#they HAD a dynamic like they showed them talking

[etheraltides]

Burning the Line

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x best friend!Reader

Summarize: What started as a no-strings-attachment is quickly spiraling out of control. You and Rafe Cameron had rules, but rules were meant to be broken. As jealousy ignites, emotions boils over, and fists fly, you’re left questioning if you’re ready to risk your friendship for something neither of you can ignore anymore.

Warning(s): SMUT – oral sex, p in v penetration (wrap before you tap it, y’all), dirty talk, a bit of degrading kink. Substance use, jealousy, possessiveness, violence, toxic dynamic. Minors do not interact, please! 18+ ONLY!

Word count: 7.5k

A/N: I’ve used Grammarly to correct things so if there’s anything weird, blame it on that bot. Don’t forget to check my masterlist and maybe show your girl some feedback. Love y’all!

Rafe’s new place was alive with music, laughter, and the buzz of expensive liquor. The air inside was stifling, a haze of cigarette smoke and sweat from too many bodies crammed into the space. You nursed your drink, eyes scanning the crowd for no one in particular. Well, maybe someone in particular. But you’d rather die than admit it.

Rafe had been making the rounds all night, charming the crowd in that cocky, effortless way he had. His arm had been slung around Sofia’s shoulders not too long ago, and you’d tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter.

You’d known they were hooking up. It wasn’t a secret — not that Rafe had ever been shy about the girls he entertained. But this? This felt different. Too comfortable. Too prolonged. Rafe Cameron didn’t go back to the same person more than twice, three times max. Except for you.

That thought had always given you a strange sense of pride, something you’d never admit out loud. He’d been with you more times than you could count, and while you’d both sworn it didn’t mean anything, part of you had held onto the idea that it was different with you. That you were different.

But seeing Sofia press herself closer to him, her lips lingering on his ear as she whispered something only for him, made your stomach churn. It wasn’t just casual flirting — it had an air of possession, like she thought she had him. And the worst part? He didn’t seem to mind.

When Sofia kissed him, it was the final blow.

Her lips captured his like it was the most natural thing in the world, her hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. And Rafe didn’t just let it happen — he kissed her back. His hand tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against him, his other hand resting on the back of her neck as though he was guiding her.

You swallowed hard, the burn of jealousy clawing at your chest. You told yourself it was just Rafe being Rafe, that he’d get bored of her eventually. But the kiss felt like it was lasting too long. Too intimate. Too much.

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, the sight of them together too much to handle. You gripped your drink tighter, the cold glass digging into your palm as if it could ground you, but it didn’t help. The ache in your chest only grew, and before you could think twice, you tipped the rest of your drink back, letting the alcohol burn its way down your throat.

Slamming the empty glass onto the nearest table, you forced yourself to move, the heat of the room and the weight of their kiss suffocating you. Without a word to anyone, you pushed your way down the hallway and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

You leaned against it, your breathing shallow as you tried to compose yourself. But no amount of deep breaths could erase the image burned into your mind — Rafe’s hand on Sofia’s waist, his lips moving against hers like she was the only person in the room.

Staring into the mirror, you barely recognized the frustrated, jealous girl looking back at you. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to care who he kissed or how many times he went back to her.

But you did. And that truth was harder to swallow than the drink still burning in your throat.

You weren’t his girlfriend, not even close. Just… friends. Friends who had been tangled up in bedsheets more times than you cared to count, friends who couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other after a few too many drinks. That was it. That was all.

It wasn’t long before it swung open and before you could shout that the bathroom was already taken, there he was.

“Been looking for you,” Rafe said, shutting the door behind him with a subtle smirk.

“Why? Thought Sofia had you busy.” The words left your lips with venom, barely able to hide it.

He smirked, stepping closer, and you hated the way your body reacted to his presence, like it was wired to his every move. “She’s not my type. You know that.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the counter. “Then why were you all over her?”

He took another step, close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “What, you jealous?”

You scoffed, but it came out weaker than you intended. “Shut up, Rafe.”

His smirk widened, and before you could say another word, his hands were on your hips, his lips crashing against yours.

It was all heat and desperation, months of tension spilling out as he pressed you against the counter, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you might disappear.

“Admit it,” he murmured against your lips. “This is about her, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” you snapped, pulling him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair.

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re so full of shit, you know that? You care who I’m with.”

“I don’t,” you lied, pushing him back slightly, though your hands stayed on his chest. “We’re just friends, Rafe. Friends who—”

“Friends who what?” he interrupted, his voice sharp now, his blue eyes blazing as they locked onto yours. “Friends who fuck? Friends who can’t go a week without tearing each other’s clothes off? That’s not friendship, and you fucking know it.”

Your heart was pounding, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts. “You’re drunk,” you muttered, though the words felt hollow even as you said them.

“And you’re a coward,” he shot back, his hands gripping the counter on either side of you, caging you in. The air between you felt thick, electric, like the room itself was alive with the tension crackling between you.

“Rafe—”

“You feel it too,” he said, his voice softer now, though no less intense. “You can pretend all you want, but you’re lying to yourself if you think this is nothing.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The party, the music, the laughter – it all faded into the background as his words hung heavy in the air.

You wanted to argue, to push him away, to deny it all. But instead, you pulled him closer, your lips finding his again in a kiss that was equal parts frustration and surrender.

Maybe you were lying to yourself. Maybe you had been for a long time. But in that moment, with his hands on your skin and his breath mixing with yours, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

His grip on your hips was bruising, pulling you flush against him, leaving no room for air or thought.

“Admit it,” Rafe growled against your lips, his voice rough, raw. His hands slid up your sides, pushing your shirt higher, fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to ground himself – or break you.

“Admit what?” you bit back, shoving at his chest even as your legs locked around his waist, holding him in place. “That you’re a smug asshole? That you think you can push me around?”

He grabbed your wrists, pinning them against the counter behind you with one hand, his lips curling into a dangerous smirk. “You’re so full of shit,” he said, his breath fanning over your face, his free hand trailing up your thigh. “You think you don’t care? You think I don’t see it? That I don’t know you?”

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you hissed, though the words came out weaker than you wanted, trembling with the electricity coursing between you.

“Make me,” he shot back, his voice dark, taunting. His lips crashed against yours again, his hand leaving your thigh to grip the back of your neck, forcing you to meet his intensity head-on.

You twisted your wrists, trying to break free, but his grip held firm. You hated the way your body betrayed you, heat pooling in your stomach even as you told yourself you wanted to push him away.

“Why do you always have to ruin everything?” you spat when you finally managed to pull back, your chest heaving as you glared at him.

“Me?” he barked out a bitter laugh, his forehead pressing against yours. “You’re the one who keeps lying. To me. To yourself. You think I’m ruining this? Newsflash, sweetheart, you’re the one fucking things up.”

Your jaw tightened, the words hitting too close to home. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

His grip on your wrists loosened, but only so he could grab your face, tilting it up so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. “Don’t I?” he challenged, his eyes blazing. “Then why are you still here? Why are you letting me touch you like this?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he kissed you again before you could get a word out, his lips moving against yours with a ferocity that stole your breath. His hands were everywhere — your waist, your thighs, your neck — gripping, holding, demanding.

You hated him for being right, for knowing exactly how to dismantle every wall you’d built. You hated yourself more for letting him.

“Say it,” he growled against your lips, his hands tightening on your hips as he pushed you harder against the counter. “Say you don’t care, and I’ll walk out that door right now.”

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into his shoulders as you glared at him, your anger and frustration bubbling over. “And then will you do what? Go back to miss pogue? Didn’t know you were into charity, Cameron.”

His smirk was sharp, cruel, as his hands slid to your thighs, pulling you even closer. “I’m trying new things,” he admitted, his voice dropping an octave. “But that was rude even for you, Y/N.”

Your breath caught, his words hitting like a slap, and you hated how much you wanted to kiss him again, to shut him up, to drown in the chaos of him.

So you did.

Your lips crashed into his with a force that left your teeth clashing, your hands gripping his hair, pulling hard enough to make him groan against your mouth. His hands were rough, sliding under your shirt, his touch possessive, searing.

The tension was suffocating, the air thick with everything unspoken between you. Every kiss, every touch, every desperate gasp was a battle —a clash of frustration, anger, and the kind of want that left you both teetering on the edge of destruction.

When you pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, your faces inches apart. His hands were still on your thighs, his thumbs brushing against your skin, grounding you in a way that made you want to scream.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you said, your voice shaking, though whether it was from anger or the sheer force of what just happened, you weren’t sure.

Rafe’s laugh was low, bitter, as he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “Keep telling yourself that,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “But we both know the truth, don’t we?”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Not when the weight of his words hung so heavy between you. Instead, you grabbed his collar, pulling him back to you, your lips crashing against his once more in a kiss that was equal parts anger and surrender.

Because maybe he was right. Maybe you did know the truth. But for now, this was all you could give.

The air in the bathroom was stifling, filled with the heady mix of alcohol, sweat, and lust. Your back slammed against the counter as Rafe’s mouth claimed yours, all heat and rawness. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get close enough.

“Admit it,” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough and demanding.

“Admit what?” you snapped back, tugging at his shirt, your anger and desire bleeding into every movement. “That you’re an insufferable prick?”

He growled low in his throat, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he kissed you harder, swallowing the gasp that escaped you. His hands slid under your shirt, fingers digging into your bare skin, leaving a burning trail in their wake.

“You think this doesn’t mean anything?” he asked, his voice a mix of frustration and disbelief as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes blazing.

“It doesn’t,” you lied, even as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. “It’s just sex, Rafe. That’s all it’s ever been.”

He laughed, dark and humorless, his grip tightening. “You’re such a horrible liar,” he said, his lips crashing against yours again, his kiss rough, punishing. “You feel it, just like I do.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Not when his hands were sliding down your thighs, lifting you onto the counter. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer as he kissed his way down your neck, biting just hard enough to leave marks.

The sound of the party outside was distant now, a dull thrum that faded into nothing as he pushed up your skirt, his hands rough, desperate.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low, almost daring.

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, your nails dug into his shoulders, urging him closer, silently begging for more. Rafe took the invitation, lifting your shirt with a fervor that spoke of his own desperation. Your breasts spilled out of your bra, the lacy confines no match for his greedy hands. He cupped them, squeezing gently before his thumbs found your erect nipples. He rolled them between his fingers, eliciting a whimper that you couldn’t hold back. The sensation shot straight to your core, making you wetter, needier.

Then his mouth was there, sucking one of your tits into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive flesh as he worked on the other with his hand. You arched your back, pressing your chest closer to him, silently demanding more. He gave it to you without hesitation, his teeth grazing your sensitive peak before soothing the sting with a soft lick. You moaned, the sound muffled by his mouth, your eyes squeezing shut as you felt yourself falling into the abyss of pleasure he so expertly created.

While he feasted on your breasts, Rafe’s hand slithered up your thigh, the fabric of your panties already damp with your arousal. He hooked his finger under the elastic, pulling it aside to expose your swollen folds. His touch was feather-light at first, teasing, making you squirm and grip his shoulders. Then, his fingers were inside you, pushing deep and curling just so, making your eyes fly open wide with a gasp. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that had you trembling on the edge of the counter.

“You’re so wet for me,” Rafe murmured, his voice thick with lust. “Does it feel good, baby?”

With a feral growl, Rafe ripped your panties away, the fabric giving way to the strength of his desire. The sudden exposure made you gasp, your legs trembling as he positioned himself between your thighs. He didn’t wait for your response, instead plunging his face between your legs to taste your sweetness. Your hands clutched the counter, knuckles white from the intensity as his tongue delved deep, lapping up your arousal as if it were the sweetest nectar.

“Oh, God, Rafe!” you moaned, your voice echoing off the tiles, raw and unbridled. It was a sound that didn’t belong in the hallowed halls of friendship, but here you were, straddling that blurry line, your body begging for more of what he offered. His tongue swirled around your clit, flicking and stroking in a rhythm that sent shockwaves through your core. Your moans grew louder, filling the small space, a symphony of pleasure that you couldn’t hold back.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmured against your sex, his breath hot and heavy. “Tell me this isn’t what you crave every time you think of me, every time you touch yourself in the dark of your room.”

“Fuck you,” you gritted out, the words muffled by the moan that followed, a testament to the way his tongue was working its magic on your clit. It was a declaration of war, a challenge, but the way your body responded was anything but adversarial. Your hips bucked upwards, meeting his mouth with a desperate rhythm that spoke volumes.

Rafe arched a brow, adding a finger to the mix, sliding it into your soaking wet pussy alongside his tongue. The dual sensation was overwhelming, his finger curling inside you, stroking that perfect spot while his mouth feasted on your clit. You bit down on your lip to keep from screaming, the pressure building, your orgasm cresting like a wave about to break.

But then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled away, leaving you panting and desperate. “What the fuck?” you gasped, your eyes snapping open to find him smirking up at you, his pants quickly unbuckled and on the floor.

“Turn around,” he instructed, his voice a deep rumble of authority that sent a shiver down your spine. You didn’t argue, you couldn’t. The need was too intense, the desire too overpowering. You spun around, gripping the edge of the counter as he bent you over it. The cool marble sent a jolt through your overheated body, heightening the sensation as he positioned himself behind you.

He didn’t waste any time, his cock sliding into you in one swift, hard thrust that made you cry out. The angle was just right, hitting deep, sending pleasure and a hint of pain spiraling through you. Rafe’s hands dug into your hips, his grip bruising as he began to fuck you with an aggression that bordered on feral. “You like it rough, don’t you?” he growled, his breath hot on your neck. “You’re such a dirty little slut for me, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t deny it, not when his words sent a thrill through you, making your pussy clench around his thick cock. You pushed back into him, meeting each thrust with an eager moan. His words were a balm to the anger that simmered between you, a reminder that this was what you both wanted, what you both needed.

“Shit, just like that,” you breathed, your voice ragged with need. The words were barely out of your mouth before Rafe’s hand came down with a sharp slap on your ass, the sting of pain mixing with the pleasure that already had you teetering on the edge.

He chuckled darkly, his voice thick with desire as he leaned over you, his breath hot on your neck. “You like getting it rough, don’t you?” he murmured, his free hand reaching around to squeeze your breast, twisting the nipple just enough to make you gasp.

“I’m going to make you cum so hard you won’t be able to walk out of here without everyone knowing what a slut you are for me,” he said, his voice a low, seductive taunt that had you clenching around him even tighter. The orgasm was building, coiling deep in your belly, a pressure that grew with every thrust, every slap of his body against yours.

“Oh, fuck, Rafe,” you panted, your forehead resting against the cool marble as he pounded into you relentlessly. The sound of skin on skin filled the bathroom, punctuated by your ragged gasps and his grunts of pleasure. You felt so exposed, so vulnerable in this position, and yet, it only added to the thrill.

“I’m close,” you managed to choke out, your voice shaking with the effort of holding back your orgasm. His grip on your hips tightened, his strokes becoming even more punishing, pushing you closer to the brink.

The tension coiled in your belly, a tight, unyielding knot that grew with every thrust. Then, with a final slap to your ass and a hard, deep drive of his cock, the dam broke. You screamed, the sound echoing off the bathroom tiles as your orgasm crashed over you, a wave of pleasure so intense it was almost painful. Your body convulsed around him, muscles clenching and releasing in a symphony of ecstasy that left you trembling.

But Rafe wasn’t done. He pulled out just as he felt himself reaching the edge, his cock glistening with your juices. You whimpered, the sudden emptiness making your legs wobble. Before you could protest, he spun you around and gently but firmly pushed you to your knees, his eyes never leaving yours. The look in them was one of hunger and possession, a silent demand that sent a fresh wave of arousal through your veins.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice strained, and you complied without thought, your eyes locked onto his. He positioned the head of his cock at your lips, the tip brushing against your bottom lip. You could feel the heat of him, see the veins pulsing with need. He was close, so close, and the power to bring him to climax was intoxicating.

As soon as your lips parted, Rafe grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling you closer. The sting of pain made your eyes water, but you welcomed it, the sensation only adding to the intensity of the moment. You took him deep into your mouth, the muscles in your throat contracting around his thickness, the taste of him salty and addictive.

Rafe’s eyes rolled back in his head as you worked your mouth over him, your tongue swirling around the tip with every pull back, tracing the underside of his cock with each descent. His hand in your hair tightened, guiding your movements, setting the pace. You could feel his thighs tremble beneath your grasp, his breath hitching with every stroke of your tongue.

“Fuck, yes, like that,” he groaned, his voice a raw, guttural sound that only spurred you on. His hand tightened into a fist, tugging on your hair, and you moaned around his length, the pain mixing with the pleasure of pleasuring him. His other hand came to rest on the back of your head, pressing you closer, urging you to take more of him. You obliged, your nose brushing against his pelvis, your throat stretched around his cock.

The head of his dick hit the back of your throat and you gagged, your eyes watering, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you swallowed around him, the sensation sending a shiver of arousal down your spine. Rafe’s body grew taut, his hips jerking as he fought for control.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he moaned, the words coming out as a strangled groan. You could feel his orgasm approaching, his cock swelling in your mouth. And when he finally came, it was with a roar, his cum spurting down your throat in hot, thick jets. You swallowed around him, eagerly taking every drop, your own desire spiraling out of control. His hand in your hair tightened, holding you in place as he fucked your mouth through his climax, his hips thrusting erratically.

When he finally pulled out, you sat back on your heels, wiping at the corner of your mouth with a trembling hand. You didn’t dare look up at him, not yet. The silence in the room was deafening, the only sound the harshness of your own breathing and the distant throb of music from the party outside.

Rafe stepped back, his chest heaving, and you took the opportunity to stand, smoothing down your skirt and fixing your shirt as best you could. The fabric was wrinkled, the buttons askew, but it was the best you could manage with shaking hands. You avoided his gaze as you bent down to pick up your panties, the shredded lace a sad testament to the ferocity of your encounter.

The silence in the bathroom was palpable, the tension thick as you both took stock of the situation. The anger was back, simmering just beneath the surface, a potent reminder of the unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings that had brought you to this point. Without looking at him, you straightened up, tucking the ruined underwear into your purse.

Rafe let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. “Seriously?” he said, his voice still thick with arousal. “You’re just gonna go back out there without panties?”

You shot him a glare, your cheeks flaming with both anger and embarrassment. “What the fuck do you expect me to do? You tore them off, remember?”

Rafe’s couldn’t help the smirk on his lips, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’ll get you new ones,” he offered, his tone mockingly sweet.

You rolled your eyes and turned to the sink, running cold water over your wrists in an attempt to cool down. “Just leave me alone, Rafe,” you said, your voice tight. “Go worry about your little party fling, Sofia, or whatever her name is. I’m sure she’s waiting for you.”

Rafe’s smirk fell away, replaced by a look of annoyance. “Don’t do that,” he said, his voice low and warning.

“Don’t do what?” you shot back, turning to face him, your hands planted firmly on your hips.

But before you could say another word, Rafe’s face contorted in a snarl of anger. “You know what!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the wall. Plaster rained down, the sudden violence making you flinch.

He stepped closer, his body a tower of rage, his eyes piercing yours with a ferocity that stole your breath. “You want to act like this doesn’t mean anything?” he yelled, his voice echoing in the small space. “You want to pretend like you don’t feel anything different?”

You stared at him for a long moment, your chest heaving with the effort of holding in the words that threatened to spill out. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when the truth was a knife that would cut too deep, a wound that might never heal the friendship you cherished.

With a shaky breath, you stepped around him, reaching for the bathroom door. His hand shot out, catching your wrist in a vise-like grip. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growled.

But you didn’t cower. Instead, you yanked free, turning to face him with a look of cold determination. “Let go of me, Rafe,” you said, your voice shaking with barely restrained anger.

He took a step back, his eyes searching yours, looking for something, anything to hold onto. But you were tired, tired of pretending that the earth didn’t quake beneath you every time he touched you. So you pushed past him, the door slamming shut behind you as you stormed out of the bathroom, leaving him standing there.

You needed air. You needed to get away from him before you hazy mind let something slip.

You couldn’t loose Rafe. Couldn’t even entertain the thought of losing your best friend because neither of you could keep it in your pants.

The bathroom door slammed shut behind you, and you stumbled into the hallway, your breathing unsteady. You didn’t look at Rafe as he passed you, his expression hard, unreadable. The weight of what had just happened hung heavy between you, unspoken but impossible to ignore.

You made your way back into the party, grabbing the first drink you could find and downing it in one go. The burn of the alcohol did little to dull the mess of emotions swirling inside you.

“Where’ve you been?” Topper’s voice cut through the chaos, and you turned to see him holding a tray of shots.

“Nowhere,” you said quickly, forcing a grin. “Let’s do this.”

The atmosphere in the house was suffocating, the music pounding in your ears like a second heartbeat. You hadn’t noticed Rafe at first, but the air shifted when he entered the room. Your skin prickled, and every nerve felt attuned to him, even if you couldn’t see him yet. When your gaze finally found him across the room, your chest tightened.

He was standing near the bar, Sofia pressed against him. Her laugh, shrill and fake, echoed above the noise, and your stomach churned. You told yourself he didn’t mean anything by it — he wouldn’t. But then her fingers curled into his shirt, and your breath caught as you watched him tilt his head down with the cockiest smile, his lips brushing hers.

Your stomach twisted, and heat rushed to your face, equal parts humiliation and rage. You felt your heart drop before your emotions boiled into something sharper, hotter. If that’s how he wants to play it, fine. You downed the tequila in your glass in one burning gulp, then reached for another shot.

Your fingers tightened around the glass as the scene replayed in your head, fueling your every irrational thought. He doesn’t care. He’s never cared.

You slammed the shot glass onto the counter and turned, searching for anything—anyone—to pull you out of this spiral. Your eyes landed on the stranger who had been watching you, his smirk practically begging for trouble. Normally, you’d ignore someone like him, but tonight, his attention felt like exactly the kind of distraction you needed.

You stalked over, your steps deliberate, your chin held high. His grin widened when you stopped in front of him, your face set in a mask of forced confidence.

“You look like you could use some company,” he said, his voice smooth and self-assured.

“Maybe I could,” you replied, leaning in with syrupy sweetness. Without giving it another thought, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss was messy, clumsy, your mind clouded with tequila and spite. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you let him. For those few seconds, you weren’t thinking about Rafe — about the way his lips had brushed Sofia’s, the way he hadn’t even tried to stop her.

But the illusion shattered when you felt a strong, unyielding hand grab the stranger’s shoulder and yank him away from you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Rafe’s voice was low, lethal, his eyes blazing with an anger that sent chills down your spine. His jaw was set so tightly it looked like it might snap, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to explode.

The stranger stumbled but quickly regained his footing, shoving Rafe’s hand off with a sneer. “Seriously, man?” he spat. “Back off. She’s not yours.”

Rafe’s nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling with short, controlled breaths. His eyes darted to you for the briefest second, and the flicker of pain there was almost enough to stop your heart. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by something far darker — jealousy, rage, frustration.

“Say that again,” Rafe growled, stepping forward, his voice deadly quiet.

“I said, she’s not yours.” The stranger smirked, glancing at you. “Though I wouldn’t mind if she was. She was clearly needing some.”

That was it. Rafe snapped.

The first punch landed square on the man’s jaw, a sickening crack echoing through the room. The stranger reeled back, clutching his face, but he wasn’t out. He lunged at Rafe, his fist connecting with Rafe’s cheekbone hard enough to split the skin. Blood dripped down his face, but it didn’t stop him.

Rafe’s expression was feral, his teeth gritted, his eyes burning with something raw and uncontrollable. He moved with precision, landing blows to the man’s ribs, his stomach, his face. The stranger staggered but fought back, catching Rafe in the stomach, then swinging wildly again. The crowd around them screamed, phones raised, some yelling for them to stop and others cheering them on.

“Rafe, stop!” you shouted, panic clawing at your throat, but your voice was lost in the chaos.

The scene spiraled out of control faster than you could have imagined. Rafe’s punches were relentless, his fists slamming into the stranger with a precision that made your stomach churn. The stranger fought back, landing blows of his own, but Rafe didn’t falter. His eyes were wild, blazing with fury, and you knew he wouldn’t stop until someone stopped him.

“Rafe, stop it!” you screamed, your voice drowned out by the shouts and chaos of the crowd forming around them. You tried to push through, but the bodies pressing in made it impossible to get close enough.

Desperation clawed at your chest as you scanned the room, your heart pounding. Then you spotted him — Topper, standing near the edge of the crowd with a beer in his hand, his eyes wide as he watched the fight unfold.

“Topper!” you yelled, your voice cracking with panic. “Topper, do something! Get him off!”

He blinked, startled, before realizing you were talking to him. “What the hell—” he started, but you cut him off.

“Now, Topper! Fucking help me!” you shouted, shoving someone aside as you struggled to get closer to the fight.

Topper cursed under his breath and shoved his drink into someone’s hands before rushing forward. “Rafe! Man, stop! You’re gonna kill him!” he barked, grabbing Rafe by the shoulders and trying to yank him back.

But Rafe barely reacted, his body tensing as he shook Topper off like he was nothing. “Stay out of it, Top!” he growled, his voice low and venomous, his fists still clenched and ready to swing again.

“Rafe, enough!” Topper shouted, throwing his weight into pulling Rafe back. “You’re gonna get yourself arrested, you idiot!”

With Topper’s help, you finally managed to push your way between them, your hands pressing hard against Rafe’s chest. His bloodied knuckles hovered in the air, trembling with the force of restraint as his gaze locked onto yours. His breaths were ragged, his chest heaving against your palms.

“Enough,” you repeated, your voice breaking, your hands shaking as you held him back. Topper stood just behind you, ready to step in again if Rafe tried to lunge.

The stranger coughed, staggering to his feet, blood dripping from his split lip. “You’re fucking insane,” he spat, glaring at Rafe before stumbling toward the door.

The crowd began to disperse after that, the tension slowly bleeding out of the room thanks to Topper helping send everyone away. But Rafe didn’t move, his burning gaze fixed on you, his chest still heaving beneath your hands.

Neither of you said anything after that. His fists were still clenched at his sides, the tension in his body radiating like heat. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything else, not when everything you wanted to scream was too raw, too real, too dangerous.

Rafe sat on the edge of the couch, his knuckles bloodied, his cheekbone swelling. You slammed the first aid kit onto the table, your hands trembling with a mix of anger and adrenaline.

“You’re such a fucking idiot!” you snapped, grabbing a clean towel and wetting it.

He didn’t respond, just watched you with that same infuriating, unreadable expression. His jaw clenched.

“What were you thinking?” you demanded, pressing the towel to his knuckles harder than necessary.

He winced but didn’t pull away. “He shouldn’t have touched you.”

You turned to him slowly, your head tilting in disbelief as you stared at him. Your lips parted, but no words came out at first, your thoughts racing too fast to catch. A bitter laugh finally bubbled up from your chest, and you shook your head, your eyebrows raising as if to ask are you serious right now?

“What the hell is your problem?” your voice sharp and incredulous. Your hands trembled at your sides, but you clenched them into fists, trying to steady yourself. It felt like your entire body was caught between rage and disbelief, your heart pounding as you searched his face for any hint that he realized how insane he sounded.

Rafe’s jaw was tight, his chest still heaving from the fight. His eyes dark and burning with something wild. “What’s my problem?” he snapped, his voice rough, practically vibrating with anger. “What the fuck were you doing, letting some asshole put his hands on you?!”

Your eyes widened, your brows shooting up as if his words had physically struck you. Letting some asshole? Your breath hitched in your throat, your body stiffening. For a moment, you didn’t even know how to respond, the audacity of his accusation knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Are you—” you started, your voice faltering as you let out another disbelieving laugh as you tried to wrap your head around the sheer hypocrisy. He cannot be serious.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, so you get to shove your tongue down Sofia’s throat, but I can’t kiss someone else?”

His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “That’s different. You did that to get under my skin.”

“Bullshit,” you shot back, tossing the towel onto the table and grabbing an antiseptic wipe. “You were trying to piss me off too, and congratulations — it worked. But that doesn’t mean you get to play the jealous boyfriend when I turn the tables.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” he said, though the lie was so transparent it almost made you laugh.

“Sure, you weren’t,” you said sarcastically, dabbing at the cut on his cheek.

His hand shot up, grabbing your wrist and stilling your movements. “Why does it bother you so much, then?”

You froze, your breath catching as his eyes bore into yours.

“It doesn’t,” you said weakly, but even you didn’t believe it.

His grip tightened, his voice dropping to a near-growl. “Liar.”

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you said, your voice trembling.

“Not until you stop running,” he shot back, his frustration boiling over. “You think this is just about sex? You think I’d care who you kissed if I didn’t give a shit about you?”

Your chest tightened, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“This—us—it’s a mess,” you said finally, your voice breaking. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”

Rafe sighed, his grip loosening as he leaned back, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe we don’t need to fix it,” he said quietly. “Maybe we just need to stop pretending it doesn’t matter.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Because deep down, you knew he was right.

A week had passed, but the tension hadn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it had grown heavier, thicker, stretching between you and Rafe like an unspoken dare. You’d avoided him since the party, throwing yourself into anything that would keep your mind off the bruises on his knuckles and the heat in his eyes when he’d pinned you with that question: Why does it bother you so much?

But Rafe was impossible to ignore. He always had been.

You were perched on a lounge chair by the pool at another Kook party – this one at Kelce’s place – pretending to listen to Topper as he rambled on about some stupid surf trip. The music thudded in the background, people laughing and shouting, but your focus was elsewhere.

Because Rafe was here.

He was leaning against the bar, a beer in hand, his expression unreadable as his gaze flicked to you for what had to be the tenth time that night. He looked the same as always — perfectly put together, the bruises from the fight almost faded. But there was something different in the way he was watching you.

It wasn’t just casual interest or playful teasing. It was heat. Frustration. Possession.

You looked away quickly, your stomach twisting.

“You okay?” Topper asked, raising a brow.

“Fine,” you lied, forcing a smile.

“Good, because we’re doing shots.” He grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the bar before you could protest. Topper and his damn shots.

And just like that, you were standing next to Rafe, the air between you charged and suffocating. You had to bite your tongue to don’t ask where his new pogue pet was. You had inflamed his ego just enough last time.

“Want one, Cameron?” Topper asked, oblivious to the way you and Rafe were studiously avoiding looking at each other.

Rafe smirked, his eyes flicking to you briefly before he grabbed a shot. “Why not?”

You reached for yours, your hand brushing his briefly. It was enough to send a jolt through you, and you hated the way your body reacted, even after everything.

“Cheers!” Topper shouted, and you all knocked back the shots.

The burn of tequila was a welcome distraction, but it wasn’t enough to dull the way Rafe’s eyes stayed on you, even as you turned away.

Later that night, you found yourself alone in the kitchen, searching for water to ease the heat in your chest. The party was still going strong, the chaos outside muffled by the thick glass doors.

“Can’t stay away, can you?”

The sound of his voice made you freeze, your hand tightening around the water bottle you’d just grabbed. You didn’t have to turn around to know he was standing in the doorway, his presence filling the room like it always did.

“What do you want, Rafe?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended as you turned to face him.

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? What do you want?”

Your jaw tightened, your frustration bubbling over. “I want you to stop playing these stupid games,” you snapped. “You act like you care, but then you go around kissing Sofia or picking fights with random guys like some jealous psycho.”

His smirk faded, his expression hardening. “And you act like you don’t care at all,” he shot back, stepping closer. “Like none of this matters. Like I don’t matter.”

“You’re my best friend. Of course you matter,” you said, the words felt wrong even as they left your mouth. He wasn’t just your best friend at this point — you were sure friends didn’t do half of the things you’ve done.

“Bullshit,” he said, his voice low and dangerous as he crowded into your space.

You glared up at him, your chest heaving. “What do you want me to say, Rafe? That I’m scared? That I don’t know what the hell I’m doing? That I don’t want to lose the only person who—”

You cut yourself off, swallowing the rest of the sentence, but it was too late. The words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

His jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides like he was holding himself back. “You’re not gonna lose me,” he said finally, his voice softer but no less intense. “But you’re gonna drive me fucking insane if you keep pushing me away.”

“I’m not pushing you away,” you argued, though the words felt weak even to you.

“You are,” he said, his voice rising. “Every time I get close, you run. And I’m done chasing you, alright? You want this to mean nothing? Fine. But don’t stand here and tell me you don’t feel it, because I know you do.”

You stared at him, your pulse racing, your walls crumbling under the weight of his words.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes softened, his hand reaching out to cup your face. “Then let me show you,” he said, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

You didn’t respond, but you didn’t pull away either. And when he kissed you, it wasn’t rough or angry like before. It was slow, deliberate, filled with all the things neither of you had been able to say.

And for the first time, you let yourself kiss him back without fear or worry. Just you and him, in the quiet chaos of everything you couldn’t run from anymore.

[eminella]

not going to even try and write this in the tags because tumblr has a stupid freaking word count on tags, so ok, anyway

this was so freaking good, so well written, AAA, im screaming

“dude, don’t you have any rizz?”

literally recoiled from my phone and gagged

Gojo you are so stupid i love you

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.

this is great subtility

kudos to you OP

“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—”

so real on the manwha part

sighhh

“are you one of those girls?”

Omg YES

YES GOJO

PLEASE SIGN SIGN HERE

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.

AAAAAA

SO CUTE

SO ROMANTIC AAAA

I LOVE SPIDERMAN MASK KISSES 😭😭😭

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. 

i love their relationship

ugh, young love

im obsessed with their dynamic

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.

AHAHAHA

i love this

(i know I've said that ^ a bunch of times but i really mean it OP)

“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.”

hehehe

love my boys all desperate and pathetic

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?”

ugh this bastard

hate him

(gojo i love you)

infect me with your love

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

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

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

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

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

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

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.

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

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

that is, until gojo satoru.

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

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

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

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

but then, the door creaks open behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…what can i get you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and yet, here you are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you said to surprise you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“you know, i didn’t get your name.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i really can’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“as you wish.”

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

you’ve seen him before.

okay, pause.

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

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

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

alright, pause over. back to now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“nice hit, by the wa—”

“it’s you!” you exclaim. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“let me get that for you.”

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

gojo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

that day at starbucks, though.

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

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

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

what was it again?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no.”

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

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

“how is it complicated?”

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

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

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

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

“well, when you put it like that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

“rough night?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“from?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you should do that more,” he said.

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

“laugh.”

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

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

“is that right?”

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

“what?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“take my mask off.”

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

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

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

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

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

“gojo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you trust me, don’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“and yet, you’re still here.”

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

“guess i’m curious,” you admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“phys401,” you reply with a resigned sigh, flopping back onto your bed. “this problem set is impossible.”

satoru smirks, peeling off his gloves and mask and plopping down beside you. “let me see.”

acquiescing, you hand over your notebook, watching as he scans your work with intent, eyebrows scrunching as he tries to understand the statement to prove. he makes a few thoughtful noises, before grabbing a pen and scribbling something down. “here,” he says after a moment, “you’re overcomplicating this step. instead of doing the tensor product you did, you could just make this zero by taking an inner product, since they’re orthogonal states. the rest will fall into place.”

you squint at his messy, rushed handwriting, and sure enough, the proof seems to come together. “how are you so good at this?” 

“physics prodigy, remember?” he teases, leaning back on his hands as he lays down on your bed.

“thanks for the help,” you say softly, your eyes lingering on him a beat too long. he’s kind of dreamy, you think. the moonlight filters across your window, giving his platinum hair a sheen as his cerulean eyes look into yours with kindness. 

his smirk fades, replaced by something softer, something unspoken. “anytime.” he then makes a show of stretching out his limbs, purposely bumping into you with one eye open smugly to observe your reaction, to which you glare at him. he spots your notebook, picks it up, and flips through it. “you know, for someone who complains so much about phys401, you’re not half bad at it,” he teases, scribbling something in the margin of your notes by grabbing a stray pen next to him.  

you roll your eyes, shifting so you’re cross-legged on the bed, facing him. “not all of us are physics prodigies, satoru. some of us actually have to work hard.”  

he chuckles, handing the notebook back to you. “hard work is overrated when you can just charm your way through everything.”  

you snort and joke, “if charm was all it took, i’d have aced the midterm.”  

there’s a beat of silence as you glance down at his notes. he’s corrected a mistake you hadn’t even noticed, and his scrawled proof flows so effortlessly it makes you a little envious. “how do you do that?” you ask, more to yourself than him.  

“do what?”  

“make it look so… easy,” you say, frowning slightly. “everything. physics, life, swinging through the city.”  

satoru leans back on his palms, his smirk softening. “trust me, it’s not as easy as it looks.”  

you glance up at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. “what do you mean?”  

he shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in the way his gaze flickers away from yours. “i mean, everyone sees the guy with the jokes and the perfect test scores, but no one sees the late nights or the bruises.” he gestures vaguely to his chest, where you know the bruises from his spider-man escapades hide. “guess i’m just good at pretending.”  

you sit with his words, the weight of them settling between you. “you don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” you say softly.  

his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the mask—the real one—drops. “i know,” he says, just as softly.  

the air between you feels heavier, like the world has shrunk to just the two of you. you’re hyper-aware of how close he is, the faint smell of the night clinging to him, the way his knee brushes against yours.  

“thanks,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “for letting me be here. for…” he trails off, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up.  

your breath catches. “satoru…”  

“yeah?” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice lower now.  

“i…” you trail off, not even sure what you were going to say.  

he leans closer, and it feels like everything around you stills. his hand finds its way to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “can i?” he asks, his voice barely audible.  

you nod, and then his lips are on yours.  

the kiss starts tentative, almost shy, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. it deepens, his hand sliding to your waist as you pull him closer. the tension that had been building for weeks—months, maybe—finally snaps, leaving nothing but heat and want in its wake.  

his weight presses you back into the bed, and you can feel his heart racing against yours as he pins you to the bed, now on top of you. his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and as his thumb traces shapes into your circle and closer to more sensitive areas, a sigh escapes you.  

that’s when he freezes.  

he pulls back, his breathing uneven, his eyes wide and filled with something like fear. “we can’t,” he says, his voice hoarse.  

your heart drops into your chest.

“why not?” you ask, trying to catch your breath.  

“because,” he says, sitting up and running a hand through his hair and he’s heaving. “because i’m spider-man, and you—” he breaks off, looking anywhere but at you. “you deserve better than this. better than me.”  

you sit up, pulling your shirt back into place and looking at him, hurt. “that’s not your call to make, satoru.”  

“i’m trying to protect you!” he says, his voice rising in agitation. he sits back onto his heels, raking a hand through his hair as he looks at the ceiling, as if in pain.

you can’t believe him. his self-righteousness irritates you to no end, especially after you’ve bared your soul, and now your body to him, something you considered intimate. you feel conflicted—whatever you had, it didn’t have a label. but that didn’t mean that you didn’t want that to be true. badly.

“and who asked you to?” you snap back. “i’m not some damsel in distress who needs saving.”  

“i know that,” he says, his tone softening. “but if something happened to you because of me…” he shakes his head. “i couldn’t live with that.”  

the anger bubbling in your chest boils over, and you snap. “so what? you’re just going to walk away? after everything?”  

he stands, his expression pained. “i’m sorry,” he says, heading for the window.  

“don’t you dare apologize,” you say, your voice trembling as you stand by the foot of your bed, hating how your eyes brim with tears. “if you leave, don’t bother coming back.”  

he pauses, his hand on the window frame, before glancing back at you. “i’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time, before slipping out into the night.  

the window clicks shut behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence, the ache in your chest threatening to swallow you whole. 

…

the whir of the espresso machine and the gentle hum of background music fill the mostly empty starbucks, the occasional customer wandering in like clockwork. it’s a quiet shift, the kind you’d usually relish—except today, the quiet only makes the knot in your chest tighten.

you’re stationed behind the counter, staring blankly at the milk steamer as it hisses, lost in your thoughts. that is, until utahime’s voice breaks through.

“alright, spill,” she says, leaning her elbows on the counter beside you.

you glance at her, eyebrows raised. “spill what?”

utahime rolls her eyes, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “oh, please. you look like someone stole your favorite pen and broke it in half. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you lie, turning back to the steamer. “i’m fine.”

utahime’s skeptical gaze bores into you. “you’re a terrible liar. nanami, back me up.”

from his spot at a nearby table, nanami looks up from his book, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto you. “it’s boy trouble,” he says flatly, like he’s solving an equation.

your head snaps toward him, a glare already forming. “excuse me?”

“it’s obvious,” he says, setting his book down and regarding you with his usual piercing gaze. “you’re distracted, you look upset—it’s boy trouble.”

utahime perks up, leaning closer. “wait, is he right? is this about a guy?”

you let out a groan, leaning your elbows on the counter. “can you two not gang up on me right now?”

“so it is a guy,” utahime says, her tone turning smug.

“i didn’t say that,” you retort, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

nanami raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. “you might as well just tell us. it’s not like we’re going to let it go.”

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “fine. it’s… someone i liked. someone i thought liked me too. but he freaked out and said it was too…dangerous to keep going.”

utahime frowns, her curiosity replaced by concern while kento snorts. “dangerous? what does that even mean?”

“that’s what i’d like to know,” you say bitterly, the frustration bubbling up as you speak. “he acts like he cares, but the second things get serious, he bolts. like i’m some fragile thing that can’t handle it.”

nanami leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “he might not be scared of you. he could be scared of what it means for him. of responsibility and commitment. some people run when they feel too much.”

utahime nods, her hand resting gently on your arm. “whatever his problem is, it’s not fair to you. if he can’t get it together, that’s on him, not you.”

you glance between them, the weight of their words settling in your chest. “i know that,” you say quietly. “it just… sucks.”

“of course it does,” utahime says, her voice soft but firm. “but you’re not the problem here. don’t let him make you think you are.”

nanami picks up his book again but pauses before opening it. “and don’t let him live rent-free in your head. if he can’t see what he’s giving up, that’s his loss.”

their support feels grounding, like a steady hand in the middle of a storm. you manage a small smile, nodding. “thanks, guys.”

“anytime,” utahime says, flashing you a reassuring grin. nanami simply nods, returning to his book but keeping an eye on you like always. for the first time all week since gojo left your room, the heaviness in your chest feels a little lighter.

…

the knock at your window is faint, almost timid, but it jolts you out of your daze. you sit up in bed, your heart pounding as your eyes dart toward the window. it’s late—so late it’s early—and for a moment, you think you imagined it. you hate to admit it, but because of your boy troubles you haven’t been able to sleep all week. you’re also no stranger to imagining ants crawling up your body or phantom noises, so you adjust in your bed, trying to go back to sleep.

then it comes again, a little louder this time.

you throw off the blanket and pad over, the chill of the floor biting at your bare feet. when you pull the curtain aside, your breath catches.

satoru.

he’s crouched outside, his suit torn in places and soaked with blood. his head lolls slightly, like he’s barely holding himself up, and when he lifts his gaze to meet yours, it’s tired and pleading.

you don’t think—there’s no time for that. you unlatch the window and shove it open, reaching out to help him inside. “satoru, oh my god,” you breathe, your voice shaking.

“hey,” he mutters, his grin weak but still so unmistakably him. “sorry for the mess.”

“shut up,” you snap, guiding him onto your bed and setting him down with gentle hands, ones that contrast your tone with him. “what the hell happened?”

“nothing i couldn’t handle,” he says, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter and flashes you a sheepish smile. “you should see the other guy.”

“you’re bleeding everywhere, satoru. you clearly didn’t handle it.” you grab your first aid kit from under the bed and yank it open, your hands trembling.

“i’ve had worse,” he murmurs, but his bravado is thin, cracking at the edges.

“stop talking,” you say, your voice trembling and cracking. “just—just stop.”

for once, you thank the gods that he listens.

you work quickly, cutting away the shredded fabric of his suit and cleaning the worst of the wounds. it’s not pretty—his torso is littered with bruises and gashes, the kind that make your stomach turn—but you keep your focus.

when you press a disinfectant-soaked pad to a particularly deep cut, he hisses, his hand flying to grab your wrist.

“sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him with a tender look in your eyes. his expression matches yours, and your faces are so close to each other that you can’t bear it anymore, going back to your work.

his fingers loosen but don’t let go, his grip warm and grounding. “you’re good at this,” he says softly, his voice rough.

“yeah, well,” you mutter, ducking your head to avoid his gaze. “you’ve given me plenty of practice.”

the silence stretches as you finish bandaging him up. when you’re done, you sit back, your hands still trembling as you place them in your lap. “you’re an idiot,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

he laughs, soft and hoarse. “yeah. i get that a lot from this girl i know.”

you look up at him, and the weight of everything—his injuries, his secret, the distance he tried to put between you—crashes over you. “you can’t keep doing this, satoru. you can’t keep pushing me away just to show up like this.”

his smile fades, replaced by something raw and unguarded. “i know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i know, but…”

“but what?” you demand, your voice cracking. “you’re spider-man? you think that’s an excuse to keep shutting me out?”

“it’s not an excuse,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair, matted with even more blood. his or someone else’s, you’re not sure. “it’s a reason. i don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“you think i’m not already hurting?” you snap, the anger bubbling to the surface yet again. “you think it doesn’t kill me to see you like this and know i can’t do anything to stop it?”

his eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like a little boy, lost and unsure. it is then that it hits you that he’s just twenty. a college student, not someone who’s wanted by the cia or someone who’s battled terrorists. for fucks sake, he can’t even legally drink. 

and your heart can’t help but melt as he says, “i just… i don’t want to lose you.”

“then stop trying to,” you say, your voice softer now. “stop pretending like you’re protecting me by keeping me at arm’s length. let me in, satoru.”

he stares at you, his breath hitching like he’s holding back a thousand words. then, in a rush, he closes the distance between you, his hands cradling your face as he presses his forehead to yours.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry.”

you exhale shakily, your hands finding their way to his wrists. “just stop being an idiot, okay? stop trying to do this alone.”

he nods, his grip tightening like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “i promise,” he says, and for the first time, you believe him.

…

a cramp gripping satoru’s entire leg is what wakes him up. 

he winces in memory of the injury; one of those stupid terrorists had too good of an aim, grazing his leg while he was mid-air. it hurts like a bitch now, and he moves to lay on his back, until something stops him. roses.

he looks, bleary eyed, to you. the floral scent coming from you, making him dizzy. his body cocooning yours. 

you both unconsciously moved in your sleep so that you were spooning, your fragrant hair, soft from shampooing, tickling his throat with your ass in his crotch.

nestled right against his morning wood.

good fucking lord, he groans to himself, then starts to panic because if you wake up and realize he had a raging hard-on while you were sleeping, you would definitely think he was a creep. he’s already on thin fucking ice. so naturally, he starts to recite the star spangled banner while trying to will his boner away.

oh, say can you see—

to no avail, because you huff softly in your sleep, soft and warm body unconsciously leaning back to grind your ass against his lap, turning his dick to steel.

“oh, fuck,” he curses out loud, using his hand to cover the lower half of his face and clench his eyes shut. you feel so sweet, innocently adjusting while he can’t even control his lust for you.

but once the grind seems to continue for a bit too long, more than what can be chalked up as adjusting in your sleep, he peers down at you. you’re awake. 

and because satoru’s selfish, his hands creep up your tank top, settling on your bare stomach, where he knew you were ticklish. as a result, you wiggle, and he uses this opportunity to pull you even closer to him, right up against him. 

“baby,” he says, making his voice all deep and sighs on purpose, just to be unfair to you. “is this okay?”

you whine, and he settles his face in your hair, the strands of it tickling his skin as he inhales in the scent of you. “i thought it was a dream.”

he smiles into your hair. you make him feel like sunshine incarnate, and the rush he’s getting right now is akin to the one he gets jumping off the empire state building. “no, this is very real.”

“hm,” and you continue to drag your ass into him, murmuring in a soft voice that makes him want to take you right there and then, “it still feels like a dream. like you’re not real, right now.”

oh, what he would do to make you say his name in that same voice; he wants to whisper all the things he wants to do to you right now. “i know, baby. you feel like a dream.” his hands continue to slide up and up your torso, groaning at your sharp intake as he gently fondles the softness of your breasts. 

you overwhelm his senses, teasing him, and when you let out a whine of his name, satoru snaps.

“i’m going to make you feel good right now. tell me if it’s a fucking dream,” he grits out, ignoring whatever cramps that were screaming at him to get on top of you. 

you gasp out a “satoru,” wriggling in his grasp, and he can’t take it anymore. he brings up one of his hands. shoots a web that lands right on your left hand. then your right hand.

satoru just tied you up using his webs.

you look at him in whatever version of shock you can muster in your tired state. “satoru, what the—” but you’re muffled, because he’s kissing you, hard, roving his hands up and down your body and grabbing whatever he can as if he’s devouring you while making out with you.

“do you know,” and his eyes flash dangerously while looking down at yours, “how you’ve teased me with these shorts?” his hands trails down to the waistband of the offending piece of clothing, pulling it to make it snap against your skin. you jump, looking at satoru desperately, who’s left you bare at his mercy, subject to his super human strength as he grabs your shorts with both his hands again. “every fucking time i’ve sneaked up in to your room, it’s been so hard to not fuck you senseless in these flimsy things. it’s only fair you pay the price, right baby?”

it’s not like you have anything to answer him with, having lost all brain cells being fucked out like this. he pulls them down, and if he had laser vision, he would have stared through your panties long ago, eyes fixated on the crotch that was nearly translucent with the amount of slick going through it. burying his face right in between your thighs, he noses at your cunt before groaning. then, he uses his teeth to grab onto the middle and pull. until your pussy is bare to him.

“oh, fuck you’re so pretty,” he curses, lapping at your sweetness. his tongue roves up and down your folds, and if your hands could, they would be pulling at his hair solely because you were so sensitive. but you were trapped, thighs gripped in his strong hands and your arms trapped by his ultra-strong webs. “my good girl.”

then, you feel pressure at your opening. “sato—” you squeal but are immediately interrupted by your own moan as he curls his long, thick fingers, eyes observing your every movement as you squirm, electric shocks running up and down your body as he hits your spot dead-on.

and he notices, because the motherfucker chuckles. “oh, so that’s the spot, huh?” he purrs, visibly pleased as he memorizes it and abuses it, hitting it with every stroke. you barely notice him add one finger, add two fingers as he starts to suck on your clit. overwhelmed with pleasure, you’re only brought back to reality when he rips all contact away from you.

“what—” you mumble mindlessly, until you see what he’s doing. he pulls his sweatpants down. and he’s not wearing boxers, so you drool when his cock springs out, leaking copiously and hard. without taking his eyes off you, he pumps it to its fullest length, and you’re just staring in awe at its sheer length.

“what’re you looking at, baby?” he teases, using his hand to wiggle his cock in front of your face to mock you. “want it so bad, isn’t that right?”

you glare at him half-heartedly, but whine regardless. “just put it in, gojo.”

“oh,” and he flashes you a smile that makes a big danger sign in red flash across your mind. “it’s gojo, now is it?”

 “satoru,” there are tears brimming in the corner of your eyes, the ones that make satoru even more aroused at your want, “please. i need it.”

a boyish grin and a forehead kiss that has you reeling at his duality. “anything for my woman in stem.” with that, he pushes in, both of your eyes rolling back as his cock is engulfed by your gummy walls. soon after, he starts thrusting, desperation fueling both of you as you cross your legs behind gojo’s back, the deeper angle making his thighs shake while fucking into you. 

he grabs your face, gives you a tender kiss. “fuck, i love this pussy. so sweet for me.” 

you give him a wanton moan in return as he continues to thrust deep, tender strokes into you. “satoru, ‘m not gonna last long.” with the amount of foreplay he’s done alongside how sensitive you are, you’re steadily reaching your orgasm already, and with the way satoru’s now tightly gripping the sheets beside you while thrusting inside you, he is too.

wet squelching noises echoes across the room, and you know the neighbors can hear the obscene plap! plap! plap! coming from skin meeting skin, your hips against his. he buries his face into your neck, panting at your ear until he uses his hand to wrench your face towards his.

“i love you,” he groans, forcing your eyes to meet his. “i love you forever and will do so. so you can’t break my heart,” and he’s desperately thrusting again, “and you can’t leave me. please.”

at his confession, you break, back arching as you also squeal out a iloveyou while gasping loudly, hips rolling to rise against his as he fucks you through your orgasm. quickly, his thrusts veer into overstimulation and you whine. “toru.” he takes one look at your state—face impossibly flushed, hands tied, and pussy absolutely engulfing his cock, and his orgasm hits him like a truck, making him gasp and bend and break as he goes to heaven and back with the aftershocks of your orgasm making your pussy clench around him so beautifully. his cum enters you in hot spurts, making you exhale sharply at the feeling as he comes down from his orgasm, collapsing next to you.

for a few minutes, heavy breathing fills the room, both of you catching your breaths. until satoru breaks the silence. “so, what’s it like to fuck a superhero?”

you take one look at him—all smug and propped up on his elbow—and spidey sense be damned as you try grab a pillow. key word is try because you’re then wrenched back with a reminder that you’re still bound. “satoru,” and you give him a sickly sweet smile, the one that he knows means he’s in trouble, “when are these going to dissolve?”

and satoru pretends to be deep in thought, but you can see him trying to inch off the bed slowly, as if to escape your wrath after his answer. “uhm…maybe five hours?”

if it weren’t for the damn spidey sense that he had, he wouldn’t have been able to escape the swing of your legs as you looked at him murderously. “satoru gojo you will unhand me from these webs this instant—-“

“i don’t know,” he shrugs, shit eating grin in his face. “you look kinda sexy in bed like this. mad at me.” but when your eyes flash with anger, he hiccups nervously, telltale of the fact he won’t mess with you.

“i hate you,” you groan out, pouting like a petulant child while you glare at the ceiling.

 satoru comes close to you to bend at his waist and give you a forehead kiss. “no, you don’t.” 

you give him a pointed glare, telling him not to be testy. “clean me up. now.”

at your expression, his eyes widen in fear and he salutes. “anything for you, ma’am.”

at his retreating form, you giggle and sigh to yourself. you never would’ve known that spider-man would be the one fetching a clean up rag for you after fucking the shit out of you, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

when satoru comes back, he cleans you up, tenderly, as if he is afraid that you will break. you’re a little drowsy when he returns to you, but he doesn’t dare try to wake you up when he hears little breaths from your nose indicating you’ve fallen asleep. after he finishes his job, he admires your features.

satoru lingers for a moment, his gaze softening as he watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest. the weight of his responsibilities presses on him, as it always does, but tonight, it feels heavier—like a tether pulling him between the life he’s chosen and the life he craves.

you, so peaceful in sleep, represent something fragile, something precious. and that terrifies him. because what if he fails? what if the cost of being spider-man is losing the one thing that feels real?

still, he knows he can’t walk away—not from this city, not from you. with a deep breath, he leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead, a silent promise lingering in his chest.

“i’ll keep you safe,” he murmurs, barely audible. “no matter what.”

instead of leaving, satoru settles down beside you, careful not to disturb your rest. the city can wait, just for a little while. for now, he wraps an arm around you, grounding himself in the warmth of your presence. as your breathing evens out against him, he lets his own eyes drift shut, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifting. today, he chooses to stay.

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

a/n ok if you're ever curious what being fucked in the ass with a wooden dildo no lube is like, just try to write this fic or any longfic. it's 4am, this a/n is short and unintelligble just like most of this fic but it's been a journey, im very sentimental because of this fic and i hope you guys like it. ok im going to pass out so pls ignore all typos xoxo but please flood my inbox im excited to see yalls reactions when i wake up

plspls pls comment and reblog!!!

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@honeynanamin @obsessgurlll @starrnai @herefor-tojis-tits @ramonathinks

@creamflix

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 29/10✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@xyuki-iris ha chiesto: I LOVE YOU'RE ART ALSO GOOD FOOD But I have a what if What if Redson found Mk having a panic attack over something serious about him being Trans.

Ouch poor baby Red Son would totally support MK and try to calm him down

@ashmeertheimp ha chiesto: First of all your story is glorious and congrats on getting lmk at the very top. Second does Mk want to work on his relationship with Nuwa. I think Nuwa did truly love Mk but she also loved everyone else on earth equally. Mk has forgiven Mac who actually made an effort to hurt Mk (past mistakes) while Nuwa was opposed but still didn't stop Mk from not fixing the pillar of heaven.

I always felt like after S5 his relationship with Nuwa is similar to the one Steven had with Rose after S5 of SU. So it's- complicated

@audioandart ha chiesto: mayhaps a silly question, but towards the very start of the mk shadow peach stuff when mk first shadows into the wall. He says "why is everything *more* flat". Is this implying he already sees the world as 2d the way we do or am I perhaps missing something? 😅 (I love your work! Have a good day 🫰)

ahah yeah I was!!

@fake-anjel ha chiesto: Your comic makes me stay awake at night thinking of the next cap, making theories and making imaginary scenarios and imaginary gacha reactions to them for some reason. I was wondering... If Wukong and Macaque have a child (hypothetically, and by the biological way) wich one would be the oven for the bun? You have a fan from Brazil<3

Well, I would say Wukong, but here comes the question: a Stone Monkey, born from a stone, would be able to reproduce themself? There are no other like the four celestial primates and MK, so I would assume that they weren't able to- reproduce normally. Also if they would does it mean the womb is a stone as well???

@sollythesalt ha chiesto: Just asking if Wukong is trans do his female organs also count as part of his un-glamored form or does he stay with his male ones when he drops his glamour? Also what does his glamour include in your au just out of curiosity?

No under the glamour and shapeshift he still has female organs

@dandy-doodles ha chiesto: I'm VICIOUSLY consuming your comic rn - It actually came across my feed from a reblog. Never watched the show before. Loved the comic so much I binged the entire series and now I'm sat with the task of reading JTTW. This hyperfixation is your fault I love you for it. @ivoronical ha chiesto: Hi! I don’t know how tumblrs asks work because I’ve never used them before, but just wanted to say that your art is ✨fabulous✨ and you’re shadowpeach bio parents au has convinced me to rewatch the show entirely. It’s also made Macaque one of my favorite characters and because of that I am halfway through making a cosplay of him completely from scratch and I’m very excited to finish it:) Anyways I’ve rambled enough. Have a nice day!!! @starzz-twi ha chiesto: Can I just say how much I adore your art! It inspires so much that I might try drawing lmk again 🫶🫶🫶🫶 @artemismoorea03 ha chiesto: I hope you know that your Bio Parents AU fills every waking moment. I swear I only get on Tumblr anymore to see if you've posted something. I eat up any art you post regardless of what fandom it is and I just have to tell you that your art tastes like a blue raspberry icee (the best kind). I hope you're having a fantastic day ♡

AWWW TYSM TO ALL OF YOU!!!!

@sakuralotus03 ha chiesto: What will family gatherings be like now that MK has 4 parents? Like his birthday or end-of-year celebrations. I want to see more of the dynamics of the 4 parents interacting and talking about their one and only child.🐷🤓☀️🌙

oH CHAOTIC INDEED

Anonimo ha chiesto: How does it feel to be one of those artists that like 70% of the fandom knows about

wait is that a random number or???

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will we maybe see Macaque interact with Bai He or Mei?? (I'm starved of DarkHorse/EnderDragon/NightFlare Duo and Raspberry/Black Cat Duo) But I am interested if you might make them interact! :D Anyways, I love how your art got better by each comic, you can see the improvement from the slight sharpness of the shapes in the first comics and the now softer lines.

mmmmm I will maybe I'll do some small scenes

Anonimo ha chiesto: Past Wukong working out: I'ma get so strong. Ain't no one beating me Present Wukong working out: I'ma be so good at hugging my son and husband.

AWWWWWW WHAT A GOOD BABA!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hello! I wanted to ask if we'll see just how sensitive Macaque's hearing is in your Au in a future comic maybe? Like... a thunderstorm happens or something when he's around FFM watching Mk and Wukong train or something that affects his hearing badly? But either way, love your art and style! :)

mmmm don't know if I have a scene planned for that...

Anonimo ha chiesto: Does Wukong and Macaque know about the other 2 Celstial Primates, Red-Hoarse Baboon and Lomg-Armed Gibbon, in your Bio Shadowpeach parents au?

I think so? In JTTW he knew so I would assume the same?

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will Macaque use his future vision at any time again in this comic? We now know in this Au he hasn't used it in years. But maybe will he use it again soon? I bet he won't but I still wanted to ask :)

not unless he is forced to

Anonimo ha chiesto: I’ve been listening to a song from a Pokémon movie: Always Safe by Cynthia, and I think of the Shadowpeach bioparents Au everytime

AWW that's beautiful the lyrics omg!!!

@notjustonefandom1 ha chiesto: So, I've been thinking about MK's staff. After he got it do you think he develops a habit of clasping his hands together, especiallywhen stressed or threatened? With the fluidity and energy he moves with, I think it would take a while for him yo find a chance to Summon the staff, especially if he isn't fast at it yet, so he just starts keeping his hands pressed together in preparation.

ooooohhh that's a cool idea!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Where does the Macaque has white fur head canon come from? I'm new to this fandom and I'm still learning things and I see it everywhere

I honestly have no idea but I guess either because Japanese Macaque are white furred or bc he died.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Ok so this may be a sensitive topic and definitely doesn't need to be answered so TW Did mk ever go through a depression thing after trying to die to save the universe in the last season in your au? A in like what if Wukong and Mac find out he used to SH?

hish. I'm not probably the right person to answer this. Probably he did had depression tendencies but didn't recognize them until someone pointed them out.

Anonimo ha chiesto: This ask os Going to be a little weird But Can I See Macaque Pining Wukong on the wall?In a Flirty way?(pretty Please?) I love Your Art so much!👑❤️‍🔥💎

Ouh.. *cleans forehead from sweat* is getting hot in here... maybe?

@autism-autobot ha chiesto: Wukong: OH BUDDHA, HE CALLED ME BABA!!!!! (SCREAMS WITH JOY) What DBK heard over the phone with his brother: OH andhdbrjjsm (feral monkey screeching)

Poor DBK gotta deal with the gossip now

@alastair-1205 ha chiesto: OMG THE MOST RECENT PART IM CRYING But I also love how Mac's first instinct is just grabbing Wukong and being like: "get out of hearing range before we freak out, get out of hearing range before we freak out, get out of-" you know? It's very funny but also builds on past comics since they woke MK up last time smth like this happened and I'm just !!!!!

GOTTA MAKE THE BABY SLEEP

@eerieqloss ha chiesto: OSISJJWJSJSJWWN OKAY WAIT SO IS MK GONNA START CALLING THEM MAMA AND BABA INSTEAD OF THEIR NAMES CONTINUALLY OR WAS IT JUST THAT ONE TIME

It wont be a one time!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I hope you are resting as you should Always remember to take your time, rest first, then work, ofc as far as possible 😅. I have a fun question (if you have the time ofc 👉🏻👈🏻): will we see Feral MK again? But you know, like another kind of "demonic learning" that maybe wukong or Mac will teach him to control or see that it's not bad as it looks

For now i want my baby to either be happy or traumatized not angry.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I feel like i remember you asking about happier shadowpeach songs for your playlist, but I can't find the post anymore. But if you're still looking, Livingston's new song Glow reminds me of them and also made me think about the eclipse scenes in the comic.

Several of Livingston's other songs also give me shadowpeach vibes, but I think about them so much that I might just be seeing them everywhere at this point.

Oooh true a lot of his song fits really well!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: This is the only instance where having a kid really did bring a couple together.

TRUE LMAO

Anonimo ha chiesto: Soo...Wukong and Mac in the DBK Palace I have a question in my mind!!!! Actually I hope you to see it and draw it.. if you don't wanna it's okay! What if DBK & PIF flirt with each other or smt like this u know in front of shadowpeach?! They will probably look to each other and then blushing hard

HAHAHHA poor souls they would totally think of wanting to kiss each other but can't because they are emotionally constipated.

[tiiraameesu]

The One That Got Away Pt.4

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

Synopsisજ⁀➴ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojo’s aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotions—unsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojo’s side, or if it’s time to move on.

tagsજ⁀➴ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, eventual friends to lovers (maybe), gojo is dumb af, you might dislike gojo in this im sorry, very very mild geto x reader

NOTESજ⁀➴ hope y'all enjoy the new chapter! appreciate all the comments and messages I've gotten so far for my last few chapters! makes me soooo excited to post even more and more! so sorry for the late upload though, school has been CRAZY and i was lowkey spiraling because of this new guy i was talking to but yeah ENJOYYY ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

wcજ⁀➴ 7.5k

taglineજ⁀➴ @kaemaybae @laviefantasie @higuchislut @domilovestoru @aishies-stuff @genxnarumi @username23345 PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

Two weeks had passed, and Gojo Satoru was a ghost in your life. Not literally, of course—his presence was hard to miss, especially since you still caught glimpses of him with Mina—but the days when he’d linger outside your band practice or wait for you by the bleachers during his hockey drills were long gone.

Instead, his world seemed to orbit around Mina now. He was always meeting her, whether before or after his own practice. The few times you had decided to sit in the bleachers and watch him, hoping he’d wave you over for a laugh or even just a chat, he’d merely sent a casual wave in your direction before rushing to Mina.

By the third time, you decided he wouldn’t miss your absence. Mina was there to take your place.

Now, here you were, stuck in the middle of band practice. The studio walls felt too tight today, and even though the air was filled with the rhythmic clash of drums, the heavy hum of the bass, and the soaring melody of your guitar, the energy in your chest was mismatched.

Your phone sat on the edge of the amp, its screen glaring at you with an all-too-familiar sight: an unread message to Gojo. Delivered. Not even read.

It stung more than you cared to admit, but you knew better than to let it show. You didn’t own him. He didn’t owe you anything.

You shook the thought from your head as the band kicked into another song. This time, you focused.

The song flowed easily under your fingers, each note falling into place with effortless precision. Your hands moved like they had a mind of their own, strumming, pressing, and pulling out the right chords without a second thought.

You hit every note perfectly, the rhythm steady, the melody crisp—technically flawless. But something was off. The music, despite its perfection, felt wrong.

Instead of the light, airy feel the song was meant to have, each strum was laced with tension, harsh and biting, like a storm trapped in a song meant for sunshine. The melody should have danced, should have lifted the mood, but instead, it thundered through the room, loud and jagged. Every note you played was sharp, angry, as though you were trying to fight something—only it wasn’t the song you were supposed to be playing anymore.

The guitar hummed with your frustration, but it wasn’t the kind of emotion the song was supposed to evoke. It was heavy. It was out of place. It was angry. And as you continued, the gap between the song and your soul seemed to widen.

“You’re playing too hard,” Choso called over the final note, his drumsticks resting on the snare. His voice cut through the distorted noise of your thoughts, pulling you back to reality, but only slightly.

You lowered your guitar, chest rising and falling with the weight of the tension still clinging to you. His words didn’t quite register at first—until you looked up, meeting his steady gaze. His brow furrowed, and for the briefest second, you could have sworn he saw right through you, saw past the perfect notes and into the tangled mess inside.

“I hit all the notes, didn’t I?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, sharper than you intended. You didn’t want to look weak, but you couldn’t help it. The question hung in the air, a challenge disguised as doubt. Your fingers still tingled from the aggressive strumming, the burn of the misplaced energy lingering.

“You did,” Yu chimed in from the keyboard. “But it’s not… you. It’s like…” He hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Like you’re following a script,” Choso finished, his dark eyes steady on you. “Instead of playing from the heart.”

Their words hit harder than you expected, stirring a frustration you weren’t ready to face. Before you could snap back, your hand slipped during the next strum. The string bit into your finger, sharp and unforgiving.

“Ah, shit,” you muttered, pulling back as blood welled up on your finger.

Iori, who had been watching from her spot near the mic, immediately stepped away, her voice cutting through the tension. “Break time,” she called, her tone more serious than usual. The mic stand clinked softly as she set it down and moved toward you.

You blinked, still reeling from the sting in your finger. The blood dripped slowly, mixing with the burn of your frustration. Iori was already moving toward the back of the room, opening a cabinet for the first aid kit.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice softer now, but still carrying that steady assurance.

You didn’t answer right away, just watched as she grabbed the kit and walked back over. The room felt strangely quiet without the hum of the music, the weight of their words still hanging in the air. Your hand felt heavy, the cut sharp but not unbearable.

Iori knelt in front of you, gently taking your hand in hers. “Let me see.” Her fingers brushed lightly against your skin as she cleaned the wound. It wasn’t painful, but the act was grounding, calming, almost too much after the storm inside you. You had to look away, feeling the sharp edges of your emotions settle, just for a second.

“You really gotta stop playing so hard,” Iori murmured, her gaze flickering up to meet yours. There was a faint smirk on her face, but there was something else too—understanding, maybe. She didn’t press the issue, though. Instead, she simply wrapped the cut with care, her voice softening. “You’re not gonna get anything out of this if you keep forcing it.”

Her words stuck with you, hanging in the air even as she finished tending to your finger. The sharpness of the cut seemed to mirror the tension inside you, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of understanding in the quiet aftermath. You weren’t just playing with your fingers; you were playing with your heart, and it had all gotten twisted up somewhere along the way.

Iori finished wrapping your finger, her hands gentle as she tended to the cut, but you didn’t feel the same sense of calm you usually did when she was around. Everything felt off, jagged, like even the simplest act was just another reminder of how out of sync you were with yourself. She stepped back, giving you some space, but the words she’d said lingered in the air.

The moment stretched, but you barely noticed it, too lost in your own head. Then, from the corner of your eye, you saw Naoya walking over with a drink in hand. He didn’t say anything at first, just tossed you the can like it was a casual gesture, but you could feel his eyes on you—assessing, calculating.

You caught it without looking, but your fingers felt sluggish, the weight of the can nothing compared to the weight you were carrying. You cracked it open slowly, the fizz rising and popping in the quiet. But it didn’t help.

Naoya sat down next to you, his posture as rigid and sharp as always, but his gaze never left you. There was an uncomfortable intensity in the way he studied you, the usual mockery and sharp edges of his smirk replaced by something a little less abrasive.

He leaned back, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if searching for something deeper than the surface.

“What’s bothering you now?” he asked, the words more direct than you expected, his voice stripped of any sarcasm or playfulness. “Last time you were like this was two weeks ago, remember? And I don’t think I need to tell you that you don’t exactly have a good track record when you start shutting down.”

His words hit like a cold splash of water, a reminder of the pattern you were stuck in. You had been here before, trapped inside your head, not sure how to get out. It didn’t matter that this time it felt different—like the frustration wasn’t just with the music anymore, but with everything around you, everything inside you. Naoya knew better than to let you avoid the question.

You didn’t answer right away, running your thumb along the lip of the can absentmindedly. The bubbles inside hissed in your ears, but the sound only reminded you of the noise in your own head.

Then, as the silence stretched, Nanami spoke up from his spot across the room, his usual calm voice cutting through the stillness.

“You know, ignoring it won’t help,” he said, his tone more matter-of-fact than anything else. “Whatever this is, bottling it up just makes it worse. You’re not exactly subtle when something’s eating at you.”

You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t look up, too tangled in the mess of your thoughts. Your mind raced, too much noise in your head to form a solid answer.

“I… I don’t really know,” you said finally, the words slipping out more honestly than you intended. You shook your head, frustration leaking through your voice.

You sat there in silence, the words hanging in the air. The frustration still churned inside you, a gnawing feeling that didn’t seem to go away no matter how many times you tried to shake it off. It wasn’t just the music. It wasn’t just the cut on your finger. It was everything that had been building up inside you, everything that you hadn’t been able to say or figure out.

Gojo. That name echoed in your mind, but even thinking it made your chest tighten, a knot forming deep in your stomach. It was him—his presence, his expectations, the weight of his shadow that seemed to be clouding everything. You couldn’t put it into words, not here, not now. Not in front of them. But damn, you just wished you could hear his voice. Maybe then, things would feel a little clearer. Maybe just hearing him tell you it was going to be okay would make the world feel less heavy.

The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, until you felt a gentle touch on your shoulder. You looked up, surprised to find Iori watching you, her eyes softer than usual, like she could sense the wall you were putting up.

Without a word, she clasped her hands together and stood up, her movements calm and purposeful. “You know what? Let’s call it a night. Why don’t we order some food and just chill? No pressure, no rehearsing. Just take it easy this time around.”

Her words were simple, but the way she said them felt like a release, like an invitation to let go of the tension that had been creeping up in the room.

You felt the weight of your own silence, the words swirling in your chest that you couldn’t quite voice. Maybe you were being unfair, maybe you were letting everything pile up inside you when they didn’t deserve it. The guilt hit you like a wave, and before you could stop it, you found yourself speaking.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what’s been going on with me lately. I’ve been... off, I guess.” The words came out clumsy, but they felt necessary. Like if you could just say them, it might ease the tension that had been building inside you for so long.

The room felt quieter as you looked around, but instead of a wave of understanding or sympathy, Choso’s voice cut through, calm and unfazed.

“Don’t sweat it,” he said with his usual nonchalance, leaning back in his seat. His eyes flickered toward you, but there wasn’t any judgment in them, just an effortless coolness. “Everyone has their moments. No big deal.”

He shrugged, looking more like he couldn’t care less, but the ease in his tone made the guilt inside you settle just a little.

“You’re still here, right? That’s what matters.” His words were blunt, but they had a way of hitting exactly where they needed to. No overthinking, no grand speeches. Just... simple reassurance.

You let out a small breath, realizing that maybe it wasn’t so terrible to be like this every once in a while. You weren’t perfect, and neither were they. And that, for some reason, made it all feel a little more manageable.

“Thanks,” you said, the words lighter now, like a burden had shifted off your shoulders.

Iori gave a small, approving nod as you finally relaxed, her smile soft but reassuring. “So, what are we having?”

────────────────────────────────────────────────────

After the food had been devoured, the room was filled with the casual noise of packing up and cleaning up the last bits of the mess. The rest of the crew had already begun to pack up, their laughter and chatter a distant hum as they gathered their things and said their goodbyes. The studio, once filled with the warmth of conversation and the sound of instruments, now felt quieter. The clock on the wall showed that it was nearing midnight, and everyone was ready to call it a night.

You waved them off, telling them you’d close up the studio. The others didn’t seem to mind, already heading out the door with tired smiles and promises to meet at the next session. As the last of them disappeared down the hallway, you stood there in the silence, the door clicking shut behind them.

The studio was empty now, save for the soft hum of the lights above. You set your bag down on the couch, the familiar weight of it suddenly feeling too much. But instead of heading home like you probably should have, you took a deep breath and made your way over to your instrument.

The band had been more than patient with you, more than understanding as you struggled through each practice, trying and failing to get things right. The pressure had been mounting—the gig was right around the corner, and you still hadn’t found your rhythm. But every time you messed up, they were there with encouraging words, with reassurances that you’d get it, that they knew you could.

A wave of gratitude washed over you as you stood there in the quiet studio, staring at your instrument. They could’ve been frustrated with you. They had every right to be. But instead, they were kind, patient, and supportive, letting you take your time. You couldn’t help but feel guilty for not being better, for not meeting their expectations, for not being as good as they believed you were capable of being.

You let the thoughts settle in your mind, but then, as quickly as they came, you shook them away. There was no point in dwelling on what you couldn’t change right now. What mattered was what came next.

You couldn’t take their patience for granted. You couldn’t let them down again. The gig was coming, and you had to be better.

With a steadying breath, you picked up your instrument. The room seemed to fade around you as you closed your eyes, tuning out everything except the steady pulse of your heartbeat and the strings beneath your fingers.

You began to play, your fingers moving over the strings with a gentler touch than before. The aggression was gone, replaced by a quieter intensity. It felt better, more in tune with the mood you wanted to create, but something was still missing. There was a void, a note that you couldn’t reach, a spark that wouldn’t ignite no matter how many times you strummed. The frustration lingered, swirling inside you, gnawing at your concentration.

And just as the frustration began to settle into something heavier, your phone vibrated sharply against the floor where you had tossed it earlier. Startled, you paused mid-strum and glanced over. The name on the screen caught you off guard.

Gojo.

You stared at the caller ID for a moment, your heart doing an unexpected flutter in your chest. What was he calling for? Was it... was it really him? You hesitated, fingers still lingering on the strings, unsure of whether to pick up or let it go to voicemail.

It had been so long since you’d heard his voice, but you didn’t know if you were ready to face it yet. You knew you couldn’t keep running from this, but... this? Right now?

The phone vibrated again in your hand, urging you to decide.

You took a deep breath and answered, your voice shaky as you pressed the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Gojo’s voice came through, smoother than usual, but there was something about it that felt more serious this time. “I’m downstairs. I’ve been waiting for you.”

You froze, eyes darting to the door like you could somehow see him on the other side. Downstairs? You weren’t sure you’d heard him right.

“Wait... what?” you said, your voice wavering slightly. “You’re downstairs?”

“Yeah,” Gojo responded, his tone firmer now, like he wasn’t messing around. “Come down. I’ll be waiting.”

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected him to show up out of the blue like this. You looked at your phone, still processing the strange urgency in his voice.

“Uh, alright,” you said, suddenly feeling a rush of nerves. “I’ll be there in a second.”

You hung up quickly, set your guitar down, and grabbed your things, moving with more haste than you had anticipated. The tension in the pit of your stomach only grew as you locked up the practice room and made your way down the hall. Something in his tone had shifted, and it made the usual teasing Gojo feel distant—more... serious.

You rushed down the stairs, the echo of your footsteps against the walls reminding you how quickly everything had shifted. When you finally rounded the corner, you saw him standing by the door, his posture straighter than usual. The smirk was gone, replaced by a focused intensity in his eyes that you rarely saw.

He didn’t greet you with his usual grin or playful jab. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze unwavering. “Took you long enough,” he said, his voice almost too calm. “Let’s go.”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like you were in way over your head. But there was no turning back now.

The walk was quiet, but the silence felt different this time. Gojo’s usual cocky confidence was replaced with an almost tangible tension in his posture. He walked with purpose, his strides long and quick, but there was a tightness in the way he carried himself that you hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t like him to be this... off. He always wore that smug grin, that careless energy that made everything feel like a joke. But now? He looked like he was carrying something heavy, something too complicated to shake off.

You wanted to ask him what was going on, but you knew better. If Gojo didn’t bring it up, he wasn’t going to. You could tell that much, even with the unease simmering beneath his usually cool exterior.

You both reached the convenience store, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft whoosh as you entered. The familiar hum of the coolers and the bright fluorescent lights did little to ease the tension hanging between you. You found a seat near the back, not really feeling hungry or in the mood to browse, so you just sat there, hands folded in your lap, eyes following Gojo as he wandered over to the drinks section.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, expecting him to grab his usual—his go-to strawberry iced tea, the one he always joked about being his secret weapon—but to your surprise, his hand reached for something different. He grabbed a can of beer, the silver can catching the dim light as he turned towards the cashier.

Your brows furrowed slightly, not because you had a problem with it, but because it was so out of character for him. Gojo, the always-lighthearted, playful figure, wasn’t someone you expected to be reaching for alcohol, especially not when the atmosphere had been so... different tonight.

He returned to the seat next to you after quickly paying for the drink, the cool can in his hand now making a soft, faintly metallic sound as he cracked it open. The hiss of the carbonation was the only sound between you two for a few moments as he took a long drink, the beer slipping past his lips without the usual playful smirk that usually accompanied any of his actions.

You hesitated, the air thick with unspoken words. You weren’t sure if you should say something or just let him be, but you could feel that something was wrong—something deeper than whatever lighthearted banter he would usually throw your way. You’d known him long enough to see when something was off. Tonight, it was impossible to ignore.

Finally, after a few more moments of silence, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You turned toward him, your voice quiet but laced with concern. “What’s going on with you, Satoru?”

He didn’t immediately respond, the can still in his hand as he stared straight ahead, his expression unreadable. His lips pressed together in a thin line as if he was weighing his words. The silence stretched on, heavy and thick with anticipation. Then, as though he couldn’t keep it inside any longer, he muttered just one word:

"Mina."

It was soft, almost lost in the distance of the moment. But hearing it—the way it left his lips so raw, so fragmented—sent a jolt through you. This wasn’t the playful Gojo you knew. This was someone who was struggling, someone who didn’t have all the answers.

You blinked, the name hanging in the air like a strange weight. Mina. You’d thought the two of them were the perfect couple. They had that effortless chemistry, the kind of bond that seemed unshakable. Gojo and Mina—it just made sense. They were the kind of pair people would look at and say, "That’s it. They’re meant to be." And yet, hearing Gojo say that name now, in the quiet of this moment, felt like a crack in a carefully built illusion.

You hadn’t expected this. The way he said it, though... so quiet, so far removed from his usual confident, teasing tone, made you pause. You’d never once imagined that Gojo—someone so composed, so unflappable—could be this thrown off by a relationship. It was unsettling to think that things might not be as perfect as they appeared.

Before you could gather your thoughts to ask what had happened, Gojo let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as if he was already exhausted by the very thought of explaining. “It’s complicated,” he said, cutting off any further questions you might have had.

You could tell from the way he said it, with that tired edge in his voice, that this wasn’t something simple. It wasn’t just an argument or a misunderstanding. There was more beneath the surface—something tangled up in emotions and expectations that Gojo clearly didn’t know how to untangle.

He took another sip from the can, his fingers tight around it once more, like he was trying to hold onto something before it slipped away.

"Tell me,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the tension creeping up your spine. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me."

He looked at the can in his hands for a long moment, his fingers white-knuckled around it. The weight of silence hung heavy in the air before he finally spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

“It’s not that she’s done anything wrong,” he muttered, as if trying to convince himself. “She’s... a good girlfriend. She hasn’t done anything bad, nothing’s wrong with her.”

He let out a frustrated breath, eyes narrowing as he traced the rim of the can with his thumb. “But... it’s like something’s missing. Like, when I first met her, I thought I saw something, you know? There was this... feeling, like we clicked or something. But now, every time I’m with her, it feels... off. It’s not her fault, she’s not doing anything different, it’s just—” He trailed off, searching for the words, but they just wouldn’t come.

He let out a quiet laugh, self-deprecating and bitter. “Maybe I built some kind of... fantasy around her, and now that I’m seeing who she really is, it doesn’t line up. I thought it was something real, but now... I’m not sure.”

You could see it, the confusion in his eyes. He wasn’t blaming her—he wasn’t even sure what was wrong, but the discomfort was there, thick and undeniable. It wasn’t that Mina had changed, but that Gojo’s perception of her had cracked, leaving him to figure out if there was anything left of what he thought was there.

You took a slow breath, trying to find the right words as you watched him wrestle with himself. You could tell this was weighing heavily on him, and it wasn’t just about Mina—it was about Gojo grappling with something deeper, something he wasn’t sure how to explain even to himself.

You leaned back slightly, your voice soft but steady. “I get it,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “When you first meet someone, it’s easy to get swept up in the feeling of it all—the excitement, the newness. And maybe... maybe you started seeing things in her that you wanted to see, or that felt right in the moment.”

You paused, allowing him to process, before continuing. “But just because you’re feeling like things aren’t clicking now, doesn’t mean it’s a lost cause. Sometimes, when we’re with someone, we get so focused on the idea of them that we forget to focus on who they really are. And maybe that's what’s throwing you off—you’re seeing the real her now, and it’s different from the image you had in your head.”

You could see the tension in his face, but you pressed on, keeping your tone gentle. “It’s not a bad thing, Gojo. People aren’t perfect, and relationships are never just about the spark you feel at the beginning. The real connection, the deep stuff, that comes over time. Maybe it’s just a matter of slowing down and letting things evolve naturally, instead of forcing them into some mold you’ve created.”

You shifted slightly, choosing to be honest with him. “It sounds like you’re scared of being disappointed or realizing that it’s not what you thought, but maybe you just need time to figure out who she really is, and who you are with her. You might not have all the answers right now, and that’s okay.”

You gave him a small, understanding smile. “Just don’t give up too soon because of some uncomfortable feelings. If you’re both willing to figure it out, it doesn’t have to be the end of something good. Sometimes it takes work to get through the doubts and see what’s really there.”

Gojo leaned back, his gaze drifting once more as if the answer was just beyond his reach. His hands rested loosely on his knees, the can in his hand now forgotten. His tone was quiet, almost tentative, as he finally spoke.

Gojo sat in silence for a moment, his eyes fixed on the floor as he processed your words. The usual intensity in his expression was softened, like he was turning over each of your points in his mind, carefully weighing them. His hands, once tense around the can, were now resting in his lap, fingers loosely intertwined as if the weight had lifted, even just slightly.

You could feel the shift, the way his posture had changed. He was listening—not just hearing—but truly taking in what you were saying. He took a deep breath, his shoulders easing as he finally looked up, meeting your gaze. There was a flicker of clarity in his eyes, though the storm wasn’t fully gone yet.

“I get it,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I understand where you're coming from. You're right. Maybe I’ve been too focused on this idea I had about her, this... perfect picture I painted in my head. And now that it’s not lining up, it’s throwing me off. I’m just... I guess I was expecting things to be a certain way, and now it feels like I’m not even sure where I stand anymore.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze drifted down again, looking almost lost in thought. “I know you’re right. I can’t expect everything to be perfect, and I shouldn’t be so quick to judge her for not matching whatever image I had. But—” He paused, the hesitation creeping back into his voice.

"But..." you prompted gently, knowing there was more he was holding back.

Gojo’s eyes flicked to you, a mixture of frustration and uncertainty crossing his features. “But… I’m just not sure if she’s the one,” he said, his voice trailing off like he was unsure even about admitting it to himself. He ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you for a moment, as if the words felt too heavy.

“It’s not like I don’t care about her. I do. And she’s a good person. She’s been nothing but kind to me, and we get along well enough. But... I don’t know. It’s just this nagging feeling I can’t shake. Like, maybe we’re not as compatible as I thought we were. Like, something’s missing.” He let out a frustrated sigh, staring at the ground for a long moment.

He looked up at you then, his expression conflicted. “I don’t want to keep second-guessing myself, but at the same time... I don’t want to lead her on if I’m not sure. I don’t want to be the guy who’s just going through the motions, thinking it’ll work out, when deep down I’m not sure if we’re actually right for each other. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

He glanced at you with a bit of vulnerability in his eyes, a rare sight for Gojo. “I mean, I don’t want to keep dragging her into something if I’m not sure I can give her what she needs. And I can’t help but wonder if... if I’m just waiting for something that isn’t there.”

He let the silence linger for a beat before he shook his head, running a hand over his face. “It’s not that I don’t like her. It’s just... am I really feeling what I thought I was? Or was it just... a good idea in my head?”

You hesitated, unsure of the right thing to say, because this wasn’t exactly the kind of situation you were used to dealing with. Gojo was always so confident, so sure of himself, and now, seeing him so lost—it felt unfamiliar and honestly, a little overwhelming.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure how to ease his tension. You knew that you couldn’t just throw out words of wisdom like it was all simple, because it wasn’t. It wasn’t simple for him, and you didn’t want to make it worse by trying to give advice that sounded too rehearsed.

After a long pause, you spoke, trying to find a balance between understanding and honesty. “I mean, I can’t tell you what to do. It’s not like I have the answers for this kind of stuff.” You let out a soft, nervous laugh, realizing that you weren’t exactly the expert here.

“But...” You trailed off, trying to gather your thoughts. “You’re not alone in feeling confused about this. Relationships are messy, and sometimes, it’s hard to know what the right thing is. What you’re feeling—doubt, uncertainty—it’s not abnormal. It’s just... part of figuring things out.”

You fidgeted a little, glancing down at your hands. “I guess what I’m trying to say is... it’s okay not to have all the answers. I think you just need to give yourself permission to take a step back. Maybe let it go a bit slower, without all the pressure to know if it's ‘the one’ right away. And if something’s still unclear, then... you can figure it out. It doesn’t have to be right or wrong all at once.”

You looked up at him again, your voice softer. “It’s just, don’t feel like you have to have it all figured out right now. I’m not sure if that helps or anything, but... that’s the best I got.”

Gojo was quiet for a moment, taking everything in, and you couldn’t help but wonder if your words had actually made any impact. But then he turned to you, a small smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t his usual teasing grin, but something softer, almost relieved.

“Man, look at you getting all deep and philosophical. Didn’t know you had it in you,” he teased, his voice light and playful.

You blinked, feeling a rush of heat to your face. “Shut up,” you muttered, trying to act like you weren’t completely embarrassed by the whole thing. “I’m just trying to help, okay?”

Gojo chuckled, clearly enjoying the way you reacted. “I know, I know. But seriously, I didn’t think you were the ‘advice-giving’ type. I’ll be honest, that was a little... sappy.”

You huffed, crossing your arms and glaring at him, though you could feel the warmth on your cheeks. “Well, maybe you need it. You act like you have everything figured out, but look at you now—getting all lost in your own head.”

He held his hands up in mock surrender, still grinning. “Okay, okay, I get it. Sappy, but helpful. Can’t deny that. But don’t let it go to your head.”

You looked at him, now slightly less flustered, and offered a small smile. “Yeah, well, I’m just saying... Sometimes things aren’t as simple as we want them to be. It’s okay not to have everything figured out right away. Relationships take time.”

Gojo met your eyes, his expression more thoughtful now, and he let out a long breath. “Yeah... I guess I’ve been putting too much pressure on myself to have it all figured out. Thanks for the reminder.” His smile came back, softer this time. “You’ve got a point. Maybe I do need to take a step back and just see where it goes.”

You nodded, feeling a little more at ease now. “It’s not a race, ‘Toru. Don’t rush it. Just let things happen as they do.”

There was a comfortable silence between you for a moment, before Gojo broke it, his tone still teasing but less guarded.

“Alright, alright. I’ll try to take it slow, philosopher,” he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, but the tension had definitely eased. “Yeah, yeah, just don’t get all sappy on me again.”

Gojo grinned, clearly in a better place than before. “I’ll try to spare you from that. But hey, next time you drop some deep wisdom on me, I’ll be ready.”

You flushed a little again but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Don’t push it, Gojo.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

As the two of you walked back home, the air between you had shifted. The tension that had lingered for so long was finally gone, replaced by a quiet comfort that settled over both of you. You found yourself walking in step with Gojo, the rhythm of your footsteps syncing naturally as you let the silence between you stretch, not feeling the need to fill it with words.

Now that the weight of the conversation had lifted, you allowed your gaze to wander to him, something you hadn’t done too openly before.

There was something almost disarming about Gojo when the playful edge in his voice softened, when he wasn’t in “Gojo mode.” His features, though still sharp and striking, held a kind of warmth that you hadn’t expected to see, a rawness that only revealed itself in moments like this—when he was being real with you.

His eyes, usually full of that mischievous glint, looked calmer now, more reflective, and as the light from the streetlamps caught his hair, it almost seemed to glow with an ethereal quality. The way he carried himself, effortlessly cool yet undeniably human, made you pause and just take him in, appreciating him for a moment. His presence felt different now—less overwhelming and more... grounding.

And then, as if on cue, you caught yourself smiling, soft and almost wistful. It was strange, the way just being near him—hearing his voice, feeling the quiet ease that had settled between you—seemed to heal something inside you, something you hadn’t even realized was aching until it started to fade away.

It was like the weight of the world didn’t seem so heavy anymore. Like, somehow, everything felt a little more manageable in the moment.

You allowed yourself to enjoy the moment a little longer, the quiet warmth between you two still lingering as you walked the rest of the way home. But even as you let yourself bask in the calm, a part of you couldn't fully relax. Deep down, you knew this wasn't something that would last long. Gojo had been here tonight because of his issue with Mina, and once that was sorted out, you figured things would go back to how they were before—back to the teasing, playful banter and the walls he'd built up around himself.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy this version of him, the one that was more genuine, more grounded—it was just that you knew the reality. Once he figured things out with Mina, he’d go back to being the Gojo everyone knew. And you’d go back to being just... you.

You reached the front door of your apartment, the familiar hum of the city in the background, and paused. Turning to face Gojo, you smiled, though the weight of your thoughts lingered in the back of your mind.

"Thanks for walking me home," you said, keeping your voice light, though there was a little more softness to it than usual.

Gojo looked at you, his usual playful grin starting to creep back, but there was something different in his eyes. A flicker of sincerity from earlier still hung there. "Of course," he said with a casual shrug. "What would I do if you got caught up in some crazy situation without me? You know I can’t let that happen."

His voice was light, but the way he said it carried an undercurrent of care, something unspoken that made the words feel warmer than they usually would.

You raised an eyebrow, unable to help a small laugh. “I’m pretty sure I could manage, but I’ll take it as a compliment.”

He shot you that signature grin, the one that could charm just about anyone, but there was still a softness to it now—an openness that didn’t quite match his usual carefree demeanor.

"Hey, I’m just saying," he said with a smirk, "if you ever need a bodyguard, you know where to find me."

Despite the playfulness in his tone, you could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on both of you. The reality of the situation, of his relationship with Mina, still lingered in the air, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment—this brief, real side of Gojo—might slip away once everything was sorted out.

You pushed the thought down and smiled, trying to keep the mood light. "I’ll keep that in mind," you replied, though part of you wasn’t sure you’d ever need him that way.

There was a brief pause, and then you cleared your throat, pulling yourself back into the present. "I really do hope things work out with Mina, Satoru," you said, your voice sincere. "You deserve to get everything figured out."

Gojo’s smile faltered slightly at the mention of Mina. It wasn’t the usual teasing grin anymore, but something softer, more thoughtful, as though the thought of her pulled him out of the moment for a second.

He reached up, almost absentmindedly, to ruffle your hair, a subtle attempt to lighten the mood. “You worry too much,” he said, his voice a little quieter, his fingers running through your hair in a playful but gentle motion.

You flinched, swatting his hand away lightly. “Satoru, come on, you’re messing it up.”

Gojo chuckled softly at your reaction, but instead of pulling his hand away, he kept it there, his fingers still resting on your head. He gave you a gentle pat this time, his touch light but lingering, almost like he didn’t want to break the moment just yet.

He was staring at you, his expression unreadable, as if there was something in his gaze that wasn’t quite matching his usual carefree attitude. For a split second, the usual playful energy around him seemed to dissipate, replaced by something softer. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Despite how many times Gojo had been touchy with you before, this time was different. His gaze felt heavier, more intense, and it made you feel uncomfortably aware of the way his hand rested on you. A soft heat spread through you, and before you knew it, your cheeks were flushing, the warmth creeping up your neck.

Then, almost absentmindedly, Gojo’s hand dropped from your hair to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over the soft skin beneath your eye. You froze at the touch, your breath catching in your throat as the tender motion sent a shiver down your spine.

His touch was so gentle, so unexpectedly intimate, that it left you momentarily speechless. Gojo’s thumb continued its slow, soothing stroke over your cheek, his eyes still locked onto yours, watching the way your expression shifted.

For a moment, everything else seemed to fade away—the night, the world around you, even the uncertainty that had been lingering in the air. It was just him, just you, and the quiet tension that seemed to wrap itself around the both of you, neither of you daring to move or speak.

You couldn’t help but feel your heart race, unsure of what this moment meant or how to react to it. You’d never felt quite so exposed in front of him, as if his touch and gaze were pulling something out of you that you didn’t know was there.

Gojo’s smile was still soft, his eyes not leaving yours, but there was something about the way he looked at you—something different than before. A strange vulnerability, maybe, or perhaps just a shared moment of silence that neither of you had the words to explain.

And for a heartbeat, everything felt... unsettled, as though the line between what was familiar and what was new had blurred just enough to make you question whether you were still in control of the situation.

You broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper, but it cut through the stillness like a soft breeze. “Satoru?”

The sound of your voice seemed to snap Gojo out of whatever trance he had been in. His eyes blinked rapidly, as though he were shaking himself back to reality, and the softness that had filled the air between you suddenly wavered.

Gojo blinked rapidly, his eyes shifting as if he were suddenly realizing what had just occurred. His hand pulled away from your cheek like it was almost burning, and he stepped back, an almost startled expression crossing his face. The teasing, playful demeanor faltered for a second, and you could see the surprise flicker in his eyes—not just from you, but perhaps from the moment itself.

"Ah... sorry," he muttered quickly, running a hand through his hair in an awkward gesture that didn’t quite match his usual calm. “Didn’t mean to... uh... get so close.”

He cleared his throat, visibly trying to regain his usual composure. With a shaky smile, he waved his hand as if brushing it off. "Anyway, I should get going."

You nodded, a strange tightness in your chest. He was already backing away, his voice lighter than before but with a hint of haste in it. "Take care, alright?" His tone was almost clipped, a sharp contrast to the softness that had lingered moments before.

You wanted to say something, to stop him, but the words got stuck in your throat. You simply watched as Gojo, with one last glance over his shoulder, turned and started walking down the hallway.

He didn't look back this time, his figure disappearing into the distance and then into the lift, the doors sliding shut behind him with a soft, almost final sound.

The quietness that followed felt almost suffocating, the cool night air filling the space where he had stood. You stood there, staring at the spot where he had just been, unsure of what to make of everything. Your heart was still racing, the lingering touch on your cheek echoing in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, but you couldn't quite put your finger on what it was.

As the sound of the elevator faded away, all you were left with was the lingering memory of him, his touch, his gaze—and the sudden weight of everything unsaid.

[oshiawaseni]

Gonna write some meta about ch 431

After inferring Izuku could be by his side if he wanted to, and him indirectly telling Izuku he’s the standard he holds everyone to going unnoticed… it seems to me like Kacchan is releasing Izuku… for now. “If everyone is special then no one is special”… this kinda ties into what Shigaraki said to Katsuki for me. I get the impression that Kacchan believes in his core, that Izuku treats everyone special and Shigaraki had mistaken CYH for “extra special treatment” when, in Katsuki’s mind, loving and protective is really just how Izuku is to everyone.

The dig back at Kacchan for not thinking higher of himself or not noticing “obvious things” (Izuku’s feelings) is pretty sussy and very open to interpretation. It feels like they’re both not risking anything to explore the possibility for more. They’re mirroring each other’s hesitation.

This dynamic is basically inferred later, when Katsuki comments “peaceful idiots” at Kaminari and Jirou who are not taking a leap of faith to start a relationship themselves. “Lame losers” doesn’t really capture the nuance of Katsuki’s feelings towards himself and Izuku. Heiwa boke… two idiots not reflecting upon their obvious feelings for one another - all to keep a harmonious relationship describe bkdk to a T.

He’s projecting. Him and Izuku are also peaceful idiots with their dynamic too. So that’s why Katsuki let Izuku go. I’m sure a big part of him yearned for Izuku. Yearned he would turn around and not go to Ochaco. And that he’d realise Katsuki’s deepest feelings he holds tightly to his chest.

But Izuku won’t know who he is unless he fully experiences life and his feelings and what everyone and everything means to him. He needs context to understand who Ochaco and Katsuki really are to him. So Katsuki is showing a great maturity letting Izuku go. Also… Something something, if they come back again, they’re yours forever.

So my take away from all this is “They may be right for each other but that doesn’t mean they’re right for each other now” and these two peaceful idiots will surely get it together someday. Especially if Katsuki goes to those communication classes and they learn to understand each other better. 🤭

(Again, to me that’s Izuku wishing he could understand Kacchan’s subtleties and indirect way of talking better. They both have always sucked at truly understanding each other’s feelings for each other and finding a point of connection to act on those feelings.)

Kacchan is self aware of all of this. He has Izuku on a pedestal and feels he’s in an unrequited love. And since his apology, he has left the ball in Izuku’s court. It has to be Izuku to grow, to decide who he wants and who he wants to be. And Katsuki is okay with the cards falling where they may. And this, my friends… is unconditional love and why I loved this ship so much to begin with. He will always love Izuku and respect his choices and allow Izuku space for his internal growth. He’s a beautiful soul.

And in all that talk of destiny earlier, lies a certain knowing for us, that what is meant to be for them, will be. Bkdk for me is an inevitability and I think sensei did a good job to convey this to those who understand this immeasurable love and string of fate that runs between them. Bkdk have always existed in the realm of the unspoken, one just needs to open their heart to what’s really being said and implied underneath the surface. 🧡💚

[evabby]

POLAR OPPOSITES.

chapter i > chapter ii || series masterlist.

SUMMARY : you and abby anderson go to the same college, and are in the same english class — you’re polar opposites who clash at every turn. abby is carefree and confident, whereas you’re more focused and disciplined. when you’re forced to partner up on a project, your rivalry deepens, but an unexpected connection does too. as abby pushes you to loosen up, your dynamic shifts from competitive to something far more complicated.

AUTHOR NOTE : this is my first fic ever written!!! please be nice aaa i hope this is okay<3 also lowercase is intentional :)!

CHAPTER I : BREAKING THE ICE

she didn’t know what it was about you.

maybe it was the way you were always well presented, your hair perfectly straightened or tucked into a neat ponytail, not a strand loose.

maybe it was how driven you were, how focused you could be.

or maybe it was even how your answers were always precise, your hand darting up in front of abby whilst in class to quickly answer a question, yet again.

you were smart— abby knew she was smart too, but hell, it was cute how effortless you made it look.

abby, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. sure, she was smart, but she was loud. she would always comment on anything and everything, and would make sure everyone in class knew just exactly what she was thinking.

she brought energy to the classes discussions, even if she was one-upped by your quiet brilliance.

it was the tiny things,

how you would give abby that small, imperceptible smile when you answered a question she simply didn’t know the answer to,

how you’d subtly let out a quiet sigh when abby interrupted the professor, just enough to make abby feel like she’d done something wrong, but never enough to call her out.

it intrigued her.

abby wasn’t even surprised when professor calloway had set up yet another paired project, as always.

he paced around the room, pointing to each student and telling them who their partner was. you weren’t too worried, thinking you’d be paired with another person who would just make you do all of the work, because you’re ‘smart’, until the finger that was pointed at you was paired with the words ‘abby anderson.’

the room fell into an expectant silence. you swallowed back the annoyance in your throat as you scribbled down in your notebook about the project, feeling abby’s gaze burning a hole into the side of your face.

you knew abby would be a nuisance. you’ve never spoken to her before, but all you heard in each class was her voice. complaining, commenting and just talking all the time.

a grin spread abby’s face as she moved to sit next to you, dragging the stool as she sat down, crossing her arms and tilting her head to look at you next to her.

“guess i’ll get to know you a little better, huh?” abby grinned.

your gaze shifted to her, with no clear expression on it, except a flicker of annoyance that was hard to spot.

“let’s just get this over with.” you mumble.

your first study session with abby was at the library. all of your resources, perfectly organised into each folder, were spread out across the library table. of course, abby showed up late. you didn’t pay much attention to this, you were focused on just getting the project done, even if that meant doing it yourself.

abby walked into the quiet place with a coffee cup in her hand, she spotted you in the far corner, already surrounded by books and notes, scribbling down notes hastily as if you needed to be somewhere.

“late as usual, i see” you mumble, your gaze still on your notes instead of abby as she sits down opposite you.

abby grinned, “just giving you a headstart, so i can y’know, have the satisfaction of getting ahead of you.”

“don’t want you to get too used to winning, do we?”

you stay silent, attempting to seem unbothered as you continue to note down key information. your focus was on the textbook as you calmly turned another page.

abby leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, studying you. her gaze gave you an unsettling feeling low in your stomach.

“so, tell me,” abby said, breaking the silence. “how does it feel to always be the smartest person in the room? must get pretty boring, huh?”

your eyes flickered to meet abby’s, a glimpse of challenge in her gaze.

“i don’t think it’s boring.” you say, “it’s just a matter of doing the work.”

abby smirked, leaning back in her chair.

“oh im sure it is angel, but i can’t help but notice you never seem to have any fun with it. do you even know how to have fun?”

“maybe im just more focused on getting results than playing games.”

abby’s grin widened. she was loving this. “so serious. i bet you’ve never even had a decent prank pulled on you.”

you finally put your pen down, crossing your arms as you stare at abby.

“and i don’t plan on being the subject of one, thanks.”

abby raised an eyebrow. “you sure? you seem like you’d be fun to mess with.”

you narrow your eyes at her. “i doubt that.”

abby hummed, leaning back in her chair to observe all the carefully placed notes dotted over the table as you pick up your pen again, continuing to write down your notes.

this became a routine.

you and abby at the library every day after school, studying together — well, mainly you.

the next few weeks, your study sessions, which had initially been marked by bickering and pointed remarks, began to shift into something different. sometimes it felt like you were even friends.

at first, it was subtle. abby still teased you relentlessly, and you still responded with exasperation, but sometimes you both got along pretty well, despite your clear differences.

small moments that were embedded to your head brought you both closer.

“wait,” abby said, holding up her hand and frowning at her laptop. “are you sure that’s right? i think you missed a step.”

“excuse me?” you glanced up, your pen pausing mid air.

abby turned her laptop towards you, pointing at the screen. “see? if you don’t account for this, the whole thing falls apart.”

you leaned in, your eyes narrowing as you scanned the problem. “huh,” you said after a moment, begrudgingly. “you’re.. right.”

abby smirked , leaning back in her chair. “i know, i’m amazing.”

“you’re impossible is what you are.”

“and yet, here we are,” abby quipped, gesturing to the mess of papers between them.

you shook your head, but didn’t hide the small smile playing at your lips.

another time, you had arrived late to one of your study sessions, your normally immaculate appearance slightly disheveled.

abby raised an eyebrow as you dropped into your chair with a huff.

“rough day?” abby asked, her tone softer than usual.

“you have no idea,” you mutter, your voice quiet as you pull out your laptop. “my professor moved the deadline for our final essay up by a week, and i had to skip lunch to make the adjustments.”

abby frowned, rummaging through her bag before pulling out a granola bar and sliding it across the table.

“what’s this?”

“it’s called a granola bar,” abby said, smirking. “you eat it when you forget to take care of yourself. don’t worry, it won’t bite.”

you rolled your eyes but took the bar, unwrapping it and taking a small bite. “thank you,” you said quietly, your tone soft and genuine.

“don’t mention it,” abby said, her expression softening into a smile.

you found yourself letting your guard down more often around abby. this was something you weren’t used to, you wasn’t sure when it had started, but there were times when abbys teasing didnt geel like an attack — times were it felt almost comforting.

and abby, who had approached their dynamic as a fun game, found herself genuinely looking forward to your time together. your passion for the project, the way your face lit up when you did something right — it was captivating in a way abby hadn’t expected.

one evening, as you were both packing up after a particularly productive session, abby glanced over at you.

“you know, we make a pretty good team.”

you pause, your bag slung over your shoulder. “don’t let it get to your head.” you say, but there was no bite in your voice.

abby grinned. “too late.”

a few weeks later, abby walked in for another one of your study sessions.

she immediately spotted you, immersed in your notes, your hair tied into a neat ponytail. abby couldn’t help but watch for a moment, you had this way about you: serene, focused.

as abby slid into her chair opposite you, you didn’t pay any attention. not even a hello, not even a quick glance. her classic coffee she usually brought sloshed about in the cup as she placed it on the desk.

“you’re not really a studier, are you?” you say, looking at abby.

sure, abby was smart. really smart. but you’d never caught her actually studying with full focus, her intelligence seemed to be natural.

“i prefer to think of it as ‘studying in style’” abby smirks, picking up the coffee cup and taking a long sip, her eye contact with you never breaking.

you look away, back at your notes. “if you mean fiddling around with distractions, then sure, i guess so.” you mumble.

abby chuckled, placing her cup down back onto the desk a bit too forcefully, on top of one of your flashcards.

“i’ll have you know, im very efficient. you could learn a thing or two from me.”

your eyes narrow slightly at her, as you slowly shove her coffee cup towards abby, moving your flashcard to the correct place.

“really? because you seem to think you can get by on distractions and your ‘charm’.”

abby leaned in slightly, adopting an exaggerated, sultry voice.

“oh, i think you’re underestimating me, angel. you wouldn’t want to be too dismissive. who knows? maybe im smarter than you think.”

you stiffen, your eyes flashing with with annoyance. but you didn’t snap back, no. instead, you picked up a notebook, opening it to a page full of neat handwriting.

instead of providing abby an answer she wanted, you carried on writing in your notebook.

“you know,” abby said, casually. “it’s cute.”

you furrow your brows at her, your pen stilled as you look at her in confusion.

“how serious you are about college. all those books.. those notes,” she gestured vaguely at the pile of textbooks and papers in front of you.

“do you even take a break, or are you too busy being the perfect student?”

you look back down at your work, staring at it. you knew abby was only teasing you, but still. abby could see the slight flush on your neck. “i don’t need breaks to get things done.” you replied, your voice tight.

abby leaned back, taking another sip of her coffee before she placed it back on top of your flashcards. you look at her for a moment, knowing what she was trying to do. abby knew she was getting under your skin.

abby pretended to study all of the papers across the table.

“‘m sure it must be nice to be perfect all the time, hm?”

this time, you looked up. your expression was slightly tighter, the kind of expression abby would see from your classroom debates — when you were trying to hide your frustration.

“not perfect,” you mumble, looking back down at your work. “just.. focused. i don’t let distractions get in my way.”

abby raised her eyebrow again, her grin widening.

“distractions, huh?” she took a deliberate pause, leaning in just a little closer. “does that mean i’m a distraction to you?”

your gaze flickered. just for a second, abby saw it — the briefest hint of something in your eyes, something she couldn’t quite place. it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replace by your usual mask.

“i think,” you said, quietly and still looking at your work, gripping onto your pen tightly. “you’re distracting yourself.”

abby leaned back, almost laughing.

“fair enough,” abby said, “already on chapter forty?” abby waved a hand over your notes. “you sure you’re not just trying to impress me with all you’re knowledge? because trust me, it’s working.”

your jaw tightened,

“i don’t need to impress anyone, anderson. i just need to get this project done.”

abby could hear the frustration in your voice, no matter how much you tried your best to hide it. and for some reason, that only made abby more determined to keep pushing. she loved to get a ride out of you, loved the way your jaw would set a little too tightly, your fingers gripping your pen a little too hard.

“you know,” abby said, fiddling with her coffee cup. “i’ve heard it’s hard to concentrate when you’re annoyed. kind of makes you second guess your whole strategy, doesn’t it?”

your eyes flicked to abby,

“im not annoyed.”

“of course you’re not, you’re just perfectly calm and collected whilst you’re seething on the inside.”

you didn’t respond, deciding to close your textbook and go on your laptop. the library was quiet, the soft tapping of your fingers heard on your keyboard. eventually, you were fully focused, your eyebrows furrowed as you typed at lightning speed.

abby’s gaze was fixed on you from opposite the table.

you felt her gaze, and looked up at her.

“what?” you whispered

“i like watching you work.” abby said lazily.

you look back at your laptop, giving her a weird expression. “good. maybe you’ll learn something.”

“ouch,” abby chuckled, unfazed. “i mean it. you’re like a machine. do you ever stop? breathe? blink?”

you sigh sharply, your fingers pausing mid-keystroke.

“what do you want, abby?”

abby leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and tilting her head to the side.

“i just want to know why you’re so terrified of having fun,”

your eyes finally met abby’s, narrowed with irritation.

“i’m not terrified of fun. im just not wasting my time on pointless things when theres actual work to be done.”

abbys lips curved into a sly grin.

“see, thats where we disagree, i think fun is essential. like, its scientifically proven to make you more productive.”

you raise your brow, almost mocking her.

“uh huh.. and which documentary did you pull that from?”

abby shrugged, smiling. “abby andersons tips, tricks and facts. you should try watching it, first tip? there’s a party tonight, and you’re coming with me.”

you stared at abby like she just killed your family. “absolutely not.”

“why not?” abby pressed, leaning closer. “don’t tell me you’ve never been to a party, you’re a college student, not a nun.”

you scoff, returning your attention to your laptop to avoid eye contact with abby.

“i’ve been to parties. they’re loud, crowded, and a complete waste of time.”

“wow, angel.” abby said, feigning shock. “that’s the most boring sentence ive ever heard. what are you, eighty?”

your jaw clenched, your fingers resuming their rapid typing. “some of us actually care about this project, abby. you might wanna try it sometime.”

abby laughed softly, unfazed by your words. “oh, i care. but im also smart enough tto know we’re not going to burn out if we take a couple hours to, y’know, live a little.”

you didnt reply, your focus glued stubbornly to your screen. abby decided to up the ante.

“come on,” she said, “it’s not just any party. it’s the end of semester blowout. music, drinks.. and me, obviously.”

your typing faltered for a half a second before you quickly recovered.

“that’s not exactly selling a point.”

abbys hand meets her chest dramatically, pretending to be hurt.

“you wound me, angel. i thought you liked my company.”

you sighed, finally looking up to glare at abby.

“what part of ‘i’m not going to a party’ do you not understand?”

“the part where you think you have a choice,” abby said, her grin widening once again. “because im not giving up until you say yes.”

you roll your eyes.

“you’re impossible.”

“and you’re stubborn.” abby shot back. leaning in just enough to make you shift uncomfortably in your chair. “but i think you like the challenge.”

your lips parted, your retort on the tip of your tongue, but abby cut you off.

“look, i get it. you’re all about work, work, work. but you’re going to crash and burn if you don’t take a breather once in a while. this isn’t just me being annoying — this is me looking out for you.”

you blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sincerity in abbys tone.

“im not saying you have to get wasted or dance on tables, okay?” abby continued, “just show up, hang out for an hour and see what happens. if you hate it, ill personally escort you home. deal?”

you frown, your gaze flickering back to your laptop as you weigh your options.

“i don’t even have anything to wear.” you finally said, your voice quieter.

abbys grin returned, victory written all over her face.

”that’s an easy fix. wear anything that doesn’t scream, ‘i’ve been studying for 12 hours straight,’ i’m sure youll look amazing.”

you roll your eyes, but abby didn’t miss the faint pink tinge creeping up your neck.

“this is a terrible idea.” you mutter,

abby hums, standing up and grabbing her bag.

“eight o’clock. don’t be late. i’ll text you the address.”

“i haven’t even agreed yet!” you call after her, but abby was already walking away.

“see you tonight!”

you groan, burying your face in your hands. what have you gotten yourself into?

chapter i > chapter ii || series masterlist.

[fruvittea]

whispers in the rain ✧˚ · . part two

— ✺ pairing: jay x reader x jake

— ✺ genre: slice of life, angst, suggestive, fluff, childhood best friend, love triangle, college au, slow burn

—✺ synopsis: jay is your childhood best friend. that’s all he will ever be. a summer with jay and his friends changes how you feel for him when jake comes into your life. and jay begins to think that was a mistake.

—✺ warnings: for this part none so far

—✺ word count: 1.6k

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | ...

The plane ride had been a blur of polite conversation with Jake, laughter over silly anecdotes, and the occasional glance toward Jay, who sat a row ahead. You could only see the back of his head, but it was enough to notice how often he turned slightly, as if trying to eavesdrop.

Jake was sweet—charming, even—but the more he spoke, the more you found yourself thinking about Jay.

Jake had been telling a story about how he and Jay first met when you caught Jay’s gaze over the seat. He quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in a book. Something about the brief exchange left a sour taste in your mouth. You didn’t know why.

The beach house came into view hours later, and your jaw dropped. It wasn’t just a house—it was a sprawling, modern home perched on a cliff with a view of the ocean that stretched endlessly.

“Wow,” you whispered, stepping out of the car.

“First time seeing it?” Jake asked, grabbing your bag.

“Yeah. Jay never invited me before.”

Jake chuckled. “Guess he wanted to keep it special this time.”

His words were lighthearted, but they made you pause. Special? Was this trip supposed to mean something more?

The first few days at the house were blissful. Mornings started with lazy breakfasts on the terrace, afternoons spent on the beach, and evenings around the fire pit, sharing stories and laughter. One afternoon, Jake suggested heading into town with Sunoo and Heesung to explore the area, and you eagerly agreed.

The group wandered through cobblestone streets lined with charming shops and cafés. Jake stayed close by your side, pointing out little things he thought you’d like—a quirky handmade bracelet, a café with colorful umbrellas strung overhead, a tiny bookstore tucked between larger buildings.

“Hey, let’s go in here,” Jake suggested, nodding toward the bookstore. “I bet they have something you’d like.”

Inside, the air smelled faintly of old pages and fresh coffee. You wandered between the shelves, running your fingers along the spines of the books. Jake hovered nearby, occasionally picking up a title and showing it to you with a grin.

“You really know how to pick them,” you teased, taking the book from his hands to examine it.

“What can I say? I’ve got great instincts.”

You laughed, but the warmth in his gaze made you look away. Jake was undeniably charming, and his attention was flattering. Still, as much as you tried to focus on him, your thoughts kept drifting back to Jay.

After the bookstore, the group stopped at a small café. Jake insisted on paying for your drink, ignoring your protests.

“Consider it a welcome-to-town gift,” he said with a wink.

Sunoo and Heesung teased him mercilessly for it, but Jake only grinned, his confidence unwavering.

As the day went on, you felt yourself relaxing more. Jake was easy to talk to, and the dynamic between the group made everything feel lighthearted and fun. By the time you returned to the beach house, your cheeks ached from smiling so much.

Meanwhile, back at the house, Jay stretched out on the couch, his arms draped across the backrest as he watched Jungwon flip through the options on the massive TV. Niki and Sunghoon were sprawled on the floor, their heads nearly touching as they argued over which game to play later.

“Sheesh, it’s so weird not having Jake here yelling about everything,” Sunghoon muttered, glancing up from his phone.

“It’s only been a few hours,” Niki said, rolling his eyes. “They’re probably just wandering around town, eating snacks and taking tourist pictures.”

Jay chuckled, imagining you and Jake laughing at some inside joke or Jake convincing you to do something ridiculous, like try matching sunglasses from a street vendor. The thought brought him an unexpected sense of peace.

“What are you grinning about?” Jungwon asked, looking over his shoulder.

Jay shrugged. “Nothing. Just happy they’re having fun.”

Jungwon frowned slightly, exchanging a glance with Sunghoon. “You’re… happy about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jay replied, sitting up straighter. “It’s great that she’s getting close to someone new. She deserves that.”

“You’re way too chill about this,” Niki said, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Most people wouldn’t be so calm about their best friend hanging out with someone else all the time.

Jay waved him off. “That’s the whole point, though. I’ve always wanted her to branch out more, meet people outside of me. She’s been stuck with me for years. It’s nice to see her connect with someone else.”

The room went quiet for a moment. Jay didn’t notice the looks being exchanged between the others, or the way Sunghoon raised an eyebrow and mouthed, does he not see it?

“Hmm,” Jungwon finally said, his tone loaded with meaning.

“What?” Jay asked, frowning.

“Nothing,” Jungwon said quickly, turning back to the TV. “Anyway, we should go out too. Can’t let Jake and her have all the fun.”

The four of them piled into a car and headed into town. The streets were alive with activity, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Jay found himself oddly relaxed, even as his friends took every opportunity to tease him.

At a small café, Niki pointed to a couple sharing a milkshake at a table by the window. “Hey, Jay, that could be Jake and her right now. Cute, huh?”

Jay laughed, brushing it off. “Yeah, maybe. They’d make a good pair.”

Sunghoon choked on his drink. “You’re actually serious, aren’t you?”

Jay blinked. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Bro.” Sunghoon leaned forward, his tone exasperated. “You’ve been best friends with her forever, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re fine with her and Jake getting all… close?”

“Yeah,” Jay said again, though he could hear the slight edge in Sunghoon’s voice.

“You’re unbelievable,” Niki muttered under his breath.

They wandered through the streets, stopping at shops and street performers along the way. Jay found himself smiling more than usual, his mood unusually light.

“Look at him,” Jungwon said, nudging Niki. “He’s practically glowing.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “You guys are being weird.”

“No, you’re being weird,” Niki shot back. “How are you this okay with everything? Like, no jealousy? No weird feelings?”

Jay shrugged, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “Why would I feel weird? She’s my best friend. I just want her to be happy.”

“That’s what people say when they’re in denial,” Sunghoon muttered, earning a laugh from Jungwon and Niki.

Jay furrowed his brows, genuinely confused. “Denial about what?”

Jungwon smirked. “Oh, nothing. You’ll figure it out.”

Later that night, back at the house, Jay stood out on the deck, staring at the ocean. The waves crashed rhythmically against the shore, the sound soothing but leaving him oddly restless.

He thought about the way your eyes lit up when you laughed, the way Jake always managed to make you smile. The image didn’t bother him—it shouldn’t bother him.

And yet… something felt off.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Jungwon said, stepping onto the deck with a knowing grin.

Jay glanced at him, frowning. “Am I?”

“Yup. Just admit it already.”

“Admit what?”

Jungwon shrugged, leaning against the railing beside him. “That maybe you’re not as cool with all this as you think.”

Jay opened his mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he turned back to the ocean, the crashing waves mirroring the unease building in his chest.

[tales-from-the-blu-team]

"Well, I chances are I'm gonna have to be the one to fix them so I could make those vents less likely to fall apart on ya next time."

Mac said already drawing up plans.

"..if ..there is a next time." He added worriedly.

"I know we ain't supposed to be all friendly like this, but, it's mighty nice being able to talk about things without worrying about upsetting the team dynamics." The Blu team was largely at peace with each other,but there were undeniable social groups inside of themselves. Some who got along better than others. It was a delicate web at times and Mac had an inkling of how certain members saw him.

It was nice talking to Cy, about these things.

Mac smiled fondly at the mention of Spy's choices.

"I know you and Dell aren't fans of him on the battlefield but, he's a real swell guy. He's helped me a ton and.. compared to soldier, he's the more reasonable of the two to me."

Mac liked Spy, even if his cigarettes made him sick. He helped him in his early days getting over the hang ups he had in killing. I'm normal circumstances, this would be a bad thing, he imagined. But Conaghers were never meant to live in normal circumstances.

Not these ones at least.

"Fritz was pretty peeved at that when the rest of us were coming back in from the battlefield. Started a whole argument over not calling in kills as a heads up." Mac mused, remembering the yelling.

"Dimitri is- he's one of the younger members here if you can believe it. He seems to handle the whole..nature of the job just fine. Fella prides himself on his Capabilities. Sure he'd be thrilled to hear he's hard to kill and quite the threat himself." Mac explained, trying not to think of the red heavy whole he spoke of his own.

Speaking of thinking-

"Ya know, I think I can help ya. Just don't let anyone else see this. " He whispered as he pulled out a blueprint of the Blu base and handed it to Cy.

"This will show you all the passage ways into this place so you can get in and out to visit."

He accidentally knocked something over, Making a loud noise. Trying to pick his knocked over things, he too, fell over.

He let out a sharp cry.

....

The cry of pain from Engineers workshop sent a jolt of fear through Spy. He should have intervened earlier. He knew what that cyborg was capable of on the battlefield and he'd let him stay so long alone with Mac.

He raced in, pushing the doors open and pulled out his sapper, ready to strike.

"Get away from him. I spared you and this is how you repay all me?" He snarled.

( tales-from-the-blu-team) Blu engineer, who would rather be known as Mac and back in his old life, came across the cyborg. Eyes taking in the details of this strange figure, he could not help but remark.

" I've never seen you around before? Are..are you a new class? Are we supposed to be getting a tenth teammate?"

Scout. Soldier. Pyro. .. engineer. Heavy. Demoman. Medic. Spy. Sniper. .these were the classes he had grown up knowing and was always destined to work with.

The idea of a new class was...something to get used to

They shrug.

“How am I supposed to know any of that? I’m just here to kill people. Used to be an assassin until I joined RED and my Engie worked his magic on me. Now I’m an assassin but even better. It’s pretty sweet you should try it out.”

He spins around, showing Mac every part of his body, as if to prove his point.

“I mean, if you want your own cyborg, you’re probably gonna have to make em yourself.”

[pastellia63]

Man, i sure to love Stella being once again portayed as dumb to hype up her brother!

AND more incestous comments from Andrealphous, lovely! Haven't they learned from the first time he did that? I don't even think it was done on purpose to show that he was gross like that or anything, rather then it just being a "quirky" thing he just does.

Anyway this episode sucked, Stolas shows up to play hero and is completely okay with lying instead of admiting he had infact coerced Blitzø, just to have this cool moment of him sacrifing himself.

(and to of course make Octavia suffer once again because this show much like with Blitzø does NOT give her a break when it comes to her father)

The scene with her hugging her mom was pretty bittersweet, even if it was just to show Stella smirking evily to show how evil and bad she is or whatever

Okay now to talk about something more positive, the scenes between Blitzø and Loona were actually so sweet :(

i wish we could have seen more of them, i don't think we really got to explore their dynamic enough, and i'm really sad since their father and daughter relationship is one of the reasons why i had stuck around for this show besides Octavia and Verosika (before they butchered her character).

They all deserved better

[joltiion14]

II episode 18 spoilers, BUT HERE'S A HUUUUUGE RAMBLE

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

PAYJAY IS CANON PAYJAY IS CANON I'M FLIPPING THE FUCK OUT YAOI WHEN CAN I HAVE WHAT THEY HAVE

ahem anyways

episode 18 had me and my sister at the edge of our seats HOLY SHIT I LOVED THIS EPISODE... KNIFE X MEPHONE4S GUYS GUYS WHO'S WITH ME... ALSO KNIFE'S SACRIFICE TO SAVE MARSHMALLOW CAME FROM SOME FUCKING PEAK CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. THEY COULD NOT HAVE KILLED KNIFE OFF IN A BETTER WAY THAN THAT. SPEAKING OF SACRIFICES, my boy mepad... MY BOY MEPAD AHAHGSHSHAGHH rest in peace I LOVE YOU MEPAD....

I wanna quickly point out how emotional I got when cobs started threatening and beating mephone4, as a victim of child abuse this hit haaard. they did great writing the dynamic with those two, it felt realistic even in a fictional world. I FELT SO BAD FOR MEPHONE THAT ENTIRE TIME I JUST WANTED TO HUG HIM FUCK YOU COBS.

also I may or may not be a box kinnie now. I GOT SPOILED THANKS TO A THUMBNAIL I SAW OF A LEAKED II18 VIDEO, SO I KNEW BOX WAS GONNA BE IMPORTANT, but holy shit I did not expect them to be one of the most relatable characters the SECOND they came on screen and started explaining their story.

I might get blocked by multiple people for saying this, but since the last 2 episodes, I've been shipping tacophone. HEAR ME OUT. microphone and taco talked things out some, mic forgave taco and understood her and gave her a chance to improve, and so she did, thanks to microphone willingly giving her a chance even after everything. sure, a relationship between the two would be toxic in the previous episodes, and I fully agree. But toxic or unhealthy relationships CAN be fixed if both partners are willing to try and repair their relationship. AND PLUS, THOSE TWO ARE SO CUTE TOGETHER I JUST AAAGHHHH.... I can't get over the fact that soap pulled the "if you hurt her, I will hurt you" kinda thing on taco, once microphone introduced soap to her. I developed a headcanon that mic and soap are like sisters about a year ago and I guess that goes to show some more now

anyways, I CANNOT leave out the fact that SUITCASE FUCKING WON. I FULLY EXPECTED NEITHER OF THEM TO WIN, BUT OH MY GOD DID SHE DESERVE IT. Her and knife both deserved it actually. It's hard to truly decide LMAO

anyways, mephone4 in that episode... I love him your honor he's my new son FUCK YOU COBS. anyways, just like mic and taco, he tried to fix his mistakes with everybody. he apologized to... EVERYONE. Even toilet , who genuinely was someone mephone4 didn't deserve as an assistant considering how much of an ass he was towards him in the earlier season. Even then, toilet stayed with him to the bitter end, and stayed loyal to mephone. And in the end, he got to see mephone4 turn into a better person. Even bad people with the worst backgrounds or childhoods can become better, and that's what Mephone4 did. he apologized, then made the decision to stay away from everybody and give them space after what he did to all of them, and I think that was amazing on his part. He didn't tell them what to do next, and let them all know that they were free, they always were. AND THEN WE GOT THE MASHUP BETWEEN ALL OF THE SONGS IN THE SHOW YEAAAAAAAAA

overall, id rate this episode AND THE ENTIRE SEASON AS A 49/40 (reference heh). Inanimate insanity has been my favorite show for many, many years and I'm so glad it got an ending as good as this one. I will forever be grateful for the show Adam, Brian, Justin and all the rest of the cast managed to create for us. Thank you. PLUS ALL OF MY DREAMS CAME TRUE

except for the fact that lightbulb and paintbrush didn't kiss when can we have that

[khaopybara]

Ok ok ok. So. May met ai oon when she stole oom's uniform and went to school as her for the day right? And for May it was love at first sight but oon obviously forgot about it since she didn't recognize May at all! She's definitely going to be beating herself over that one once she's realizes it next ep.

Also it seems like oom was a terrible partner to both Paul AND May. Like girl did you even care about it either one of them???

Ok now on to the important parts like THE BATHROOM SCENE 🫠🫠🫠

Whooo baby *fans self* oon had been DESPERATE to kiss May again and goddamnit did she ever!!

Heartbreaking that oon thinks that may only loves her cause she thinks she’s oom but also funny that drunk oon was ready to fight her sister even though technically SHES the one in mays heart. 🤪🤪🤪

I think that’s it

-🤫

ps it might’ve just been me but when i saw the scene of May crying on oon’s chest in the trailer i thought she was dead. Glad to see that wasn’t the case 🙈

anon, i was waiting for your ask (i say as if i have any significant things to say) (and she ends up going on and on for 6 paragraphs, yeah, clearly nothing to say, dumbass).

oon did a lot of things while dressed up as oom, apparently. from picking fights to making people fall in love. we love the range. i find it so amusing that oon clearly didn't remember may from the past, but from the moment she met her in present day, she was immediately infatuated by that woman. i mean, she saw a pretty angel coming down the stairs and talking softly and touching her with care, and was immediately a goner. from my perspective, it goes to show how much lack of affection she has endured since school days into adulthood, to be honest, for her to latch on a complete stranger like that. but it's amusing, too, to see that oon's main rival the whole time was, * checks notes * oon herself.

we don't know enough about oom to make me defend her, but ever since that talk the twins had in front of the shop after oom came back from a flight, i kept thinking, oon is trying to support her sister bc she's clearly the most gifted of the two (not my thoughts btw, but we know how oon's self-confidence works) and the favorite, while oom is trying to fill in all the spots to make it look like their efforts and sacrifices meant something. pang herself said that her house felt lifeless and that she decorates her clients' houses based on the aura she gets from them and it jut felt like a bachelor's house, and jan says that's probably bc she wasn't into it. i don't think that was just about paul but about the whole life she built for herself (but then, that's me reading too much into it, too. sibling dynamics and the roles within their family group just fascinates me).

once upon a time, when i was watching ayaka is in love with hiroko, someone commented on the tags of a post that it was so nice to see women desiring each other instead of just giving off best friends vibes, and here we are in thai gl where women eat each other like their lives depend on it and let me tell you, oon has been waiting to get freaky with may for a fucking eternity, i genuinely thought she was about to combust on that car scene in the beginning of the episode.

and then she finally gets to confess and kiss may like she has been meaning to, and it's delicious! i've said this in the tag of my gifset, but i've been obsessed with that shot with oon lingering around may's throat as may kisses her forehead since forever. it's beautiful and intimate and honestly so breathtaking. the way they are both so into it and the clear desire? it was like gorgeous, i loved it so much. and the way oon lifted may up and put her in the sink? yeah, sure 'i've never been interested in women before' your learned all the tricks rather quickly.

it's honestly so sad that oon sees herself as second place. she was so confident during lunch with may's godawful "friends". i loved how she was direct and didn't look ashamed when saying she works in delivery and is also becoming an author. may had a huge influence in her confidence and moral, but when it comes to the matters of heart they need to be secretive bc oh man, when the truth comes out about the whole trial and kosol's involvement in may's accident? i'm sure it'll all be super duper fine.

that scene with may crying on oon's chest also confused me a lot when the trailer came out, because they were clearly in a regular bed and oon is dressed in a pretty dress, so why would you be crying, girl? and now we know. no one's dead, she was just very drunk.

[thebennsofdallas]

In defense of Season 6 (What we do in the Shadows)

I’ve seen talk about season 6.  How people are disappointed. How the writers have blown it, how Guillermo and Nandor are in so few scenes together, how canon has been thrown by the wayside.

So, I have to gently disagree. I think this is the best season of the series and that’s coming from a full-on Nandermo truther (with Laszlermo tendencies). I think this season HAS moved Guillermo and Nandor’s story forward. But it’s so much more than that. These 8 episodes have connected all the vampires in ways I never expected.

Think of all we learned about the vampires in just the first episode. Guillermo and Nandor apparently made an agreement to stay away from each other until Guillermo got his life together. (UNTIL. Keep that in mind.) Nandor obviously didn’t give a fuck about that and has been keeping tabs on him in secret. How else can he be so matter-of-fact about being separated from Guillermo and also, know where he was working?

Nadja has longed to interact more with humans and Laszlo forbade it, which caused a massive rift between them that lasted years. Man of science Laszlo had a dream to reanimate life out of dead tissue that he gave up on in favor of spending more time wanking. And Colin Robinson has been lonely for a real friend, even one made out of random body parts.

That’s a lot of stuff there, good stuff. Yes, we briefly had to deal with the prospect of Jerry destroying our show (okay, that was probably just me) but it turns out, Jerry was just a vehicle to reveal more about our beloved characters (I think Jerry will be a factor in the finale but that’s another story). The same with Guillermo’s departure from the vampires’ employ. It was barely a separation. Nadja and Nandor felt compelled to follow Guillermo all the way to his office, to “protect him”. And Laszlo restarted his project to create new life and allowed Colin Robinson to join in.

The writers are mixing and matching the cast in a way they’ve never done before. Nandor/Nadja, Laszlo/Colin, Colin/Nadja, Laszlo/Nandor. It’s a fresh spin on the old dynamic and it’s hilarious. And it demonstrates how much these four care about each other and that feels new, too.

As for Nandor and Guillermo, it might feel like they aren’t together as much but when they are together, it packs a punch. Except for the beginning of episode one, when Nandor childishly pretends like he doesn’t remember Guillermo, there’s been no more pretense. Guillermo has always worn his heart on his sleeve where Nandor is concerned but now, Nandor is wearing his there, too and it’s exciting to see our suspicions confirmed in a big, big way — these two idiots love each other and it’s just a matter of time before they have to acknowledge it. I don’t expect a vampire wedding in the future but something is coming. I just know it.

Episode 9 tomorrow, y’all. Episode 9 is where this show usually goes off the rails and into a ditch. So hold on. It’s gonna be a bumpy night.

[anxiousapplepie]

Question: What's the Loop Event with each traveler? (This is gonna be long I'm so sorry)

I don't know the official order, but my personal headcanon is Sif, then Mira, Bonnie, Odile, Isabeau. We know that with Siffrin, Loop was intentionally cruel to basically hammer a point home ("Hey you're important to this whole thing dumbass"). But I can't see that exact event happen with all of them.

I think they'd try to be gentle with Mira about the situation, maybe offering to show her what happens when she doesn't go with them and leaving it up to her to choose later. It does shake her up quite a bit, but she's grateful for the choice and ends up thanking Loop for reminding her why she's doing this.

They don't show Bonnie. I think Bonnie would find out the hard way after some time passes, maybe have a sequence of them just climbing the tree together (Bonnie gets a few hints of who they are by how they move and react, they've seen Siffrin climb ahead before and they know what happens when they're accidentally touched). Bonnie is traumatiiiiized and doesn't see them for a few loops. They eventually come back. Both apologize, Loop for thinking they couldn't handle it and Bonnie for not talking about it with them. They're still okay, but Bonnie doesn't really trust them after this.

With Odile, I think they do literally everything else before either she asks them to show her or they do it themselves. They try to convince her that she's important, that she's needed to complete the quest, and she's not getting it, so they snap. "You wanna see what happens? Spend a loop with me. Come find out." And she does. And she learns the hard way. Loop later apologizes for snapping. She understands, forgiving them quite quickly actually (Which reminds Loop of how Odile forgave Siffrin instantaneously after Siffrin shrunk back down and bawled their eyes out, and it KILLS them).

Traveler Isa gets his own more detailed thing, because yes I have a favorite and I'm not ashamed of it. I think a really good Loop Event would be him figuring who they are, even going as far as to slowly and gently touch their face (and Loop immediately leaning into it because it's been so long since they felt his hands-) and their star head actually fragments into showing him bits of their human face. And THEN he sees the King's first hit. He has a very prompt panic attack that is still kicking him while he's down after he loops back to before they talked. Bonus points if he goes to the clock tower early and manages to nap until the others get there. Being woken up gently by Researcher Sif is a little rough but he's happy to see him alive and okay. This is when the rest of the party notices something is up with Isa, and that's when they start to bring it up every loop that happens from then on. He and Loop do not talk for like two whole loops. Isa eventually cracks, and asks if he is allowed to ask any questions. Loop says no. This discovery changes their dynamic entirely, going from sarcastic commentary and cruel snips to "Oh God you're my lover from another dimension that never got out and is cursed to endure it over and over and over again what do you MEAN this happens to more than one of us".

My brain isn't quite on for the rest of them I'm sorry lmao

ALKSHDASDA MATE Don't be sorry at ALL!!! You have no idea how much fun I had reading all of your thoughts and and ideas! And absolutely no shame in having a favorite, because good grief I love how so many of you took a look at that rockhead and dumped so much more trauma and angst on him than I expected XD (Isa and Loop's dynamic makes me want to SCREAM, they both deserved so much better!!!) I've got a feeeeeew slightly different vibes though! Just a lil, for Traveler!Mira and Bonnie! I think it'd take Loop a LOT of effort to get Mira to "hangout" with them for a whole loop, for many reasons. One of which is Mira swings wildly between wanting to be the perfect hero and do Everything Correctly and "STUFF IT I need a self-care day!" and spends whole loops reading books and aggressively drinking pots of tea while the others go to the House without her. (she feels very guilty about it but unfortunately the guilt only fuels her perfectionism and anxiety for the normal run/loops.) Loop would try to be gentle at first. After all, they know she's doing her best and has the world on her shoulders. But also. ALSO. I think they'd try practicing cruelty for the sake of kindness, and cheerfully invite her to "spend the whole loop with me next time you don't want to go to the House!". Cue Loop pointing to the House when the King's first attack strikes and reminding her (viciously, slowly, pointedly, desperately) that every loop she has a choice and her choices always matter. Mira won't understand what Loop was trying to show her until after the timeloops, but when she does she'll be grateful. And a little angry. And relieved. It's complicated, and she wouldn't have it any other way. As for Traveler!Bonnie, I agree that Loop wouldn't want to on purposefully traumatize the kid, but UNFORTUNATELY Bonnie is an unstable and volatile brat and one loop they decide "OKAY. If the stupid adults think it'd be better for me to stay in town, then I'LL DO IT." and Loop sees this as an opportunity to bond with them a little. Maybe try to understand what their damage is in this AU. I think Loop is smart enough to not hope that "the others will be fine without Bonnie", but it'll still hurt when the bright flash of light from the House explodes and Bonnie has to stare at the consequences of their actions (or lack of action). They are vital to the team's survival. Which unfortunately inspires the little traveler to fight harder, and gives them more trauma and a deeper complex about 'needing to be an adult'. Loop hates it, but does their best to be a support to them as they figure things out from that time forwards. but anyway!! you have no idea how many times I've gone back to reread your vibes for Traveler!Isa and the Loop event because it is juicy and full of angst and I am here for that energy XD

[bomikalover]

Austin & Ally (Auslly) Dynamic Analysis

Hello Again!

A while back I posted an A&A Analysis in which I asked what other things you want me to yap about. Well, this Yap Session was asked by @filmmakerdreamst so I was eager to answer!

The last one was about Auslly having horrid parental supervision and just bad parents in general. Which you can read here:

But today, we are talking about the Auslly Dynamic as a whole and in each season specifically in order to truly gauge why Austin and Ally have such a strong bond that any singular other character duo can replicate.

Warning: This is LONGGGGG lol

SEASON ONE: THE BESTEST OF FRIENDS

Season One was pure platonic friendship and I love that. Of course, they had that episode where Austin thought Ally had a crush on him and flipped out, but that was only because he didn't want to ruin their friendship and partnership with silly feelings and crushes. They were comfortable being friends and both decided to keep it that way.

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During the first season, Austin time and time again makes mistakes that in other shows would cause episodes of drama and not get resolved till the end of the season. But Austin's respect for Ally and her feelings makes him think over his actions, realize that he did wrong, and handle the issue in a sweet and mature manner.

For Example, when Austin was continuously late and disrespectful of Ally's time, he got Ally a signed guitar by Bruno Mars (a favorite artist of Ally's) and gave her a planner to plan all the time she needed him since being her partner meant there was no more "Austin Time" but "Austin and Ally Time."

Another example is when the jealous blogger was ruining Austin's career because of Ally, yet he never blamed her. Even when threatened with never-ending blackmail he still chose Ally over his career. (Which he does all throughout the show which I will mention in other sections)

A Third Example, is Austin giving up his chance with the club owner at Trish's party to slow dance with Ally after getting rejected by Dallas (Ally's Crush in S1).

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In S1 Ally had broken the personal boundaries and walls she had set up with everyone else for Austin and his career.

Like doing activities with Austin that she had never done with Trish. (The HorrerFest and doing a duo costume with Austin which led her to find out about Trish liking the Zaliens Franchise. Meaning she never went with Trish to any of these events before.)

Running onto a stage just to apologize to Austin even though she has extreme stage fright.

Also performing with him when Taylor Swift was injured.

Revealing how she had gotten stage fright in the first place in order to help him overcome his fears.

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Season 1 was just the writer's way of selling their friendship to their audience. They weren't instantly friends, they had plenty of episodes of petty arguments and learning about each other to become as close as they were at the end of S1. It was realistic and fun to actually see them go from strangers to really close friends who entrusted secrets to each other. It was also refreshing to have Austin and Ally be opposites but have music be the thing that connects them. (Which I will give its own section at the end) Whether it be their parents' disbelief in their careers or just having someone to talk to who was at their professional musical level and truly understood music. Season One may not be the best season out of the four but it was extremely necessary for the realistic growth of auslly.

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SEASON TWO: FRIENDS OR FEELINGS?

Season 2 is when things start to get interesting. Feelings were revealed, crushes were had, couples got together, people were jelly, and couples broke up. You could immediately see these two were WAY closer and their friendship has blossomed.

Austin realized his feelings after Ally but definitely had a harder time dealing with them than Ally. He gets with Kira Starr (daughter of the Owner of Starr Records - Jimmy Starr) after her bad breath is handled. (Kira Starr you deserved so much better as a character. I could write an analysis of her as well! Comment, if I should!) But when Ally starts to hang around an old camp buddy, Austin gets extremely jealous and Dez helps him realize his feelings for Ally. So after a lot of back and forth between Ally & Kira, Austin picks Kira....then kisses Ally...then dates Kira anyway. But after more back and forth, he breaks up with Kira and serenades Ally, resulting in them FINALLY getting together.

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Ally realized her feelings before Austin while helping him go on the perfect date with Kira. Ally immediately pushes her feelings down and does the mature thing like always. She decides to focus on her career after Austin continues to unintentionally play with her feelings. Then finally gives in when Austin breaks up with Kira and sings a song she wrote about him to her since he feels the same way.

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Though their relationship lasted one episode, I wasn't too mad. Once again, the writers are taking a more realistic approach and aren't making Auslly immediately a perfect couple with no faults. They are friends first and it showed this season more than last.

Austin was willing to give up his first magazine cover for Ally and Ally was willing to front flip off a building so that he wouldn't have to give it up.

Austin snuck out of his house to help Ally since he knew she was counting on him.

Austin tries to write his own songs since he is taking up the time Ally needs for her own career. (and his first successful song was about her.)

Austin gifts Ally priceless glass slippers which resulted in him carrying her for days since she couldn't walk in them. In the same episode, Ally helps Austin reinvent his childhood role model of a rock star's career.

Though they had a pretty big fight and realized that they had doubts about each other, they quickly made up and didn't let those past feelings control how they feel about each other now.

At the end of the season, they both agree it's better to be happy that both of their careers are taking off even if it's tearing them apart. This already shows growth from S1 Auslly who had the chance to be separated from each other (Ally going to NY for music school and Austin signing with another Manager and leaving team Austin) but chose each other over their careers.

Though they obviously have feelings for each other and both know that, they realize that if they truly loved and cared for each other...they needed to let each other go.

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SEASON THREE: SEASON TWO BUT MORE COMPLICATED AND MORE ANNOYING.

Season 3 is a whirlwind of emotions. The first half of S3 is focused on Ally on the Austin Moon Tour and them in school WAY more often. (which makes no sense btw. A&A are both EXTREMELY popular teen idols yet they aren't bombarded every hall they turn down? Like how are paparazzi not at Sonic Boom or the beach they famously hang out at? If anything they should both be homeschooled or do online schooling. PLUS Ally was working at Sonic Boom, working on songs for her and Austin, doing school, attending all her clubs, doing all her other duties as an artist, was in committed relationships, AND finding time to hang out with her friends?! Give that girl an award..)

The second half is the part I didn't like. They did the same thing they did in S2 but with different love interests. Ally with Garett and Austin with Piper. Both relationships last like 2 maybe 3 episodes then get broken up since Auslly can't think of anyone else but each other lol.

They get together once again at prom and stay together till the end of the season. (They technically break up in the last episode but Austin professes his love in front of the whole world on live television and throws away his entire career for her so I think that means they are together lol)

Now Austin and Ally are officially a couple and the season ends with Austin joining Ally on her tour parallel to Ally joining Austin on his tour at the beginning of the season.

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SEASON FOUR: MATURE SEMI ADULT AUSLLY

Season 4 is all fluff with very last-minute angst. Austin and Ally are finally together for good and it's a breath of fresh air. They help each other deal with their problems like Austin struggling about not being able to live out his passions and dreams. And Ally freaking out about her future and thinking she's not ready. Plus the constant problem of the two of them struggling to be a couple while being artists and now owning a factory together.

The overarching theme of Auslly blurring the lines between them as a couple and them as business partners and two extremely big names in the music industry is so intriguing to me. It was a slow buildup but S4 showed this buildup in its full intensity. Austin was so conflicted about being upset and saddened for himself but still extremely happy and supportive of his girlfriend that he was having nightmares of Ally living his dreams and leaving him behind. Also insecure about Ally going to Harvard and leaving him for a smarter man.

But Ally constantly reminds him that she loves him for him and only him which calms him every time.

But as always, good things always come to an end...Austin & Ally break up.

AND DON'T TALK FOR 4 YEARS!

Austin got back his career and Ally decided to go to college while still being a musician so they didn't have any time for each other. That distance took a toil and ended in them leaving each other's sides for a while. But with a little conniving from Trish and Dez, they were brought back together and realized that they never stopped loving each other. But the two of them still question how to be a couple when they're constantly competing against each other and being dragged away from each other. But then Austin had the bright idea of just becoming a singing duo instead of going head to head as competing artists for the rest of their lives.

That ends up being the right move and they live happily ever after with their two kiddos and music factory/museum.

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This was my stupid long dynamic analysis but I'm not done.

I also want to more intently explain why Austin and Ally are so close.

...and the answer is music.

I know what you are thinking, no duh...that's like the whole show premise but I'm digging into it deeper.

Remember in my earlier post I mentioned Auslly writing their songs about each other like no one else is there for them like each other?

I believe if A&A were on a more mature network, we would see the straight pressure and anxiety these two felt while being in the industry so young. Like, think about it...Austin and Ally were 14-15 when Austin went viral and Ally became his songwriter. Then Ally was around 15-16 when her personal career went off. They were absolute BABIES! With little to no support from their families, friends who could never fully grasp the amount of pressure they were under, and the entertainment industry watching their every move. Trish and Dez both play parts that are behind the scene (Manager and Director) and allow them to still keep their youths to themself instead of the youth being taken away from them like Auslly.

Austin was on a full-blown multi-city and state tour at 16!?

Ally was doing the same at 16-17...

in NYC performing Times Square BY THEMSELVES

Like literal children.

look at some of the lyrics these kids wrote about each other...

Parachute - Ally - Her First Album

"I remember life before

Faraway dreams and locking doors

Then you came, then you came

Afraid to fall, to be free

Always my own worst enemy

Isn't what, what you see

I took time to realize

That I couldn't do it by myself, myself

There's no gravity

when you're next to me

You will always break my

fall, like a parachute

When you're holding me so

weightless I can barely breathe

You will always break my fall, my fall

Like a parachute

You're my parachute"

LIKE? IM SORRY?

(Pls listen to the whole song and read all the lyrics cause it's really deep and emotional.)

here is Austin talking about Ally...

Austin - Stuck On You - Austin gets over stage fright by only looking at Ally

"So, I'm singing all the words I'm scared to say, yeah So, forgive me if I'm doing this all wrong I'm trying my best in this song To tell you, what can I do? I'm stuck on you I'm hoping, you feel what I do 'Cause I told Mom about you I told her, what can I do? I'm stuck on you

And like the nightsticks to the moon Girl, I'm stuck on you"

(Austin's isn't as deep and sad as Ally's but that is the character difference.)

But either way, the song is extremely sweet and endearing.

And this is only 2 songs out of 4 seasons worth of dedicated songs to each other. There was never a single song dedicated to their families only a couple for their friends but never as deep and descriptive as this. I think I can safely say that Austin and Ally were each other's safe places and utter sanctuary. It makes sense why their hugs were so long and their simple glances turned to deep gazes. They were each other's home...a place of peace.

Austin and Ally grew up with parents who gave up on their dreams, settled, and expected them to do the same. To work in the family business and forget their dreams since they had a one-in-a-billion chance of making it. No one fully understood how hard they worked and how much it hurt to have no one on their side.

No one but each other.

Trish never had the work effort that Ally had or the ability to not like having attention on her like Ally hated.

Dez never cared about being the one on camera like Austin or cared about what the public thought about him like Austin constantly did.

Even their best friends could never fully grasp their dilemma.

No one understands Austin like Ally.

And no one understands Ally like Austin.

It makes sense...they were two in a million.

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OK, THAT WAS SO LONG I AM SO SORRY.

But I love sharing my brain thoughts with you all so I'd gladly do more. Just give me recs in the comments even if they aren't A&A related.

This is the second yap session of this new series so you can always find this by the hashtag I put on each one...

#Yappin' with Shy

maybe next time I talk about the secret romance between Austin and Dez/Ally and Kira, or how Trish can be an aro-ace, or how Ally's dad's money problems root to something deeper than just being cheap.

But that’s a yapper-sation for another time - Shy

[thatofabeavers]

Just watched Twisters-

and you instantly know who the love interest is when they look like Dean and survive a near miss with the protagonist xd

[victimized-martyr]

ur making me wanna ship kyman (only if cartman gets therapy) what the actual fuck is Tumblr doing to me

Nice to tempt you to the dark side 👻

lolol in all seriousness, that’s cool! Technically, Cartman *is* in therapy. He’s seeing Thomas (Panderverse), remember? And it’s strongly implied he’s on medication (Cupid Ye). Can’t say if he’s getting better or worse, but Cartman definitely has evolved. If you want to go the redemption route, it’s been shown that it takes little for Cartman to be “fixed”. He just needs discipline, a sturdy male figure in his life. He… needs to be dominated. Literally (tsst) and if not that, he needs to get out of South Park— his biggest enabler. So, he’s not too far gone. He’s a real piece of work though, and South Park’s wellbeing (in-show and out) can’t function without him being an asshole. It’s just who he is. But whoever decides to stick with him has to have a lot of determination to deal some damage control, or keep him in check. (hm, sounds familiar…)

So, there’s your condition met. Go forth and ship kyman! 🫡