#yet to wander fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

grandwretch · 2 years ago

Text

only i must wander, pt 2

[on ao3][pt 1]

content warnings: non-graphic discussions of racism, bigotry, murder, and child abuse. i go into more detail on ao3.

Before Steve even had a chance to breathe, Robin was human again. A furrow in her brow creased her smooth skin, frustration at the forced woge evident. Her eyes– blue, Steve noted, unlike the gold they had been a moment before –held Steve's gaze for a moment before sliding away.

Her quick return to humanity did not negate the familiar rush of adrenaline. Steve's body had locked up the moment her eyes had flashed at him, torn between two instincts. Just as he'd feared, the forefront of his mind was focused on violence. The enemy wasn't moving, unarmed and currently disguised as a human, but that only meant that Steve had the advantage; There was a blade on the far counter, dull but usable, and if he needed to run, there was a window over her shoulder.

He'd probably survive the fall.

But as much as his body wanted to shove his new manager– Seriously, what was that guy's name, again? –to the side and lunge for the knife, Steve refused to give in. Hopper had told him he could power through these instincts, but it didn't feel like fighting. It felt like hiding. Like he if he didn't move, didn't breathe, then the terror of his own brain couldn't find him.

The manager said something. Steve didn't hear, didn't care, all of his senses attuned to Robin and her every move.

Robin stood, and Steve felt his entire body shift. It wasn't a flinch, not so much movement that the manager would clock it, but he… His fingers twitched into loose fists, his posturing changing as his hips and feet moved to a more dynamic stance. It didn't look like much, just a nervous guy fidgeting on his first day at work, but Steve could feel his body revving up for a fight.

And judging by the look in Robin's eyes, she might actually give it to him.

"I can show him around the back," Robin said, smiling at the manager. "We used to go to school together. It'll give us time to catch up." The friendliness on her face was obviously fake, plastic-y and barely an effort. But if the manager noticed, he didn't care.

"Good looking out, Rob. I needed to give Patrick his break, anyway," he said. "Steve, I'll see you in about thirty minutes to finish up your paperwork?"

It hurt to make himself nod, his body unwilling to give in to the extraneous movement. Stilted though it was, the manager was happy enough to accept it. He smiled, nodded, and left them alone in the room.

The woge had rippled back across Robin's face before the door even shut behind him. Now that he was expecting it, Steve could see more of the details of her second face. Unlike Dustin, the fur sprouting on her face was mostly white, and it faded into the same reddish-brown as her hair. Her teeth and nose lengthened, a subtle snout protruding from her face. The biggest change, however, was her eyes: They glittered gold, larger and more fierce than her human gaze.

Steve wasn't great at this Wesen thing yet, but Dustin had told him that tons of Wesen had attributes of animals, and Robin was obviously one of them. Would knowing which one help him in a fight? She was obviously something furry and mean, like some kind of cat… Or maybe a fox?

Robin met his curious gaze, and Steve watched her face grow even angrier at what she saw there.

Before Steve could even wonder which sins she saw reflected back in his eyes, Robin was taking large, furious steps towards him.

Not even Steve's dedication to not hurting anyone could power through his need to not be murdered in an ice cream shop by an angry Wesen. He gave up on the idea of the blade– It was too far, on the other side of teeth and claws, and he wasn't willing to risk it for a sub-par weapon. Instead, he reached out for the first thing he could get his hands on.

It turned out to be an ice cream scoop.

Steve had half a mind to be embarrassed of his own instincts, but in the next breath a hundred scenarios flooded through his mind. He could use the handle as brass knuckles, use the added force to break her nose, pushing the cartilage into her brain. But would the Wesen bone structure allow for it? He couldn't be sure. That was why he obviously had to go for the eyes, using the slight point of the scoop to remove an eye from the socket. But–

Bile rose in his throat, and Steve forced himself to swallow even as plan after plan sprouted fully-formed in his mind.

"Please don't make me hurt you," he said, his voice shaking in his throat. "I really don't want to hurt you."

The plea only deepened the disgust on Robin's face, and she took one more step towards him. Steve planted his feet, twirling the scoop to reverse his grip when she bared her teeth at him. He would definitely have to take a few teeth out first.

"Why am I not surprised that King Steve is a fucking Grimm?" Robin growled, the unfamiliar word like a curse in her mouth. It was obviously supposed to mean something to him, supposed to hurt, but the best Steve could do was confusion.

Confusion so deep, in fact, that it helped dull the rage and terror that Steve couldn't tame. He felt his muscles relax by centimeters, the energy going instead towards trying to figure out what the fuck that was supposed to mean.

"What the fuck is a Grimm?"

He would have thought it was his Wesen name, although it didn't exactly sound like Hexenbiest or Eisbiber. It sounded English, in fact, and although Dustin had lectured him a thousand times about why German and English sounded so similar, the familiarity unsettled Steve a bit. Sure, 'beast' wasn't exactly something you wanted to be called, but Steve was willing to say that 'grim' was a fair bit closer.

"Please," Robin scoffed. When Steve could only blink at her, shrugging, her face changed to something that almost resembled pity. "You're kidding."

"I have no fucking idea what you're talking about," Steve said. "What is that? A Grimm, I mean. Is that– Is that what I am?"

Without another word, Robin dropped the woge and turned away from him, picking up the book she had abandoned on the table.

"Look, I'm sorry that we got off on the wrong foot. I'm new at this Wesen thing, so I don't really know how to stop the eyes from giving people the wrong idea, but if you– If you know what I am, then maybe you could–"

Laughter cut him off, and Robin shook her head, turning back around. "I'm not really interested in teaching a future serial killer how to do his job, thanks."

Steve faltered. "I… what?"

"Look, I don't care what you do outside of work. Do what you need to. But stay the fuck away from me, okay?"

She wasn't meeting his eyes, Steve noticed. Not even really looking at him at all, even though it meant she was at a disadvantage if he attacked. It was just the tiniest gesture, submissive where everything else had been primed to offend, and Steve realized with a sinking stomach that she was scared. Robin was terrified of him, not in the way that El had been, but as a person.

The adrenaline had long since faded, and Robin was still afraid that he would kill her.

"I'm not…" Steve panted. "I wouldn't…."

Robin didn't wait for him to find his words. She was out the door before he had even caught his breath, leaving the door banging behind her.

It had been hell getting through the rest of the shift. It was, blessedly, a short one, more of an orientation than anything, but Steve still couldn't focus for more than five minutes. His brain kept repeating the words Robin had thrown in his face.

A future serial killer. What the fuck had that meant?

Steve didn't go home after his first shift. He had planned to, planned to celebrate with a long, hot shower and some take out. The anxiety that crept up when he was finally alone in his car didn't care what Steve had planned, however. Normally, he would have just called Dustin to puzzle it over, like he usually did with every other perplexing social interaction, but Dustin was only allowed one phone call a day, which meant Steve got to talk to him once a week. It was a blessing that Claudia had afforded him Sundays, honestly. So Steve turned to the only other person in this town who could put up with him for more than five minutes.

Hopper didn't even bother to act surprised when Steve knocked on his door. "Rough day at work?" he said, a grin curled around the cigarette he had tucked into the corner of his mouth.

"Wesen coworker," Steve said.

That was enough explanation, apparently. "Fuck, kid," Hopper said, stepping back so Steve could slip past him into the living room. "You can't catch a break, huh?"

"I… handled it better than I thought I would," Steve admitted as he crossed the room to throw himself onto the couch. "I almost threw up afterwards, but I didn't let it control me again."

He heard the door close, and Hopper's heavy footsteps on the floor behind him. Steve couldn't see him from where his head lolled on the couch cushion, but he could see Hopper's shadow reaching across the floor. That was enough.

"See, I knew you could do it," Hopper said, over the distinct sound of a fridge door opening.

Steve huffed, thinking about the things Robin had said to him. Had called him. "She knew what I was," he said, because it felt wrong to acknowledge the praise when he was pretty sure he didn't deserve it. "Called me a Grimm."

"That…" Hopper sounded as confused as Steve felt. "Now, I don't speak German, but I'm pretty sure that's just English."

"I don't fucking know anymore, man. From what Dustin's been telling me, I think they might be the same thing."

"Wouldn't that be useful?" Hopper scoffed. The fridge closed. "Did she bother to explain what it meant?"

"N… no?" Steve swallowed. "I asked, but she wouldn't really…"

Hopper rounded the couch and held an already sweating can of beer out. Steve accepted it with shaking hands.

"She didn't say it like it was a nice thing," Steve said, finally. "Honestly, I think she assumed I was there to kill her."

That certainly made Hopper pause. Steve watched him pause, halfway into his recliner, before finally forcing himself to complete the motion. They didn't speak for a moment, but Steve couldn't bring himself to drink. The idea of anything on his churning stomach made him sick.

"Does it… matter?" Hopper said, eventually.

Steve laughed, a strained, choking thing. "Does it matter?" he repeated, "Does it matter that apparently my entire– my entire species is supposed to kill people? Yeah, Hop, I would say it does."

"That's not how–" Hopper shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Listen, don't go talking to Dustin about what I'm about to say, but from what I've heard from Claudia Henderson, I sometimes get the feeling that these Wesen folk are racist as hell."

Steve blinked. "I don't think it's really the same thing."

"Yeah?" Hopper's mouth twisted, a smile that made Steve shiver. "You weren't here when she was trying to explain to me what El was. Some of the stuff she said… She's not human, either, but she talked about El like she was worse than a monster. Like she would kill all of us in our sleep if we gave her the chance."

Steve thought about it. It felt wrong, like a pebble in his shoe, to think about himself that way. He'd been very lucky growing up, he knew that. He had the money, the right looks, the right family. He couldn't imagine himself dealing with the same things that Lucas had gone through, for instance. But… Steve also thought about the things Dustin said, sometimes, about his mom not letting him be alone with El, how Steve himself probably wouldn't be allowed within five feet of him anymore when she discovered that Steve wasn't human.

It wasn't the same thing, not at all, but it still didn't feel good.

"I'm not saying that she was right," Steve said, slowly, "but my instincts…"

"You're not a fucking animal, kid," Hopper grunted. "Don't let them treat you like one."

He raised the legs of his recliner, settling into the cushion with a pointed silence. The conversation was over, as far as Hop was concerned.

Steve tried to be okay with that. Tried to be okay with the idea that they were wrong, not him. Every day, he woke up and tried again. It never really stuck. Some days were better than others. Some days, Steve could almost brush off Robin's glare without a single pang of guilt. Some days, Steve felt human. Most days he didn't. There was a voice in his head that said they were right, that it might be for the wrong reasons, but there was something wrong with him.

Robin only made it worse. Steve had tried to keep out of her way, but there were only so many excuses that could keep them off the same shifts. When they did work together, Robin never let up– He tried to keep quiet, keep his head down, but she would always find something to say.

It was never nice. Of course. After a while, she didn't even seem fearful, just disgusted at his existence. Everything Steve did was under scrutiny, with Robin insulting everything from his hair to his customer service. Once, during a particularly intense rush, she hissed at him for breathing 'like a beast'.

That's what she said. Like a beast.

El was the only thing that helped. Hopper didn't understand, and Dustin was away at camp, but El was always happy to see him. Steve didn't talk about it much, not wanting to unload the mess in his head on a little girl, but Steve was sure El got it, anyway.

Steve didn't know what Mrs. Henderson told her about being a Hexenbiest. He didn't want to know. Avoiding her was awkward enough without actively wanting to rip her apart for making El feel bad for something she couldn't control.

And, yeah, he got the irony– It was different for El, okay?

Hanging out with El was different than hanging with Dustin and the others. While the boys left Steve with the same happy, tired feeling as a good swim meet, El made him feel… grounded. Restored. He didn't know if that was personality or power, but he was sure that was the only thing keeping him sane.

After bad days, Steve would drive straight to the cabin. Hopper would always roll his eyes and grouse about Steve keeping his daughter up all hours, but he never actually turned Steve away. (Besides he loved it when El would kick Mike out for Steve. He never laughed harder.) They would commandeer the couch, chasing Hopper off to the kitchen nook, and watch movies or music videos Steve had taped. Sometimes, El read out loud to Steve, instead; Her vocabulary was improving in leaps and bounds. Once night settled fully, they would go out onto the porch and talk until El couldn't form words around her yawns.

They never talked about the Wesen thing. Everything else was fair game, though. Sometimes it was simple things, like what it was like to love a Wheeler, or if Lucas and Will would like the book they just finished. Sometimes El talked about the lab, about the siblings she'd lost. Sometimes Steve admitted, nervous every time, that when his parents were home he felt like a cornered animal. Max joined them from time to time, the conversations becoming all the more bittersweet.

Sure, making yet another thirteen year old best friend probably wasn't the healthiest thing Steve had ever done, but it got him out of bed and into work every morning. That was more than enough, for now.

El must have said something to the other kids, because they started showing up at work more often. Every day, in fact, even when they'd long since run out of allowance to spend on ice cream. They weren't obvious about it, only popping by to tell him about their day or beg for free samples, except for Max.

Max, ever the protector, loved to come by on days Robin worked. Her new favorite hobby was sitting at a table for hours and yelling over Robin whenever she spoke. Max always got Steve's employee discount.

"You do not look happy," El said one night. Max had still been in the lobby when Steve clocked out, so they'd driven to the cabin together instead of going home.

"I'm fine," Steve said, automatically, straightening himself from his slump.

"He has to work with Robin all next week," Max said, ignoring Steve's noise of protest. "She was complaining about it loud enough for half the mall to hear."

"Hm." El's eyes narrowed. Then, as if the moment had never happened, she turned towards Steve's stack of tapes. "I want to watch the Muppets."

Steve really shouldn't have been surprised when El showed up with Max the next day.

The moment he registered her bright, familiar grin, Steve felt his veins go cold. It was a strange, almost alien feeling now to be afraid without the all-consuming adrenaline and rage of his woge. Instead of forcing himself to stay still, he was stuck , unable to do anything but watch Max and El approach the counter.

"Hi, Steve!" El said, smiling. She looked so happy, all dolled up in new clothes and light makeup, and Steve wanted to be happy for her. He really did. Hopper's voice in his head simply wouldn't let him.

"You are not supposed to be here," Steve said, voice dropping into a whisper. Max rolled her eyes and Steve felt the anger break through the icy grip of fear, finally letting him round the counter to herd them into the corner. "Did you sneak her out, Mayfield?"

"It's the mall, Harrington," she sniped, crossing her arms. "No one's looking for her here. She'll be fine."

"Government agents and mad scientists have to shop, too," Steve said. "... Probably."

El leaned into Steve's side, pouting up at him. Which, honestly, was cheating, because El knew that Steve had never been able to say no to puppy dog eyes. When she finally let Dustin in on that trick, his life was officially over. He could already feel himself starting to waver.

"We came to help," El said, wrapping her arms around Steve's waist. "Don't be mad."

"I'm not…" Steve took a deep breath. "I'm not mad. I'm worried. There's a difference."

Max was no longer paying attention. Instead, she was staring at the front counter, face drawn into a tight scowl. "El. That's her."

Robin stood at the counter, obviously staring. Not at the girl who was glaring daggers into her, but El and Steve. It almost didn't register at first; Steve had gotten pretty used to constantly having Robin's attention on him when they worked together. As El calmly returned Robin's stare, however, Steve noticed that the usual anger on Robin's face wasn't present. She looked almost surprised, instead, with a heavy dose of confusion.

Which made sense, he guessed, if she could tell El was a Wesen.

He put his hand on El's back, a protective gesture that he hoped Robin would understand as a line in the sand. Her gaze didn't waver.

"I want to talk to her," El said, voice strangely flat.

"Absolutely not," Steve said. "She's almost an adult, and you can't fight back without… getting yourself in trouble."

"Then can I…"

"No," Steve sighed. "Is this really what you snuck out for? To bother my coworker with your magic powers?"

"And shopping," Max said brightly.

El didn't answer. When Steve looked down at her, her cheek still pressed into his uniform shirt, he watched the woge settle across her face.

" Jane Hopper, " Steve hissed. Over the past weeks, he had gotten more than used to El's Wesen face, and had become as fond of it as he was her cherub-cheeked human form. That didn't mean he was an idiot, though; He knew an intimidation tactic when he saw one.

He also saw Robin's face go absolutely white as the blood drained from her face. There was a moment where the girls' gazes held, Robin's hypnotized by the black pits of El's, and then Robin squeaked and scuttled into the back room.

"Guys, you can't…" Steve began, but when Max and El both looked up at him with matching mischievous grins, he couldn't hold back his chuckles. "Thank you, but seriously. Never do this again."

El tilted her head up, chin digging into Steve's stomach, to meet his gaze. "No one is allowed to bully you."

"That so?" Steve said, a fond smile stealing across his face.

Solemn, El responded, "Will says big brothers need to be protected sometimes, too."

"Oh." Steve turned the loose embrace into a proper hug, suddenly overcome with affection. His whole life he'd been alone, and now he had two little siblings. How cool was that? He hummed, a hand smoothing down El's curls as she squeezed him tight.

Max watched them with a look Steve couldn't decipher, the beginnings of a frown on her face. Maybe three little siblings, he corrected himself, and reached one hand out to her.

"Ew," Max complained, but let herself be pulled into his side anyway.

"I care about you both so much ," Steve said, voice low. "Which is why you're going home right now, before Hopper finds out you left and you get so grounded I can't see you again until I'm 40."

"Dad is in Layton," El said, eyes twinkling. "We have hours ."

"And tickets to Back to the Future," Max said, smug as anything.

Steve sighed and pushed flyaway hairs back from Max's forehead. "Fine, but be careful. I saw the boys here earlier. Try to get a ride home with Jonathan or Nance. And stick together ."

"Okay, mom, " Max said, rolling her eyes as she pulled away.

El giggled like it was the funniest joke she's ever heard. "Yeah, mom ."

Steve shook his head and shooed them out, mumbling meaningless threats of narcking to Hopper. Once they were out of his sight, swallowed by the churn of the crowd, Steve felt himself deflate. The performance of big brother kept him afloat, chest filling with warmth, but when he was supposed to be just Steve…

He bit his lip and returned to the service counter, ignoring the unmistakable feeling of a gaze glued to his back.

The next month flew by much the same as the first had, though if Max and El snuck out again, they knew better than to come to Scoops. Robin's ire, now two months deep, now inspired more melancholy in Steve than frustration.

It was astonishingly easy to descend into self-pity, lately, and with every insult or smart remark Steve couldn't help but feel he'd lost something. Not just for himself, but for El and Dustin, too. Nothing concrete, but rather a bond, the chance of a connection to the greater Wesen community. A connection that should have already belonged to El and Dustin, denied to them by deception and fear.

And now by the virtue of loving Steve.

Steve tried not to dwell on it too much. He kept himself busy, between work and helping Hop at the cabin, and counted down the days until Dustin would be home. Until their tiny pack of three would be complete again.

The day Steve woke up to a tiny beaver sticker on his calendar, not even Robin could knock the smile off his face. He could tell it bothered her, too, and for once the mumbling under breath only made him smile harder.

His brother was coming home.

Steve was on his break when he heard Dustin's voice, clear as a bell, for the first time in months. "Is he here?"

Robin answered, clearly bored, but Steve paid no mind to what she had to say. He was already out of his seat by Dustin's final syllable. Steve sprinted out of the break room, skidding out of the door as his own speed overwhelmed him. And there he was, Dustin Henderson, a whole two inches taller than Steve had last seen him.

His smile was blinding.

"I can't believe you actually wear that," Dustin said, his smile only growing wider.

"You little shit," Steve said, then leapt over the counter. He didn't put much thought into it, hadn't considered that he might not be able to clear it. He'd only thought– Oh, it would be so much faster to go over than around. And then he'd done it, shoes squeaking on the linoleum as he landed on the other side.

"Wow, you must have really missed me," Dustin said, and then he said nothing at all, because Steve was scooping him into a hug.

"I regret it immediately," Steve said, but he didn't let go. If anything, his own gentle teasing just made him squeeze harder, as if Dustin would take his teasing as truth and leave again. "When can I send you back?"

Dustin slapped him on the back, his usual sign he wanted to be let down, now, please. "If you suffocate me I'm not going to make it until next time."

"Sorry, man," Steve said. He lowered Dustin to the floor and then stepped back. Through all his sheepishness, he still didn't stop smiling; Not even the embarrassment could dim the sheer relief Steve felt having everyone he loved back in the same city limits. "How was camp?"

"Who gives a shit? I can't believe they actually hired you!"

"Fuck off, Henderson, seriously."

And then, naturally, they fell into their handshake. It was a stupid, geeky tradition that Steve had been pulled into unwillingly, but he had to admit that half the moves were his idea. Even the lightsaber fight, which they had choreographed on Mrs. Henderson's couch after a hearty meal of Christmas leftovers. Steve thought the spilling of his guts was particularly inspired, even if Dustin often complained that disembowelment was both non-canon and unscientific.

As if the little shit didn't giggle every time.

"No, but seriously," Steve said as he recovered from his dramatic demise, "how was camp, man? Let me go on my break, you can tell me everything–"

"Absolutely not," Robin said from the counter. Dustin turned to her, eyebrows raised, and Steve internally sighed. He was not looking forward to explaining all this to Dustin, who was protective on the best days and mocking on the worst. Whatever the kid's opinion would be, Steve was sure it would just make him feel worse.

Before could even protest the double standard of Robin having already taken two breaks to his zero, Robin did the unthinkable– She woged at Dustin, human teeth already bared before they shifted into fangs. Steve was proud of how Dustin reacted, though, meeting Robin's gaze head-on even though Steve could see his black little nose quiver in terror. The instinctual response woge had settled over Dustin, his fear plain as day, but he didn't give a centimeter.

Good, Steve thought, as he whirled on Robin.

Robin's anger matched his own before Steve could even open his mouth, as if he were the one who had been unspeakably rude. As if he was the one making thinly veiled threats of violence in public. As if he were the one who kept woging in public, every time risking more and more exposure. It only made the rage burn brighter.

"What the fuck is your problem, Buckley?" Steve could tell from the flicker of Robin's golden eyes that he was woged now, too, and he knew he was supposed to fight it. Part of him wanted to try. But for once, the human and Wesen instincts were in complete accordance. No version of Steve Harrington was going to let anything happen to Dustin.

"I can't believe you," Robin said. There was an animalistic rumble underneath her voice, a vocalization that Steve's ears could only just make out. "The audacity of a Grimm knows no bounds, apparently."

That word again. Whatever the fuck it meant.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Steve ignored the confused glances Dustin kept throwing his way, the hand clenched in the hem of his shirt. There was no way he was taking his eyes off an angry predator.

"I thought it was really weird when that little 'biest was here, hanging off of you," Robin continued, "but everyone knows that they're all buddy-buddy with the Royals, so I figured it was business. But this? Preying on a little prey kid? That's low, Harrington, even for you."

It was a stupid, cruel assumption to make. The kind of thing Tommy would have said in high school. The kind of thing Steve would have laughed at, a few years ago. Now, though, Steve's stomach dropped somewhere he couldn't feel it, leaving only a hollow pit behind. Was it by simple virtue of that word– Grimm, Steve thought with a daze –that made Robin so sure he was capable of something so foul? Or was it something he had done, once, when he had been so desperate for approval? He didn't think that even King Steve at his worst had been so horrible to earn him this.

Steve stuttered, his breath caught in his throat. Dustin had no such trouble.

"Hey!" Dustin said, his voice going squeaky with anger. "That's my best friend you're talking to."

Robin looked at him with as much condescension as Carol Perkins had ever managed, her nose twitching with disgust. "You don't know what he's like, kid."

Unfortunately for her, Dustin Henderson was the one child on planet earth who didn't deign to even acknowledge being treated like one. "I'm pretty sure I know him better than you . I don't know where you got your information, but Steve has saved my life multiple times, and–"

"I really don't think she needs to know about all that," Steve said quickly. His heart was rabbiting in his chest just thinking about trying to explain away stories about demodogs and lab experiments to a girl who already hated his guts.

"Do your parents know that you've been hanging out with a Grimm?" Robin asked, apparently ignoring the saving-Dustin's-life thing. Thank god.

Dustin stiffened, probably because Mrs. Henderson absolutely would freak if she knew Steve was any kind of Wesen, much less one bad enough for all the shit Robin had been talking. "I don't know what a Grimm is," Dustin said, eventually, his voice oddly stilted. "But it doesn't matter. He's Steve ."

For once, Robin looked as confused as Steve felt, like, 75% of the time. "You honestly don't know– Hold on." She snapped and turned to Steve. "You. When you said you didn't know what a Grimm was, you just weren't playing dumb?"

"No," Steve said, and it came out a plea. "My parents never told me any of this shit, if they're even my parents–" And that felt wrong to say, bad to say, because Steve didn't know who he was without being Bradley Harrington's son first. "--and you're only, like, the third Wesen I've ever met."

"You couldn't ask ?"

Steve swallowed back the snarky answer, knowing what Robin was really asking. "What was I supposed to do, call my parents up like, 'Hi Mom and Dad, sorry to interrupt your very important meeting, I was wondering if you knew anything about us being monsters'? Does that sound like a conversation I should have on the phone?" It didn't help that Steve was pretty sure the government had been tracking his phone calls since 1983.

"But…" Robin's eyes narrowed, shifting back to their human shape and color. "You started working here two months ago."

Steve nodded, stomach churning. "Yeah."

"So are you going to tell us what a Grimm is or not?" Dustin said. When Steve finally looked over at him, he still looked pissed, arms crossed and glaring, but Steve recognized that sparkle in his eyes. Little shit was ecstatic to be learning the lore behind Steve's whole deal, that was more than apparent.

That made one of them.

"I only know what my parents have told me," Robin said, slowly. She wouldn't look Steve in the eyes anymore, which wasn't exactly a great sign. Steve's throat contracted, forcing bile back down. "I've never met one in real life, before Harrington. I honestly wasn't sure they were still real. I thought they were… I don't know, stupid stories that parents tell to make their kids behave, you know? Like the boogie man."

"But you knew Steve was one," Dustin said. Less of a question, more of an interrogation. Point out their own contradictions, wait for more information. Steve was pretty sure he'd picked that one up from watching Hopper grill Mike.

"His eyes," Robin said. Her eyes darted up to meet Steve's gaze for only a moment before they fell back to the floor. "The stories all have them. Black mirrors that show you all the worst parts of yourself, every sin you've ever committed. It's supposed to be, like… Making you repent before, you know. They kill you."

"So I'm a killer?" Steve said, his tongue numb in his mouth.

Robin grimaced. "Kinda? They used to be… like knights, I think. In service to the Royals– Wait, do you know about the Seven Houses?"

"The Royals," Steve muttered to himself, in a daze.

"We'll go back to that," Dustin said, glancing at Steve from the corner of his eye. "What were you saying about knights?"

"Right, so the Grimms worked as knights while the Seven Houses were establishing their claims in the Wesen world. It was basically a way for them to keep their Wesen subjects in line so that the royals could focus on human affairs. But then… Well, I don't really know what happened, but they stopped being knights and became…" Robin sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. "Vigilantes?"

"Like Batman?" Dustin asked, disbelieving.

"More like the Punisher."

"Can we please talk in a language the person whose existence hinges on this conversation can understand?" Steve asked, his voice rising in volume with every word.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Harrington," Robin said, her voice coming quicker than he had ever heard her speak before. "They kill people, okay? Sure, it's usually, like, Wesen who have killed humans before or whatever but there are stories of them just going to town on entire packs of predator species before. My dad's even told me of some groups of Grimm who kill Wesen on sight so they don't have the opportunity to commit crimes later. And it's like, do I really think the high school bully is a serial killer? No, not really, but it's really hard to externalize that when I have vivid memories of my mom telling me about how her great-great-great-great-grandmother's head got put on a spike outside the city walls for selling love potion to some stupid humans."

"Oh, that's– Sorry for your loss," Dustin said, automatically.

Robin raised an eyebrow. "You know I didn't know her, right?"

Steve heard neither of them through the rushing in his ears. Was it just him, or were the walls closer together than they had been five minutes ago? The floor felt malleable beneath his feet, like he was standing on top of water. Steve stumbled over to a table and sat gingerly, his hands shaking.

He wasn't exactly sure how long had passed when Dustin came to him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Steve?" he said, tentatively. "You okay?" Robin stood behind him, concern breaking through her careful nonchalance.

"Hopper was wrong," he said, thickly. "I am a monster."

"No–" Dustin began, but Robin cut him off with a scoff.

"We're all kind of monsters, Harrington, it comes with the territory," she said with a sneer. "At least you still look human."

"Yeah?" Steve said, his voice cracking. "How many people do you think Dustin's ancestors killed? Matter of fact, have you ever heard of a single Grimm that wasn't a killer?" Even though the question was mostly sarcastic, some part of him still hoped she would defy him, give him some proof that he wasn't meant to be a terrible person. His eyes watched her face twist in embarrassment.

"Well… no, I haven't," Robin said, eyes darting towards Dustin.

"Exactly," Steve said, nodding even as his shoulders deflated. "Exactly, exactly. I'm meant to… I'm meant to be a terrible person, and nothing I do– Nothing I've ever done–" Steve took a deep breath, felt it rattle in his chest, heard it wheeze through the throat that was quickly closing around his rising panic.

"Oh, you're–" Dustin shook his head, turning to Robin. "He's– Do you have a back room?"

"Uh, yeah, behind the counter," Robin said, blinking.

"Alright, help me get him back there."

Things got a little hazy after that. Steve wasn't sure how they got him to the back room, although he had the vague impression of his arms looped over both their shoulders, off jerking away from Robin's touch with a pained noise. The next thing he knew, he was sitting in a chair in the back, Robin perched on the far counter, Dustin's hands on his shoulders.

"Steve, can you hear me?" Dustin said, and from the lack of inflection in his voice, Steve had the inclination that it wasn't the first time he'd been asked.

"Yeah," he croaked.

"Good," Dustin said, relief flooding his face. "I think you're having another panic attack."

Steve flushed with shame. He hadn't one of those in months, since the chill had finally faded from the air and every night stopped reminding him of junkyards and tunnels and blue Camaros. In comparison, this seemed a little pathetic, but even that small amount of logic couldn't shake the fact that his brain was still sending him signals of flee danger predator run .

When Steve didn't answer, Dustin squeezed his shoulders. "Do you want to talk about it, or do you want us to leave?"

"We are not leaving a Grimm whose brain is god knows where alone in the back room where there are weapons– " Robin began.

"You are not helping," Dustin interrupted through gritted teeth.

"She's right," Steve rasped. "We have no idea what I might do. You've seen what I try to do when my instincts go haywire."

"You haven't actually done anything!" Dustin said, a none too gentle reminder. His anger was palpable, and Steve thought distantly of Hopper, of how disappointed he would be. Steve was going to be sick. "Remember your theory? You said that you thought the mirrored eyes were more like an evolutionary protection, maybe–"

"Maybe I was literally born a murderer to protect myself?" Steve asked, laughing as the first tear slipped down his cheek. "I was wrong, Dustin. It happens. All the fucking time, apparently, because I've spent the last two years wondering how to be a good person, when it's impossible."

"That's not how it–"

"I'm supposed to kill you, Dustin," Steve said, harshly. "You heard her. You and El should both be dead, and maybe one day you will be."

Steve watched the stubbornness set into Dustin's face and felt his heart break. He's never really wanted to hurt someone. Not really. That was why he kept losing all those stupid fucking fights, why he let Tommy push him around. Steve wanted to survive, and he wanted to protect, but he's never looked someone in the eyes and wanted to hurt them. But he could feel it in his chest, all the fucking time– that same rage he'd first felt when Dustin woged in front of him. And no matter how much Steve didn't want it, he was sure that one day it would swallow him whole.

"I don't believe that," Dustin said, "not for a fucking second."

"What about my parents, Dustin?" Steve asked, meeting Dustin's eyes. For the first time, he wished that people didn't see the worst of themselves in his eyes, but the worst of Steve. That would keep them safe, wouldn't it? If they could see into his chest, at the sharp and jagged things there? "They're gone for months at a time–"

"They're doing business!"

"And they're all over the country, sometimes in Europe or Asia, and what the fuck do you think they're doing, Dustin? Like actually. Because I haven't bought the business excuse in years, and I know you're smarter than me, so what else could it be? I thought they were partying, or cheating on each other, or even just doing some regular fucking crime, but no–" Steve sobbed, the noise being pulled out of his chest. "Apparently, they might be killing people. What does that make me ?"

"It doesn't make you anything," Dustin said, jaw set. "Even if you're right, which you're not ."

"So you're not afraid of what might happen if you're staying the night the next time they come home?"

Dustin hesitated, and Steve knew he had him. It fucking hurt, every second of it. Felt like removing his own skin with a scalpel, slow and methodical and never-ending, but it had to be done. He had to get Dustin away from danger, and right now the most dangerous thing in Hawkins was him.

"Kid, can you give us a second?" Robin's voice cut through the air and Steve flinched, his entire body twitching as his gaze was ripped away from Dustin.

Stepping away, Dustin rubbed at his nose in a move that Steve knew had been picked up from him. "Yeah, yeah, sure." He couldn't get out of the break room fast enough, the door swinging behind him.

"That was fucked up," Robin said as she hopped down from the counter.

"Wasn't this exactly what you wanted?" Steve said, frustration and resentment built up from the past two months bubbling in his chest. "Him away from the monster?"

Robin hesitated for a moment, then continued her short walk to the chair across from Steve. As she sat, she said, "I never called you a monster."

"No, just a serial killer and a beast and a thousand other things around 'monster'," Steve said, rolling his eyes.

He had honestly expected her to rise to the bait. She was the exact kind that was the easiest to torment, emotions too big for her body and never afraid to speak her mind until it was already out of her mouth. Robin didn't speak this time, though, just looked at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed.

Eventually, she sighed, and turned away from him. "I'm sorry."

Steve scoffed, disbelieving. "Okay."

"No, I am. I… didn't really think about what it might mean if you actually didn't know, and I had no idea that I was putting people in danger by not explaining," she said, her hands in fists on her legs. She still wouldn't look at him, and Steve felt his stomach twist further. He had to get out of here before he vomited on the linoleum.

"Well, you figured it out, and now they're safe, so if you'll please excuse me–"

"No," Robin said, stilling him with a glare. "I meant you, dingus."

"... Dingus?" Steve repeated. It was… oddly juvenile, after all the things she'd called him.

Robin flushed. "I don't actually think you're, like, a killer or anything. Especially since you obviously haven't killed anyone. I just thought…" Her eyes slid away from him again. "You know, with Barb last year…"

Nausea hit Steve in the stomach and he had to bend over, pressing his face to the cool surface of the table, to keep himself from gagging. "You thought I killed Barb?" He hated how small his voice sounded, suddenly, nothing like the rage-fueled creature he felt like he was becoming.

"Obviously I was being an idiot because killers don't fucking have panic attacks in the dark about being a killer," Robin said. Steve wasn't sure that was entirely true, but he got her point. "I mean, like I said before, I stopped believing that shit like two weeks in. If you were actually a serial killer, I would be, like, so dead right now."

"I never wanted to hurt you," Steve said, tired.

"I know," Robin said, frowning. "And that's why I'm saying, I was an asshole, and I'm sorry."

Steve swallowed. "It's fine."

"It's really not," Robin said. "I could tell it made you upset, and it gave me this sick little thrill to finally know what got to King Steve, you know? Like I finally had something over you. And it made me feel…"

"Powerful?" Steve suggested when her words trailed off.

"Yeah," Robin said, her face pale.

"I get it," Steve said, shrugging. "Why do you think I was such an asshole in high school?"

Robin gave him a small smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Well, I never wanted to be that kind of person. So… You know, just because you were born a Grimm doesn't mean you have to be like them."

Looking away, Steve said nothing. He'd already had the suspicion there was something wrong with him, Robin had just confirmed it. Her taking it back hadn't really changed his mind. Robin seemed to get that, and she squirmed in her seat for a moment.

"I never told you what I am, did I?" she said, softly.

"... No," Steve said, frowning. "I thought maybe some kind of weasel?"

That made her laugh, shaking her head as she smiled down at her hands. "Yeah, I guess maybe I deserve that. No, I'm a– I'm a Fuchsbau. A fox." The smile began to slip from her face, fists unclenching and curling back into claws again and again as she spoke. "That's part of why I freaked out so hard when I first recognized you as a Grimm. We're a predator species, you know? But not one of the big guys, not scary enough that they leave us alone. We're just mean . And… and sneaky . And cruel."

Steve watched her, unable to speak. He had seen a little of that from her, over the past few weeks, so he wasn't entirely sure he was justified in defending her own self-worth, but… even as she said it, something didn't feel right to Steve. Sure, she was dick to him, like, specifically, but Steve had never seen her speak a harsh word to anyone else they worked with. Robin was usually pretty bored with customers, yeah, but she was patient, too.

And whatever harshness did exist in her, it certainly wasn't subtle .

"That's why my parents moved here, you know. Fuchsbau don't usually have packs, and so it's kinda just… you and a bunch of Wesen who expect you to rip them off at the first chance," Robin continued, "so they came here to try and start fresh. And I don't think they ever really fit into what a Fuchsbau is supposed to be, and most times I'm pretty sure I don't, either, but sometimes…."

Robin shrugged. "Sometimes I'm afraid it's somewhere inside of me, just waiting to get out."

Oh.

This was one of those pep talks that made Steve squirm, the kind where teachers and coaches and counselors all promised Steve that they absolutely understood what he was going through. As if they could understand what he was feeling through the little he'd actually admitted, as if the simple act of relation was enough to soothe the ache in his chest. Knowing other people hurt didn't make him bleed any less, but… it didn't chafe to hear it from Robin, like it did with the dozens of adults before him. He wasn't sure she actually understood, but at least she was trying. At least she wasn't just assuming things. Not anymore, anyway.

"It's not exactly the same thing," Robin said, when Steve didn't speak. "But I–"

"No, no." Steve's voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat. "Thanks. I think I needed to hear that. You're right, it's not exactly the same, but… But I think I might be able to fight this."

"That's not exactly what I…" Robin said, then shook her head, standing. "Anyway, you should head home for the night."

Steve blinked up at her. "I'm on schedule until closing."

Shrugging, Robin said, "We're dead, and, no offense, but you're probably not going to be much help tonight, anyway. I'll cover you. Just… get some sleep, Harrington."

It was part of an apology Steve still wasn't convinced he completely deserved, but he wasn't in the position to refuse favors. "... Thanks."

They walked into the lobby together, Steve's skin crawling with the oddity of feeling Robin standing with him and not just by him. He was grateful, but there was a voice in his head whispering that it would all end one day, and he would find her claws in his throat.

He tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about how Dustin barely spoke as Steve drove him home, only to nearly tackle him in a hug before he got out of the car. Tried not to think about how he couldn't pop in to say hi to Mrs. Henderson because she would think– she would know –that he was a monster. Tried not to think much at all, really.

Steve found himself driving to the cabin on muscle memory alone, and didn't even notice the direction he was driving until the streetlights gave way to the shadowy cradle of the woods. He parked in the grass, climbed the steps stiffly, paused between every movement as Steve ruminated on the effort it took.

Hopper didn't look up from the stove as Steve came in. It was chili night, a tradition built around one of the few dishes Hopper had achieved consistency in. Maybe that was why Steve had come here– Something in him knew he was expected here. People were waiting for him. He was wanted.

Steve felt tears well in his eyes.

"Steve?" Hopper clicked off the gas on the stove, turning. "Did… did work go okay?"

The dam broke. Everything came pouring out, the tears, the half-explanations Robin had given him, the terrible truths he now was sure of. Everything poured out of Steve at once, until he was sitting on the couch, gasping for air. Hopper watched him through all of it, never saying a word. His face gave nothing away, and that only made it worse– Steve kept talking and talking, trying to find the words that would make Hopper feel something. Anything.

Eventually, the terror took over his brain and he fell silent, but his throat still clenched around unformed words.

"I've told you before, I'm not afraid of you, kid," Hopper said, slowly, but before Steve could protest, he continued, "but you have a right to be concerned about it, you know, in general. It might be you, it might not. But if there's some kind of Wesen vigilante, after everything that's happened in Hawkins in the past two years, one of them's bound to cause trouble sometime."

"So we just– We gotta figure out how to take one down," Steve said, his hands shaking.

"I figure shooting 'em will work just as well as it would on anyone else," Hopper said, dryly, "but I don't think you have to worry about that."

"No, no, you can–" Steve flushed at the sudden sharpness on Hopper's face. "Look, if I'm actively hurting people, I'm too far gone, anyway. Have Nancy do it. She'll get a kick out of it."

Hopper rolled his eyes, then sighed, rubbing at his face with one large hand. "And what if it's your parents, Steve?"

That threw him. Because Steve had considered that his parents were the kind of Grimms Steve was terrified to become, yeah. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Steve had always been anxious around them, for no reason he could really put a name to. They weren't bad parents, exactly, just a little absent. They had never denied him anything, never hit him, never even really yelled. But Steve still flinched every time his father raised a hand to clasp him on the shoulder. Steve still shied away from his mother's gaze.

Steve had always thought it had something to do with all the repression, the constant striving to live up to the Harrington name. That had been enough of an answer for him. Besides, the older he got, the less he had to deal with it, so what did it even matter?

The idea that it might be something more sinister still hadn't prepared him for the concept of actually doing something about it, though. Sure, he had proposed the idea of them being dangerous to Dustin, but it wasn't like they were killing people and burying them behind the Hawkins Lab.

"Do you think they already are?" Steve asked, face twisting. "There were genetic experiments on Wesen in the town they lived in. How did they not–"

Hopper shrugged. "I don't know for sure, kid. Speaking as a cop, if their thought process is anything like mine, they probably don't pursue leads they consider out of their jurisdiction, and it wasn't like the lab was advertising. Will was the first Hawkins kid to go missing, remember?"

"They were out of town when he disappeared," Steve said, relief evident. "They didn't get home until he was back."

"I can't promise you anything, Steve, and you're probably gonna want to have it out with them yourself. But your parents have been in and out of Hawkins for two decades now, and it's not exactly like we've got stacks and stacks of cold case murders rotting away at the station. If they're causing problems, it's not here," Hopper said.

Steve leaned back against the couch cushions, finally letting himself relax. "We just have to make sure they don't find out about El."

"There you go," Hopper said, reaching out to slap Steve on the knee. It would have felt condescending from anyone else, but it was the most physical affection that Steve had ever seen Hopper give anyone besides Joyce and El. "Feel better with a task, right?"

"Yeah, actually," Steve admitted. It did feel good, even though it was a small, vague goal that honestly Steve kinda hoped he never had to worry about. Still, having something clear in his head to strive for made him feel solid, grounded, and he felt like an actual person again for the first time all day.

If Grimms were as bad as Robin made them out to be, then someone needed to protect Hawkins from them. Steve could be that person, if he needed to be, even if the threat was just his own reflection.

[Next Chapter]

---

taglist: @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch

#my fic #only i must wander #grimm au #steddie #i hope its ok im tagging this steddie even tho eddie's not actually in it yet #he's going to be !! they'll kiss eventually and everything!!#rn it's #stobin #time tho :)#i just thought about how long its going to be until steve and eddie kissed and got dizzy see yall complete only ficcers next millennia #this au ate my brain i don't wanna talk about it #i'll try to have pt 3 out next sunday #no promises tho bc wayne shows up and i fucking love writing someone with my accent for once #THIS MAN IS NEVER GONNA SHUT UP #did i assign roles so that i could pretend my uncle is the one infodumping all the exposition and worldbuilding? maybe #i'm allowed

69 notes · View notes

norikuna · 22 days ago

Text

SHE TOLD YOU THAT SHE CELIBATE, SHE TOLD ME I COULD NAIL HER SH*T — gojo satoru minors dni

PART I. of the new years letters, a series of fics dedicated to some of my lovely mutuals! 🎁

prologue. → you wish gojo satoru would stop trying to ask you out. not that you don't like him, but dating the one guy that you're smacked silly about would mean that he could break your heart and leave you in ruins. so it's best to keep some distance right?

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. college au, reader wears a skirt, reader is choso's twin and yuuji's older sister, but no appearance detailed. kissing, making out, óral (f) receiving, general bitchiness and fuckups 😚 ensemble cast of poor bystanders (geto, shoko, sukuna, yuki etc)

word count. 10k! song inspiration. gang baby — nle choppa

a/n. it's because of that one edit by satorupedia that's going around rn. yall know which one 😭 art by touno_stupa on twt!

dedication. yayyy decided to start my little gift series for new years with this fic inspired and dedicated to @fushitoru who was one of the first blogs i followed on here before i was super familiar with jujutsu kaisen. aashi writes thee most wonderful gojo fics that are so well characterised and heart-stoppingly adorable and HAWT. 😁 🤭 and i easily associate her with physics/college au gojo now, ever since her spiderman gojo fic that lives in my head!!!!

gojo in this fic:

ACT I. don't puck around and find out!

"i ran into gojo today," choso says, his voice as unbothered and monotone as ever, scraping the gravel lazily with the heel of his scuffed combat boots, "or he ran into me."

"gojo satoru?"

"how many gojos do we know?" your twin brother huffs, giving you a dry side-eye. but before you can retort something equally acrid, he's yanking at the sleeve of your sweatshirt, halting you midstep, "wait. car."

you blink out of your tired daze just in time to see a battered camry putter past, its engine groaning like it's on its last legs. just how you feel after a long day of seminars and lectures. the car rattles down the street with the grace of a tin can tied to a string.

"thanks," you mutter, half-heartedly as you shift your laptop case from one tired arm to the other, "could have been the end of my genius academic career."

"would have been a short one either way," choso quietly quips, earning himself a sharp elbow to the ribs.

"so?" you press on.

"so, what?"

"what did gojo say?"

"ohhh," choso drawls, in that irritating way of his that indicates he has no idea how to deliver good gossip, news or any form of tea, "he asked if i wanted to play hockey for his team tomorrow. they're down a player ever since kento went on exchange."

"hockey?" your eyebrow arches, and skepticism curls your lips for choso is hardly known for his athleticism. you mean, you're sure he has the physical ability in him somewhere but you (and the rest of the world) are yet to see it, "are you gonna join the team, then?"

not that you care about gojo's stupid, state-tournament winning team. of course not. you're just curious. and curiosity is harmless.

it has nothing to do with the fact that you woke up last night wanting to jump gojo satoru's bones. just like you did the night before, and before. and the week before that. yeah, suffice to say that this has been going on for a while.

"nah," choso says, shaking dull, greasy strands of dark hair out of his eyes, "got placements tomorrow."

right. placements. choso's all about pathology and lab medicine and test tubes, while you get queasy at the mere mention of haemoglobin. and it unsettles you mildly at how your twin brother's eyes light up at the mere mention of a blood test.

"and?" you prod when he starts to drift off again, his attention wandering like it always does.

choso is often like a calm river. slow, broad and lazy.

this time, you pull at his one of his headphone cords to reel him back, "did gojo say anything else?"

choso gives you that dull look, quiet but loaded. like he's already solved a puzzle that you didn't know you were trying to hide. it just makes your stomach twist, "why do you care what gojo satoru says?"

"i don't," you snap, far too fast, like your tongue is racing your brain to a crash site. the lie sits heavy in your throat, thick and obvious.

choso's pale and dry lips twitch, and you wondered what happened to the lip balm you threw into his christmas stocking last year, "should i have told him you could sub in for his team instead?"

"no-one likes a smartass, cho," you grumble, speeding up your steps as your twin leisurely rummages through his fraying backpack for his house keys. you roll your eyes and push ahead, jamming your own keys into the lock before you die of boredom waiting for him to dig through the trash heap that lies at the bottom of his bag, "anyway, i was just asking. you brought gojo up."

choso trails behind you, his tone infuriatingly casual, "you always get weird when someone mentions him. i thought you guys were friends."

"we are friends. and i don't get weird."

"you get so weird. even yuki said so."

"i love yuki, i do. but she has no idea what she's talking about —"

the door swings open, cutting off your false deflection. standing there is yuuji, with half a sandwich dangling from his mouth like he's some kind of feral creature. there's a smear of mayonnaise clinging to his cheek as he yanks a red, track hoodie over his tank top.

"mmph! hey, you guys!" he muffles through a mouthful of bread, waving at you with the enthusiasm that only a teenage boy could muster after inhaling half the fridge.

"where are you off to?" you peer at your younger brother, your eyes zeroing in on his mutilated sandwich. a sandwich that you're certain you made for yourself this morning, leaving it for a study session upon your return.

"track practice," yuuji says, swallowing the last bite whole, "then dinner with fushiguro and kugisaki." he's already halfway down the driveway, sneakers untied and laces flopping on the pavement behind him.

choso narrows his eyes, "got money? or a water bottle? a hat? did you wear sunscreen?"

"i'm good!" yuuji calls back without breaking stride, waving a quick hand at the two of you.

"why don't you hold his hand and walk him to school, mother?"

"shut up," choso grumbles as he brushes past you into the house, throwing you an exaggerated scowl of wounded, elder-brother pride over his shoulder, "why don't you hold gojo's hand to hockey practice?"

your bookbag swings through the air, connecting to the back of choso's oversized head and a loud thud follows.

ACT II. long overdue and lacking a spine

you had been in this library for hours, eyes blurring as the words in your textbook stubbornly refused to make sense. it was all a gross blur of terms and diagrams, and your $8.00 coffee had gone lukewarm an hour ago.

study, pass, graduate. get a good gpa. that was the plan, no distractions.

your phone, however, had other ideas as it sat innocently next to your stack of notes. you tapped the screen quickly under the guise of a 'quick break' but before long, you were deep into instagram stories. someone's dog, a flyer for a rave that you definitely weren't going to, and then, of course, him.

gojo satoru. on someone's reposted story with a classic, grainy photo of one of the campus's most darling boys. long arm draped casually over some girl. both of them lit in the neon glow of what looked like a party bus. he wasn't even looking at the camera, just flashing that effortless grin that you had seen your entire life growing up. and the girl was gorgeous, obviously. not that you cared about that.

but speak of the devil and he hath appear. a long shadow fell over the table, and you felt the chill in your bones, trying not to shift in your seat.

"go away, gojo," you muttered, not even deigning to look up.

"how'd you know it was me?" his voice is teasing, all light and airy as he's pulling out the chair next to you.

"what can i say? lucky guess," you reply dryly, keeping your eyes glued to the suspiciously-stained textbook. worried that you'll look up and your iron resolve will disappear from one glance at big, blue eyes.

but out of the corner of his eye, you try not to twitch at the sight of the soft, pale blue hoodie that swallows his broad frame whole. thick, white strands of hair that fall gently over his face. and that cloying scent of mint and something faintly sweet that leaves your ears hot and your heart sitting in your throat.

study, pass, graduate. get a good gpa. that's what you tell yourself in a now failing mantra.

"are you following me today?" you ask, flipping a page with exaggerated nonchalance, like you're not about to tear up pathetically from a stupid crush.

"caught me," gojo says, the grin audible even in his voice, "i just couldn't resist finding you. is that what you want me to say?"

you finally look up, swallowing at unfairly fine features, "saw you were at some party yesterday. i didn't think you'd be on campus today."

gojo just laughs, the sound soft and infuriating, "keeping tabs on me now?" and he's rifling through his bag for something, "or you don't think the library's a good look for me? i'm broadening my horizons. testing the waters."

you narrow your eyes, willing the heat rising in your face to stay put and not crawl into your voice, "i think you're testing my patience. i have a test tomorrow, so if you're here to waste my time..."

"maybe i just wanted to hang out with my friend," gojo says, tearing open a kitkat wrapper in an obnoxious way that echoes through the silent hall, and the crinkle of plastic grates against your nerves, "we haven't seen each other in ages."

"don't you have a lot of other people to hang out with nowadays?" you're mentally beating yourself with a bat at your question, wincing at how it sounds like you keep count of who he hangs out with, and you're pathetically down bad for him. like a 90s singer begging on his knees for a kiss.

"i mean, i could hang out with them," gojo says, breaking his kitkat horizontally like a monster, "but they're not you."

his sunglasses are gone, revealing eyes so blue they look otherworldly, and he's throwing you that smiling, lopsided grin that makes your heart run around a room and bang into the walls. but no. you were not going to let gojo satoru get to you. he probably made every girl feel like this, like they were the centre of his fast-paced universe. until the next shiny thing came along.

besides, gojo satoru dated models. or stunning cheerleaders. the kind of people who looked good under strobe lights, and in the glow of his party bus digital camera pics.

and hey, it's not like you were self-depreciating or awfully insecure. you liked who you were and you would never change it for anyone. quiet and ambitious. reserved, but down for some fun. you'd like to think you were the type of person who saw the world in a beautiful, cinematic light. but it was maddening how gojo satoru seemed to bring out the most juvenile issues in you that had your stomach turning itself into ugly knots.

"gojo," you try to sound as nonchalant as possible, "are you even here to study?"

as in why are you really here? please ask me out.

gojo looks unbothered, unshaken, "coffee. cake. maybe even some flirting, if you're up to it."

the universe hates you. it has a way of delivering what you want right into your hands, when...you don't exactly want it.

you blink at the white-haired man, disbelief bubbling under your skin, "you're not serious."

"why wouldn't i be?"

"c'mon, satoru. everyone knows you're not the actual dating type. you ever been in a relationship that wasn't pr and lasted for more than two weeks?"

absolutely bonkers at how your heart and your tongue are not on the same wavelength at all. it's like your mouth missed the memo and is just firing bullets that have gojo's grin faltering a bit, as a flicker of heated annoyance flashes in his eyes. even hurt, but it's gone too quickly for you to read into it.

"didn't realise that you thought i was that much of a joke," and you're not fond of how gojo's voice is quieter now, and a pretty sneer is dancing across his lips. you're biting your lip before you lose your stupid, petty resolve to not get involved with someone who could truly break your heart.

"if you didn't make everything a joke, it wouldn't be," you snap at him, and you're not even sure what you're angry at. there's no reason to be annoyed, or frustrated or even hurt and snippy with a friend who came and sat with you to catch up.

but you don't want to untangle whatever you're projecting onto gojo satoru, so you let bitter words spill over, "some of us don't have time for your games, gojo. we have real lives to deal with."

gojo's expression shifts completely, and that playful spark in his eyes is replaced with something colder as he stands up and shoves his hands into his pockets, "right." and his tone is clipped, pissed, "got it. no time for games."

you watch as gojo walks away, already tapping away on his phone, but his footsteps are quieter than you expect. part of you wants to call after him, to take back the teeth and claws that painted your words.

but instead, you just look away from him and grimace. you must have pulled an awful, twisted face — for the man sitting across from you leans in and asks if you need to take an aspirin, or if you're low on fibre.

ACT III. between the covers

the bookstore smells faintly of old paper and new ink. a sharp contrast to the chill lingering outside, so the warmth hits you like a welcome blanket. the air buzzes with the muted chatter of customers, and the occasional beep of a cash register.

you're winding your way through the aisles, set on two missions. find that jacket-cover book that you had been wanting for weeks, and to hunt down the manga that yuuji had begged you to pick up for him.

you dart past a couple lingering in front of a 'booktube' bestseller display, narrowing avoiding a child wielding a stuffed dragon that you can only assume is smaug the magnificent from the hobbit. straight into the quieter section of the store, tucked in the back and smack-bang right into —

thud!

your shoulder collides hard with someone else, sending you stumbling back a step.

"fuck's sake. watch it," the person snaps, his tone sharp.

"maybe you should —" you start to retort, before the words die and patter out on your tongue as your mouth goes dry.

gojo satoru, ladies and gentlemen.

he's scowling at you, with sunglasses pushed up onto his head that expose those ridiculously pale eyelashes under the glow of the overhead lights. he's layered on a crisp varsity jacket, over a thick hoodie, all shades of soft blue and grey. and he looks irritated, with thick brows furrowed at you. but you don't miss the faint surprise that flutters across his face when he takes you in.

"seriously?" gojo murmurs, though more to himself, and his voice still holds an edge that has you wilting, "out of all the aisles in this store..."

you blink, caught somewhere between an apology that dances on the edge of your lips, and a bewildered laugh at how the divine powers deliver the worst luck on you. instead, you shove your hands deep into the pockets of your aviator jacket, "sorry. didn't see you."

gojo's shoulders relax, but just barely. as though he's still caught in the heavy fog of tension from your last words to him. but to your mild credit, he doesn't quite look ready to storm out either. progress?

"so. what are you doing here?" you ask, trying to break the ice and pretend that you're not doing internal pirouettes.

"just had to pick up a textbook," gojo mutters, holding up a thin and over-priced looking book on something like...quantum mechanics, "exams are coming up. gotta keep the top spot, you know."

you blink, "you're actually studying?"

gojo raises his eyebrow, lips twitching into the faintest smile, "what? you think i roll into my classes and ace everything through sheer willpower? or i spend all day being a joke and annoying everyone, right?"

you sigh, feeling the frosty, ice-gaze settle once more over you, paralysing you from head to toe, "look, gojo. i don't know what came over me that day," and now you're being sincere, looking away from his narrowed stare, "it's like some crazy, evil monster came over me and it possessed me. i think i incarnated some demon king in me and i said all that mean shit."

he shifts slightly beside you, and you don't miss at how gojo's lower lip juts out at your apology, or how close he is to you right now. "and i was jus' being stupid. swear i don't think you're a joke." you try to pick up some random book, pretending you're very busy as you speak.

but it's very hard to look genuine when you've just picked up a glossy copy of 'stand and deliver: a hard look at fixing male erection problems.'

it earns you a small laugh, light and quick, that has you almost falling to your knees, and you can hear choso's voice in your head. muttering out a dulcet 'i told you so. you want him so bad.' but it's worth it as gojo leans against the nearest shelf, the annoyance from earlier starting to ebb.

and for a moment, gojo studies you and his expression is unreadable. for your part, you're pretending to read the back cover of 'stand and deliver' and some blurb about how this award-winning author managed to help her husband 'get it up' after twenty years of marriage.

but the tension in his posture dissolves, relaxing further and gojo hums, "noted." that's all he says, and an awkward silence hovers. it hovers so uncomfortably, leaving you floundering for a new topic until gojo's voice breaks the silence.

"choso's doing good, yeah? i heard he got a girlfriend."

you smile, "yeah. yuki, she's like really cool. i don't know how he did it."

gojo snickers, "i asked if he wanted to play hockey and i think he's been avoiding me all week."

you try to pretend its not because of how you re-enacted your little spat with gojo, demonstrating the entire thing for your twin brother. who had just called you stupid afterwards. among other not-so-flattering terms, with little consideration for your crushing, beating heart.

"you going to suguru's party next weekend?"

ah, now that's a curveball.

because, again, you are your own brand of cool. or so you'd like to think, so this isn't really a matter of pitying comparison. but geto suguru is like on another level of effortlessly vogue. at least in your eyes. you know that he's gojo's best friend and he delivered a (controversial) and killer project on gene editing last semester. you know that geto's involved with gig photography as a hobby, and thus, has personal access to some of the coolest bands in the city.

and you also know that he occasionally waves a hand to you, but it's not like you actually know the man. it's just mutual association.

"i wasn't planning on it," you hesitate, for you really had been planning to cram through a mid-term session, "but someone asked me to go as their date."

gojo's smile evaporates, "who?"

"naoya zenin," you say cautiously, watching as gojo's face twists. like he's resisting the urge to gag and tear his hair out.

"naoya? he's like a walking billboard for being an entitled cunt," gojo groans, running a hand through glossy hair that has you trailing your gaze over slender, sculpted hands.

you narrow your eyes, "he seemed...okay. smart, i think."

"oh, he's smart. i'm not questioning that," gojo crabs, "he's so arrogant though. i grew up seeing that guy everywhere. our families were like, half friends."

you cross your arms, suddenly defensive, "are you warning me? or just mad that he asked me out?"

gojo seems to flounder for half a second, quick enough that you could miss it and he could deny it, "jealous of naoya? please," and he scoffs as he leans back against the shelf, "i have taste. unlike some people."

"you can't be the one giving me a lecture on dating etiquette. i mean, how many dates do you have lined up for geto's party? two, three?"

gojo gives you a sly grin, "more than that, hah. gotta keep my options open."

"tacky," you wrinkle your nose, trying to pretend that you don't feel like you just guzzled a gallon of curdled milk, "and classless."

"yes," gojo sighs sadly, "and endlessly charming. it's so hard being me," shooting you back a quizzical look as he pulls up to the register, paying for his textbook.

as he paid, you linger near the shelves, pretending to browse while stealing glances at gojo satoru. there was something different about him today, something quieter that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

and on gojo's way out, he pauses in the doorway, turning back to look at you. his expression is still entirely unreadable, his gaze lingering for just a second longer than usual. and then he was gone.

ACT IV. blush confidential

there's a soft hum of pop music wafting from someone's phone, blending in with the rustle of fabric and the hiss of a straightener. your bedroom is a whirlwind of motion and chaos, with clothes thrown over chairs, and pre-game drinks piled up over your vanity.

"i can't believe you're not coming with us," you gripe to yuki, watching as she lounged up on your bed, denim crinkling as she shifted to adjust herself.

"tch, you know i love a good party," yuki grins with sparkling ideas, "but choso and i have a date tonight. he's been texting me about it all day."

you snicke at the thought of your hapless twin, "yeah. he was practically glued to your dm's. ran into the kitchen table twice this morning."

shoko snorts from her spot at the vanity, from where she's running a brush through cropped, chestnut hair, "choso nervous? i need to see that," she catches your eye in the mirror, "do you still have that lip gloss?"

"on it," you're digging into the vast depths of your purse, grazing your wallet and a hal-featen granola bar. stubbing your finger on an opened gel pen, before clutching a small shiny tube that you toss to shoko.

"so," shoko smacks her lips, "how's it going with naoya?"

you blink, pausing in the middle of capping all your drying pens, "what do you mean how's it going? nothing's going."

your friend swivels on her stool, raising a thin eyebrow, "he's your date at this party, right? and why him, of all people?"

"seriously. that guy's got a reputation. and not a good kind, for a very good reason," utahime chimes in from her corner, where she's yanking on a ribbon woven through her hair.

you shrug, suddenly feeling defensive under their collective scrutiny, "hey. he asked, i said yes. it's not that deep."

shoko exchanges a pointed glance with utahime, and both of them looking equally skeptical in a way that has you flushing.

"he's just annoying, you know," shoko points out, "he thinks he's better than everyone else, and half the time? it's just hot air."

"and the other half?"

"still hot air," shoko flatlines, "you can do better."

"anyone's better than gojo," utahime mutters, "you don't want to be stuck with him."

yuki's snickering, and you're doing your utter best to pretend that the mention of gojo satoru doesn't have you crawling up and down the walls like a termite on crack.

"speaking of gojo," yuki drawls, running a comb through a golden sheaf of thick hair, "is he going with anyone to this party?"

you freeze for half a second, before busying yourself with some new body mist that you picked up from a sale, all vanilla and coconut and macademia, "i ran into gojo the other day," and you keep your tone as neutral as possible, "and he said he had a few dates."

"ugh," shoko groans, wrinkling her nose, "of course he does," and utahime mutters an affirmative, exasperated sigh, echoed only by yuki, who pauses mid-brush to look at you sympathetically.

"what?" you snap, defensive, "why are you all looking at me like that?"

shoko tucks a thin strand of hair behind her ear, "well, i mean. you like gojo, right? like really like him?"

"huh?" the question catches you so off guard that you're left sputtering, as the perfume leaves a sharp and awful taste on your tongue, accidentally leaving a fresh spritz into your mouth, and not the curve of your neck.

"oh, blech. absolutely not," you say vehemently, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, "i don't like him like that. not that i think he's awful or anything —"

utahime crosses her arms, white sleeves brushing against each other, "he is awful."

"yes, thank you for that, utahime. but he's just not my type," you finish firmly, "he's loud. he's disruptive. he can't take anything seriously. i can't date that."

yuki gives you a long and knowing look, "oh, he likes you," she says lightly, as though she's telling you a casual piece of news, and not something that has you biting your tongue till iron spills, "he's been crushing on you for so long."

you feel your stomach twist uncomfortable, like little, evil goblins are dancing in your gut, "that's ridiculous," you mutter, fiddling with the clasp of your purse, "if he liked me, he would ask me out properly. and not date half the student population."

"he probably thinks it's fair, because you keep turning him down," shoko says matter-of-factly, standing up to grab her bag.

"i just don't think he's good for you. or anyone," utahime mutters, earning a pinch from you.

ACT V. stereo love

normally, gojo thrived at these parties. suguru was always able to pull a crowd that straddled the line between chic and cool, with just enough alcohol to keep things interesting. the thrum of the bass-heavy music should have been the perfect escape after a gruelling day spent staring at equations, leaving him half-convinced that his course coordinator was plotting against him and wanted him dead.

but now gojo satoru was just jittery, restless. and he hated that.

so for now, he leaned against the kitchen counter with a full cup in hand, watching people spill out of the living room and into the backyard. it seemed that other students had been aching for a party, something to take them off mid-terms and yet here he was, scowling like a storm cloud. he took another swig of his drink, ignoring how his own stomach was doing unexplained cartwheels.

"you good?"

suguru's low voice cuts through the noise, startling gojo enough that he has to tighten his fingers around his cup so sticky beer doesn't spill over pristine tiles.

gojo waves his closest friend and confidante off, "i'm fine. obviously."

suguru's frown deepens, though it's obscured by his loose, choppy dark hair. and there's skepticism painted all over his face, "you're never this quiet at any party. i thought that by now, i would have had to convince you not to jump off the roof."

"you think too little of me."

"you think too much of yourself," suguru drawls, but he's leaning against the counter beside gojo, as leather and cool metal rustle against each other, "so where's your date? or dates, i should say?"

gojo freezes, his cup halfway to his lip, "come again? what are you talkin' about?"

suguru arches a thin brow, "it's practically all over campus, man. apparently, you had several dates with lovely, young ladies lined up tonight. and i tried to defend your fragile honour, said it was too ambitious even for you. but..."

this revelation hits gojo like a punchline that he wasn't in on, and then it clicks for him. oh, he had started that rumour a few days ago. in the bookstore, to you. his brain replays the scene like a cruel, little highlight reel: the way your expression had wavered minutely, just for a moment, when he had straight up lied and claimed that he had a few dates.

truth be told, gojo had only said it to make you jealous, to see if he could ruffle you and play your game even better.

but now the joke was so clearly on him.

because gojo satoru had no dates. and you? you were here with someone who wasn't him.

suguru's following his gaze across the room, and gojo doesn't even bother to hide his petulant interest. he can see you standing near the back walls, laughing at something that naoya zenin, mayor of all things putrid, had said. naoya, with his stupid green roots and louis vuitton jacket, standing just a little bit too close to you for gojo's liking.

but before he can stew in it any linger, suguru's reaching out and pinching his ear. hard.

"ow! fuck was that for?" gojo's yelping, jerking away from his clearly evil, traitrous best friend.

"that," suguru says evenly, "was for looking like a lovesick idiot. pull yourself together, man."

"i'm not lovesick," gojo weakly protests, rubbing his bruised, throbbing ear and moving further away from suguru geto.

"you're not exactly screaming cool and collected," suguru dryly comments, "sulking like a sore loser while your crush laughs at another guy's jokes."

gojo feels his face heat up, just a little bit, because he knows that suguru's hitting close to home, "i don't sulk and do all that whiny shit. second of all, it's not my fault she went with zenin of all people. it's up to her if she wants to be stuck with someone who talks about his family's real estate portfolio as foreplay."

suguru snorts, and it's clear that he's not playing the role of sympathetic best man for life, "you know what's more obnoxious? watching you fuck around like this. you need to figure out how to ask her properly."

"i did all that!" gojo shoots back, throwing his arms up so his drink dances over the edge of the cup, "she said no. each time. you know what they call a guy who can't take a hint? she thinks i'm a loser!"

"and are you?"

gojo narrows his eyes, "am i what?"

"a loser."

"is it easier for me if i just say yes?" gojo half-heartedly gripes, "is that what you want me to say?"

"or," suguru says calmly, "you're a guy who hasn't proven he's worth saying yes to."

gojo groans, tipping his head back so he can block out the vision of his irritatingly wise best friend, "you sound like my grandmother."

"that's not even an insult. your grandmother is on some metal shit," suguru counters, unbothered, "and you sound like a twelve-year old. you can't flirt and sleaze your way through this. if you want her to take you seriously, i don't know how else to say this, you have to stop being...you."

"excuse me?"

"no. stop, don't make that face," suguru scowls, "you know what i mean. stop being a stupid flirt, and be a genuinely better person. otherwise, you're just spinning and burning out your wheels."

"did you pick up a self help book?"

suguru elbows him, sneering, "i'm trying to help you. if you don't want my help, i'm telling her you have an std."

"maybe you should just do that. end my misery," gojo downs the rest of his drink in one go, the burn of cheap beer doing nothing to ease the olympics in his alimentary canal. what's worse is that suguru is right, the bastard always is.

suguru claps him on the shoulder, "relax, satoru. you've got charm in spades. just use it...wisely."

"yeah, yeah. thanks, man," gojo mutters, brushing him off as suguru wanders away, probably to mediate some dumb argument between that big oaf, toji fushiguro and the even bigger oaf, ryomen sukuna. honestly, why were they even invited?

but gojo stays where he is, eyes flicking back to you. away from the distracting curve of your thighs in that skirt, and rather on how interested you look in naoya's stupid, animated gestures. and you look so at ease, but there's something hot and sharp twisting inside his gut.

suguru's soft, measured voice echoes in his head, "prove yourself as a person first."

oh, yeah. gojo could do that. he would absolutely do that. for you, he'd do just about anything, short of donating his vital organs (but he would definitely be considering it). but how hard could it be to be better? more mature? more grounded?

gojo satoru can handle all that. all he had to do was be a dignified, charming man. you know, someone who puts his best foot forward into the world. someone that you might actually consider taking seriously. someone calm and respectful.

if you were happy with naoya zenin, then who was he to interfere? who was he to ruin that for you? even if the guy looked like wile e. coyote when he smiled. even if naoya zenin was the most smug bastard to walk the earth.

gojo scowled at nothing in particular. but the point was that it wasn't his place to meddle. not if it meant risking your happiness. all he could do was be the best version of himself. polite, kind and above reproach. a good and respectful friend.

ACT VI. a shot of love, on the rocks.

"please, i want you so fuckin' bad."

gojo satoru is on his knees. at a party, in the middle of the living room. for you.

you feel like your mind isn't able to process all this fast enough, like your brain is on some pause. the music is still thumping in your head, but not as fast as your poor cardiac muscles as you're rendered frozen from pathetic, piercing blue eyes blinking up at you.

"please," gojo satoru repeats, and his voice vaguely warbles out like he's kinda lost his marbles and —

let's rewind.

five minutes ago, you had been standing with naoya zenin. and despite your initial reservations, you had been entertained. he's sorta witty, and definitely loaded with snarky remarks that cut through the noise of the party. it's hard not to laugh at his biting commentary, although half the time he's skewering people for fun, and the other half? just out of pure spite.

his golden eyes gleam with that edge, the kind of sharpness that makes you think of a hyena circling around its next meal. naoya is definitely full of himself, but it doesn't help that he's also ridiculously good-looking. and he knows how stunning he is, but its bothering him that you're not showering him in enough compliments for it.

still, he's here with you. he's your date. and you're doing your best to remind yourself of that. naoya is the only option you have at the moment, and he's definitely offering you more attention than anyone else tonight.

from across the room, utahime gives you an exaggerated, pained thumbs-up — while shoko shrugs in her usual blithe manner, but she gestures for you to smile more. you plaster on a wider grin, a little too obvious but naoya doesn't seem to notice.

"you know, if you're getting bored of all this, we could always find another room," naoya's low hiss slices right through the bass-thrum of the pulsing room, "do a little more than just talk."

for a moment, it's easy to imagine slipping away with him. but the sharpness in his killer-smile makes something in you bristle, like he's already envisioned you saying 'oh yes, naoya! please take me to bed!' and you shake your head, and give him an amused look.

"maybe later," you say lightly, "not now."

naoya zenin doesn't seem quite offended, but his smile grows wider as he stands up straight again, from where he had curved his tall frame into you, "i'm a patient man. fine by me, 'm gonna get some more drinks."

and you watch as his golden head of hair disappears into the crowd, leaving you all alone while the music blares around you, like a suffocating fog. you rub your temples, wondering if you should just go after naoya and tell him to go to town, something for the night's enjoyment. but before you can go any further, you hear a shout cut through the noise.

"hey!"

you whip around, blinking in surprise at gojo satoru.

but also not quite the gojo that you're used to. the one that you grew up with, and held hands with in kindergarten, one who smiled easy and laughed too loud. it seems he's ditched the oversized hoodies and varsity jackets tonight, opting for a black tee that fits him a little too well and dark cargo pants that only highlight...

you're getting distracted. but it's hard to remain focused, when he's walking towards with you. seemingly determined, as his white hair falls forward over thunderstorm-eyes. for a moment, you're not sure if you’re hearing him over the pounding music, or if it's just your own pulse making everything seem louder.

"i hate that you're here with naoya," gojo says suddenly, and his voice is low and serious, something that you've never really heard from him before.

your brow furrows, "what?"

"i lied about the dates," he continues, as words just jumble out his candy-pink mouth, "i don't have a bunch of dates. fuck, i don't even have one date. i only want to date you."

you blink, and then you blink once more, because again what?

the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you think you might have misheard the man. his blue eyes are wide and earnest, and they're staring right at you.

and before you know, he's on his knees. muscular thighs bending so his knees hit the cool tiles with a heavy thud, hands splayed out for you.

"please," he implores, "you gotta understand. i need you to feel what i feel, because it's not even a passin' thought, i swear. it's not even a stupid crush. this is like —" and he's gesturing wildly with one hand, still kneeling like a knight about to beg for his lady's favour, "this is destiny."

"gojo," you manage, "are you on drugs?"

the white-haired man, bless his sassy heart, rolls his eyes, "no. i'm on beer and vodka. will you please let me finish?"

"yes, but what are you doing?" you hiss, exasperated and sibilant, as more eyes turn to the most ravishing man on campus, who's absolutely off his rocker. and there are phones being pulled out, god help you.

"what am i doing?" gojo smiles, and it's unnervingly wide, "i'm like laying it out all here for you. my love. because that's what you are, to me. like you're everything. and i swear everyone knows this already. should i call you my sun, my moon, my entire universe? it's like time stops when i see you, a-and trust me, i do physics. i know time shit," and he must have caught at how your mouth is flapping open because he suddenly wags a finger, "no! i'm not done. i haven't even told you how the world fades, and all that's left is you glowing. like a star that i can't reach."

he's placing a hand on his broad chest, digging into the tight top clinging to his pectorals, like he's being dramatically wounded, "i have to reach you. i have to be with you."

you're not sure what parts you've processed, or what part of this slow train-wreck has settled in your head, "are you, like, actually begging right now?"

gojo's eyes flash with the intensity of a thousand suns (well, fuck — gojo's awful poeticism is rubbing off on you already). you can hear the low snickers of two men that had been beating the living daylights out of each other half an hour ago, those fuckwits that go by toji and sukuna. you can hear sukuna's deep mutters about how no-one ever would like toji enough to do this for him. and yep, you can hear them scuffle again.

"yes!" gojo booms, and more than a few heads have turned now. you wonder if naoya zenin is watching in the background, and realising that this isn't a battle he wants to pick, "i will kneel for you. like i'd do this shit for eternity, even if my knees hurt so bad right now. but as long as you give me a chance to prove my worth. and my devotion, d-don't forget that! deep as the ocean, endless and vast. and the stars align...oh, how they align for us."

"ah, satoru," you cut in, and you realise that you're now smiling. embarrassment and mild humiliation be damned, there's a quirk tugging at your lips, "you can get up now. this is a bit dramatic."

gojo blinks, not missing a beat, "i'm dramatic because i'm in love, okay? and —" he swivels his head to the crowd, grumbling, "shut up, sukuna! i heard that, i'll beat your wonky ass. you don' know shit about love."

he's turning back to you, all sticky and soothing sugar once more, "where was i? eh, my confession. well, it's all for you. and it's me, givin' you every part of me. beggin' you to see that you're the only one who can break the walls around my heart."

you think that you've completed a full speed-run on every stage of grief that there is to experience, and if the small plink! coming from someone's phone is any indication, gojo's monologue has already made it's way onto someone's private story. and so naturally, everyone will have seen it by tomorrow.

"can you get off your knees? you look ridiculous."

gojo's grin falters for a split second before he straights up, all with a hefty groan as he runs a hand through snowy strands, "ridiculous? i'm being vulnerable as hell, and you think i look stupid?"

"a little," you admit, but you're reaching a hand out to push a strand of thick hair out of his eyes. and it's maddening at how gojo seems to tremble mildly under your touch, at the brush of your fingers against his temple, "kneeling at a frat party is crazy work."

gojo sinks his teeth into a plush lower lip, "that was me trying to show how much i care, and all that sweet shit. you make me lose all my cool, and this isn't even a joke."

"you never had cool, and now you've lost your dignity too," but you're blushing, and it's a giddy feeling at how he's now close enough that you can feel his body heat.

gojo satoru's eyes twinkle, "maybe. but i'd do all that again if it won you over."

"with your future oscar nomination?"

the man shrugs, broad muscles rippling, "he who be a fool for love is far better than he who doth never dare to try at all."

"fair point," you murmur, feeling dizzy in that familiar scent of lemon candies and mint, like the world is swirling around in a heady haze, "do you wanna kiss me to seal the deal?"

"yes please. i think i'm gonna pass out and — mmph!"

you've pulled yourself up, and thrown your arms around his warm neck, drawing gojo into you. crashing your lips into his before either of you can say anything else. it's an urgent, reckless kiss. like a dam has burst and all the pent-up emotions that you've been carrying have finally exploded.

gojo's lips are soft, but demanding, taking more and more air from you. they fit against you with an ease that feels almost too natural. and his broad arms come around your waist with a force that leaves the air punched out of you. he's holding you tightly, as though he's afraid that you'll just disappear if he doesn't keep you close enough.

you can feel the heat of his body against yours, the muscles in his arms that flex as he pulls you in, deepening the kiss. all while his mouth moves against yours with a slow and deliberate intensity, as his tongue parts your lips. all so messy.

when gojo finally pulls away, the last brush of his lips catches your quiet whimper. just as his breath goes ragged, and you're left standing there, dazed, with your forehead resting against his. you can still feel the warmth of his lips on yours, that electricity that's crackling and buzzing through your veins as you giggle.

gojo, however, doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath. he tugs your wrist with a sharp, swift motion. but his grip is firm, not harsh as you pulls you away from the living room, "c'mon. let's get outta here."

shoko's eyes are wide, her jaw practically locked in disbelief, "what the hell just happened?"

utahime's lips curl, "someone took gojo's brain out and replaced it with a clone. ah! geto, what did you do?"

suguru has been standing near the kitchen counter, absolutely floored, and he's shaking his head so hard that he feels a headache forming, "hand on my heart, ladies. i told him not to pull any stunts. swear on destiny's child that i didn't tell him to do all that."

ACT VII. i bet we'd have really good bed chem!

gojo satoru has absolutely lost his mind. but you wish that he had lost it a bit earlier, because you're practically pawing at his top now. critically working to make quick work of the tight fabric, letting your fingers run over hard planes of muscles and lower.

right until you're reaching a trail of soft white hairs that disappear into the band of his pants.

"seems like you're just as desparate as me, hah," gojo snickers, and his broad hand is trailing further up your thighs, letting your skirt bunch and crinkle under his ministrations. thick fingers brush over dewy cotton, and you moan.

"s-satoru!"

"you don't even know how long i've w-wanted this," and his hand clenches at the fabric, gripping it so tightly that you fear it may just be on the verge of tearing, but you can only buck your hips into him further.

no longer even mindful of how you must be already dripping onto the palm of his hand, "and i thought you knew. i r-really thought you knew how much i wanted you."

his middle finger is gliding through your damp and searing slit, with clinging strands latching onto his skin as you muffle a whine into his chasing, teasing lips.

it's sending deep, low curls of arousal in thick waves, settling low in your groin and you don't even care what room of the house you're now in, someone's bedroom with a dark, stylish bedspread and vinyls up on the walls.

the force of his large hands drives you down onto the bed, pressing your back onto the soft mattress.

and gojo looks so pleased, at how you're splayed and sprawled out underneath his torso, his hands tugging at your now bare thighs to spread your legs even further. pulling them far enough so they come to rest on either side of his face.

"fuck, she's so pretty. even better than i imagined," and gojo's voice is husky and low, almost strained, "and believe me. imagined her plenty." the sound of drenched cotton being torn rips through the air, slippery and resistant from your arousal.

it's even stubborn as the fabric refuses to budge, until it gives way under the force of gojo's tug, soft and tearing. leaving your pussy open to the cool, cold air. bare for gojo's eyes to rest upon and widen.

his lips brush against your thigh with an uncharacteristic gentleness, one that makes your entrance clench and wink.

but gojo is nothing if not teasing, and he feels light-headed. pressing featherlight kisses to the crevice of your thigh, and then closer to your aching mound. but even he cannot hold off for much longer, and he's pressing a flat, lazy print of his tongue against your cunt.

that first munch sends a burst of tangy sweetness dancing across gojo's tongue, and he thinks he might just bust a load right then and there. the heat of your clenching cunt is almost overwhelming, but hey.

gojo's never been a quitter, and he doesn't care if he creams his pants at this very moment, he needs to hear that sweet whimper of his name from your lips again.

his lips part, blowing a quick breath on your aching clit, right as his fingers begin to press and meld into your syrupy folds. it's got you practically jumping further into him, so wet strands are clinging to the very tip of his nose. and gojo knows that this is heaven. that he's unlocked true paradise.

"satoru, c-can't you...?"

he's too busy running his tongue over your clit, drawing small circles with the very tip of the hot muscle, "can't i what, pretty? don' want me eating you out?"

and you are so adorable, pushing your head up to scowl down at him with furrowed brows, but the flush in your cheeks paints you the most beautiful shade of cherry red. and gojo vows to spend the rest of his life ensuring that this shade never leaves your cheeks.

"can't you get to the eating part? thought that you were gonna — f-fuck! hnngh, 'toru!"

he's pulling your thighs tighter around his head, and he doesn't give a fuck if this is how he goes. suffocated in this tantalising heat, with your fingers lacing themselves into woven patterns in his white hair.

he's lowering his tongue once more into your throbbing pussy, making sure that his pleased vibrations send pleasurable rumbles right through your core.

grinning and slurring his tongue further into you, right as you buck desparate hips over and over. dragging yourself against his chin, so he's sure that the lower half of his face must be glistening with your sweetness.

gojo absolutely thinks he can get used to being like this, at having you angle and force his head further into your cunt. letting you angle and toy at him and use him for your pleasure. he snaps his teeth around glossy strands of arousal, once and then twice, before delving back in.

making sure that his spare hand finds your clit to draw quick flicks and shapes over it, pushing a finger right up against the throbbing hood.

"satoru, ah, satoru! 'toru!" it's all you can even manage right now, just chants and groans of his names, as he's practically sunken your hips into the mattress, while he's on his knees for the second time this night.

"hey, none of that, yeah?" and gojo's gently tugging at your arm. trying to get you to stop muffling your whimpers and cries, because he just needs to hear your adorable sounds. and he needs to hear your bird-like cries when you come undone.

what a joy it is for gojo. to be able to dive between your legs and run his tongue between your folds. he's losing his mind at how your body trembles under his touch, and how he makes the mistake of peering up at you. your lips are parted, open and glossy. and your brows are furrowed, as lashes flutter against your cheek. you have to cum, gojo satoru needs you to cum right now.

and so, he exerts all his effort ten fold into having you finish. it's so sloppy, and so messy. gojo lets his own eyes dip shut, letting himself feel your glossy, glistening cunt pulse around his tongue. and let there be no doubt that gojo satoru is a munch, for he's eating you out in such an ardent manner, and it basically sends you barrelling towards a heart-stopping orgasm, where tears spring to the corners of your eyes.

you needn't have even tried to warn him of your impending climax, for gojo knows in the way that your legs quiver and get sloppier over his face. stars fall over your vision as you heave and toss your head back, muscles rippling as "satoru, satoru!" falls from your lips, long and drawn out as the rest of the world goes dark around you.

you gasp, struggling to inhale as the syrupy air is stolen from your lungs, all while gojo runs his tongue through your folds, head spinning with the dizzying rush of sensation. it's as if you've been swept away, hurtling towards space, weightless and disorientated.

only to crash back into reality as gojo seemingly hasn't stopped letting himself taste all of you, with not a drop of arousal wasted. your back is further pressed into the soft mattress beneath you, and the surge of overstimulated numbness follows, all pleasurable pins and needles and ferocious need.

"look at that, 'm already addicted," gojo coos, almost to himself, scooping a finger through the translucent gloss that leaks from your cunt. bringing it up to his mouth to wrap his tongue around, "think you can handle giving me another one?"

you let out a weak, breathless laugh. your gaze lingering on gojo's face, the soft moonlight that casts an ethereal glow on his features. his chin still faintly gleams, coated in your mirror-sheen and his lips are a plump, rosy red. you part your lips, propping yourself onto your elbows, but before you can form the words, the door slams open with a force that makes your ears rattle.

"i've looked in every fuckin' room in this house, and i swear to everything holy, satoru. if you chose my bedroom, i'm gonna —"

geto suguru's voice cuts off mid-rant, his words dissolving into a strangled, pained gasp as he takes in the sight before him. gojo, kneeling between your legs, wearing a ridiculously pleased grin. just like the cat who got the cream. you let out a squeak, hastily tugging your skirt over you, but it's hard to look innocent when gojo is still unabashedly pawing at your thighs.

geto pales, his jaw going slack, and he looks like he's about to collapse, "god help me. satoru, i'll kill you tomorrow," and then he shoots you both a nasty look, "and you're both paying for new sheets."

"so you and gojo are...dating now?" choso pries, with a tone that is entirely too casual but his eyes are keen. your twin is nursing a cup of coffee while he absolutely demolishes a plate of fried eggs. he had been quiet so far, but it's clear that curiosity gave out and now he's peering at you like a big owl.

you try, or do your very best not to smile too hard. to not look giddy and ridiculously pleased, "yeah, i guess we are," you admit, keeping your voice as level as possible.

choso blinks once, before setting his fork down and shaking his head, "i knew it. it was only a matter of time," he mutters, and without further ado, he resumes shovelling eggs into his mouth, utterly unfazed.

before you can respond, sukuna appears in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame, his tattooed arms crossed and his expression dripping with disdainful amusement, "oh, i was there," he drawls, sharp fangs flashing in a wicked grin, "that loser pulled the dumbest, most dramatic stunt of all time. got on his knees and everything."

choso freezes mid-chew, raising a thick brow as he glances at the older man with mild interest, "wish i'd seen that," he mumbles through a mouthful of toast.

to your utter astonishment, sukuna nods gravely, his face taking on an uncharacteristically serious look, "yeah. i've got a video if you wanna watch."

your jaw drops as you glance between them, "this is officially the first time that i've ever seen you two agree on anything," setting your mug down with a thud, "if i had known that dating gojo would bring about world peace, i would have done it ages ago and —"

yuuji bounds into the kitchen like an overeager puppy, his blush-pink hair still a mess from interrupted sleep. but he's clapping his hands together like he's just won the lottery, "finally! look at that! everyone's getting along for once."

sukuna doesn't even bother to hide his irritation, shooting yuuji a withering glare. but it's hard to take him seriously when his own pink hair rivals yuuji's in sheer disarray, "don't push it," sukuna warns darkly, grabbing a glass of orange juice and downing it in one morose gulp. he slams the empty, cold glass on the counter before stalking off towards the door, "i'm seriously gonna move out at this rate."

"promise?" choso quips, without missing a bit, "wish you'd stop getting our hopes up and actually do it."

yuuji is undeterred, and he elbows you with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, "you have to invite gojo over all the time now. i like him a lot. he's like super cool."

"of course," you grin, sliding a plate towards him as he eagerly digs in.

and your younger brother beams like the sun itself. right as a mocking, high-pitched voice floats from the other room, "and then we're all gonna be lovesick, and skip around town while holding hands!" right before falling back into sukuna's usual gruff tone that echoes through the kitchen, "god, you're all so insufferable."

your phone buzzes on the table, and you glance down. gojo's contact photo lights up the screen. it's a snapshot from a year or two ago, taken the summer that you both graduated high school. he's standing at the edge of the beach, with the sun dipping low enough behind to catch his white hair. turning it into a halo of glowing light. it's a photo that you never had the heart to change.

satoru 🪐

good morning princess!! my one and only!!!! my sugar plum (too much? i can tone it down but you just can't put a lid on love) hope you dreamed of me 🙂‍↔️ so what are you doing today because i've got abt eight possible things we can cover today starting with [read more.]

"ugh, gross."

sukuna's disdainful drawl cuts through behind you, as an icy finger prods at your phone, trying to scroll up and snoop through your messages. you freeze and slam your phone down on the table. whirling around to come face to face with the world's most judgemental gargoyle sneers at you, "i think i'm gonna throw up."

"get a life, holy fuck."

4K notes · View notes