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andvys · 12 hours ago

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The edges of your soul (I haven’t seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter two

⭐︎ can you see right through me?

Warnings: angst, misunderstandings, post apocalypse, gore, mentions of death, grumpy!steve, grumpy x sunshine

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 5k+

Summary: You didn’t think that trying to get close to Steve would end up hurting your feelings — but you also didn’t expect to get a glimpse of who he once was, before the darkness of this world dimmed the light in his eyes.

Authors note: Buckle up for the next chapter y’all, it’s gonna be something. always a shoutout to @hellfire--cult who always takes her time to edit and write with me 🩷

⭐︎ series masterlist

⭐︎ prologue ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

On the first day of your official stay in Hawkins, Nancy took you to the greenhouse, you spent all day gardening, taking care of the crops, watering vegetables and fruit, picking the ripe ones and planting new seeds – it amazed you how well everything was growing, you didn’t think that it would be possible after seeing the effects this world had on nature but you suppose that miracles exist after all.

By the end of the day, your knees hurt, your hands felt sore and there was too much soil and dirt under your fingernails, not that you would ever complain, you haven’t felt as much happiness as you did when Steve told you that you were allowed to stay since… well, since your college acceptance letter and that is too long ago.

On your second you cooked french toast with leftover bread that Nancy had made the day before, using fresh eggs – you were surprised when you found out about the little stable with chickens behind the garden, you thought most animals had died. You made ratatouille for dinner, using the freshly picked vegetables from the greenhouse. Nancy and Eddie had complimented your cooking skills, though the reaction you were mostly looking forward to was Steve’s, he only hummed in approval and he got a second plate, you took that as a good sign.

Today, you haven’t been assigned to any tasks yet and you don’t exactly know what to do when you walk down the stairs to find the house empty, well, mostly empty. There are no signs of Eddie and Nancy, you don’t hear him humming, you don’t hear her walking around in the kitchen or somewhere else, the only one around is Steve. He is in the living room, standing in front of the window, holding a cup in one hand while the other is propped against his hip.

The smell of coffee lingers in the air, it must be his third cup, he already had one before breakfast, another during it. You wonder if he is just addicted to the bitterness of it – it certainly matches his attitude. Or if he is just tired and in need of something to keep him awake, you have a feeling that he doesn’t sleep much.

“Where’s everyone?”

Steve doesn’t even flinch, he heard you walking down the stairs, he felt your eyes on him.

“Eddie is working on the RV,” he grumbles, still not fond of the idea of leaving, nothing will change his mind, he is just waiting for his friends to drop it. “Nancy is with him.”

You nod even though he can’t see you. You look around, still holding onto the railing of the stairs. The house is spotless, clean, not a single grain of dust lying around. Eddie is cooking dinner tonight, so there isn’t anything for you to do around here.

Steve takes one last sip and then he puts the mug on the coffee table, not even glancing at you as he turns around and reaches for the gear he had left by the doorway. He puts the gun into his holster, secures the walkie into his belt and lastly he picks up his rifle before he starts making his way over to the door.

“Wait, where are you going?” You ask, not hesitating to follow him.

“Patrol.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, shaking your head, “I thought you said it’s a two man job.”

He rolls his eyes and stops walking, turning around, he looks down at you, “Eddie and Nancy are busy–”

“I’m not,” you shrug, giving him a smug smile, knowing that he isn’t fond of your company. “I’m coming with you.”

“Can’t you find something else to do–”

“No, I cannot.” You interrupt him as you reach for the door knob and open it, “can’t let you break the rule and let you go out there by yourself, who knows what you might run into. I’m gonna keep an eye out for you, maybe you’ll get distracted with your shoelaces again!”

Steve huffs, clenching his jaw. His eyes move up and down your body, eying your belt, the knives tucked into it, the gun in your thigh holster – he has a hard time believing that any of those things have been used by your hands, you couldn’t even kill the man that had attacked you when you had the chance to – he heard your conversation with Eddie that night, heard what happened, what almost happened to you, you could have killed that man, you should have, but you didn’t.

People like you are not made for this world, it will get you sooner or later.

“Like you’d be able to do anything,” he murmurs under his breath as he steps out onto the porch and shuts the door behind him.

“What was that?” You turn around to face him.

“Nothing.”

Steve brushes past you, not glancing at you but motioning with his hand for you to follow him, “c’mon.” He makes big steps, fast ones too, forcing you to catch up with him when he is already past the gate and out on the road, walking down the empty street, he ignores the way your footsteps get louder as you hurry to get to his side.

“Jesus, slow down, cowboy.”

Steve scrunches his nose up, furrowing his eyebrows at the nickname you have just called him by.

“Cowboy?” He scoffs as he turns to look at you to see you nodding already, a small but smug smile on your lips, though you look right ahead and not at him. “Why, cowboy?”

“You’re so grumpy and brooding.”

He scoffs again, like you said something crazy, like you didn’t say the truth.

“Who says that cowboys are grumpy and brooding?”

You shrug, “there’s two types of cowboys, the flirty funny ones and the grumpy, brooding ones!”

Steve looks away from you, shaking his head a little. He can’t fight you, knowing you’re right about one thing, he is grumpy. He no longer is the guy he was before all of this, this world that has changed him, and not for the better. He was forced to kill the boy in him when he realized how much he was hurting someone he once loved dearly, he became better, he became a good guy but that guy got his heart broken – that was for the better, as much as it hurt at that time, it was for the better. He became better, he stopped caring about what other people thought of him, he found new friends, he found a best friend, his soulmate.

Robin.

Robin made his world a better place, she fixed his broken heart, she taught him what it was like to have a real friend, an actual best friend. She taught him that love didn’t always have to be romantic, that it could be platonic and that this love could be just as strong as any other.

They had so many plans for the future: leave Hawkins, live in a big city, get a place, figure out a future together.

But then this happened, the world got uglier than before, evil. Their plans got crushed and they were ripped apart. She changed and he did too, and now he can’t be with her whenever he wants, too many things are in the way.

This world had forced him to kill the person he was before all this, he was forced to kill himself a second time.

Steve looks back at you, you don’t seem fazed by this world at all. You’ve been attacked not too long ago and not even that has fazed you, he doesn’t know you, doesn’t know half of your story and all the things you have been through since the day the world had gone to shit but from what he heard, you have seen – encountered some ugly things out there and yet there is something about you, something pure, something… good, something he didn’t think was still out there but he can see it.

He can see it in your eyes, no ounce of hatred resides in them, only goodness, hope that should not even be a thing in this world. You are the complete opposite of him, you are bright, so bright that it almost blinds him, you are all smiles and giggles – and you are so goddamn talkative.

Thirty minutes into patrolling and he fears his ear might fall off from listening to you jumping from one topic to another. So far you have talked about all your favorite movies, bands and books, told him of a specific cowboy character that he reminds you of before saying how much he looks like Patrick Swayze or well, how much his hair looks like Patrick Swayze’s.

You are chattering away, not minding the huffs and sighs that keep falling from his mouth, a signal for you to just shut up. He begins to regret his decision to let you stay.

“I think I made a grave mistake.” He murmurs as he looks around the empty neighbourhood, looking out for any signs of monsters or sick ones.

“What?”

“Nothing. Do you ever shut up?”

To his surprise, you do shut up and for a moment the only thing heard are yours and his footsteps and the leaves rustling from the wind. With a heavy sigh, he turns to look at you. You are pressing your lips together, looking down at the asphalt. He turns away again in satisfaction, enjoying the silence… the silence that doesn’t last long.

“You called the monster demobat before, what does that mean?”

He restrains his eye roll, tries not to clench his jaw.

“Uh…” He pauses, he keeps forgetting that the world doesn’t call the monsters by the names the teens have given them. “Eddie is a fan of a game and he used a name from there to name them…” He cringes at himself.

“Oh!” You say in that voice, the one that pisses him off, the cheerful one. “What game?”

“Dungeons and Dragons.” He replies, hoping that answer is satisfying enough and you finally give him some peace.

“Do you play?”

Steve sighs, tightening his hold on the rifle in his hands. It was a mistake to let you come with him, he hates talking, hates answering questions, hates company.

“No.”

You furrow your eyebrows, tilting your head at him.

“Why not?”

“I don’t have the patience to learn all of that,” he shrugs.

“Why?”

Steve takes a deep breath, he is getting irritated by all your questions but he still turns to you, scrunching his face up as he shrugs again, “I-I don’t know, I don’t wanna be a nerd like him?”

You raise your eyebrows, lips parting, your head is still tilted – you look like a fucking curious puppy, he has to look away. He almost sighs in relief when he sees the house at the end of the road.

“It’s a nerd game?”

He huffs loudly, glaring at nothing in particular, “seriously, can you keep quiet for more than two seconds!?” He snaps at you, forcing you to be quiet… for a moment.

He counts the seconds, one… two… You are quiet, it’s almost nice to enjoy the silence again, almost.

He hears you taking a deep breath.

“What was your job before the world ended? Cop?”

Three seconds. Three fucking seconds.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs under his breath and he finally stops walking, looking up at the sky, he places his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath before he turns to face you.

You halt in your tracks and turn to face him as well, taking in the sight of his deep frown, of the irritation in his hazel eyes and the annoyance that radiates right off him. You almost get nervous, almost.

“What the fuck,” he grumbles at you, “are you always this talkative?” He asks, stunned. He will be forced to get used to this.

“You don’t ask me anything, so I have to make conversation,” you shrug, pulling your hands up in front of you, “I haven’t had a good talk in months, I have pent up words.”

And you chose him out of… three people – that is… he doesn’t know what to think of this.

“Yeah, Eddie is the best choice for this, not me.”

The frown on your face says otherwise, your eyes move up and down before they stop at his face again, he doesn’t know what you are exactly looking at or searching for but he needs you to stop. He shifts and huffs again, tapping his fingers against the rifle that he holds on for dear life.

“But I want to talk to you.”

He blinks, staring at you like he didn’t understand what you just said, he tries not to look at anything but your eyes.

“Horrible decision.”

You break eye contact, looking away to take in the view around you, you sigh at his words and shrug before you continue walking, making him follow you this time.

“I don’t think so.” You pause and look back over your shoulder to see if he is following. “Don’t you have any questions for me?”

“Uh…”

He does.

But he won’t ask. He can’t. He just can’t, the less he knows the better.

He looks down awkwardly, clearing his throat, “how old are you?”

This time you scoff and shake your head at him, “seriously?”

“What?” He frowns, looking up to see you staring at him with a confused pout – jesus christ.

You sigh and roll your eyes, of course he asks the most boring question.

"Twenty-two."

His eyes widen and his lips part – this might be the first other expression you see on his face other than the constant frown. He stares like you have grown two heads.

“You’re a fucking year older than me!?”

Oh.

Oh…

You didn’t expect to be older than him either, though you aren’t as surprised as he is, he looks shocked even. He stops walking again, you do too.

“So… what about it…?” You ask quietly, lifting your shoulders.

Steve notices the unsure look on your face, the way your eyes move back and forth between his own and the ground, the way you cross your arms over your chest, like you are suddenly insecure.

He clears his throat, straightening up as he blinks himself out of his stupor.

“I… nothing. Nevermind.” He retorts, ready to drop that topic.

“No, tell me.”

For some reason, he can’t look at you when he opens his mouth again.

“You don’t act your age.”

“Oh?” Your voice is suddenly higher than before, hopeful, “do I act older?”

He pulls his brows together, not looking at you yet, finding the ground beneath him very interesting all the sudden.

“...Sure.”

You don’t reply this time, don’t say anything to it, don’t ask any more questions, you simply turn around after a beat of silence, you start walking again, giving him your back.

He counts the seconds, one… two… three. You give him the silence that he wanted this whole time. You don’t look at him either. He got what he wanted but when the awkwardness fills the space between you both, he suddenly feels a sliver of guilt rising up in him, he knows he must’ve hit a sore spot and he can’t help but kick himself for it.

A part of him wants to apologize, the other wants him to stay quiet – the stronger side wins though.

“I uh–”

Though you don’t give him the chance to keep going, you pick up your pace when you see Nancy on the porch, walking away from him quickly, not wanting to spend another second beside him.

He watches you basically flee from him, it makes him sigh and it makes him halt in his tracks. Frustration bubbling up inside of him, a voice in his head calling him ‘dumbass’. He sighs softly, brings his hand up to his head, he runs his fingers through it nervously.

He hit a sore spot, one that made you stop talking to him, one that prevented him from finding out more about you.

It’s for the better.

Yeah, he knows it’s for the better.

Eddie cooked dinner and Nancy set the table tonight, neither of them noticed the lack of attention you were giving to the man sitting across from you or how he kept looking at you, not with hatred or anger in his eyes but with guilt.

He hates that feeling, he hates feeling guilt or regret towards someone he barely knows, towards someone he does not want to let in. He knows that he hurt you with what he said, with how he reacted, he didn’t mean to, he couldn’t have known either – he didn’t react badly, he thought, and yet it shut you up and it made you stop looking at him.

It’s for the better. He kept telling that to himself, kept repeating it in his head, over and over again until he could no longer stand these words.

He notices that your plate is still filled with food, you only ate half of it. The whole time you sat there and pushed around the vegetables on your plate, you looked a little lost, your eyes were troubled, you looked far gone, like you weren’t at the table. Nancy and Eddie didn’t notice as they were busy talking about some news Dustin had shared from the radio station earlier.

“You’re gonna like Dustin,” Eddie says, nudging your shoulder.

Steve watches the way you blink, the way you plaster a smile on your face before you look at Eddie.

Nancy hums, nodding, “yeah, he was always my favorite out of my brother’s friends.”

You squint your eyes, like you are trying to remember something, “your brother is… Mike, right?”

“Yeah, hold on!” She gets up all the sudden, walking away from the table and out of the room, she comes back a moment later with a book in her hand – a photo album. She sits back down beside you and pushes away her empty plate before she slams the album on the table and opens it, flipping the pages, she furrows her eyebrows as she looks for a certain picture, “wait… there it is!”

She points at the picture of a group of four boys, dressed in Ghostbusters costumes. A smile instantly appears on your face and your eyes light up, “aw! They’re little Ghostbusters!”

Eddie chuckles at the picture, even Steve smiles but you don’t notice.

“That’s Mike,” she points at her brother, before she moves her finger to the boys next to him, “that’s Will and Lucas, and lastly that is Dustin!” She points at the curly haired boy.

“Adorable,” you smile, thinking of your own brother. “My brother loves Ghostbusters too, although he’s way older than they are.” You chuckle.

Steve’s eyes are back on you, he didn’t know you had a brother… but then again, he doesn’t know anything about you. It’s for the better.

“Well, that was a few years back, they’re not the tiny humans they used to be,” Nancy laughs sadly. She flips to the next page, “that’s them now – or well, that was them before the world went to shit, I’m sure Mike is even taller now and his hair is longer too.”

The picture shows them at a skatepark, Dustin is grinning into the camera, Mike’s arms are crossed, a grumpy look resting on his face, Will is smiling, Lucas is looking down at the girl leaning into his side.

“That’s Max,” Eddie points at the redhead, “she’s kinda scary.”

You giggle at the serious tone in his voice.

“I have to agree with that.” Steve snorts, earning a short glance from you. He pulls his sleeves up and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your eyes lock with his for a moment, though you quickly look back down.

There is another picture of Mike and Dustin, both of them wearing the same shirt – The Hellfire Club.

“What’s that?” You point at their matching shirts to which Eddie straightens up in his seat, already grinning.

Nancy and Steve groan at him, causing you to frown.

“I’m glad you asked, sweetheart.” He pauses, looking at Steve smugly.

“That was his nerdy game club that I told you about before,” he rolls his eyes.

“You didn’t tell me he had a club!”

“Shame on you, Harrington. It was the best thing to ever exist beside Corroded Coffin, of course.”

You know all about Eddie’s band already, he told you about it on your first night here, and showed you pictures of his sweetheart.

“I beg to differ–”

Nancy sighs loudly beside you, leaning back in her chair as she prepares herself for their banter.

“Dustin, my buddy, was very passionate about the club.” Eddie grins.

“Oh yeah, that little nerd you stole from me?” Steve retorts, squinting his eyes at the metalhead.

“I didn’t steal him, I’m just cooler than you, Harrington–”

“You– You literally play a boardgame, how is that cool? I was prom king!”

“Oh my god,” Nancy mumbles, shaking her head.

Her reaction tells you that she is used to this, and sick of it.

You though, you can’t help but be amused, looking back and forth between them.

“Cry me a river, Henderson thinks I’m better, in fact, all teens do.” Eddie shrugs and reaches for his beer.

“Except Lucas,” Steve smirks.

Eddie nearly chokes on his beer when he straightens up in his seat, “I apologized!”

Steve shrugs at him this time, taking a sip of the whiskey he poured himself earlier.

“What about you, sweets?” Eddie asks, turning to look at you, “what did you do in high school?”

Nancy turns to you, as well as Steve – and suddenly all eyes are on you and you can’t help but feel a little flustered beneath their gazes.

“I uh… I was prom queen…” You admit shyly, not looking at the hazel eyes that stare at you intensely.

Eddie’s eyes widen, “oh, we have royalty up in here, Wheeler.”

Nancy giggles at his reaction, more so at the look on your face. She’s not surprised, you’re beautiful and sweet.

“You were prom queen?”

Out of the three people around you, you least expected him to ask you anything, but just like before, the tone in his voice, his reaction leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You slowly look up at him.

“You sound surprised and I’m kinda offended. Am I that ugly?” you joke but he notices how your shoulders fall a little.

His cheeks heat up and he wants nothing more than to roll his eyes at Nancy’s and Eddie’s judging faces towards him. He shakes his head at you, “I– no, I didn’t mean that… I mean it’s not all about looks anyways.”

You purse your lips and furrow your eyebrows at his words, taking a deep breath, “...so I am ugly?”

Nancy huffs beside you, glaring daggers into Steve.

“I didn’t say that, I’m just saying that apart from looks… people vote for nice people,” he mumbles, shifting in his seat and under your gaze.

Nancy is back to pinching the bridge of her nose, begging him with her eyes to just shut up.

If only you looked to your right, you would have seen the stunned and comical look on Eddie’s face.

“So you’re saying I’m nice?” You tilt your head at Steve, growing a little satisfied with the way he is squirming around.

He sighs, clenching his jaw and turns away from you, “I’m done with this conversation.”

“...You were a fucking asshole in high school. You got prom king because Billy was a bigger asshole.”

“Were?” You blurt out, making him look back at you stunned.

Nancy hides her giggle with a cough, earning a glare from him.

“He redeemed himself at Scoops Ahoy,” Eddie smirks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Scoops Ahoy?”

Steve shakes his head at him, if looks could kill, Eddie would be lying on the floor, right now.

“Mhmm,” Eddie nods. “He was an ice cream man, and wore a sailor outfit too.”

“Wait, what?” You ask, stunned. You can’t even imagine that. “I refuse to picture him in a silly sailor outfit, I need proof or else I won’t believe it.”

“Too bad. Every picture of me in that outfit is burned.” Steve declares, looking very convinced until he sees the smirk on Nancy’s face.

He clears his throat before he leans closer to the table, “Nancy Wheeler… do you have a fucking picture–”

“No, I was just smiling,” she shrugs but pulls out two pictures from the album and hands them to you, giving him a smug smile.

“No way,” you mumble as you take a good look at them. There he is, the man you thought had a serious job before all of this actually worked at an ice cream shop, wearing a sailor outfit, in the first picture he even wears a silly hat as he serves ice cream to someone not part of the picture. His hair was much shorter back then, so different from the mullet he now has. His eyes are crinkled, his smile so big and bright, his cheeks slightly pink, unlike the pale color in them now. He looked so different, he looked happy, he looked like a different person.

You glance over at him to find him staring at you already, watching you. His hazel eyes are cold, the frown on his face so deep you are surprised there aren’t any lines on his skin yet, the light in his eyes has faded. There is nothing left of the guy he was before, at least at first glance.

You look back down and focus on the second picture, placing it on top of the other – it turns out to be a mistake because for some reason, your eyes like what they see, a little too much. With his hands behind his back, he stands against a brick wall, wearing the same sailor outfit, though this time without the hat, his hair styled yet messy, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. You don’t know what it is about that picture, perhaps it’s his broad shoulders, the blonde highlights in his hair, the tanned skin or the way the golden light shines on him but he looks handsome – it’s something you haven’t noticed before, you aren’t blind, he is a good looking man but you couldn’t really see it before, not this clearly at least. His rude and mean attitude made it impossible to see, you couldn’t look past it.

Your cheeks heat up a little, your ears do too, you sink deeper into your seat, hoping that none of them notice how flustered you feel.

But Eddie does, he notices the way your eyes are basically glued to that picture, Nancy notices as well – they both glance at each other, amused. And Steve, he notices too, of course he does… The Steve from back then would have loved it, the flustered look on your face.

As you hold the picture, you notice that the sides are frazzled, like a part is missing, like something or someone was cut out of both pictures. You look over them, taking a look at all the pictures lying around, of the teenagers, of other people you haven’t anything about yet, of Nancy’s family, of Eddie and Dustin and it only now dawns on you, that you stepped into something, that these people haven’t found each other in this world but in the one before – a tight circle, a family.

A family you don’t belong in, you intruded – and now even more than before, you understand why Steve didn’t want you here, it wasn’t only about him not trusting you, it was about you stepping into something he didn’t want you to be a part of.

This is his place of comfort that he didn’t want to share with a stranger.

You hand the picture back to Nancy and reach for the wine Eddie had poured for you earlier, you take a big sip.

Maybe you should have left when he told you to, maybe you should have done him a favor, you shouldn’t have broken into someone else’s home.

“Is your brother older or younger?”

It wasn’t Nancy’s voice, nor was it Eddie’s.

It’s Steve’s.

Not only do you look at him in surprise but also Nancy and Eddie. He ignores them though, keeping his eyes on you.

You blink, putting the wine glass back down, you lick your lips.

“Uh… he is older, he’s twenty four.”

“Is he with your parents?” Nancy asks.

You nod.

“Yeah, he was home from college when it all… started. That idiot broke his leg during lacrosse, I don’t know why he kept trying with it, he was never the most athletic,” you chuckle.

“Yeah, me neither. I always hated anything sport related,” Eddie says with wide eyes, earning a snort from Steve.

“You’d get along well, he’s a major nerd.”

“Are you calling me a nerd, sweetheart?” Eddie pretends to be offended.

“Uh,” you look him up and down, “yeah, major nerd just like my brother.”

He nudges your side with his elbow, chuckling at the look on your face.

Steve hides the smile on his face, looking down at his hands.

“I’m hoping to get home, see a big gate surrounding my house, and I bet that asshole has a semi-automatic somewhere and is pretending to be in a zombie movie or something,” you chuckle. “He always dragged dad and me to the theater and forced us to watch the goriest shit. I used to hate it, now I want it back more than anything.”

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, smiling at you. “Maybe you’ll do it again someday, maybe not at the theater but you could do movie nights with your family.”

And his smile slowly fades again, he doubts that you will see your family again, he doubts that you’ll find them how you want to. He thinks it’s wrong of Eddie to fuel your hope, he is doing more damage than anything else and it’s gonna hurt even more when you find your family dead.

There is no hope for anything or anyone in this world, it’s a foolish thing to have.

You shrug, a smile on your face as you get up from the table to rush upstairs. Everyone just sits there wide eyed, looking at each other, hearing how there’s some stumping and then, something falling, and then you are cursing. Two seconds later you are coming back downstairs with something in your hands.

“This is my family.” You put the polaroids on the table, the ones you took back to camp so you would not miss your family so much. “That’s my mom, my dad, and the idiot of my brother.”

They all grab a picture each. Eddie’s picture was of the four of you smiling while camping. Nancy’s was a picture of a family trip to the grand canyon, but Steve’s picture was something that made his heart shrink for some reason. The four of you were laughing, surrounding a christmas tree. You were younger, probably a teen, and it made him think of how now your personality made sense.

You were never shown anything but love. Something he never experienced from his own family. He was slightly jealous at your picture, and he knew you were the only one between the four of you that had a normal and loving family. Nancy’s parents didn’t seem to love one another, Eddie’s father was an abusive asshole that ended up in jail and his mother passed away, and then there was Steve. Even with the apocalypse happening, his parents didn’t even care to find him. Find out if he was dead or not.

His eyes moved upwards to find you looking at him, and he wondered why you had a frown on your face. It wasn’t a second later that he felt his eyes burning and you could see the glistening of tears forming. He can’t cry. It’s stupid to cry about his family now. It’s stupid to cry about something he knew all along. It’s stupid to cry over people that he knew never cared for him.

“Your brother looks like Eddie.” Nancy suddenly speaks, making him look at her as well as you and Eddie. The metalhead tilts his head as he grabs Nancy’s picture and–

“Ha, ha, very funny.” Sure, it was a picture of you four in the grand canyon, but it was your dad’s birthday, and your dad has a fear of pigs. Your brother had the greatest idea to put a pig's head over his head for the picture, and your dad was simply screaming bloody murder while you and your mom laughed.

“I mean, my brother doesn’t play that game you do, but he is a fan of star wars, and he read a lot of books! He liked one called The Hobbit?” Nancy and Steve groaned loudly at your words, which made you confused for just a few seconds and then you realized your mistake when Eddie was talking your ear off about why your brother was so cool, and the reason for that was because the plot for the hobbit was incredible.

And he explained it bit by bit and you didn’t know how to escape him. He was still talking about it like a kid on christmas as Nancy and Steve started washing the dishes, and you wanted to hit yourself for your big mouth. In all fairness, you didn’t know Eddie was gonna get as excited as he did.

“Anyways, what matters is, your brother is cool, so is Dustin and the other teens and Steve sucks.” At the sudden insult, Steve turns around with his hands covered in soap.

“What?” Eddie opened his mouth to probably repeat his words, only for Steve to shake his hands on his face, making the soap fly all around as well as water, and getting into Eddie’s mouth.

“GOD–” He screeched loudly as he got up from the table, rushing towards the sink to try to wash his tongue with the water while Nancy screamed at him to not waste it. Steve was smirking and all you could do was just stare at him. He was being playful. He was being more than the grumpy self he claimed to be with you. You started laughing loudly when Eddie insulted Steve with his tongue out, trying to not taste the soap anymore.

Steve shrugged as he wiped his hands away, turning to look at you doubling over in laughter and it made him feel less guilty for his actions of before. You weren’t immature. Your world was just always filled with love and affirmations, and you just wanted people to feel the same exact way you felt. It was a lost cause for him, but he felt good for making you laugh like this. It’s been a while since he made someone laugh.

It’s a good sound.

☀︎

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things angst #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #grumpy x sunshine #found family

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thisisjustfanfic · 2 days ago

Text

Cleaning up the Timeline

{My contribution to the fandom. The obligatory "everyone lives together in one big house and they kiss kiss kiss, and they love love love each other.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Maid AU, Eventual Smut. SFW (For now)

Chapter 4 : Weirdos

You set an alarm for early in the morning, wanting to beat Zayne. Getting ready felt weird in the spacious bathroom, and it took you longer than you’d like to figure out what to wear.

Maybe you would get a uniform…something practical like some overalls or coveralls.

With your coziest sweater and simple dark pants, you scurried downstairs, hoping to make breakfast to impress your childhood friend and prove that you would do a good job.

The common area was quiet and empty, and you kept the lights to a minimum because 1) the sun was barely risen and 2) you couldn’t find the light switch. You wouldn’t be surprised if a place like this had a remote to control it all– or voice controls. You were tempted to try it, but the embarrassment if there weren’t voice controls wasn’t it.

In the oversized but poorly filled fridge you found a few eggs in a carton in the back and a half eaten loaf of bread in the pantry. Some sugar, milk and cinnamon later and you had some French toast.

You heard ruckus down the hall and then footsteps, turning with a smile you expected to see Zayne but instead found Xavier. He was already dressed in his hunter’s uniform. You had wondered about it when you saw him last night– what rank was he? His white uniform was completely different from the hunters you knew. The long grey mauve gloves and neatly folded lapels were more formal than practical. Elegant instead of utilitarian.

Overcoming your momentary surprise, you smiled and placed two slices onto a plate. “Good morning! Off to work?”

Xavier seemed just as surprised to see you if not more so. His blue eyes a bit wide as he walked over to the barstool and the plate you slid towards him, “Good morning…I have patrol in the morning. Then I have to catch up with my reports.”

You gave him an understanding smile, “Yikes, those are always so tedious. How far behind are you?”

Xavier blinked, staring down at the simple plate in front of him like he couldn’t believe it was there. “Three weeks.”

“That’s not so bad.” You try to assure, “The reports are always my least favorite part and— between us?— I ask Patrick on the fourth floor to help me. He prefers desk work.”

The blond man looks up at you and the galaxies in his eyes sparkle. A hint of a smile appears on his face and without another word he begins to dig in.

Zayne appears in a mild rush, examining his watch on one wrist while his other hand holds his phone. His hair was neatly groomed and he smelled like soap and mildly of mahogany cologne.

“Good morning!” You greet as you finish the next pair of toast for him. “Extra syrup?”

Zayne’s face is stuck in his phone but he glances at the toast and frowns disappointed, “I’ve got an early surgery scheduled. They posted it late last night, I have to go.”

His phone buzzed a few times– messages arriving in rapid sequence. His thumb tapping away furiously, he barely seems to notice himself walking over to you, placing a hand on one side of your head and pulling you over to place a quick kiss to your hair. A soft squeak leaves you, and your face blooms with heat.

Hurried steps take him away from you, and he pauses by Xavier at the bar and does the same to him. A hand on one side of his head and a chaste kiss on the other side. Xavier, unlike you, seems prepared for the action and leans into it.

“I’ll be back around six.” Zayne mumbles in goodbye as he rushes away, the ding of the elevator signaling his escape.

A soft chuckle pulls your attention back to the living world and you find Xavier resting his chin on his hand and elbow resting on the counter, “You look startled.”

You shake your head, just barely catching the toast before it burns, “He was in a hurry. He probably just wasn’t thinking.”

The blush on your face feels here to stay as you finish making the last plates and the clean up.

Xavier takes his time eating and then puts his plate in the sink, sidling up next to you with his scent of fresh cotton and teak.

“Do I get one too? Miss housekeeper?” Xavier’s voice in your ear makes you shiver and your breath hitches.

“I’m sorry?” You blurt looking down at the hand he has braced on the counter next to the sink.

“A kiss goodbye? Was that part of your contract?”

You scowl, “No, that’s not part of my contract. And I don’t like what you're insinuating.”

Xavier hums and shifts to lean a little further away from you, “I didn’t mean it like that. I’ve heard that a kiss goodbye is good luck. Make sure the one leaving returns home safely.”

You set down the plate you were rinsing and then look up at him, “That’s usually only for couples. Not for…us.”

Xavier blinks and you think you see an asteroid in his starry eyes. A shimmer of stardust that sparkles with mirth at you, “Maybe next time then.”

His tone is yielding and he steps away and out of your personal space. He thanks you for the breakfast and bids you goodbye, much more than you thought you’d get as a housekeeper.

Alone again, you deflate with a heavy exhale. That was too weird. Zayne had never been physically affectionate before, and never done something like that. A kiss on your hair could hardly be called scandalous but it burned you like stoking embers with a handful of dry grass.

It was hard enough finding Zayne attractive and staying platonic. You didn’t think your heart could take even that little show of affection— you’d burst for sure.

Not to mention Xavier. What was his deal? If you didn’t know any better— and being honest you don’t— you’d think he was jealous. The sharpness in his eyes as he asked for his own goodbye kiss. He’d gotten one from Zayne, was that not enough?

That too… the puzzle of this strange living arrangement was becoming a bigger and bigger mystery. More pieces showing up and too many corner pieces to decipher the shape of it,

Was Zayne in a relationship with Xavier? Or were they just friends? It wasn’t out of the question for Zayne to swing that way, and you weren’t going to judge him for it.

You supposed it was the mystery of it that bothered you the most. What was the deal here?

Rafayel woke up a bit before noon, and you heard him scuffle about above your head while you finished the living room. Fluffing the pillows on the couch and folding the throw blankets.

The artist dragged himself downstairs, yawning and wilting. You watched him mild amusement at his theatrics, as he walked to the kitchen and laid his head on the counter.

“Hungry….” He whined softly more so to himself than to you.

You couldn’t help but sigh and take pity on the man, “I made French toast for breakfast.” You tell him as you finish folding the last blanket and place it into one of the compartments in the coffee table. “But you missed it.”

He responds with a groan, muffled into the countertop.

The living room and dining room were done. After some exploring you had found the trash chute in the pantry and had been able to dispose of the boys’ collection of take out containers. The stale smell was gone and replaced with the lemony scent of wood cleaner and the sharper ting of window cleaner.

You pick up your remaining cleaning supplies and turn to return them to the closet, but instead find yourself facing a wall. The ‘wall’ being a moody artist with his attention on his phone but his body too close to yours.

You jump and step back, a harsh comment at the tip of your tongue but Rafayel’s voice stops you, “Do you have a coat?”

The quip you had loaded disappeared and you scowled in confusion, “A coat?”

“Yeah, a coat. You know, a outerwear garment that keeps you warm–”

“I know what a coat is.” You hiss, “It’s upstairs, why?”

“Go get it.” Rafayel orders, looking at you and tilting his head, “I wanna get some lunch but I’m not going alone.”

“And you want me to go with you?” You hear the incredulity in your voice and know you must be looking at him like he’s insane.

Either he’s oblivious to your stare or he doesn’t care because he nods, “I’m a public figure. I need a cover if I go out. So~” He sing-songs, motioning to you, “Go get your coat. I’ll pay, don’t worry.”

Your shoulders sag, “You need someone to go with you? Are you five?”

“No. I just know there’s no food in this house and I want to eat something yummy.” Rafayel slides his phone into his pants’ pocket and places his nimbl;e hands on his hips, “No, go. Or I’ll fire you.”

You can’t help the disbelieving gasp that escapes you, “Are you serious? You’ll fire me if I don’t go to lunch with you?”

“Yup.” Rafayel’s lips pop on the last p, and while his eyes swim with amusement you know he’s not joking. You have a sneaky suspicion that the quick turnover of housekeepers might be Rafayel’s doing.

A heavy sigh escapes you and you give in. “Fine. Give me five minutes to put this away.”

“I’m hungry. You get two.”

If this were a different situation, you think you’d clock him. Send one good jab to his gut and knock the wind right out of his billowing, cocky sails.

Free lunch did sound good, and surely you were allowed a break during work, right? God only knows the real reason why Rafaeyl wants you to come with him, because you're certain he’s not being honest.

You fiddle with your hair for a moment in your bathroom mirror and spritz a little perfume to hopefully hide the cleaner smell. You don your coat as you scale the steps back to the main floor and find Rafayel waiting at the elevator in a knee-length overcoat with a cherry red scarf neatly tucked into it. His hands are covered in cozy wool gloves, and he wiggles his fingers at you in a wave when he sees you approach.

You smile at him, the boyish look on his face hard to resist. However, his smile fades.

“Where’s your gloves? And scarf?” His tone is harsh– harsher than it should be for a simple lack of winter accessories.

You glance down at yourself and your coat, “I don’t have any right now. They must all be in storage.”

Rafayel huffs, “How are you supposed to protect me if you can’t even take care of yourself?”

He turns over to the sideboard near the elevator and opens some of the drawers with a stern expression on his face. He pulls out a long cream colored scarf and some charcoal gloves.

“Okay, ouch.” You wince, “But is that what this is? You’re bringing me to protect you?”

“It doesn’t match,” Rafayel notes as he wraps the scarf around your neck and tucks it up to cover your chin, “And the gloves probably won’t fit, but you won’t lose fingers at least.”

“Are we hiking in the snow?” You joke as you slide the gloves on. They’re a little roomy, but worn enough they’re perfectly soft. “I’ll be fine.”

Rafayel just hums to disagree. “We’ll take my car. It’s not far.”

Alright, so not answering your questions then. Rafayel punches the button for the elevator and enters it, raising his brow at you to beckon you to follow him. You sigh and follow him, wondering if this is some game he plays with all the housekeepers, or if there is something particularly fun about tormenting you.

Rafayel’s car is a deep silver two seater with deep red and black interior. It’s more compact and sleek than Zayne’s more broad and cozy sedan. Rafayel grips the wheel like one grips the reins of a horse and he drives like it too.

Once you arrive at the secondary location, you pull out your phone to text Zayne. A quick little heads up that ‘Hey, one of your weird roommates has brought me somewhere. If I don’t return, you know who did it.’

Rafayel keeps his head low as you scurry through the parking garage and down the street of the bustling city center. Wherever he’s leading you, he seems truly concerned that someone might recognize him.

He ducks into a little cafe nestled between two larger businesses, and you follow behind him.

Shaking the flurries from his hair, he sighs in relief. Like making it from the car to here without something happening was like dodging a bullet.

“Are you a celebrity or something?” You blurt, as a hostess and finds you a seat. Rafayel doesn’t reply, too busy rejecting the first and second table the hostess offers before finally accepting a spot near the back near a window.

Rafayel sits across from you and settles in his seat, taking off his scarf and gloves. You mimic and set the garb aside, a small pile on the windowsill.

“I’ll order for you.” Rafayel says before you can even look at the menu.

“Really?” You reply, a touch disappointed. You’re not necessarily picky, but letting a stranger order for you could end in disaster.

“I’m very good at predicting these things.” Rafayel assures as he glances at the menu before tossing it aside, “Like how I know you’re not really a housekeeper.”

His jab doesn’t land the way he intends, as you only roll your eyes, “Pretty sure I am. Signed a contract and everything.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Rafayel says with a wave of his hand, “I mean you’re not a housekeeper by trade. What did you do before this?”

That lands a little closer to its mark, and it takes you a second to find the words. “I was a Hunter. I am a Hunter. I’m just…exploring other options.”

“Uh-huh…” Rafayel drawls looking unconvinced. “I knew you must be something combative. Just the way you hold yourself– housekeepers don’t do that.”

You narrow your eyes, “What does that mean?”

The waitress comes over and pours some water into the stemmed glasses in front of you. Rafayel waves her off when she tries to take a drink order, and you hear her scoff of irritation when she walks away.

“It means you stand like you’re ready to jump at a moment’s notice. Or like something might jump you.” Rafayel sips at his water and then motions with his head to yours– silently telling you to drink.

You do, but only so you don’t argue reflexively to his statement. “You’re generalizing people too much. Housekeepers need to be on their toes too.”

“Yeah, sure, but you’re not really a housekeeper.”

You sigh, “If you have such a problem with it, then I’ll stay away from you. I made a deal with Zayne, that doesn’t need to affect you.”

“Hey, come on cutie, I’m just trying to get to know you.” Rafayel sits up a bit straighter, “How does a hunter become a housekeeper?”

The perpetual lump in your throat that’s lived there for months returns, and you have to look away. Look at the softly drifting flurries as they scatter among the manicured trees along the street, and sparkle between pedestrians. Winter is so beautiful in Linkon, but all you feel is the cold.

“I don’t–” You’re not sure where that sentence was going to take you, but the waitress gratefully returns and asks about your order.

Rafayel huffs like a diva being asked for an autograph and curtly tells the poor woman an order. She doesn’t linger– quickly jotting it down and walking away.

For some reason, Rafayel doesn’t press about his unanswered question and instead leans forward, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm, “I named that color, by the way.”

“Oh yeah?” You ask a little hoarsely, quickly taking another sip of water.

Rafayel’s eyes watch you closely, and you wonder if there’s something on your face. His multi-colored eyes follow the line of your throat as you swallow and the movement of your fingers as you set the glass down, “Yeah, I named it bond.”

You’re only gone from the house for a little over an hour, but you already feel guilty for slacking. Rafayel relinquishes you back to work as he retreats to his studio– mentioning something about inspiration from the cafe.

Rafayel is confusing. One moment you’re sure he’s finding a reason to fire you, and the next you think he might be trying to befriend you. Maybe both? Probably neither.

You decide to head to the gym and get started there while your mind wanders. If it were nicer, you’d open a window but the snow is picking up again and you’re not fond of frostbite.

As you pick up the discarded towels that reek of sweat and musk, you come to the conclusion that Rafayel is a classic eccentric. He probably doesn’t have a goal at all, only following the whims of whatever desire strikes him at the moment. He had wanted to eat, and he didn’t want to go alone– you were there. That was that.

There wasn’t any use in thinking about it further.

Tomorrow is Friday, which means you have another day to get through before shopping on Saturday, but maybe you can talk to Zayne about going early? Or maybe you could order some groceries ?

By the time five o-clock rolls around, the gym is in much better shape. The equipment has been wiped down and sanitised. The floor swept and mopped, and even the free weights were put back where they belong.

You find yourself eager to see Zayne. It’s such an odd sensation, this little fluttering of excitement that’s only riled up further when you recall his little slip this morning.

Before, you’d see Zayne once a week– if you were lucky? He was busy and you were busy and so it was rare that the both of you had the spare time to find one another. Now? Now, there weren’t plans to be scheduled and agendas to be juggled, he could just come home and you would be here.

It tickled something deep and domestic in your tummy. You were one step away from a rom-com, but that train of thought had to be quickly pushed away. Entertaining outlandish fantasies of “Honey, I’m home!” and welcome-back-kisses would only drive you further into insanity.

You retreated to your room to clean up and change before anyone else got home. You knew you smelled at this point, disinfectant clinging to your sleeves and your knees damp from kneeling on the wet gym floor.

The bathtub still called out to you, but you ignored it. Sunday. Sunday you would spend at least four hours in that bathtub.

Once clean you went back downstairs and found Rafayel laying on the couch, tapping on his phone while Zayne stood in the kitchen. He had brought more food again, which was a relief. The containers were bigger and smelled like garlic and oregano– Italian? You wondered if they had a schedule. Thai one night. Italian the next.

“Welcome home.” You call, pulling Zayne’s attention from where he was unpacking the bags. He smiled softly, his eyes almost imperceptibly creasing.

“What about me?” Rafayel said from the couch, “Don’t I get a welcome home?”

You can’t help but laugh, “You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t deserve one.” Rafayel is downright pouting now and in favor of avoiding a further headache you walk over to him.

“Welcome home.” You say thick with sarcasm, but he smiles smugly anyway.

“I couldn’t remember what you favored,” Zayne tells you as you enter the kitchen, “I hope bolognese is alright?”

You nod, “Of course. Thanks for thinking of me. I really appreciate you feeding me too.”

Zayne shakes his head like you’re silly for even saying that, but he doesn’t outright argue with you.

“Oh, I was going to ask,” You say as you remember, “Where is the laundry room? I haven’t found it and the towels are piling up. “

“It’s downstairs,” Rafayel says loudly before Zayne can answer.

“It’s near the elevators,” Zayne says, “I’ll show you after we eat.”

You nod and sit down, digging into your food and pleased when Zayne sits beside you again.

After a moment, Rafayel joins you, sitting on your opposite side, and starting up a conversation about how aggravating it is when his manager orders him the wrong mixing mediums.

You finish eating, and retreat to the couch deciding to linger a bit longer than you did yesterday. After spending the beginning of the day cleaning it, it feels only right that you enjoy the clean living room now.

Zayne finishes his meal and hangs his coat up near the door. You’re nearly asleep on the couch when he comes up behind you, cold fingertips against your shoulder, “Let me show you the laundry.”

You perk up, “Right! Show the way.”

Zayne grins and motions with his head, leading you back to the elevators and down to the bottom floor. The floor with the sex dungeon and the storage.

It’s a door tucked away right next to the elevators, and you kick yourself for not noticing it before. It’s a decent sized laundry, with a large washer and dryer and plenty of counter space for folding. There’s a stack of used baskets on one side, and three filled baskets of awaiting laundry on the other.

Zayne closes the door behind you as you exit and you peer down the hall towards that room.

“Hey Zayne?”

“Hm?” He hums, low and almost sleepy.

Even though there’s no one here, you still cup your hand to speak behind it, “Why do you have a….sex room?”

Zayne’s head jerks back from where he’d leaned forward to listen to you whisper, and you watch as red rises to his cheekbones and ears. “W-what?”

“You have a sex dungeon!” You tease him more, keeping your voice at a whisper but relishing in the startled beet he was turning into.

Zayne glances up, looking down the hallway and then back to you, “T-that’s not– I mean.” He practically pants, “That is Sylus’ room. Not a– a sex dungeon.”

“Oh?” You press, not really believing him, “Then why were there whips on the wall?”

Zayne’s fully red at this point, but that’s all that gives away his flustered state. He places a hand to your mid back– not pushing but guiding you down the hall and to the bedroom.

He opens the door and lets it swing open, “There are no whips on the wall.”

You giggle and turn, examining the darkened bedroom and its very sex-dungeony vibes. The red velvet and overstuffed leather furniture. The dim lighting and four poster bed still aren’t convincing you that this isn’t a sex-dungeon.

You point to the other wall where five long handled weapons were displayed, “Look! See? Whips.”

“Those are ceremonial weapons from a tribe in northern africa.” A darkened voice coos from behind you, “The whips are elsewhere.”

You turn and freeze. The silver-haired man hovering just behind you and Zayne. He’s not much taller than Zayne, but there’s something in his gaze that’s so very predatory that you can’t help but shiver.

“Welcome back.” Zayne greets, bypassing the comment his roommate had made. “She believed your room to be some kind of fornication den–”

“Sex-dungeon.” You blurt.

Zayne’s eyes find yours and you feel even more like a butterfly pinned to a board. Had he ever been that piercing? That utterly provocative? You’d only been joking– sort of– but you felt like you tipped the first tile into a domino effect.

A pair of hungry wolves crowding into your space, leaving you nothing but a fragile, bleating lamb.

“How presumptuous,” Sylus drawls, mirth laced in his voice like a drug in wine.

“I’m sorry,” You say lamely, caught in the headlights of their eyes and unable to move.

The hand Zayne had placed on your back moves, trailing upward to linger in between your shoulder blades. You notice Zayne’s expression turn away from you to Sylus, the playfulness fading into something unknown. Something guarded.

“It’s late.” Zayne remarks, his guiding hand drawing you closer to him and away from the doorway. You step away from the darkened bedroom and find a spot next to Zayne at a respectable distance– too much closer and you’re sure he’ll hear your hammering heartbeat.

Sylus chuckles, something low and rumbling as he watches the two of you. “So, I take it you don’t want to come inside?”

“She’s tired.” Zayne replies for you, and you're so stunned by the iciness in his voice that you let him.

“Some other time then.” Sylus replies, adjusting the coat on his shoulder and stepping into the room.

Sylus closes the door behind him, and you’re led– a little starry-eyed — back upstairs. Zayne makes sure you go all the way up to your bedroom, not pausing even for a moment when you spy Xavier in the kitchen, the microwave running and the sharp tang of something burning in the air.

Once at your door, Zayne stops and you turn to him.

“If any of them bother you,” He begins, voice soft.

“They’re alright.” You say quickly, holding your hands out, “Sylus is a little scary and I think Rafayel might hate me, but it’s not bad. I’m not bothered.”

“Don’t let them push you around.” Zayne’s voice drops a little lower, “I brought you here. It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re taken care of.”

“Zayne..” You can’t help but whisper his name, unsure of why that sentence has struck you so severely.

This was supposed to be a temporary fix. A few weeks until the colder months passed and you could convince Jenna to let you come back. You felt bad for pressuring Zayne into this, but he was taking it so seriously.

But that was just how he was, wasn't it? Zayne wasn’t known for taking things lightly or letting things slide. Perhaps he felt obligated as not only your friend, but your doctor to care for you. It made you feel shameful and opportunistic. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“I appreciate everything you do for me.” You reply to him, “I’m sorry I’ve put you in this position.”

Zayne shifts until you're pressed against your closed bedroom door and he’s crowding you there, “You wouldn’t let me do anything else.”

Though you can feel his body heat, you feel more at ease seeing his faint smile, “No, I didn’t. But you can still end this, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Zayne seems to debate his answer for a moment and very lightly he brings up his hands to brush the backs of his fingers over your jaw, “No. It doesn’t. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

This cannot be good for your heart– is what you almost reply. His hands are always cold. Shimmery with his Evol that remains at the forefront almost all the time. This close to your face, you can almost feel the brisk air of it– the threat of frost like standing in front of an open freezer.

But his cold fingers ignite like flint against steel. Sparks flying against long-awaiting kindling and you’re a helpless fool eager for it to burn. A rational part of you tries to talk some sense into the rest of you. He’s just a friend. Just a good man looking out for you. It doesn’t mean what you think it means.

But oh, what if it did?

Zayne bids you goodnight, and you feel wound too tight to reply. Retreating into your bedroom with a knot in your belly and drumbeat between your legs that goes in time with your hammering heartbeat.

The lock on the door can hardly get switched fast enough and you're stripping off your clothes for bed and tossing them to the ground. The cool air of the room eases the fire under your skin, reminding you of the contrast more than soothing it.

It’s just been a long time. You try to reason with yourself as you go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. You aren’t some lascivious virgin turned on by a brush on the cheek!

But god, you might be?

A knock on the door comes only ten minutes after you and Zayne left, and Sylus assumes that the curious little cat had returned.

He’d already changed out of his outerwear and into something more comfortable, but for the sake of your red-face and hammering heart, he puts on a sweater before answering the door.

Only, you’re not there. No sight of your flustered face and the sound of your heartbeat he could tap along to. Disappointed, and visibly so, Sylus leans against the doorframe and frowns at the other blond that stands there.

“Can I help you?” Sylus asks with a single raised brow.

They’ve overcome the majority of their differences, but he and Xavier aren’t the closest. For the most part, Xavier just avoids him– only seeking him out when matters that only he would know about come up.

“Have you met the housekeeper?” Xavier asks, his airy voice sharp and low. He looks downright grumpy, which is odd considering you’re nothing but a ray of sunshine.

“I have.” Sylus replies, standing up and crossing his arms, “Why? Not to your liking?”

Xavier levels him with an icy stare, edging into the ire and hatred he used to stare at him with not very long ago. The blond man’s jaw is tense and his voice is quiet like he’s worried someone might hear, “She looks familiar.”

Ah, so that’s it. Sylus thinks.The disappointment on his face dissolved, to be replaced with amusement. Xavier was unsettled by your uncanny appearance, and maybe even connected some dots?

“She does? How so?” Sylus says instead of being upfront. It’s clearly taken some courage for the previous prince of Philos to come to him, but Sylus isn’t keen to bend to his whims so easily.

Nothing has been confirmed. No suspicions made clear, but Sylus knows what Xavier means. Unlike the others, only Sylus and Rafayel have the senses to know for certain. Rafayel’s sense of smell is better than his, but Sylus beats him in other ways.

Zayne, the poor bastard, is probably completely oblivious. Blindly following some gut instinct he doesn’t understand.

“Don’t play games,” Xavier hisses, “Have you noticed it or not?”

Sylus blinks, suddenly seeing the truth in Xavier’s eyes. The thinly veiled desperation he was trying to hide behind anger. Confusion for what he felt to be true, but wanted to deny.

“It could be a coincidence.” Sylus says, offering an out in pity for the prince. They’ve all been torn up, chewed up, and spit out in one way or another– all for love. Xavier’s been alive a long time, and sometimes Sylus forgets that. “She looks like a lot of people. If it makes you feel better, I could have Mephisto run a facial recognition search?”

Xavier deflates, turning on his heel to face back down the hall. “No. No. I– I’m just seeing things. Things that don’t exist.”

Sylus hummed, head cocking to the side, “We don’t know for certain she doesn’t exist–”

“We know.” Xavier’s voice is deadly. “We agreed that we wouldn’t search for her. We would attract attention by seeking her out. Especially since she doesn’t exist here.”

The words are harsh, but they’re not for Sylus. He knows that Xavier’s trying to convince himself. Remind himself of a mantra that’s gotten him this far. Held him upright when the ache in his chest got too much.

“It’s late for you.” Sylus says a bit kinder now. “Go to bed. Don’t worry about such things.”

“If you notice something,” Xavier bites out, “You’ll tell me.”

Sylus debates that for a moment. “Sure.” He decides to allow it, if it gets a grumpy Xavier out of his face, and soothes the disgruntled prince, why not?

#love and deepspace #lads #lads x reader #lads sylus #lads zayne #lads rafayel #lads xavier #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #reader insert #long reader insert fic #lads fanfic

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fandoms-in-law · 1 day ago

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Still Here

Rejected Date

Story Summary: There's a lot of people with expectations of Steve and he's reached the point where he'll call out when they're wrong

Chapter Summary: Steve cuts off a girl asking him on a date when she calls him King Steve.

This is part one. When written I will link the rest here: Part 2, 3, 4, 5

Author's Note: I was listening to I'm Still Here the other week and had a few thoughts for how that song matches Steve, so when I was planning fics to write this month, I ran with it.

“And I mean I always had a crush on King Steve so I was wondering-” Steve held up his hand, frowning at the girl.

Sure, he’d just been talking with Robin about wanting to go on a date and this seemed to be his chance to do so but that nickname made him cold. “That wasn’t me. It was a facade for school.” He said first, trying to see if she’d actually accept it.

“Course, everyone thinks that, but that’s what makes it real.” She nodded eagerly. “Like you were untouchable but so real because of it.”

“Nope, Whatever justification you’ve made for whoever you’ve decided to see me as isn’t me. You don’t know me.” Steve stated, turning to carry on with tidying the shelves from where some kids had moved horror films into the romance section.

She followed him, “But I could. I know you like dancing and could tell me about your basketball team and-”

“Do you think you’d understand any of what I actually want to talk about when those are two things that aren’t that important any more?” He scoffed, “I’ve got my friends and my job and a life I’m living and you’re- you seem to want me to be something I’m not. I couldn’t see myself feeling like I belong if this is how you’re starting, by comparing me to a past you didn’t know me in.”

Robin whistled from the counter, “Don’t be so harsh, Stevie, not everyone can accept the major changes you’ve done.”

“It’s you, isn’t it?” The girl rounded on Robin with a glare. “I’ve heard from friends that Steve never accepts second dates now, that they think he’s got a girlfriend who insists on keeping it secret. That’s you.”

Steve laughed tugging her arm down and shaking his head judgementally. “No, I just know that where you’re treating me as an answer to something, I’m not and you don’t give a damn to find out who I am. When you grow up a bit, learn life isn’t as simple as you want it to be, I’ll still be here, carrying on, wondering if you or any of your friends will ever change cause from here, you’re the ones that stayed the same. I’ve rejected you, so unless you need a film to cry over after the rejection, you should leave now.”

The girl glared at him one last time before storming out. “You need to change yourself, Harrington.”

He watched the door shut before sighing, “You know, one date might’ve been fun.” He remarked.

“Except she mentioned that stupid nickname.” Robin commiserated, before asking, “Was it really because of keg stands that you got it?”

“Don’t remind me.” He groaned. “High-schoolers are dumb.”

Robin playfully scowled at him, “I’m telling Dustin you said that. All your friends are high-schoolers.”

He chuckled at her, coming to nudge her out of the counter. “I’ll take over rewinding if you don’t.”

“Deal.”

#stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin #rejecting a date

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demonslayedher · 3 months ago

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I finished posting the unabashedly educational Sword Fic.

It includes a detailed (but hopefully beginner-friendly) explanation of all the steps of making a Nichirin blade from a sunny mountain like Mt. Youkou, a touch of swordsmith and metalworker folk lore (including demons), meta about what must make Kimetsu no Yaiba's swordsmithing methods different from real life methods, some character exploration for Haganezuka and his polishing method, vocabulary and additional resources in the chapter notes, and hopefully, an endearing, silly POV character to learn this all through.

#my fics #SWORDS SWORDS SWORDS #would you like a story about the years of background of this fic?#I was not very well-versed in metallurgy until recent years but my study of the Japanese language goes back to #well #longer than some of you may have been around #I always liked samurai and swords for the aesthetic but started to take more of an interest when I lived in Shimane #and on a day when I had a friend taking me around to rural sites associated with a legendary monster she was like #let's go see the sword museum while you're out here #but that museum was closed (it comes back into this story though)#so we went to a different one that no longer exists but that was my first encounter with how much work it takes to make the sword ore #fast forward years later #I am writing this blog and it becomes known as a fun place to read about Japanese culture as seen in KnY (thanks glad you enjoy)#I decide that I must tell people how hard it is to make the ore and finally visit that main museum on a trip back to Shimane #I collect material and struggle to do more research and wrap my head around it #and I write the first version of Teppi's story that focused mostly on the smelting and glazed over the forging and polishing and stuff #meanwhile I am in a job situation I have already long since wanted out of and soon I want out a lot more desperately #job searches were disheartening but then I found THE ONE I WANTED #and on that first interview when I was already like PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE #they asked if there's a Japanese cultural topic I could suddenly explain in great detail if asked #and without mentioning this blog I said I had recently written up something for fun about tatara smelting methods (and they forgot this)#fast forward again and I very happily got the job and was very nervous as I got the rundown on a very large annual nerd project #and when they announced the topics for that year I saw that tatara smelting methods in the region I knew them from was on the list #and I was like #asudyaiusdyuasdyuahduahduhsdhuPLEASE GIVE ME THAT #and i got it and when I went out there for research people were like #...why do you know all this...???????#and since I dared not mention my KnY blog I was like #...I lived in Shimane...#it seems I broke the tags because the rest of the story got cut off but hi yes you get the idea

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fatehbaz · 9 months ago

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#thinking of dinosaurs and troodontids were my favorite dinosaurs as a child #when younger i had a real full troodontid tooth fossil that meant a lot to me #for a time we lived within a few kilometers of hadrosaur sites and troodontid sites #while wider general area had many sites of recovery for the big celebrities like tyrannosaur and multiple dromaeosaurs #at that time troodontids were kinda infamous for i think the depiction in some childrens field guides and dino books #which depicted like a fantasy speculative humanoid troodontid based on 1980s model at Canadian Museum of Nature in ottawa #anyway would visit a small local paleo center a lot and woman in her 70s or 80s ran the counter of their center and rock shop #one day she asked me what my fave dino was and i said troodon so she pulled out the tooth and just gifted it to me #in little black case size of ring box with padding and transparent plastic viewing cover kinda like laminate for displaying a trading card #tooth got stolen from out my vehicle while giving some people a ride while at university before i got too poor for tuition #later during first year of pandemic owner of my storage unit died and new property owners threw away everything i ever owned #i was homeless anyway lost job due to early pandemic closures and had to allocate any money to insulin and other prescrip meds #but wouldve found a way to save my things if the new owners had contacted me #they threw out photoalbums y backpacking gear y books y musical instruments y clothes y artwork y camera y all family keepsakes #and all childhood treasures like souvenirs and gifts and school awards and writing portfolios and all the little memories #which i was always sentimental about as child #from earliest age my room looked like a natural history museum with plants and maps and library of field guides #and rocks and field trip keepsakes and all kinds of little animal figurines and mother had painted room in forest greens and browns #to feel like a forest and among the succulent plants and a globe sat the troodon tooth #parents passed when i was a child #never near any family and were always moving never got to settle into proper stable place then father passed after long sad illness #and mother put in so much effort but she passed few years later and i could not take care of myself or my remaining material possessions #and so im still quite hurt having nothing whatsoever remaining of my childhood or school friends or mother or life generally #and when trying to process grief my thoughts often come back to the troodontid tooth as a focal point a distillation of what was lost #even when young i knew it was advised not to become too connected to material physical possessions #but still there are some small little trinkets in our lives that seem to hold so much meaning and i tortured myself for losing that tooth #thinking about troodon reminds me of childhood

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unloneliest · 1 year ago

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the problem of the matter is i did internalize so much of what ex friend believed about me. even though i knew he was wrong and knew what was happening and tried to stop it and if i took more action to stop it would have been abusing power i held in a way i couldn't live with myself for.

#A BAD PERSON TRYING TO RUIN YOUR LIFE WOULD'VE GOTTEN YOU FIRED AND EVICTED IN WINTER IN ALASKA YOU MOTHERFUCKER. WHICH I DID NOT DO #he was renting a room from my dad. for cheaper than he wouldve been able to find anywhere else. his brother was too #his brother didn't pay rent for over 6 months and my dad just forgave him the debt because my dad knew how much of a difference it wouldve #made when he was that age. and i had told him ex friend was family to me & my dad applied that to the brother too. bc he is a good person.#and one of the strongest parts of my support system. and i didn't say a word to him about what was happening until i knew he already had a #plan for when he would be ending ex friend's lease. so there would be no subconscious impact on ex friend's housing either #mgmt at work straight up asked me if i thought ex friend should be fired immediately multiple times and i'm in retrospect livid they put me #in that position but told them to go by the strike system in the employee handbook and to follow policy that ex friend knew perfectly. that #it couldn't be on me as acting assistant manager to choose #and after 10 months of workplace harassment i got a different job to save my life. ex friend didn't get fired.#he did saw trap shit to my brain!!!!!! jesus christ #he moved cross country to live with his long time gf he called his wife despite never having met irl. to a way more conservative state.#despite being gay. and she left him this summer lol #hadn't checked his twitter in over a year when it got pulled up frm an old link and i saw that. and when he was already at a low point too #me voice. oh no who could've seen this coming. from how you behave in every relationship in your life #may delete this in the morning. but i have to talk about it sometimes #i'm never reaching out for closure both bc he wouldn't give me any and because i know it would trigger him and i don't intentionally trigge #people. unlike him :)#vampire pit #like. i have to talk about it sometimes. i have to talk about it.#jam posts

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mcalhenwrites · 5 months ago

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I'm not going to pretend it doesn't make me angry that I spend months and years trying to peddle my work to make ends meet, that I spend so much time mentioning my books and comms and everything, and people ignore that consisently... But the moment I finally break under the hopelessness - when it's obvious that it's fucking futile, that almost no one deems my work good enough to share with anyone else - suddenly they're concerned and scolding me. I'm working several jobs, bathing, generally keeping things clean, and I do this with several health problems including chronic pain. I found out that one of my cysts is growing and I may need to have it surgically removed. Which means potentially missing work to recover. Which means more money I lose. I spend so much time crawling out of the hole and it goes ignored, but the moment I just give up bc I don't have any strength left, suddenly that's my fault and I'm mentally sick. And that kind of makes me wish my entire situation upon people, and when they whine that it's hard, well fuck you, you thought I could ace it so surely you can, babe! I hate being angry about this, but it's just so exhausting to tell people who accuse me of not trying that I HAVE I HAVE SO FUCKING HARD AND YOU DID NOT PAY ATTENTION THEN Or you know you're attempting to gaslight me by claiming I didn't try despite that I obviously have worked my ass off trying, and that's so much fucking worse

#mcalhen personal #and I'm not saying I'm not mentally ill but ffs stop using it as a weapon to discredit people when they have the solutions right there #feels like people hate my writing and me and that's why I didn't go “I got the job” bc friends who never support me would be like #“I'M SO HAPPY FOR YOU CONGRATS” cool I'm not I spend an entire day usually recovering from very calm shifts at a job I like #but the moment I publish a book it's not congrats it's I don't know this guy I don't know Cal and I'm gonna pretend I never saw anything #I don't even hate my goddamn job even tho it can be stressful but it's the easiest thing for mostly just 2 days a week #but it is not sustainable and I cannot survive on this and disability would be invasive as hell and y'all don't know shit about how they #treat disabled people in this country but goddamn I have watched that shit unfold with my autistic brother who can't work #and I can never help him at this rate #bc I can't help myself #I can't help anyone #and saying that is a big fucking issue with people who think if they say 'it gets better keep going' I'll magically unfuck my life #as if I haven't spent the entirety of my life trying to unfuck things #as if I didn't give myself an education in spite of my family #y'all never been threatened with physical violence bc you weren't supposed to ask for school supplies and it fucking SHOWS #I have learned so many things on my own time out of sheer desire to better myself and my situation #but at a point where nothing works out and each day is just filled with more bad news #at what point am I actually allowed to give up?#or am I supposed to just keep this up until I die with 40 more years of collected bullshit pain #bc if you want me to live like this for 40 years then... you never cared at all #and what's so stupid is that I really want to earn my living by doing the work #I work on my art and writing but let's just admit that it's pathetic already #no mental health services or pills will erase that I'm a pathetic garbage can of uselessness #also I realize no one owes me anything like boosting my work or w/e #but also don't ask me to turn rotten ingredients into a feast and say I'm not trying when I can't fucking do it

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born-to-lose · 6 months ago

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I love being the always single person in my family, mad respect to my sister for constantly dating guys for the last 8 years, I would have shot myself

#whenever my mom asks if i have love news of my own while we're talking about my sister's newest catch and i say no #i hope she doesn't feel pity because like. this is the life that i choose. my sister's ex boyfriends were enough for ME even #and i only met a handful of them personally but heard more than enough shit about them #i just always think i'm only flirting with some guys only to never talk to them again or ghost them because it's fun #fat girl who's always been seen as ugly by other people gets to flirt with good looking people is the ultimate ego boost arc #if i ever date anyone seriously again it better be true love and end in kids and marriage until death or i'll live as a hermit #until that happens tho...... life is a party i don't wanna miss a thing break some men's heart get revenge yolo etc etc #also the thought of actively dating freaks me out. if i meet someone and we tolerate each other long term that's good #but dating apps or going on dates with several people and deciding who's the best like on the bachelorette?? death first #plus i lowkey don't like men as a concept. at least the type i've dated. i guess you could say my last ex traumatized me hahaha 👍🏻 (🔨🔨)#i think i'm too young to be in a committed relationship anyway. or even to seek getting into one. there are much more important things rn #i know former classmates my age are having kids or getting married but idgaf the one who got engaged last year has been with him for 7 year #which is a decent time tbh you change quite a bit during that time and if it feels right why not #but i can't wrap my head around searching for a relationship when you don't even have a stable job and know what else you want in life #rambling again sorryyyy but yeah proud single here and i'm not saying this out of spite because i genuinely enjoy it #all relationships i've been in were so draining (tbf they were long distance too) and got me at rock bottom and had me filled with regret #also these men can be so controlling and jealous when you just wanna go out with friends while they do whatever they want too #but when you say you don't want a jealous partner they think that's a free pass for them to cheat like what the actual fuck #do you see the difference between being unnecessarily jealous when you hang out with friends and being rightfully jealous when they cheat??#at this point idk what to say. i'm very entertained by my friends' dating journeys but that couldn't be me #all the gossip i provide for them is which people i flirted with for the ego and who i ghosted and who ghosted me #mel talks

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honeysunchild · 10 months ago

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It really hurts when it feels like a friend you considered family gives up on you and the relationship

Like, we could have talked about it, we could have found a solution together, we were each others family remember?! But instead you chose to just give up and cut me out

#and in like #about five messages too!#that were pretty accusatory #like apologizing peofusely bc youre afraid that karma wikl fuck u up for hurting le #doesnt really make up for accusing me of what you did #there are so many more compassionate ways you could have said that!#I'm so so sorry but you suck and i can't take it anymore goodbye #WTF #is this the goodbye seven years of friendship is worth??#we went through thick and thin #and yeah i have not been too well lately and i was pretty depressed two years ago #you asked me to share my problems with you and when i do i am too much and you drop me like hot metal instead of talking about it?#and that goodbye was so rushed it felt like i was chasing her just to get a little closure #you said you would always be there #even with our lives being so different I still believed it was possible #and you kept ignoring me!#i shared good stuff too and you didn't even respond! you said you were too busy and didn't make time for me #so when I stop sharing that good things happen to me too bc I'm frustrated with being ignored all the time you say I'm toxic for only #and drop me? instead of having a talk about it or taking a break?#like #i thought we were each others family but it seems like I was the more loyal one who cared the most and got burned yet again #is it so hard to talk and try to adjust?#i thought we were the real ones for each other yanno but clearly thing were different for you with all your toxic ass family and all your #jobs and friends #she's always had more than me #doesn't mean I'm alone tho #i have friend who can talk to me and try to adjust and fix the relationship and is a true loyal friend #it's not the end of my world that you're gone #even if you were a big part of it #how can I loose when I was so loyal and true and honest

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binch-i-might-be · 2 years ago

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you ever just think about how if you didn't have to go to work and use up every last drop of your energy there your flat would be so clean. always. and you could eat healthier because you'd have time to cook. and maybe you would get to have a restful night's sleep for once. and you could finally establish a routine to deal with mental illness and executive dysfunction so you could actually work on your writing projects. ever think about that

#it's dreaming about getting to live a nice life hour #i know it's a stupid hope btw but one reason i want an autism diagnosis so bad is that i'm hoping & praying i could use it to get #financial aid from the government. so maybe i could. downgrade to a mini job. and still be able to live #not to bring the mood down but i literally have no idea how long i can keep doing this. every month it costs me more energy to go to work #i'm only 23 and i'm so worn out all the time. my dad asks me if i go out to meet my friends like ever and he's worried when i say no #but i can't i'm so tired. i need to lay down. i need my free days to try and keep my flat in a liveable condition. i don't have time. bye #hmmmm this got more depressing than i wanted #well i gotta go to work in ten minutes so lol #rayrambles

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highwaydiamonds · 2 years ago

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starting a new job tomorrow (monday) morning and am feeling about 72 (million) different things all at once because of it

#scared - so scared i will mess this up too #scared no one will like me #scared i will not be good at this #afraid i will hate the job #what if something happens to make me late - like witht he car tomorrow #just - it's new and there are so many unknowns and i don't like unknowns - they're just SCARY #and i don't want to eat lunch alone and i feel like i'm going to be and rn it's not a comfortable alone - it will be in time i know #but rught now it doesn't feel like alone by choice - it feels like alone by dint of ew no one wants to eat lunch with you - which sucks #and my aunts - or one of them anyway sent congratulations to me via one of the people i live with - who are speaking to them more than i am #the last time the aunts corresponded with me - it was via text abd they basically did tough love intervention style texting #which - they had every right to say how they felt - and i think they were right about some things #but it also felt like they were kicking a puppy when it was down - and well - i was the puppy being kicked #so when i got the job and one of the friends i live with asked if i would call my aunt(s0 to tell them i said no #i know they love me but i'm not interested in putting myself in a position to feel lambasted again #you saying you're proud now doesn't mean much any more - i needed you to say that you loved me then #that you knew i was messing uo but that you loved me regardless and you knew i could do better - not the yelling at via text that i got #you don't get both - i can't handle both. so yes fine i know you love me but it's going to be from a distance #and i love you too in some kind of way - one that right now is hurt and sad because i don't think you care how i feel at all #but i am trying to do right and do better - and i don't want to do things from spite but #i admit there is a part of me that when i get to better place - i want to be able to say - no i'm not contacting them bc idgaf #but i also know that's not likely to be true and isn't kind and not how i realy want to live and be #and wow that really turned into one hell of an emo tangent #anyway - i'm stopping myself now - i got some catharsis there and i need to get ready for bed so i won't be a total mess in the AM #if anyone has actually read this all please wish me luck - i could use it #and i know i will have to make the luck on my own anyway #i just keep thiking of- what if i fall? but oh my darling what if you fly?

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omarfor-orchestra · 2 years ago

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#she got mad because I don't want to go to genova with them #excuse me #'it's so we can spend time together' girl we spend 24/7 together #no one will die if we don't see each other for one day #she got SO FUCKING MAD #WHAT THE FUCK #'ok then i won't come here anymore' PLEASE #is it too much to ask? for one day to be alone?#and now my father doesn't want to go either APRITI CIELO #i wanted to be alone but I'll probably have to stay with him. again.#when will these people learn that i don't live for them #also as if it's my fault that my sister doesn't have friends beside me #it was ok for me for years but not anymore #i don't want to be 30 and only live for my job and my family no interests no nothing #what are you dying?#what the fuck

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tundrakatiebean · 1 month ago

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I found out the tag limit is 30 on this post lmao anyway I had a very good year. I wish all of you so much good and light.

hey honest question, did anybody have GOOD stuff happen to them in 2024? cause it was really bad for me and for most people i know, so it would be nice to hear about anything that's been going WELL for any of you. even if it's small stuff. just to know there's light out there.

#I honestly had an incredible year and I’m gonna share the good stuff #I have this same kind of vibe about days #where I say if someone had a good day it was one worth living through even if mine was shit #so I tip my hat to you OP #I got my business license in 2024 so I am finally legitimately selling #I found the most absolutely incredible boyfriend #who legitimately loves all of me even on my worst days #and who is helping me unlearn trauma responses #and I’m helping him unlearn his #it’s truly a relationship where we are both better for it #and miles ahead of where we were eight months ago #he was actually part of the reason I went viral with my empty kettle saying #because that was inspired by something that clicked in my brain #while he was talking me very gently through a crying session while I was burnt out #honestly just being able to cry where someone can hear me #and letting myself be helped is a huge thing #and he gets a lot of credit for that #but he made me think of that saying that went viral #and increased my art and sticker sales by about 240% from last year #my Patreon has doubled in membership #I’ve made some incredible connections and friends this year and solidified more #I also got an awesome girlfriend now who is helping me keep it together #even when shit is bad for both of us #I’ve gotten to the point at my art modeling job #where the teachers ask for me specifically #and the scheduler will come to me because she knows I’m reliable #and they’re starting to suggest I model other places in town because I’m so good at it #I’m on a tough trip now dealing with family #but I am handling it SO much better than I would have last year #I’ve started the processes for getting diagnosed with ADHD and getting a hysterectomy

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chisungie · 24 days ago

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#OH BOY. i could NOT do this vtuber streaming shit like my friend #2 days in a row there are these nonsense fucking chatters and i know for a fact theres more when im not looking #like the other day somebody came in cussing abt how they didnt get a response from the company my friend is from after auditioning #and like wtf is your problem? not like my friend is in charge of that and they dont respond right away anyway #I WAS PRETTY MAD SEEING IT ACTUALLY but my friend wasnt mad at all and was patient and explained it #and gave them a kind warning and all that. friend is so much better than i am actually #and ik “its their job!” it is but my friend is naturally that nice actually. which is wild 2 mebc im not mean but im not that patient eithe #and today oh my god somebody came in and was asking a lot of stupid shit abt my friend being “recruited” and if they can get recruited too #or join the project too. first time chatter btw. asking if they can join the shit my friend is talking abt being part of #like? who the fuck are you?#AND ITS FINE TO ASK like oh is this opportunity still available for audition or joining? but they were bombarding my friend w a bunch of #stupid ass questions that look like questioning if my friend even knows what theyre talking about? pissed me off #doing that and then asking if u can get in on the stuff my friend is doing without showing that you can sing too?#oh context is its singing projects. and not my friends btw. my friend got in bc theyve got multiple singing friends and covers up #that people recognize them for. and like i said theyve done live singing competitions and have won voice acting competitions.#they worked hard for what they have and they continue to work hard every single day! on stream and off stream #so to walk in as a first time chatter and bombard my friend with questions like that.#OH MYG DO WAIT the chatter didnt even fucking know what they were asking to join #we said hypmic (RAP ANIME) and my friend said they were doing a cover w ppl. bc thats what theyre doing #and then explained the song is from an anime bc the person was asking whats hypmic. AND THE PERSON SAID anime? i thought u said its a cover #and they brought that energy more than once in a few minutes so im pissed off but my friend literally has the patience of an angel #AND THEN. THE REASON I EVEN STARTED THIS RANT. JUST NOW. SOME NEW FIRST CHATTER CAME IN while my friend was singing (recording on stream)#and I KID YOU NOT THEIR FIRST COMMENT RIGHT AWAY WAS. “wtf did i walk into” AND IS THAT NOT FUCKING RUDE AND STUPID?#THE STREAM IS TITLED RECORDING STREAM BTW. AND THEIR SECOND COMMENT? TELLING MY FRIEND TO WORK ON THEIR HIGH NOTES.#WHICH IS FINE BUT THE LINE MY FRIEND SANG WAS CLEAN? thats not one of the times i wouldve fucking said that? also who are you?#youve been here for like less than half a minute and came in with this stupid fucking attitude. MY FRIEND WAS SO NICE ABOUT THAT TOO #AND LIKE I SAID. KINDA THEIR JOB. THEYRE ALSO JUST THAT NICE ALWAYS.#like im sure my friend can handle it but also what the fuck is wrong w some of u. wheres ur fucking decency when talking to strangers #maybe im just defensive bc ive seen this friend be vulnerable and go through hard times but COME ON. YALL CANT BE DOING THAT SHIT?#maybe im just a hater. idk

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fushitoru · 3 months ago

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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 | spiderman!gojo 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 | spiderman!gojo 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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