. “How does it work?”

“The life stone? Oh, they keep me alive. Millennial Tree found me and revived me with the help of this stone.” [Y] explained. “If it was to be shattered, then I'll crumble. I don't remember much after I was given a new life under a new name.”

“A life stone that kept you alive? I never thought something like this could work on a cookie…” White Lily blinked owlishly. “What is it like to carry a life stone attached to your body?”

“Not sure, but it felt great. Without the life stone, I wouldn't be able to see the world.” [Y] smiled gently. “Giving a second chance to life felt great. Learning magic, making both animal and cookie friends alike, and learning things that I've never experienced before. There's so much to learn about.”

“...I hope you won't suffer a similar fate like I did.” The white haired female muttered. The taller male wasn't able to hear it, “Huh? Did you say something?”

“It's nothing…” The white haired female frowned before looking back at the water.

“Say…what are you gonna do now that you're awake..?” The taller male asked.

“...I’m not sure. I think I should stay here to clear my thoughts. I don't think I'm prepared to go face-to-face with my friends, wherever they are…” White Lily said.

“Take your time. It will take some time to be able to open up to others once again.” [Y] stated as butterflies started flying around him. “How about we hangout? We'll see what can help you with stress.”

“...You are so kind…You reminded me of Pure Vanilla Cookie…” White Lily mumbled.

“...?”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Elder Faerie frowned at the news he just received, the flower was getting more and more aggressive. It wasn't like this until [Y] arrived at the Faerie Kingdom. The flower was trying to escape. Elder Faerie knew it was trying to escape to its master.

“It's getting worse and worse. We don't know how to silence it any longer…!” One of the faeries whined.

Elder Faerie wanted to test this theory. He spotted [Y] with White Lily and grabbed the sealed flower then faced it towards the [h] haired male. To his surprise, the flower stopped.

“I see. So, it wanted to return to their master…” Elder Faerie mumbled.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

White Lily seated at the garden a few inches away from [Y]. She watches as the taller male tries to create a flower crown while being surrounded by animals.

“I've heard that flower crowns symbolize peace, so I thought it might help you to relax in peace.” [Y] stated while holding a flower crown made out of white lilies. “With white lilies symbolizing purity. What do you think?”

“...I think it's lovely…” White Lily smiled softly. [Y] doesn't know whether it's a forced smile or not. He offered the crown to White Lily and placed it on her head. He then smiles genuinely, “It looks great on you. It suits you. You look like a beautiful queen.”

The female blushes at the compliment, “...I…I don't consider myself as a queen.”

“I'm sure you'll make a great queen for the Faerie Kingdom. You put up so much effort in sealing the silver tree.” The taller male stated. “The faeries here look up to you because of your heroic act.”

“They do, don't they?” White Lily mumbled. [Y] nodded, “They sang a song for you while you were asleep to show their gratitude. You should at least be happy that you're still being accepted by them even after what you've done.”

“...Do you really think I can still undo what I've done?” White Lily asked.

“That's something I'm not sure about, but hope you'll be able to find a solution to that…” [Y] replied. “Just don't be hard on yourself. Overthinking things isn't good. It'll cause more stress, you know?”

“He's too kind. Just like Pure Vanilla Cookie. I hope he's safe…” White Lily thought.

➤ chapter ii.

➤ chapter iv.

the flower (old)↓

[razzellyn]

Hi! I've been seeing your Metal Cardbot posts and I really like them!

For my request, can we have the Metal Cardbots who catch a virus that basically simulates the common cold x Reader who has to be their caretaker for the duration of it?

Sick?!

Oh no, the bots are sick! How? Not sure, but you've got to take care of them!

MCB

Different colored dialogue = different bot

Btw don't ask how they drink stuff... Ask Buffalo Crush in that one episode

Ok so uhm, I'm not sure how to use sentences for this, so i hope you're ok with dialogues.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Blue Cop

"Didn't i just told you to rest?"

"Yes, but this is much more important, i have to-"

"No, no no no, sit back down."

".. Very well."

He'll look like a kicked puppy if you stop him from doing his things, but he'll listen.

Mega Trucker

"Mega Trucker! Stop dancing and drink your medicine!!"

"Huh- woah! No thanks I'm good!"

"Wha- Mega Trucker?!"

Unfortunately he's stubborn. Good luck with that.

Mega Ambuler

"Mega Ambul- oh! You're drinking your medicine already."

"Of course."

"... Do you even need my help?"

"No, but thank you for trying. I can do this on my own."

He's a literal doctor. Do i even need to explain?

Phoenix Fire

"Phoenix, come on... It's just fuel!"

"Yeah! But it's bitter!"

"Better than being sick isn't it?"

"I guess..."

If there's anything more he hates other than fire, is burning up inside.

Shadow X

"... Where'd that kid go?"

"Here! He was hiding in the rooftop again."

"Let go!! I don't want those- those things!"

"It's just bitter fuel..."

He runs away and when the others find him he gets dragged back to you. He's throwing a tantrum too so that's something.

Fleta Z

"Fleta Z. Your medicine?"

"Ah, right. Thank you for reminding me."

"No problem. Do try to remember it yourself, okay?"

"Of course."

He hides the fact that he hates the medicine. He did a good job doing it though.

Dexter

"Dexter? Dexter! Is he in the forest again...?"

"He is."

"... Dexter!!!"

He may be mature, but he hates medicine as much as he hates the people who destroys the wildlife.

Wild Guardy

"Wild Guardy? You haven't youched your medicine.

"That can wait."

"No it can't, take it!"

"Yes, it can."

It's a back and forth bickering between you two. He's stubborn for some reason.

Buffalo Crush

"But it tastes bitter!"

"But you'll feel better!"

"But it's terrible!"

"But you won't be sick anymore!"

You'll probably have to corner him somewhere just so you could persuade him to drink the medicine.

Buster Gallon

".. Are you making something right now?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Did you drink your medicine?"

"..."

Sometimes he forgets on accident, sometimes it's on purpose. Depends on what he's feeling honestly.

Black Hook

"Drink your medicine!!!"

"I'm not drinkin' nothin'!!!"

"IT'S JUST BITTER FUEL!!!"

"STILL AIN'T GONNA DRINK IT!!!"

It really makes you wonder if he's even sick or not. What kind of virus makes him even more loud and stubborn..?

Heavy Iron

"Drink your medicine."

"No."

"I'm not asking you to, I'm forcing you."

"... No." He says in the most nonchalant tone ever.

You'd have a better chance in forcing it down his... throat.

[deathblacksmoke]

you got light in your eyes (nick ruffilo x f!reader)

pairing: nick ruffilo x f!reader

summary: after being left alone by her friend at a party, reader makes an unexpected connection with the birthday boy.

cw: mentions of alcohol consumption, marijuana use, kissin' strangers, a much sweeter version of "who do you know here?"

word count: ~2.2K

author's note: first of the nicky requests for our sweet boy's birthday!! an anon requested strangers to lovers au of reader meeting nicky at a party. what better party than his birthday party? hope y'all enjoy this one as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

title from "this must be the place" by talking heads

sign-up for my tag list here

banner: @darksigns-exe 🩷 | dividers: @saradika 🤍

Awkwardly propped against the wall at a stranger’s birthday party is far from how you imagined your Friday night.

It isn’t like you had much of a choice in this — the moment your friend had gotten the text inviting her, she’d launched herself into begging. She felt it necessary to remind you, over and over and completely unsubtly, that you owe her one. You can’t remember for what.

She really likes the guy who invited her, though, and you’re never one to shy away from being a supportive friend. With the offer of your moral support and a ride, you’ve found yourself here: in a stranger’s home, nursing a drink that’s not quite cold enough, without even a name or a face to put to the host of the party you’re crashing.

Your friend had left you alone the moment you walked through the door, and it’s almost exactly what you expected. She spotted him and immediately got a skip in her step, kissed your cheek and thanked you and went running off in his direction with the widest smile you’ve ever seen on her.

There was a fleeting moment in which you wondered if there was any reason for you to stay, before you saw him hand her a beer — unopened, thankfully, a gentleman of sorts — and remembered her penchant for getting a little tipsy to stay comfy in a high-anxiety situation. 

You stayed for her. You made your way into the kitchen in search of something non-alcoholic and found it easily, an open cooler on the floor that hadn’t been out for long judging by the temperature, and found a spot out of the way to stand and pass the time until she was ready to leave.

You scroll on your phone and luckily go mostly unnoticed, a few bumps and rushed, mumbled apologies but nothing of note. Nevertheless, your anxiety starts to get the best of you. You feel out of place, unwelcome in this environment where everyone seems to have a friend but you. You’re typing out a text to your friend telling her that you’ll be waiting in your car whenever she’s ready to go, no rush, when you lift your gaze to see a pretty boy with sparkling eyes and a silly birthday tiara coming straight for you. A face to put to the party you’re crashing. Your breath catches in your throat. You feel your cheeks heat as you avert your gaze and hope he changes his path.

“Hi,” he says. No such luck. He ducks his head to get himself into your line of sight, only briefly, before straightening back up. “Mind if I join you?”

Everything in you is screaming at you to say no, to excuse yourself, to send that text and go outside. You chance another look at him and there’s a kindness in his gaze that warms you from the inside out. You have no other choice.

“Sure,” you tell him, unable to muster much more, feeling tense. You scooch over a little and he takes your spot on the wall, his shoulder touching yours. 

“It’s not often a stranger shows up to your birthday party alone,” he starts, and it would worsen your spiking nerves if not for the playful teasing in his tone. “Not even a birthday card.”

“I’m sorry—” you start to say before you hear a no, no, no next to you, see him shaking his head from the corner of your eye.

“The more the merrier,” he says, and there’s a kindness to him that you almost can’t recognize. You’re a stranger in his home — he has no reason to be so welcoming. “Unless you’re planning to rob me. Should I hide my valuables?”

He’s funny, too.

“I came with my friend. Nick invited her.”

“But I’m Nick,” he responds. A name to pair with the face of the party you’re crashing. Nick.

You scan the floor until you find them squished closely together on a sofa. He’s talking animatedly with his hands and she’s hanging on every word, eyes crinkling at the edges as she laughs along with whatever he’s saying. Her shoulder is pressed into his and she’s holding a bottle of water, no alcohol in sight, a sign she’s comfortable. Your worry about her fades.

“That’s them on the couch,” you tell him, pointing in their direction. His mouth is spread into a grin when you look back in his direction. “She was really excited that he invited her tonight.”

“Folio. He begged me for a plus-one, even though I told him yes immediately. He knows my parties are for everyone. He was really excited for her to come tonight, too. He didn’t tell me his plus-one was bringing a plus-one.” He seems to realize how that sounded, stops you before you can apologize again. “Don’t say you’re sorry, I’m glad you’re here. I’m a little tired of these same people, you know?” he adds, with a sweet joking edge to his voice.

You had come here tonight in the hopes of looking after your friend and going unnoticed — bothering no one and not being bothered. The birthday boy had been the last thing on your mind, furthest from what you wanted. But his eyes shine when they meet yours. You’re sure if you put your hands on his cheeks, the warmth of the blush would spread through you.

“I guess I’ll stick around then,” you say. His responding smile sets you alight.

Time with him passes as easily as anything. It’s almost like you’ve known him for years, and it makes your insides feel all warm and fuzzy. 

He tells you all about his favorite shows, video games, movies, bands, his job as a tattooer — you could listen to him drone on for ages about all of his favorite things. He asks about yours in equal measure, and his genuine interest almost makes you shy away.

When it gets a little warm in the room, he takes off his hoodie and your eyes immediately go to the pops of colors and intricate lines dancing across his arms. Seemingly against your own will, your hands follow, tracing the patterns and wondering the stories behind them all, when he got them, who did them, if any of them are homemade. You lift your eyes and find him already gazing down at you, the heat of the room and the alcohol having flushed his cheeks. You wonder if any of it is because of you. You’re completely sober and positive that the heat of your cheeks matches his own. Without being asked, he dives into the story of the one you’ve fixated on the most, and you think you could listen to him speak forever. 

He stops suddenly mid-sentence, and it takes you a moment to catch up.

“Why did you stop?” you ask, trying your very best not to sound too disappointed, too needy.

He’s not at all judgemental when he responds, which is the only reason it doesn’t make you feel any shame. “You’re staring.”

“I think I’ve been staring since the moment you came over here,” you admit. He nods. “You’re staring, too.”

“I know,” he says. “I’ve been wondering if I could kiss you. I didn’t know how to ask.”

You figure that’s as good an ask as any. He’s suddenly so shy, and that gives you just the amount of bravery you need. You surge forward, pressing your lips to his and delighting in the sweet, surprised sound he makes into your mouth.

His lips are soft against yours, and he wastes little time before pressing his tongue against the seam of your lips, requesting entrance that you readily grant. When you bring your palms to his cheeks, your smile spreads, knowing that the heat of his cheeks is just as you’d expected, just as red-hot as the blush you’d been admiring for the past hour or so. 

He’s so gentle with you, running a hand through your hair, curving it around the base of your skull to keep you close. His other hand curls delicately around your waist, sinking in just a little bit, pulling you as close as he can get you. You wish closer was an option, but figure sitting on the floor, propped against a wall in his crowded living room isn’t the best place.

You’re interrupted prematurely by a voice you don’t recognize calling your name. You separate from Nick, albeit reluctantly, to see Nick — Folio — wandering around the living room looking frazzled. Your anxiety spikes.

“Folio, she’s over here,” Nick graciously answers for you. The worry left you frozen for a moment too long.

“Is everything all right?” you ask him, you and Nick both rising from the floor. He stays close to you, his pinking linking with yours as a comfort, and you feel grateful. “She’s okay, right?”

The way he almost immediately seems calmer helps to soothe you. “Yeah, no, she’s okay. It’s just — I kinda fucked up,” he starts. You decide you’ll let him finish before you panic. He said she’s okay and, for some reason, him being a friend of Nick’s has made you trust him a little bit. “She wanted to smoke, so I gave her a couple hits off mine. She didn’t have anything to drink, so I wasn’t worried about her getting crossed or anything, but I didn’t know she hadn't gotten high before. She’s freaking out and sorta mad at me. I feel really bad. She’s in Nick’s bed, Jolly’s date is in there with her, but you might want to get her home.”

You can’t help the roll of your eyes. 

“She’s been high before, but this happens every time,” you laugh, feeling a little bad for your friend. “Thank you for taking care of her, I’ll be there in just a minute.”

Folio nods, looks at Nick apologetically, but Nick just nods and smiles in return.

“Can you tell her I’ll call her tomorrow?” Folio asks you, and it makes you grin. He seems sweet. “If — if she wants me to call. If she asks.”

You promise him that you will, that you’re sure she’ll want to hear from him. You know her well enough, and you’ve been on the receiving end of this enough times to know she’ll be a little embarrassed and eager for forgiveness and reassurance in the morning. You’re glad it doesn’t seem to have ruined her or Folio’s chances here.

He walks off in what you assume is the direction of Nick’s bedroom. Nick tugs on your pinky.

“Here, why don’t you put your number in my phone? I’ll call you.” He offers, handing his unlocked phone off to you. You type it in quickly, considering a little heart after your name but deciding it’s a touch too much before handing it back.

He shows you to his room, and you loiter outside the door for just a moment.

“I guess this is it,” he says, sounding a little more dramatic than he should, but about as dramatic as you’re feeling. You’d been enjoying yourself. “I hope your friend feels better.”

“She will. I’ll blast the AC on the way home, get her something to eat, she’ll be okay,” you respond. You’ve done the routine more than enough times — pleased and amused to do it each time. “You’ll call?”

“I’ll call,” He promises, holding his pinky out. “Promise. Get your girl home.”

You manage to wrangle her in the car without much incident. You can tell she’s embarrassed. You almost wish she’d had something to drink instead — she’s a bit more reasonable then. A lot less paranoid. You still get the same sad grumbles of he hates me and he thinks I’m insane either way.

You assure her that she doesn’t, that he’s going to call tomorrow, but she doesn’t believe you. It’s okay, though. She doesn’t notice her phone in the cupholder lighting up with text after text from the boy, but you do. You saw his worry. He took good care of her and you’re sure he’ll call like he said he would.

You stop at a drive-thru on the way back to yours, order her a cheeseburger and a cold bottle of water. Not quite the miracle cure, but it normally perks her up a bit, and this time is no different.

A good night’s sleep in your bed will fix her the rest of the way, and you’re not surprised that she’s out the moment you wrangle her inside and lie her down.

He’s ahead of schedule. You settle in the living room, not wanting to deal with her snores, when you remember to look at your phone. A text from an unknown number, but you can guess.

Lunch tomorrow? You still owe me that birthday card.

It isn’t even really a question. You want to spend as much time with him as you can. What a pleasant surprise tonight was, even if it ended a little silly. You don’t wait to send the response.

Of course :)

tags <3

@circle-with-me @darksigns-exe @baddestomens @sitkowski @ladyveronikawrites

@mysticdoodlez @sorrowsofsilence @somebodyels3 @malice-ov-mercy @collapsedglasshouses

@spicywhenspeaking @lma1986 @abiomens @cookiesupplier @xserenax-13

@cncohshit @dominuslunae @poisongirl616 @agravemisstake @iknownothingpeople

@thisbicc @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @theanarchymuse95 @blackveilomens @kenzie18

[sysmedsaresexist]

Alright, friends, it'sssss

SHITSTORY (SHIT HISTORY) WITH 🌟 SAS 🌟

Before we get into it, I've checked in with OP, and we're going to have a nice, respectful conversation, I don't want anyone sending any crap to OP, from here on out it's sources and discussion, not argument

This post may be a bit jumbled, but I hope it's largely clear

The vast majority of this information has been archived on @pluraldeepdive, we thank them for their service 🙏

So, I think a timeline might be best

Many Voices was a newsletter for pwMPD. It was started in 1989 and you can read all of it!

In 1991, alt.sexual.abuse.recovery was created, and hosted a very large community of CDD systems. In 1994, this usenet group became ASARian incorporated, and it would become host to peer support, web hosting, unix shell accounts, and DID/MPD resources.

Also in 1994, alt.support.dissociation, would go on to become the longest running group for people with dissociative disorders. It's still active today!

I bring these three up because of another post I saw.

1995 is when we start running into problems.

Astraea's web would be the first website to discuss non-disordered plurality. Go and search everything you can, use every search term you can think of, check every archive you can access. I assure you.

It starts with Astraea.

(This conversation does not and will not touch on spiritual and religious plurality as used in the DSM, that's a different conversation that I'm happy to have, but exists outside of the history of endogenic and non-disordered plurality, up until much more recently when it was twisted to infer proof of endogenic plurality (it's not))

Astraea would go on to coin "natural multiplicity" around 1996. They theorized that multiple personalities were not a disorder and occurred spontaneously instead of developing from trauma and dissociation [x] [x]

Astraea was, and still is, one of the biggest names in syscourse. They started the movement and maintained it. What's important at this point in time is specifically what they're saying to and about CDD systems. At first glance, it sounds good, but when you actually look into their sources, when you put it all together, it paints a picture of extreme ableism and saneism. It showcases highly dangerous ideals that has harmed many, and will continue to do so. There are highly credible claims of plagiarism, misattribution, and a strong anti-psychiatry bias on Astraea's Web.

@pluraldeepdive the above link is broken, any chance you can get one that works?

Thank you!! Working link

This is the start of the endogenic community (see 2014, when natural multiple is replaced with endogenic because "natural" implied, often directly by those using the term, that CDD systems were unnatural). The name changed, but the ideas did not. These ideals are ingrained in pro/endo talking points, to the point that many of the plurals I've spoken to don't even realize that what they said hurts.

Natural multiplicity wasn't just about non-disordered plurality, it was actively anti-DID.

Astraea and the natural multiples would go on to boycott the diagnosis and take steps to try to remove it from the DSM. Keep reading, we'll get there.

In 1997, natural multiplicity would morph into a monster. Out of the natural multiplicity movement would spawn the "empowered multiples."

Empowered multiples put a huge focus on functionality and were separate from, what they called, 'survivor multiples'.

Tumblr doesn't like when I try to edit paragraphs with links, so here's dark personalities. It's gross. You won't enjoy.

I'm trying to pick some choice quotes, but they all kind of suck, and I can't quote the whole thing, so... this, I suppose.

However, if you were to meet [an empowered multiple] in real time, you probably would not even realize [they] were a multiple because most people expect multiples to be either psychos or sniffling babies who can't handle anything.

They have a very low view of people who find use in the medical model and therapy.

In 1999, MultiGardens formed, but it was short-lived. Shortly after, the person who originally coined empowered multiplicity would make a statement that it was never meant to exclude survivors and they hadn't meant to cause so much conflict. Despite saying that, they continued to bash survivors and those who wanted fusion and therapy.

In the early 2000s, things take a sharp turn for the worse. The push to separate plurality from CDDs starts with Astraea. This is the article you linked, and we've barely started. We still have 20 years to go.

I highly suggest you give this post a read about Dr. Allison and the way Astraea presents the article.

It's at this point that natural multiplicity becomes a "movement." The purpose of this movement was to establish that plural experiences were not pathological. Participants in this movement often insisted that childhood trauma or abuse could not cause plurality or multiplicity.

Even today, the plural association continues to push that pwCDDs are just looking for someone to blame for something they already had (that they were multiple prior to abuse and would have been multiple without it-- with heavy implication that we're simply broken versions of endogenic systems that hate ourselves because we're pluralphobic. No really. That's the entire article.).

The problem is that those in the movement adopted the DID diagnosis despite acknowledging that it wasn't what they were experiencing (or could it be that plurality and CDDs are two different things?), and rather than talk about it, they just took to boycotting the diagnosis as a whole.

And they thought that the medical terminology was dehumanizing and derogatory, and rather than create new words, they just continued to encourage everyone to boycott the diagnosis as a whole.

I'm just going to quote PDD directly here.

Psychotherapy for DID was also denounced despite many participants never receiving such treatment. For example, the Astraea group had stated they were not diagnosed and had never been to therapy at the time [4:"Is it possible to know or discover that you are a multiple without ever having been diagnosed by a professional?" section]. Yet, on an essay encouraging the boycott of diagnostic labels, Astraea claimed that "[a]s a diagnosis, MPD/DID does not help multiples in the long run. Doctors and insurance companies make $$$ off us but are WE helped?" [3:"Removing Diagnostic Labels" section].

Discourse and REAL political activism to remove DID from the DSM continued for the next TEN YEARS. I highly suggest this post and this one for seeing what Astraea was up to, with screenshots and direct links.

Ah, fuck, this one, too.

We haven't talked about the misinformation yet. I don't know that I can cover all of it. It would take an entire blog-- oh. Pluraldeepdive exists!

None of this even touches on Lancers or Pavillion-- the cruelest of the entire natural and empowered multiples.

Wait, is that the layman's guide you're trying to link to?

The one created by these guys?

Why yes, it is.

The association between non-disordered plurality and the natural multiplicity movement was solidified, and the damage was done. "The primary messages given by the non-disordered multiples [...] is that multiple personality is not a disorder and the anti-survivor message that multiplicity is natural and not caused by abuse." [X]

In 2014, endogenic was coined, as mentioned above, to be less offensive. The past was never addressed and buried. People deny all of this happened.

For a large chunk of the community, endogenic then became synonymous with the movement, with all the same issues as before. Just with a nicer name.

And here we are, in this great year of 2024, linking to Astraea.

This post is directly adjacent to this entire conversation-- plurality being coined as the anti psych alternative to multiple, and how everyone is going back to multiple again so we can do the whole song and dance one more time.

I think... that's it??

Violently slamming the fact that DID and other "Dissociative Disorders" related to Plurality were made by Ableist doctors who believed in "False Memories" and had MANY patients come out about being abused and/or the Integration forced upon them causing them to be unable to function due to the lack of their Headmates

Anyways, please read This, I feel it helped give a lot of light on why you honestly shouldn't bother interacting much with 'Anti-endos' and 'Sysmeds'

I know we posted the link before but certain,, posts keep popping up on our dashboard.

(The link outside of text: https://www.astraeasweb.net/plural/allison.html)

Also, for anyone who does read that I feel the need to say (if the information does actually reach you): Do NOT be ashamed at using the term DID for yourself, or anything mentioned to be "Bad" in that text. If you can go without using it, obviously it could be great if you would, but if it's the most comfortable term for you then you're under no obligation to stop using it for others comfort. Same goes for plenty of other stuff.

Also: Go check out the other plural post we made, Specifically the one mention Layman's Guide To Multiplicity. (Though, if you can't find it, here's the Link) ((Note: The website doesn't load very well on Mobile, so you may have trouble reading it on a phone. It's still able to be read, but it may feel a bit annoying))

[foundationhq]

ACCESS GRANTED TO SITE-φ.

Welcome, 𝐽𝑂𝑁. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛 is pleased to clear you for the role of [𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻 𝐹𝐼𝐷𝐸𝐿𝐼𝑇𝑌].

Knowing that this was your first attempt at apping to this sort of game truly floored us, as this fact was not at all apparent in your application. The masterful way in which you crafted Steve’s personality and how fully realized he is as a character was quite frankly awe-inspiring. So much was said in what was left unsaid, in the minute mannerisms of a man so proficient at manipulation that catching him in a lie is a tremendous test in itself. The way that you explained both the experiment that lead to Steve’s downfall and the steps he took, and continues to walk, to clear his name left us hooked and dying to see how much further his ambition will take him... or, perhaps, how much further he might fall. We're so excited to explore the wonders and horrors of scientific endeavor at Steve's side. We are so incredibly happy to invite you into the Foundation.

Please refer to our checklist for primary onboarding, and have your account ready in 24 hours. The flight to Site-φ leaves on the dot. And 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛 doesn't like to be kept waiting.

[im2tired4usernames]

My parents should be fuckin ashamed

[byanyan]

ㅤat this point, they're beyond wasted and vibing out to music that's too loud with several substances on standby for when the buzz starts wearing off. happy new year!!

[fushitoru]

infect me with your love

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

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

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

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

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

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

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.

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

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

that is, until gojo satoru.

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

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

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

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

but then, the door creaks open behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…what can i get you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and yet, here you are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you said to surprise you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“you know, i didn’t get your name.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i really can’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“as you wish.”

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

you’ve seen him before.

okay, pause.

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

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

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

alright, pause over. back to now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“nice hit, by the wa—”

“it’s you!” you exclaim. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“let me get that for you.”

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

gojo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

that day at starbucks, though.

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

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

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

what was it again?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no.”

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

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

“how is it complicated?”

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

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

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

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

“well, when you put it like that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

“rough night?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“from?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you should do that more,” he said.

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

“laugh.”

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

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

“is that right?”

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

“what?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“take my mask off.”

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

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

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

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

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

“gojo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you trust me, don’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“and yet, you’re still here.”

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

“guess i’m curious,” you admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“do what?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your breath catches. “satoru…”  

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

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

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

you nod, and then his lips are on yours.  

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

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

that’s when he freezes.  

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

your heart drops into your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

then it comes again, a little louder this time.

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

satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

for once, you thank the gods that he listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

nestled right against his morning wood.

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

oh, say can you see—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

satoru just tied you up using his webs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

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

plspls pls comment and reblog!!!

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[tender-rosiey]

“OUR LOVE SHALL LIVE, AND LATER LIFE RENEW”

— domestic family moments with gojo, geto, nanami, toji and sukuna (f!reader)

a/n: i was on vacation my babes; my apologies </3 hope you yall enjoy this

GOJO SATORU:

it is no secret that your husband thrives off physical affection, so it surprises no one when he is latched onto you like a koala to a tree, especially at home.

the past couple of days were filled with more missions than gojo would’ve preferred, so to make up for lost time, he spent the entirety of last night cuddling you.

that cuddling session continued to the morning, and satoru couldn’t have been happier.

you, fast asleep and looking oh so pretty, and him, happily burying his face in your chest: the perfect combo.

your husband, however, failed to remember that there is somebody else who would fight day and night for your affection.

that someone comes in the shape of his grumpy little son who is currently standing at the door with a stance that is supposed to be intimidating.

the little boy pouts and is about to yell when satoru—reluctantly—detaches himself from you and stares at him.

“what do you want, s/n?”

your son makes his way to the bed and climbs it up with much struggle, but it doesn’t matter to him since he is satisfied he is finally face to face with his dad.

he crosses his arms and huffs, “I want to cuddle with mom.”

satoru quirks an eyebrow, and his fingers slowly card through your hair. your husband replies with a smirk, “well, I want to cuddle with her too. I miss her!”

“dad, don’t be mean!” your son argues, “you had her yesterday!”

satoru shrugs and lies back down, and you cuddle into his side.

he can’t help himself as he presses a kiss to your head first then looks at s/n, pleadingly, “but I was working a lot this past week; can’t you let me have her just a bit more?”

your son ponders a bit, before settling on a solution that should satisfy both ends. satoru has been away for quite the while lately.

so, s/n simply throws himself on satoru’s chest, making the older man groan. the boy buries his face into his dad’s chest and guides his hand into his hair.

satoru smiles, hand immediately getting to work, patting his son’s head. he sighs blissfully, “you really are my son.”

s/n nods slowly, and he starts drifting off to sleep. satoru is thankful that he closed the curtains yesterday and that he is granted another chance to sleep in with you and his son.

s/n murmurs a soft, “love you, dada.”

it makes satoru’s heart nearly burst as he looks at his son. he immediately replies softly, “I love you too, buddy.”

s/n slowly replies, “you better,” before falling asleep. your husband gently pulls you closer and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

satoru whispers a soft, “thank you.”

he starts rubbing your shoulder comfortingly and leaning his head more towards your own. it is a few moments that pass before he asks, “also babe, are you seriously still asleep?”

“no, I am awake, you silly buffon; you two have never heard of inside voices.”

GETO SUGURU:

the slow creak of the door signals to everybody in the house the arrival of suguru, long before his voice does. little hurried steps rush down the stairs as your husband takes off his shoes.

he looks up with a smile and chirps, “I am home!”

“daddy!” your two girls squeal as they tackle their dad in a big hug. he quickly hugs them back and picks them both up.

they each press a kiss to his cheek, and he returns them tenfold causing them to squeal yet again.

he finally relents before asking them, as he gently twirls around, “how are my pretty girls doing?”

the little girls look at each other then smirk. they both yank out the papers they kept hidden in their pockets before saying simultaneously, “we made drawings!”

suguru face noticeably lights up, and he coos, “these are so pretty! are those supposed to be us?”

the girls nod excitedly, and they each start explaining the details of their own respective drawings.

he listens to both of them intently then asks, “you made sure to make mommy extra pretty, so it can actually look like her, right?”

“yes yes!”

“mommy is the prettiest!”

“I gave her flowers!”

“daddy, daddy, I gave her flowers and a dress!”

your husband laughs lightly, “well, that’s good; both of your drawings are amazing,” he looks around.

with a confused tilt of his head, he looks down at his girls, “speaking of which, where is your mama?”

the girls yell out, “follow us!” then sprint towards where they last saw you, the living room. he quickly makes his way towards you, and he feels his heart soar when he finally sees you.

you see him in the corner of your eye, and as you turn to greet him, your girls throw themselves at you and squeal, “we missed you!”

“you girls just saw me 5 minutes ago!” you chuckle but, nonetheless, hug them back and pepper their faces with kisses.

you hear your husband huff before he picks up the girls by their shirts making them scream and thrash about.

“daddy, put us down!”

“mama, help!”

he throws them both on the fluffy beanbag and pulls you into a hug, “how’s my favorite girl?”

you giggle as he presses soft kisses across your face. his arms wrap around your waist and he squeezes you a little.

you hug him back and gently pat his back, “are you playing favorites, suguru?”

“very much so.”

you hear gasps from your dramatic girls, and you see each one of them arming herself.

your husband purposely ignores them and buries his face into the crook of your neck. you mumble to him, “you are going to get jumped.”

“I know.”

your eyes flit to the girls then to your husband again, “they seem really angry.”

“I know, but at least I am hugging you.”

you quirk an eyebrow, “you okay dying as long as I am hugging you?”

“that’s like the best way to die, love.”

your girls let out a battle cry.

“daddy, you meanie!”

“suffer!”

NANAMI KENTO:

your husband groans, and his hand rises to see what the weight on his chest is. his hand finds a head and a bed of hair that he is all too familiar with.

he slowly opens his eyes and sees your dear daughter laying soundly asleep on him.

a small smile appears on his face, and he lets out a small sigh of both content and relief. he turns his head slightly towards the nightstand and reaches for the alarm.

it reads eleven in the morning, which kento deems the proper time to finally wake up.

so, he looks back at d/n then at you. he remembers how hard you’ve been working the past few days and decides that leaving you to rest a bit more today.

he also decides to prepare breakfast for you but not without his little helper. he pats her head gently and tries to wake her up, “d/n.”

she doesn’t respond, so he calls out again, “d/n.”

she groans and buries her face deeper into his chest. he lets out a small chuckle then rubs her back and says, “come on; we have to make breakfast for mom.”

“but I am tired,” she argues, voice muffled.

“well, mama is tired too, so we need to be nice and make her breakfast. don’t you think so?”

she groans, “yes, but…”

“d/n?” he urges.

the little girl huffs and pushes herself up and looks her dad directly in the eyes—albeit her eyes are squinty and barely open.

it makes him think that she is going to huff then get up to wash her face, but she simply pushes herself off him so she can land in your embrace.

your arms wrap instinctively around her, and she immediately nuzzles into your chest. he stares at the two of you for a bit, rather dumb-founded. then his expression turns into one of fondness.

he turns his entire body towards you.

he is finally face to face with you, and he puts his arm around you to pull you closer. he hears his daughter’s whines and complains about how he is crushing her, but he only smiles.

he looks down at her and hums, “there is plenty of space on the other side of the bed, if you don’t like laying between us.”

she quickly backtracks, “no, no, no; I will stay.”

he nods before looking at you again. he presses a kiss to your forehead and feels his body relax. he murmurs, “just five more minutes, and nothing more.”

your daughter pouts, “not even ten?”

“not even ten,” he says, kissing her cheek, “but I will make it up to you by making pancakes; what do you think?”

she nods happily and mumbles, “we will make the best breakfast.”

“yeah,” he murmurs, joining you in your slumber.

you end up waking up before him but can’t escape your husband’s solid grip. you even look down to see your little angel—maybe—giggling and squealing, happy that you’re finally awake.

of course, it wakes up your husband. but oh well.

TOJI FUSHIGURO:

“stop being a brat and get me the flour.”

“stop being rude first then I will get it for you.”

“what part of what I said was rude, you—”

that’s how it has been for the past hour. toji and megumi had decided to put their differences aside to surprise you with something: breakfast in bed.

it’s quite simple.

they were supposed to make some sausages, eggs, pancakes, and everything they could find really. they wanted to make it a five-star breakfast.

despite their constant bickering, they managed to finish everything, save for the pancakes. it was finally getting closer to the—usual—time of you waking up, so toji was on edge.

he wanted to at least do this correctly.

he thinks of it as a little something to start repaying you for everything you gave him—which he thinks is impossible to actually repay but oh well.

he moves around the kitchen rather clumsily, partially because of his size and partially because of his absence in the kitchen, for good reason, though, megumi would argue.

“dad, the sausages are burnt.”

“shut up.”

“mom likes her eggs a little bit runny.”

“I know.”

with furrowed eyebrows, toji finally gets to mixing the batter. he hears megumi call out, “dad.”

he is a little irked, to be honest, but he responds anyway, “what do you want now?”

“is…”

toji immediately notes the shift in his son’s tone, causing him to give megumi his full attention.

the little boy fidgets with his shirt a little before speaking up, “is there a chance that mom would disappear?”

your husband looks down at the still batter in the bowl. he sighs. it’s a question that he thinks about, at least every week. this haven that he managed to be a part of, is it really permanent?

he has been unlucky all his life, and things are going way too well nowadays. is that the universe’s way of preparing him for the biggest scar of his life?

taking you away?

he closes his eyes for a brief moment, and he finds his hand resting on the top of his son’s head. the little boy’s eyes widen, and he looks up at his dad.

toji frowns slightly and looks away, gently ruffling megumi’s hair and finally saying, “no…I will make sure of that.”

toji locks eyes with megumi, and the two can tell that it’s a silent promise. the boy blushes a little red, embarrassed at the unusual display of affection by his father.

his father grumbles and goes back to making the pancakes.

“my oh my, never thought I would be lucky enough to see you in a kitchen apron,” you tease from the doorway.

megumi instantly runs to the door at the sound of your voice. your son hugs you tightly, mumbling a small, “good morning.”

“you ruined the surprise,” your husband complains as you walk towards him.

you press a kiss to his cheek, which he immediately reciprocates, “I am already plenty surprised.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

a giggle leaves your lips as your daughter carefully climbs her father and perches herself on his shoulders. it is amazing how much sukuna lets you and your daughter get away with.

some would argue that your husband has, overall, mellowed down, but then they would get sliced down instantly.

he is still the big, feared king of curses, and people cower in his presence now more than ever, but those—uraume and the servants—who see him with you two can see the difference, even if it is slight.

that can be evident right now considering your husband who is deliberately ignoring your little girl’s antics.

your girl takes it as the okay to what she is doing, so she continues her quiet laughter as she gently starts placing flowers from the basket on his hair.

feeling the movement, your husband groans then looks at you, “what is that brat doing?”

she spreads the flowers out a bit, so they can fill his hair, meanwhile your husband’s annoyance rises.

the assortment of flowers that she placed actually matches well with his hair, and you feel the need to commend her, “you’re doing amazing, d/n!”

she grins as you sit in front of your husband. you look at your little artist doing her thing then smile, “she is making you pretty.”

he scrunches his nose, “by putting flowers on me? I ought to teach her a lesson.”

one of his hands reach for her, and he grabs her by the back of her shirt. she starts squealing and kicking, “daddy, I was almost done!”

he dangles her in front of his face and frowns, “who gave you permission to put that stuff on my hair? who do you think you’re dealing with?”

her face softens, and she mumbles softly, “you’re my dad…”

you coo at her but are quickly silenced when sukuna pulls you to him and nestles you in his lap. he keeps glaring at your daughter—who is trying her best not to cry because he said that it’s for the weak—then he sighs.

he lets go of her, and she screams, flailing her arms around. however, she safely falls in your arms. she whimpers slightly and buries her face in your shoulder.

your husband looks down at her small form in your arms and slowly raises his hand and puts it on her head.

“good on you for not crying,” he lightly ruffles her hair, and your daughter slowly looks up at him, wide-eyed.

he grumbles and looks away, “don’t look at me like that.”

“you love me!” she squeals, and he simply grunts in return.

she quickly gets off your lap and goes to run around the garden. your little girl starts screaming about how her dad praised her, and you feel a grin slowly rise on your face.

but, you suddenly feel your husband’s head lower down and his lips brush against your ears slightly.

you can even hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “looks like you want another one.”

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do not copy or plagiarize or I will make my cousins jump you

[tareqayad]

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[loves0phelia]

hello! hope you’re okay after the ending, honestly I don’t think any of us are.

I wanted to request a rafe x pogue reader where it’s that boat storm scene and instead of Sarah falling it’s reader and she’s just drowning and Rafe jumps in after her. He doesn’t know why he did it but he just has a soft spot for her and it’s just really angsty but also cute.

thanks! I love your account btw!

In The Sea

Summery: the anon

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: grammar mistakes

A\N: thank you to everyone who has been requesting it makes me very happy xxx

You stand at the edge of the deck, clutching the railing as the boat rocks, waves rolling against the hull. The salty breeze whips your hair around your face, and the peaceful ocean sounds made you think about the current situation.

You didn't expect Rafe to save you and your friends from being arrested, much less expect him to find a boat big and resistant enough to drive you all to Morocco Africa to find the blue crown. It was truly a surprise considering you and Rafe's history.

“So what? Are we just on our way to Africa now?” Kiara asked the group as if she couldn't believe that Rafe Cameron was willingly helping them.

“Quick little weekend trip?” She added to her previous sentence.

“What about Rafe? We know what he did to the cross and now we want to go after the crown with him?” You and the rest of the pogue's lips go into a thin line at the memory.

“Sarah, you're his family, how do deal with him” John B said, finding no other options.

“I don't- I don't know, I think maybe y/n might have a chance of convincing him to behave but..” she shrugged and you felt the stares of your friends burn holes through you. Your past relationship with him was a secret to nobody.

“We- we just have to talk to him, or at least try” You proposed earning a frown from JJ.

“Talk to Rafe? When has he ever just communicated with us?” 

“Talking to him is the only option we have, but you're definitely not talking with him,” John B said and as expected everyone nodded and hummed, agreeing. JJ was in no place to talk with Rafe.

“Why not? What did I do?” He asked, getting almost frustrated.

“We all know you and him are far from being civil, the last thing we need is you triggering him and causing trouble” His girlfriend, Kiara, tried to explain the easiest way but he still got defensive. After a couple of bickering from JJ and John b You finally decide to go speak with him, who was driving the boat not too far away from the deck.

“Hey,” You knock on the metal and rusted door before entering and walking up to him. His eyes catch yours and there's a tension between the two of you. But Rafe only tilts his head to acknowledge you.

You swallow, feeling the weight of his stare. "We just want to talk," you say, steadying your voice as the rest of your friends beside JJ follow behind you.

“All right let's talk” Rafe chuckles, and it’s low, almost a whisper. 

Your mind goes almost blank as you take him in, you haven't been this close since you were forced in the same room by Sighs men last year. You had almost forgotten how much you missed him.

“You guys be cool I'll be cool” His voice snapped you out of your daydream, realizing you had missed a bit of the conversation.

“So now you want peace?” Pope leaned back and scoffed, not believing a word that came out of his mouth.

“I just saved all your asses, how about a thank you?” He glanced at all of you one by one, but he only earned silence,

“Listen I don't want any part of your little fairytale treasure hunt bullshit, I'm just looking for Groff” He’s breathing heavily, holding himself back from adding more snark,

“Hey, Rafe!” Before anyone can react, JJ’s fist flies through the air, cracking against Rafe’s jaw with a force that echoes.

Rafe’s head snaps back, his expression stunned for a split second before he crumples, hitting the hard metal floor. For a moment, everyone is frantic, staring at the lifeless form sprawled across the floor, his eyes closed, completely knocked out.

“holy shit”

“Jesus JJ what's your problem”

“Whoo that felt good” Tired of JJ's crazy actions the girls walk away shaking their heads in disbelief until you are the only one staying behind.

JJ stands over him, breathing heavily, the adrenaline still pulsing through him as he looks down at Rafe. His fist is red, already bruising, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“What is wrong with you?” You look at him, feeling a rush of shock mixed with panic. You fall to your knees next to Rafe and quickly look over his injuries, softly rubbing your thumb on his jaw.   “If he didn't do it I was going to do it” Pope added only worsening the situation. You shook your head and furrowed your eyebrows at his sentence.

After the pogues agreed it was probably not a good idea to let Rafe free in case he woke up and decided to shoot you all with his “peacemaker” you tied him up in a small cabin. His head hung low, his wrists were bound to a stainless steel pole and his legs were uncomfortably folded beneath him. Your heart clenched at the sight of him but still decided to leave him there until he woke up.

You open the door to the cabin slowly with a tray of warmed-up canned spaghetti in hand, it wasn't the best but it was all the boat had.

“I brought you food..” You whispered before bending down to place the tray in front of him.

“great” he sighed.

“I found aspirin in the medicine cabinet, I figured you'd have a headache, maybe even a concussion” 

“Right… are you gonna throw it in my mouth like a seal or something” He scoffed again clearly angered,

“They don't trust you Rafe… but if you do the right thing maybe they will open up a little bit”

“I am doing the right thing! I helped you” He tried pulling against the restraints but failed. 

“I know okay? I know but unfortunately, I don't have a choice but to let you in here until we get there, I'm sorry” you whispered and pushed the tray closer to him. “Please eat,” You said and left closing the large door behind you.

For a moment you stayed behind the door listening closely. “Y/N come back!” he grunts and kicks his feet on the ground. “Fucking untie me please!!” he screamed and you jumped when you heard the tray you had just put down on the floor fly into the wall.

Pope leaning over the side, is the first to spot the flicker of movement beneath the water. "Guys! I see one!" exclaims, his voice a mixture of excitement and focus. He scrambles for the fishing rod, almost knocking over the tackle box in his rush.

John B is right beside him, laughing. “We've got our dinner!" he laughs.

“Guys, this one’s huge!” Kie giggles with the boys knowing we were all set for dinner time tonight.

You all spent the rest of the day cooking the fish you caught and preparing side dishes with some good music in the background.

Until it was time for Rafa's second meal.

You open the door carefully and his eyes catch yours, this time you don't speak, simply set the tray of seasoned salmon down in front of him.

Has you were about to close the door you hear him.

“Wait, y/n. Can you please- can you give me the fork” his tone is much softer than before so you can't deny him. 

You get down and pick up the utensil his bound hands couldn’t reach.

“Thank you” He murmured, and you barely heard him as you closed the door behind you once again.

The sky darkens ominously as thunder rumbles in the distance, low and threatening. Waves crash harder against the hull of the boat, tossing it with a force that leaves you gripping onto anything within reach. The storm monitor flashes red to show the storm coming ahead of you.

“That's not good,” John B says.

“We're gonna have to try to blast through it,” Pope says, not finding any better options.

“Why can't we go south?” Kie asks genuinely.

“The current is gonna be against us we don't have a choice” John B agreed even after trying to find safer options, the boat's roar has Pope push the lever controlling the engine to the max. 

The waves make the boat shift side to side making it difficult to stay up and steady.

Another massive wave crashes over the side, drenching them all, and you lose your footing, sliding across the deck until Kie grabs your arm, pulling you back.

“Hold on to something” Kie yells at you pope and Sarah and you all grip onto the nearest thing.

“Hey!” a distant voice echoes through the walls.

“Cut me loose! Y/N! Somebody!” Rafe screamed and banged his fists on the wall.

“Get me out of here!” Everyone listens but doesn't move a finger.

“We have to let him out” You scramble to your feet but jerk back when Cleo grabs your wrist.

“No!” she says trying to stop you but you pulled back.

“He's gonna drown” You pull open rapidly the drawers trying to find something sharp, able to cut the thick ropes wrapped around Rafe's hands.

The storm is relentless, its fury tossing you around like a rag doll as you try to reach him.  

You cling to the railing, struggling to stay upright as the boat lurches violently, nearly sending you sprawling across the floor. Your legs buckle under you. You come crashing through the door and walk onto the water-soaked floor knife in hand.

“Cut me loose” he begs.

Crouching in front of him you began frantically cutting the rope. Your muscles burn with how much pressure you're using.

“Shit,” You say when a sudden jerk of the boat makes your face come inches apart from his, lips almost touching. You don't have time to think as you regain your balance and continue cutting the bounds.

“There! Come on” you yelled and quickly grasped his hands to pull him up from the floor.

You both run to shelter but the boat jerks side to side even more violently,

“Something is wrong I have to go see!” 

“No!” Rafe tried holding on to you but you were already rushing away onto the deck where waves came crashing, a massive wave rose out of the dark, towering over the boat like a shadow.

You barely had time to think before it crashed down, an icy, unforgiving wall of water that slammed into you with the force of a sledgehammer. The impact was too strong and you were thrown backward, landing hard on the deck. Pain explodes through your shoulder, the wind knocks from your lungs. Dazed and gasping, you try to get up, but the boat tips again, and before you can stand, another wave strikes.

This one is worse, merciless, catching you just as you struggle to rise. Your fingers graze the edge of the railing, but the slick metal slips through your grasp. In an instant, the world spins as you are thrown away from the boat, the cold, raging ocean swallowing you whole.

The water is a shock, freezing and chaotic, disorienting you as you plunge beneath the surface. You thrash, fighting to reach the surface, lungs burning, but the waves toss you back and forth, each effort to rise met with another rush of icy water.

Back on the boat, Rafe catches a glimpse of you disappearing over the side, and his heart stops. “Y/N!” he screams, panic cutting through the storm. Without a second thought, he scrambles to the railing, nearly slipping himself as he peers out into the dark, searching for any sign of you.

“Where is she!” Sarah came rushing to her brother

“She fell overboard” he yells already reaching for a rope with the floating boyee. He’s soaked, exhausted, and barely steady, but there’s no hesitation as he jumps in after you.

“Rafe no!” She screams after her brother.

A wave slams into Rafe. “Y/N!!” he yells in the water as he sees you trying to stay above the water far away.

With the last of your strength, You swim faster and harder towards Rafe and reach out when you're near, fingers brushing his arm, grasping it tight. Rafe holds you with everything he has.

“I got you” But you don't hear him in the storm.

You both hold on to each other your arms around his neck and his around your waist as the boat floats away and the night turns into a void.

“Hey, open your eyes, look at me” You feel gentle hands grasping on your face as you finally sit up coughing out the water that filled your lungs.

“That's it” The hands rub your back in a comforting way.

The sand is hot beneath you, warming up your skin, and with exhaustion, you fall onto Rafe's chest.

“Hey you okay?” panicked, he grabs onto your shoulder and pushes you a little bit to take a good look at your face.

“You jumped after me,” you whispered.

“Of course I did”  You look up at him, heart pounding, feeling a rush of gratitude, fear, and something deeper—something that’s been smouldering beneath the surface, unspoken, for far too long. Your eyes shine with tears, not sad and not happy either but grateful. 

His hand reaches up, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin. His touch is warm, and grounding, and you feel your heart racing even faster under his gaze, intense and unreadable, like he’s seeing you for the first time.

Without another thought, you lean in, closing the space between the two of you as you press your lips to his, a spark igniting into a wildfire the moment you connect. Rafe’s surprise melts away instantly, and he kisses back, fierce and unrestrained, his hands finding your waist.

The kiss is charged, fueled by adrenaline, and a longing that neither of you can deny any longer. Your hands find his shoulders, clinging to him, grounding you in his warmth, his strength, the feel of his heartbeat thundering beneath your touch. 

Rafe’s fingers trail up your back, sending shivers along your spine, and his lips move against yours with an urgency that speaks of everything left unspoken.

When you finally pull apart, breathless, Rafe’s forehead rests against yours, his eyes searching yours as he lets out a shaky laugh, almost in disbelief.

“You saved my life” you smile, brushing a thumb over his cheek, still feeling the warmth of his kiss lingering on your lips. “I love you, I've always loved you” you whisper, and before you know it, you're kissing again, the ocean waves crashing nearby, the world forgotten as you lose yourselves in each other.

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered.

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