#do you work out. or get up for that matter. or do anything physical.

[viktateapot]

Hey, I loved the overprotective batboys fic you did! I was wondering if you could do the batboys with an s/o who talks in their sleep? I talk in my sleep sometimes so I thought this would be cute. Thank you!

OVERNIGHT INCIDENT (Batboys)

Dick Grayson:

The humid Blüdhaven air pressed against the windows, a sticky reminder of the relentless summer heat. Dick navigated the familiar corridors of his apartment, a subtle weariness clinging to his usually buoyant step. Tonight, the city had been a restless beast, its usual cacophony amplified by simmering tensions and petty crime escalating into something more sinister.

He'd spent hours perched on rooftops, his senses stretched taut as he monitored the city's pulse, a silent guardian against the rising tide of darkness. Now, the need for rest was a physical ache, a longing for the quiet solace he always found in your presence.

He pushed open the bedroom door, a soft smile curving his lips at the sight that greeted him. You were already asleep, nestled amidst a cloud of pillows and blankets, a picture of serene contentment. The faint scent of lavender, your favorite, filled the room, a fragrant promise of tranquility.

He quietly began to undress, his gaze lingering on your peaceful form. You'd had a long day as well, juggling the demands of your demanding job and the myriad of community projects you always poured yourself into. He admired your boundless energy, your unwavering dedication to making the world a better place.

Slipping beneath the covers, he turned towards you, his arm instinctively reaching out to pull you closer. The warmth of your body radiated against him, a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. As he closed his eyes, he felt the familiar tension begin to ebb away, replaced by a profound sense of peace.

Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he heard it – a soft murmur, barely audible above the gentle hum of the air conditioner.

"Dick... be careful... the shadows... they're getting closer..."

His eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew about your intuitive nature, your uncanny ability to sense things others couldn't. He was a man of logic and reason, of facts and evidence, but he couldn't deny the power of your perceptions.

He watched you carefully, his expression etched with concern. You were still asleep, your brow furrowed slightly, as if wrestling with some unseen threat. He knew from his own struggles that darkness was scary.

"What shadows, birdie?" he whispered softly, hoping to coax more information from your sleeping mind.

You shifted restlessly, your voice growing slightly louder, more urgent. "The city... it's changing... something's coming... I can feel it..."

A chill ran down his spine. He couldn't dismiss your words, not when they resonated so deeply with his own unease. He had felt it too, the subtle shift in the city's atmosphere, the sense of impending doom that hung heavy in the air.

He tightened his grip on you, his protective instincts surging to the surface. He wouldn't let anything harm you, not while he drew breath.

He lay there for a long time, listening to your soft murmurs, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the puzzle. He knew that something was coming, something dangerous. And he vowed to be ready, to protect you, to protect the city, no matter what the cost.

Later in the night, it was all different, and so much different. You had given him life and joy so what he wanted to do was give it all back.

He thought about everything that he could do to make sure that you were happy and safe. He thought if he could do enough things to make you feel loved then you could rule the world together.

As the morning was coming he woke up, did his everyday routine, and came back to you. "I had such a long night," he began, but the words didn't seem to work.

Jason Todd:

The humid Gotham night clung to Jason like a shroud, a suffocating reminder of the city's relentless decay. Exhaustion gnawed at him, a dull ache that settled deep in his bones. He pushed open the door of his safehouse, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and lingering tension.

He'd spent the past several hours tearing through the city's underbelly, dismantling a new drug operation that had been preying on the vulnerable. The violence had been brutal, the stakes high, and the weight of it all settled heavily on his shoulders.

He shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it onto the worn couch, the movement mirroring the weariness that permeated his entire being. He walked towards the bedroom, his footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent space.

He found you curled up in bed, asleep. But the way that your face looked, it wasn't okay.

He quietly sat down in the seat beside you. As he leaned he began to feel sleep and he was slowly starting to doze off, so he just went and sat in your face.

"Jason, stop now or there will be a price to pay" you whispered in your sleep, barely audible above his heavy breathing. Jason, who couldn't hear because of his muffled hearing, didn't listen.

"It makes me wonder what will come of us," Jason said loudly.

""I am very tired" You screamed in his ear.

His heart broke. He couldn't do it anymore. He had to stop and do something to protect the ones he loved at all costs.

He wanted to protect his you. "I am on top, I will never be at the bottom. That's what separates me" said Jason as he looked into your eyes.

There was nothing like waking up and seeing that beautiful face. You and Jason had done all kinds of things and would continue to do things.

The world was not the greatest, but when it was you. Things changed. Things got better.

You had been going on and off about it to a psychologist and she suggested that. Jason couldn't leave it all behind because he had a life to live and so did you.

As the world continued to go on and on, you and Jason would too. He will be by your side and will love you. As you whispered and talked in your sleep it made him feel safe.

Tim Drake:

The glow of multiple monitors illuminated the room, reflecting in Tim's tired eyes. He'd been chasing a digital ghost for days, a phantom hacker who was wreaking havoc on Gotham's infrastructure. Lines of code scrolled past his vision, a dizzying torrent of numbers and symbols that threatened to overwhelm his weary brain.

He paused to stretch, his muscles protesting the long hours spent hunched over his computer. He glanced over at the small cot in the corner, where you lay curled up, fast asleep. He hated that he had to put you in harm's way.

He knew how dangerous his life was, the enemies he had made, the threats that lurked in the shadows. He tried his best to keep you shielded from it all, but he knew that his efforts were often futile. All those thoughts were gone now.

He closed his eyes and began to analyze the facts and data he already had. Then he began to doze off.

He snapped his head up and saw what was going on.

He knew now. "It all makes sense now, you and me, we can get through this, it's all gonna be okay." He thought.

The world was changing as he saw more, and it just made his smile grow. He was thinking a lot, so he got back to his work

The hours passed in a blur of numbers and algorithms, his mind racing to keep up with the ever-shifting landscape of the digital world. He needed that data.

Suddenly, a soft voice cut through the hum of the computers, pulling him out of his analytical trance.

"Binary code... the key is in the reverse order... 0110... 1001..." You knew what was going on as you started to make the code.

Tim's head snapped up, his eyes widening with disbelief. Was it possible? Could you be unconsciously providing him with the very clue he needed to crack the case?

He knew that it could all work out, and he just had to think. If you had the brain, why couldn’t he?

He got on his PC. He knew that they were on the brink of all possibilities.

The door opened, and it was time to fight, the most important thing he had ever done was now.

Damian Wayne:

Damian Wayne was a creature of habit, a disciple of discipline. He adhered to a strict routine, a carefully constructed schedule that governed every aspect of his life. Sleep was a necessary inconvenience, a biological function that he tolerated with a degree of impatience.

He had just finished his nightly training session. It was a way for him to get a routine back and start loving his life again.

You were still with him and laying on the couch. "I'm doing better," he told you.

The moonlight filtered through the gap in the curtains and he thought about you "I wanna protect my property more"

With those thoughts and everything else he felt he laid by your side.

As he looked at you he saw what he thought to be an insult but, it wasn't. "I love the way you look, you're so beautiful"

"You're going to save Gotham, you always do" you said in your sleep

Damian didn’t know, that was the plan? What was it? He began to think about how he couldn't even trust you.

He started to shake you. “What is going on with me”, he thought.

With the power and the courage, he woke you up and laid you back down. Was that the answer?

As the day turned he sat back down and said, "I will become the best hero there ever was," Damian whispered.

[threadedtrinket]

Imagine if you had a freeloading partner before the dateviators came into your life.

Content Awareness –

Mentions of cryptocurrency and NFTs, progressive toxic relationship and verbal abuse, excessive use of profanity, an implied attempt of physical harm and a brief depiction of an alpha male podcast, please take care when reading if needed.

You can read an extra segment from the household's perspective here, and you can also read the next part here!

Your partner previously had a well-paying job and was well-adjusted when you first got together a few months back, but when digital currencies and tokens started trending more they left that behind to become a 'certified cryptocurrency trader' – all it took was a few shady investments before they became broke and begged to move in with you while they 'got back on their feet'.

You couldn't bring yourself to tell them no, especially when they promised to do all the household work and said they'd be applying to new job postings everyday, but then a month passed and they had done nothing but scroll through their phone and watch videos on their laptop in the living room.

And whenever you asked them to do anything, whether it was doing the dishes or laundry or taking out the bin, you'd find that they'd make an attempt before leaving things partially done. It was the same excuse every time: they came across another job opportunity on their phone and had to re-do their CV and cover letter for the nth time (which was coincidentally, a 4-5 hour process).

It didn't take long before you became the one who did everything, from the cooking to the cleaning on-top of being the one who paid for all the bills and neccessities in the house – you stopped asking to do anything when they'd tell you how they got rejected from another company for the nth time despite 'giving it their all' during the interviews before they dragged their feet back to the living room.

Things take a turn for the worse when you tell them that your company is looking to hire someone new, someone with their exact qualifications. They tell you that they'd 'think about it' before asking you for a money to re-invest in another digital currency, one that was supposedly going to quadruple your dwindling savings – when you refused and ask them to give you a copy of their CV for the job application, they lose it.

"Can you do anything other than be a fucking pain in my ass – you're always on my case about everything when I've been nothing but loving and caring, why isn't that enough for you?! You don't even make that much, and you can't even cook or clean for shit– I can't believe I've been putting up with this for so long!"

They storm upstairs and slam the bedroom door closed with a firm click while you fall back on the couch, your face buried in your fluffy blanket as you tried to bury the tears and sobs. You should've seen the signs earlier, but you really thought that if you had given them time and space that things would go back to how it used to be.

And despite everything, you find yourself waiting for them to come back downstairs and apologise for what they've said, even when you check the time on your phone and realise that it's well past midnight.

You don't remember when you fall asleep, but unbeknownst to you, the blanket tucks you in while the couch makes itself comfortable, the fireplace silently setting itself alight to give you a good night's sleep.

Your partner on the other hand, has trouble sleeping – the pillows and blankets on your bed are warm no matter which side they lay on, the mattress now lumpy, and they could've sworn that the AC was blowing stale air that was starting to become suffocating.

They manage to get about three hours of broken sleep before your alarm clock goes off, though they don't remember the last time you used it for that purpose. It flashes and beeps until they get out of bed, and regardless of what button they press, it refuses to turn off. They resort to ripping the plug out before falling back asleep, but they later wake up to the curtains drawn and the sun shining in their eyes.

Eventually, your partner unlocks the door and stumbles downstairs, though they nearly trip on the last step. Still, a hot shower would be the perfect start to the morning – right? But the shower refuses to turn on, and and nothing comes out of the sink – they can't even use the toilet!

"What the fuck – did you not pay the water bill or something?!"

You don't hear a thing, not when the door manages to block out their shouting. They try the shower and sink faucet a few more times before they head to the kitchen to make a fresh cup of coffee instead – surely that will be working perfectly!

What ends up dispensing from the coffee machine is a combination of rinsed water and coffee grounds, though it initially looks like a regular coffee until your partner takes a long sip – you wake up to the sound of them spitting and sputtering before they stomp into the living room.

"You– You fucking bitch, first it was the AC, then it was the alarm clock– and now you've turned off the water and rigged the coffee machine?!"

You try to distance yourself from them as they move closer, but a slightly raised floorboard causes them to trip and hit their knee right on the corner of the coffee table. And while they kneel on the floor in pain, their laptop turns on and one of your partner's podcasts resumes playing.

"All you need to do is date someone who is submissive and willing to please, but they also need to be able to provide – you know in wolf packs, the alpha is prioritised because they're the leader – the rest of the pack are the ones who go and search for food and..."

They go still as the podcast continues, but you couldn't help but feel that this was the universe giving you a firm push to do what you should've done long ago.

"...Get out of my house, now."

"I wasn't watching that, I swear – that was on auto-play, I don't even know–"

They try to get back up before they hit their knee on the coffee table again.

"Shit– I– I'm sorry okay? I didn't mean what I said yesterday– let's talk about this! I'll even apply for that job posting you talked about–"

"It's over."

"At least give me an ice pack, that coffee table really did something to my knee–"

"Take your laptop, pack your things and get out!"

You couldn't remember the last time you had raised your voice, not to mention felt anything aside from ongoing, overwhelming dread, but it felt as if you weren't really on your own – you had your friend Sam to confide in, who had told you from the start that this person was a walking parade of red flags – but it felt as if someone, or something, was giving you the strength and support you needed for this moment.

And though your former partner, now ex, tried to do everything they could to convince you that you were overreacting, that this was all big misunderstanding, you refused to back down. You simply handed them an old box that would fit all of their things and stood by the front door waiting for them to leave.

"You know, I don't know what I ever saw in you," they forced a laugh as they limped out the door with their things.

"You're not even that good looking, you know that? And your personality, it's really lacking–"

The door was slammed shut before they could go any further, though you couldn't stop yourself from shaking as you leaned against the door for support. You could hear them shouting at you still, but you couldn't make out the words as you looked to your office.

"...I completely forgot about work," you murmured.

Your job had a zero tolerance for lateness policy, meaning that you most likely lost your job from the morning you had. You closed your eyes and sighed before trudging up the stairs.

"And I forgot to charge my phone... I should let Sam know what happened."

All it took was a few comforting words from her and a copy of your customer service degree before you subsequently signed a new contract at Valdivian, but one thing led to another and now you had a broken window and a pair of smart glasses.

At this point, nothing could phase you anymore – but that was before you put the glasses on and met Skylar for the first time.

"Hey there!" She smiled, paying no mind to your wide eyes and open mouth.

"Your life is about to change, I hope you're ready!"

[soulsforsales]

Jason Todd and his curse of being left behind

Jason Todd is used to being left behind. That’s all he has ever truly known. Good things never stay, good things never even happen to someone like him. There is no existence of something warm and nice and humane in his life. But bad things—the pain, the rage, the fear—it‘s permanent. It’s familiar. It’s all Jason Todd has ever known.

Until, you—sweet, kind, patient, and so goddamn beautiful it physically ached—came into his life like a storm and a salvation in one. Jason met you at some shitty library placed in the crook of the city where few others frequented. He’s sure he fell in love the second you smiled at him and his book choices, or when you threw your head back and laughed when he called Romeo “an emo kid with no impulse control”. He fell in love the moment you looked at him like he was soft, like the world hadn’t plucked out its thorns and pushed them through his skin. Like his soul wasn’t marred. Like he was worth something more than the monster he made of himself.

Sure, Jason had never meant to make good on his feelings. He never meant to befriend you by visiting the library every day in hopes of running into you—those were mere coincidences. And he sure as hell didn’t mean to stumble in through your window one night after patrol—bruised and bleeding and stupid. He didn’t mean for you to find out who he truly is. He didn’t mean to fall in love with you all over again when you said you didn’t care. like you weren’t bandaging his broken ribs and wiping the blood from his hands.

You loved him like it was the easiest thing in the world and Jason couldn’t believe it for a single damn minute. He was always terrified. Always defensive. Always taking three steps back before he took one forward. He was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And eventually, it did.

It started small, it always does. But Jason noticed. He noticed it in the way you begin retreating from his touch—nothing huge—but in the little ways that mattered. He noticed it in the way you still smiled at his terrible jokes but it never reached your eyes. He noticed how you were pulling away slowly, like unstitching a wound. like it was hurting you as much as it was hurting him.

You still let him kiss you, but you didn’t smile against his lips anymore. You let him cradle your face, but you refused to meet his eyes. You curled up against him half asleep, but you stopped reaching for him when you were awake. You held him through his nightmares, his bad days, his silences, but to Jason it started feeling like duty instead of want.

He wondered if you’d started to see it—see him as a chore instead of the man you loved love. He felt like you were getting tired of him. And that scared Jason more than bullets and knives ever could.

It must’ve been his fault. Too many walls, too many armours, too much trauma—too much—all of him. Maybe he hadn’t been open enough. Maybe he pushed you away in some way. Maybe you finally realised that you can do so much better than someone as fucked up as him. He has never been the best boyfriend—far from it. He lashed out, he snapped at you for things that weren’t even remotely your fault, he missed dates, he forgot anniversaries. But he was trying, god, he’s been trying. And he wasn’t going to stop.

Because you’re the one constant Jason needs in his life, and he wasn’t about to go and lose it.

He started with amending his faults. He arranged dates, reserved fancy restaurants, bought your expensive dresses and that pair of earrings you fell in love with. Jason wasn’t good at it. He called Dick for suggestions, asked Bruce to put in a word for him. Hoped that you would see he’s trying. That he hasn’t been the best person but he would change himself for you. He would do anything for you.

But you cancelled dates. You changed plans, you didn’t have time. You were knee deep in work, the only distraction you’d had in your life lately. Jason didn’t even know until you spelled it out for him. You had fully thrown yourself in work. How had he not noticed? Was he so in his head to not even see how much you’ve been carrying?

Jason’s first plan had failed—and rightfully so. He was never the expensive dates and luxury restaurants kind of guy. So he tried the next best thing that made sense to him. He talked to you about it. But, god, has Jason Todd ever been good at putting his feelings into words? He always twists his words, turns them into poison and fuels them with rage. He doesn’t talk, he uses words like weapons. Every talk he had with you ended in an argument. Every defensive, “Just tell me what’s going on because something clearly is” and “im trying to fix things too!” and “why can’t you spell it out like a grown ass adult?!” was only making things worse.

And once again, Jason was really fucking scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of giving you every reason to leave. Scared of being left behind.

So he tried once again. In the realest, sincerest way possible. This time, Jason fixed the small things. He started spending time with you, started staying back home instead of patrolling every single night. He accompanied you to grocery stores and held the cart while you scanned aisles. He took you to watch your favourite movie in an old theatre which smelled like leather and served popcorn with too much butter. He took you to the bookstore where you first met. He made you laugh again over some shitty joke about overpriced coffee. He watched your eyes crinkle into crescent moons as you tried to hide your face behind an open book. And he thought maybe—just maybe you weren’t going to slip through his fingers too.

But then, it happened. The last straw. The final act.

You got a job offer. In Metropolis. You were positively beaming at it. You’d worked so damn hard for the position, it could mean wonders for your career. You were happy. Proud, even. But when Jason found out, he froze. His heartbeat slowed down like the world zeroed in on that moment.

“You’re going to say yes?” He had asked incredulously, stealing the glow from your face.

Your happiness faded in the blink of an eye. “What? Yes, Jason. Of course, im gonna say yes. This is good, you know? I worked my ass down for this job.”

Jason shook his head, expression hardening and breaking at once. “It’s a different city, babe.”

You stared, knowing where this is going. “I know that, Jay, but it’s not like it’s gonna change anything.”

That’s what started it all. “What more is there to change?” He gritted out, snapped, poured all his frustration, confusion, pain, fear into an argument which ended in quiet tears and loud screams.

Jason slammed the door shut when he left. You didn’t stop him. He didn’t come home that night.

The next morning, though, Jason did come back. His eyes red rimmed and bloodshot. He was tired, wrecked, even. But mostly, terrified. Because what if this was it? He had been so stupid. He practically pushed you to the edge. like he was testing your patience, like he was testing just how awful he can be before you finally leave.

And he was right.

That morning, you left.

You left the apartment. You left the city. You left him.

You left everything behind.

You left him behind.

Jason’s knees buckled, the weight of reality crashing down on him like a punch to his stomach, except this time he couldn’t lessen the blow. Couldn’t run away. Couldn’t hide.

He sat down on the living room floor and cried. He cried like a child, like he was sixteen and begging to be saved again. He spluttered broken apologies to the walls and empty rooms. He cursed the universe.

But it cursed him first. Cursed him with a restless death, a miserable life, and a broken soul.

Cursed him with rough edges and bloodied hands. Cursed him with a cavernous need for love and the never ending dread of losing it.

The universe cursed Jason Todd to be a man built out of pain and loss. It cursed him to be left behind.

And who were you to change that?

[pigeons4brains]

Chance x Reader Headcanons !!

Heyoo!!! Sorry for uh.. procrastinating on this LMFAO I've been busy with irl stuffs

Mainly tooth rotting fluff with sprinkles of angst

N E WAYS First batch of Headcanons are heeeree, as soon as this is posted, I'll be working on the Itrapped x reader headcanons, I also have been considering Two Time as well, but we'll see.

Cw// mentions of alcohol consumption & smoking, gambling (duh), Kissing, lots of it, Mentions of SH and burns, showering together??? Idk I felt like I had to tag this just in case, it's not NSFW, but it's there. And periods.

Reader is GN, and will be referred to as Partner, ect

Forgive me if I get anything incorrect about Chance, we have like...CRUMBS about them, so most of this is canon divergent??? I think that's the correct term I dunno.

He/they prns on Chance, but They're Afab, cause I said so come at me ☝️ reader is refered to as Partner, no pronouns are specifically stated. This is mainly pre-forsaken, so sorry if you wanted present Chance 😔

I lowkey wrote this while playing Limbus Company...I got a tad bit distracted

Like always, not beta read, and please feel free to remind me of anything+ let me know if I forgot to tag anything!

Had my oomf help me with some of these, thank you very much oomfieee🙏 , like the Telamon one, the ones they allowed me to steal(/j) will be colored differently!

Incredibly self indulgent 🤫

• Smells like a mixture of smoke and that one specific type of cologne that's stronger than you'd like.

• he'll swap the cologne for something easier on the nose occasionally, but the smell of cigarettes lingers

• they're not a heavy smoker, he does smoke (much to your annoyance), but rarely. the cigarette smell actually comes from the casino.

• occasionally does drink as well, but never really gets drunk, especially in public, even then he just sleeps it off if they're home. (A little bit on this later)

• Stupidly loyal, it's actually his downfall.

• If he IS drunk in public, he WILL hang onto you, definitely half asleep, but still sober enough to not fall on his face. If ANYONE , no matter who it is, friend, patron, ect, they Will immediately go "nooo I'm taken..." Or "noo I have a partner"

• loyal no matter what I'm jus sayin🤫

• hand and waist holding. Lots of it

• they are a SUCKER for physical touch, loves kissing you on the cheek, hand, neck ect.

• Has you close to him whenever he gambles, considers you their 'extra lucky charm', as if they don't have enough luck already.

• also wraps an arm around your shoulders

• big snuggler, while not the big spoon 60% of the time, they will not let you go once they pass out for the night.

• they're an incredibly heavy sleeper, good luck.

• mouth breather + drools in his sleep, snores, a long with talking in their sleep.

• but hey, for the price of a nice cuddle session...better hope you fall asleep before he does

• The most golden eyes ever holy shit please wear some brown contacts/j

• He doesn't realize it, but they love it when you in particular praise him, it feels more genuine, he's not stupid when other people do so, all that does is feed their confidence in their skill, but when you, his lovely partner, compliments them, he melts.

• 100% gets all giddy and giggly (grown ahh he/they bro/j).

• they are full of love but don't know how to show oughhh utterly pathetic in a really cute way for his partner.

• Chance burns himself with his cigarettes when especially stressed, or feeling extremely down.

• in my oomfs words "Not even my special interest can get me out of this one"

• you comfort them whenever you catch him doing this, it's a nasty habit he has.

• Chance, before meeting you, had plain old suits, but after meeting you, before you even got together he'd dress up in more lavish and colourful suits to impress you.

• basically, a bird, a really odd bird. Specifically a peakcock

• really cheesy with dates, so cheesy it's cute, he's a hopeless romantic without even knowing.

• loves you so much their chest hurts.

• LOSER....in a good and affectionate way.

• spoils you an unbelievable amount, even if you decline it, they're buying you a gift the money you show interest in something.

• Gift giving in general is another big love language (easily gets taken over by physical touch)

• Likes seeing you use/wear the gifts he gives you, makes him blush like an idiot.

• an awful kisser, inexperienced even.

• first kiss ended in giggles and jokes from both sides, he knows he's bad at kissing, but is willing to get better if it's with you

• god I hate this dude man/affectionate

• Is a surprisingly good cook, not 5 star chef level, but knows how to make a pretty good meal (he enjoys cooking as well)

• likes bell peppers. Yeah idk dawg he just likes em

• Will be the cook of the relationship, will cook anything available that you ask them to.

• wears a kiss the chef apron (oh I'm kissing that chef alright.)

• oomf adds on "the chef part is crossed out. Its kiss the GAMBLER"

• not a morning person, but likes waking up early to make themselves coffee (will prepare you some if you like coffee, if not, will most likely have some juice or water available for you if you don't want up with him)

• Kisses you good morning while holding onto you from behind, kissing your cheek.

• yes, sometimes you two shower together, but nothing really happens, it's just a really nice and relaxing shower.

• you're one of the few people they trust to watch over Spade

• that rabbit is his BABY and deserves the best

• spoils Spade just as much as he spoils you, and yes, the bunny does snuggle with you two. It's a cute sight.

• Help him do his tie in the morning and they will give you a big ol kiss

• the kiss doesn't last long, as he's a busy fella, but the kiss is sweet enough to give one a cavity.

• have I mentioned how much he loves you? Yeah? Well Theres a reminder hehe

• if your Afab, your periods are definitely synced, so you two help each other out with that, if you're amab, then they appreciate it when you help him out with his period.

• Now HE'S the one getting spoiled (he enjoys being pampered, they often don't allow themselves to indulge much)

[nqueso-lies]

If I were showrunning 911 (starting in s9, because I wouldn’t have done half of what we’ve been seeing lately) this is what I’d do for Buck and Tommy’s relationship.

I don’t know the episode total for this season, but let’s say 18 with a shorter A (7). But whatever, it’s flexible. I’ll be honest, I think my mid-season to end os stronger than the top few eps, but I’m also not seriously storyboarding this out. Just typing as my hair dries post shower.

I’d prefer a very minor time jump. Like, weeks instead of months. And even weeks plural isn’t pushing it for me, personally. They left too much hanging that I feel like could be continued, and it would be at a detriment in we jump and pretend it doesn’t matter what we missed. I know that’s the show’s MO, but this is my season.

1- Buck should be single, struggling still with Bobby’s death worse than before. Finally starting his descent into cracking. But private, barely should register with audience, but enough. Nothing shown about Tommy until we see unread messages from him that Buck doesn’t respond to. I’d love Buck waking up in bed next to some guy/girl who we think may be Tommy for a second until it’s quickly revealed it isn’t. Everyone thinks he’s fully over Tommy, coping well with Bobby’s death, that all is good for Buck. It is not.

Buck gets his original Buck 1.0 reputation back, though he’s not actually acting that way. Just letting his friends think he is, because it keeps them from talking about Bobby or how he’s really doing. At most he’s getting a lot of dinner and drinks with others. Every date is awful, they’re not Tommy.

Buck admits that he’s not a fan of casual dating anymore. Maybe in a loose two/three date-deep thing with one guy who’s nice but boring, but then he thinks he sees Tommy at a call. It’s not him, but it hits Buck that he can’t keep trying to suppress the Tommy of it all.

Skip a week

Something big happens and Buck is triggered in just the way to make him unable to keep working until he gets cleared. During a talk with a therapist he admits to not dealing with things well, that he can’t keep people he loves from leaving him — not Bobby, not Tommy, not Maddie, not Eddie. (Not said like that) more like “You’re talking about your former captain? / Bobby?” “Among others.” Something about how Bobby told Buck he loves him and he didn’t say it back.

Crash that helicopter (very pro this, but as a mid-season finale). Have Buck finally feeling all the feelings he refused to, he’s still out of work, taking time to heal. When the helicopter goes down, he rushes back into action. Like the Tsunami. His feelings towards Tommy are finally revealed, Tommy is his last, “I love you,” to the man. To the very unconscious and bleeding out man. Like the lightening strike, we end with Tommy’s life in limbo, Buck finally releasing all that he pent up, and him knowing that life is too short.

Next: Tommy is on the road to recovery. Buck by his side. As friends. Buck still hasn’t told him anything. Tommy is struggling with his recovery, the physical aspect and being out of work. Buck is back at work, but also Buck all but moves in to help, veryyyy domestic.

Next: we’re still in domestic territory. Very relatioshipy. Texts while on shift, meals, chores. They’re growing really close and we get to see it this time.

Next: Tommy is still very obviously into Buck, loves him, but still can’t trust that everything can be the way it was before. “It can’t be the same.” “It won’t, Tommy, it’ll be better.” Tommy pushes Buck away, because he still can’t believe in everything. Not now. He’s too damaged (his thinking). In a classic soap opera way, we find out Tommy heard what Buck said after the crash. Buck’s upset that Tommy never said anything. All but moves out when Tommy doesn’t say it back. (Buck’s first time running)

Next: Buck throws himself into work, harder than ever. Think after Eddie was shot and how reckless he was. Buck is trying to prove that he’s worth something now. He gets some stuff back from Tommy, who is still recovering. Tommy tries to talk to him, Buck doesn’t listen. Rushes out. (Buck’s second time running)

Next: Bad calls all day. Buck explodes, goes to Tommy. Tells him that he’s tired of people he loves not loving him back, that he deserves more, whatever — something not so schmaltzy. Tommy says it’s not that he doesn’t love him, it’s that he doesn’t love himself (again, too schmaltzy)… maybe trust instead of love. Idk, whatever, you get it. They finally talk. Tommy asks Buck to come back, “I still need help (something funny or sexy)” (coming together, no more running) would love a joke about not being able to run away this time.

Next episode: BT together again confirmed

(Skip and put relationship in the background until near season end)

Then: Cement their relationship, get a dog or something. I strongly think a proposal wouldn’t work, but give something solid. (Baby acquisition per chance? Jk, that’s my season 10)

Idk this is all just total spitball.

Dear lord. Tim. Just write it.

[sherlocked-hunter-in-the-tardis]

Any Batfam headcannons about daytime wettings?

Oh, you just know I have thoughts about that!!

Thanks for asking! Here they are:

🍼 BatKids + Daytime Wettings ☀️💦

💙 Dick Grayson (eldest / often regresses to 4–5)

Usually potty trained in little space, but not always.

Accidents tend to happen when he’s too focused on helping others, especially if one of the younger ones is upset.

Classic “hold it until the last second” kid. He dances on his toes and whines, “I’m fine! Just gotta finish this first!”

When he does have an accident, he immediately tries to clean it up himself, frantically stripping off wet clothes, flushing the pull-up, and hiding the evidence. He’s a big brother. He can’t have accidents.

Bruce knows the signs. When Dick gets too quiet or jittery after a little moment? “Come here, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Will only let Bruce change him after an accident if Bruce keeps humming and calling him “my baby acrobat” the whole time.

❤️ Jason Todd (regresses 2–4, but very baby emotionally)

Has the most daytime accidents.

Hyperaware, embarrassed, grumpy, but also totally forgets he’s not big until it’s too late.

Holds it way too long out of stubborn pride. Wettings always take him by surprise. He goes from “I’m not a baby” to suddenly wet and trembling.

Tells before an accident: loud fidgeting, clenching fists, snapping “I’m fine!”, big pouty cheeks.

Jason hates being seen as vulnerable, but Bruce always notices.

“Jaybird,” Bruce murmurs, crouching down, “You’re shaking. Come here, baby.”

Jason cries silently when he’s changed. Full-body trembles, ashamed face turned away. Bruce just kisses his forehead and whispers, “You’re safe. You’re mine. That’s all that matters.”

Secretly loves fluffy, animal-print diapers. Bruce caught him gazing at a package of pastel lamb ones once. Jason turned bright red.

A few weeks later? There was a soft new pack in the nursery cabinet, labeled “for special boys.” Jason didn’t say a word… but those were the only ones he wore for a week.

💛 Tim Drake (regresses 2–3)

Usually dry during the day, except when he forgets he has a body.

Will work on a puzzle or draw for five hours straight and not realize he needs to go.

Doesn’t respond to physical cues. Bruce has to gently say, “Hey, pause and try, okay?” every two hours.

Accidents aren’t super dramatic, but they break his heart. He looks down, goes pale, and whispers, “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even notice.”

Bruce always kneels in front of him, rubs his shoulders, and says, “Bodies forget sometimes, love. That’s why I’m here.”

Wears diapers more often than not, just in case. Waddles a little. Grumbles about it. Secretly loves the security of being padded when he’s deep in little space.

💚 Damian Wayne (regresses 1–3, almost nonverbal)

Deep little = fully in diapers.

Will not even notice he’s had an accident, he’s too baby.

If it’s a big accident and it leaks, that’s when he notices and cries. Not because he’s embarrassed, but because he’s scared and uncomfortable.

Goes to Bruce (or Dick!), tugging at his shirt with a soft, shaky “Daa-dee…”

Dick scoops him up right away and sings while changing him.

Bruce always checks him by touch, just gently pats the seat of his diaper while holding him. If Damian’s wet, he just gets a kiss and a “Time for a clean one, baby boy.”

While small, has zero shame about it. He’s baby. He doesn’t care. (He will gloat that Jason got a diaper change before he did.)

[uponawhitehorse13]

Rangiku Matsumoto SFW alphabet

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Rangiku is always showering you with affection no matter who’s present, even if it’s a captain.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Rangiku is friendly with everyone, especially if they’re buying drinks.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Rangiku is all over you when cuddling she just loves holding you, you're the most adorable thing to her.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

She is more the type to laze around than work so she won’t help around the house unless you tell her to. She makes a great hangover breakfast though.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

She would probably give you a rant for why she wants to break up but she would want to stay good friends.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Rangiku is immediately on board with the idea of marriage just for the fact she can spend obscene amounts of money on her wedding.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

She is a big tease but outside of that she’s harmless.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Rangiku’s hugs are suffocating to say the least. Not only will she squeeze you hard but your face often gets buried between her “girls” leaving you in a struggle to catch a breath.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

She’s always telling you how much she loves you, especially if you’re doing her favors.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Rangiku can get very catty when she feels threatened but that’s about it.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Rangiku is always exaggerating with kisses. If she’s kissing you on the mouth she needs to grab your face and pull you in deeper. If she’s kissing you on the cheek she can’t settle for just one, she has to cover your entire face in her lipstick so everyone can see. Sometimes she asks you to kneel down and kiss the back of her hand just so she can play up her reaction and annoy her captain.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

While becoming a parent would definitely make her get her alcohol consumption under control it wouldn’t make her any less fun. She would be a good parent but not too great at disciplining her kids. 

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Rangiku is always slow to rise and drags you down with her by not letting you leave the bed because she’ll be cold without you.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Rangiku loves to stay up late with you. You don’t even have to be drinking or doing anything. She just likes cuddling up with you and looking out at the sky.

O = Open  (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say  everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Rangiku is always wearing her heart on her sleeve and she wouldn’t have problems talking about almost anything. She is a bit hesitant anytime Gin is mentioned though.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

She doesn’t get mad easily. She may pretend to be mad but most of the time you’re the angry one.

Q = Quizzes  (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little  detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Rangiku remembers what she can. She does forget things sometimes but she just apologises and moves on.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Your first kiss was very romantic and it stayed in her memory.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Rangiku is not overly protective but is definitely ready to fight if she feels you’re in danger, especially if you’re less powerful. If you are equal to or stronger than her and tried to protect her she’d be flattered but prefer to try and help you out.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

She likes to do things that make you both happy. Dates will include something you both enjoy doing and not just one of you. Gifts will often be something you can wear or put on display in your home or office so she can see you like them. Etc.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

She is a slacker and will ignore her duties unless you remind her.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

She loves to dress up and loves it even more when you’re letting her dress you up.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

While she would be incredibly sad she is capable of moving on from tragedy.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

She is very good at noticing when you are overworking yourself and helping you relax.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

While she understands people being mad with her she wouldn’t be happy if you were too much of a killjoy.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Rangiku moves around a lot when sleeping but she is always at least partly draped over you.

[kyuteflesh]

Hey hey I saw your post and i guess that gives me permission to share my thoughts. Can you write reader turning on the squid game boys (seperately or not, your choice) and they can't do anything about it since they're in public then it turns out reader was doing it on purpose?

VARIOUS SQUID GAME BOYS / GN!READER

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𐙚⋆˚✿˖°

hiii anon!! i had a better message written but i accidentally cut it last second.. too late to go back now. i hope this is up to your expectations! if you guys want any others characters lmk! rqs are always open, just be sure to be specific. anywho, enjoy :D

ps sorry for working so slow! i’ve been out of it lately, super exhausted. i tried to make this as gender neutral as possible so everybody can read! i hope the tiredness didn’t shine through too much towards the end.. PLEASEE LIKE & REBLOG SO OTHERS CAN SEE MY WORK THANK U（╹◡╹）

⚠️: suggestive content, mdni, 1 mention of “daddy” w/ thanos ..

KANG DAEHO :

this one is less explicit than the rest!! sorry! i will make it up in another post w/ him :3

- you and daeho were spending time at the mall shopping

- he didn’t mind at all !! it was his favorite activity honestly

- he gets to watch you try on cute outfits & see the smile on your face whenever he pays for u :D it’s a treat for either side

- this time things got interesting to say the least ..

- you were in the middle of trying on different pairs of bottoms and wanted his judgement on which to get.

- you opened the dressing room door just enough to reveal your face. “daeho, could you please come in here? i need you.”

- “of course, my love!” he was always eager to help you no matter what it was. he’s the sweetest <3

- “which one should i get? i can’t decide..” you skimmed through the hangers, picking out a pair of shorts you knew weren’t going to go up all the way

- you turned your back to daeho and faced the mirror. putting your legs through, you pulled them up as far as they could go until your thighs got in the way

- “ugh, seriously? i swore these would’ve fit,” you scoffed, angling your backside in a way that would show off your ass.

- you could see daeho getting redder by the second. he couldn’t tell if he should avert his eyes or continue to approve of what he saw? either way, he wasn’t gonna protest

- you noticed the arousal growing in him. “what’s wrong? you don’t like them?” you gave a fake pout, turning back to face him

- “o-of course not, y/n! you will always be the most beautiful girl in the world to me. i wouldn’t trade you for anything,” daeho reassured you before pulling you in for a hug

- “where’s my kiss?:((” *mwah*

••••• @ home

- “cooking me dinner? you feeling fancy or what?” you joked, poking his side

- “what’s wrong with cooking for my sexy partner? i would like to keep what we have, ya know,” he responded while rolling his eyes

- “..and besides, i can’t help it, you looked so good earlier. i don’t mean to be disrespectful but god, your ass is amazing,” daeho whispered into your ear as you melted into the palm of his hand

- “you’re a perv,” you teased.

- “HEY YOU STARTED IT!”

-“so my plan worked! >:)”

- “why don’t we take this somewhere we’ll have more room?” he suggested, carrying you away to start what wouldn’t be finished for awhile. hehe

PARK MINSU :

- minsu wanted you to keep him company while he studied. you thought the library would be great for you guys to get out and enjoy the afternoon

- minsu had an upcoming test for uni that he wanted to pass. he was a smart cookie, you knew that. you were sure he wouldn’t have too much trouble figuring it out by himself.. but you wanted to give him a challenge of your own ;)

- “y/n, i need help.. do you have any ideas for this?” minsu asked, circling the area of concern with the tip of his eraser

- you giggled, “i can sure try.” you skimmed over the passage and tried to take in as much information as you could. doing so as you traced circles on his hand with your thumb

- minsu is a known FIEND for your physical touch. he loves you more than himself .. only naturally

- you tried your best to sound like you knew what you were talking about but in all honesty, you were too caught up trying to get him turned on as discreetly as possible

- a fun little game if you must

- you did just that, softly rubbing your foot on his crotch. enough for him to feel it but not enough to be noticed. to make it better, nobody was really around to care

- “y/n, p-please.. you can’t do this here.” his voice was lower and shakier. signaling your antics were working

- “do what exactly? i thought you wanted my help?” you liked the desperation in his voice when you teased him

- “i do.. but you’re gonna give me another problem to deal with. right here too?” minsu said as he gulped.

- “what do you mean?”

- he glanced down. “come on, stop this– you know what i’m talking about.”

- you released him from your touch and focused your attention back to the book in your hands.

- “suit yourself.” (no pun intended) (only highly intelligent people will understand)

•••• @ home

- minsu completed his test earlier on his personal laptop. he was anxiously awaiting his score at the edge of your bed

- “68%? how did i do this bad?” he scoffed, laying back in frustration.

- “what’s wrong babe?” you questioned, beginning to run your fingers through his hair

- “i failed,” he groaned. he buried his head in your lap. your comfort is all he wanted in this moment

- “im sorry, baby. i wish i could be more help,” you took his hand into yours.

- he looked away, “it’s not your fault at all! i mean.. in a sense? but, i should’ve paid more attention.”

- “in a sense?”

- “no no not like that don’t take what i said the wrong way please. i just meant.. you got me so riled up earlier- you could start helping by me there! i- i don’t know-“ minsu laughed nervously.

- “it wasn’t my intention to get you to fail,” you said. “i can’t control myself around you minsu. im sorry, and i want to help satisfy you.“

- “what do you mean,” minsu asked.

- “well i may or may not have wanted to get your attention,” you grinned sheepishly. you began to unbuckle his pants, pulling his dick out and giving the tip small kitten licks. you watched as minsu threw his head back in ecstasy. it was so easy to please him

- “fuck, maybe this is worth the F.”

NAMGYU :

- being a bartender was an interesting field of choice. namgyu got to see shit faced people making a fool of themselves, bar fights, gossip, drugs. a favorite of his. but nothing would compare to his all time favorite find; you.

- his whole entire world

- tonight you came into his work and ordered your usual. “what’s a fine piece of ass like you doing in a place like this?” you whistled to him jokingly.

- “his exprrssion would say he was embarrassed and he definitely did not know you— but you knew he liked your silly comments

- “$13.72. but for you, i’ll just need that number, baby doll.” namgyu winked. (i like to think he jokingly flirts like a middle aged man) (do you guys hate me)

- “yoi slide him a $20. “keep the change.”

- “no but seriously, what’s up, babe? i’ve missed you tonight,” namgyu questioned you as he wiped down the counter.

- “that’s exactly why i’m here. i’ve missed you too.” you went on, “you know.. i got this new pair of underwear.. it’s lace,” you whispered to him, “but i don’t think i like it that much.”

- namgyus expression turned blank. “i’m sorry?”

- you crossed your legs “i don’t know. feel like it makes my butt look too big.”

- “and that’s bad how exactly?”

- “i don’t know. i don’t like the way it rides up my ass.”

- namgyu could only picture it now

- why did you have to stir such thoughts while he was working?

••• in the car

- you had gone to pick him up later that night. namgyu couldn’t get the picture out of his head the rest of his shift.

- “i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed. he was feeling you up, beginning to work his way to your crotch

- he’s impulsive .. and curious.. he turned on his flash to take a quick peek of what you had on underneath

- to his surprise, you had on the underwear you previously mentioned

- “this is what you were talking about? all i see is perfection.”

- “really?:3”

- “y/n, i feel like this was planned.”

- …

- “so it was?”

- “you’re definitely getting it.”

- let’s just say he did not hold back once you got back home.

CHOI SUBONG (THANOS) :

- your boyfriend was a notorious party animal. you guys were currently attending a bash for his latest drop

- you were wearing an outfit that hugged your curves just right. his favorite

- you were sitting down on one of many chairs. just trying to get your mind off of everything going on in life

- “your majesty, sitting down still?” thanos took a seat next to you, snaking his arm around your waist

- “we’ve already been to 6 parties in the past week. i’ve had my fair share,” you snorted

- “you wanna dance? i can’t have my baby feeling left out. relax” subong insisted. he grabbed you by the arm and tugged you along to where a group of people were

- you guys joined the bunch. losing yourself to what was playing on the speakers

- you made it a statement to continue brushing against his cock, but keept an innocent act

- “listen to me, if you keep that up you’re gonna have to be ready for the night of your life.”

- “what? you know i’m bad at dancing.” you shrugged, continuing on.

- he pulled you in closer, feeling his hard on.“either way you certainly have my attention. especially with what you’re wearing.. you’re lucky i don’t just take you now.”

•••• @ home

“don’t think i haven’t forgotten about earlier.”

“oh trust me, i’m ready.” you got on the bed, sprawled out on all fours

- “you’re such a brat. it’s time for you to be punished,” subong growled, giving you a light smack to the face.

- “mmm, i promise can take it, daddy,” you moaned as you stuffed your face into the mattress.

- “that’s right, baby. don’t be shy to make a mess on it.”

LEE MYUNGGI :

- myunggi wanted to take you out. he bought you your favorite food. you guys had gone to a park to eat.

- you were sitting on his lap, peacefully enjoying your meal.

- your mind began to wander. you were desperate for him. you started to slowly grind down.

- “thanks, this food is super good, ya know!”you said, munching away .

- myunggi began to sweat. “of course, y/n, but..”

- “maybe we should try walking by the pond later? i noticed there was koi,” you continued on, still moving your hips.

- “you know what you’re doing.” he grabbed you to steady your pace.

- “i’m not gonna argue, but just know im not gonna let up later on.”

- you smirked. “can’t hear you. and i definitely don’t know what you’re talking about”

••• @ home

- you were at home, still sitting on his lap while he played whatever on his pc.

- “what’s wrong, babe? you’ve hardly spoken to me,” you complained, frowning.

- “you know exactly what i’ve been thinking about,” myunggi tsked.

- “what might that be?” you asked, grinding down as you had before

- “that!!” he yelped in pleasure.

- he started to rub on you. he slipped his hand down into your warmth, working his hard cock into your clothed ass.

- “you’re gonna make me feel good? huh?” he panted, using your shoulder for support.

- you nodded as your grip on his desk tightened. myunggi wasn’t gonna let you forget who you belonged to.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Perfect Little Angels - Leona

Author Notes: This is the piece I wrote for the Savanaclaw Zine "The Prince's Uprising Volume 2"! Everyone put a lot of work into this zine, I recommend checking it out if you enjoy any or all of the Savanaclaw characters! This fic also features Prefect. I dreamed it up as something that went down during the Octavinelle book. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Sfw/ gender-neutral Prefect (Yuu)/ featuring Grim/ fluff/ comedy/ Set during Octavinelle book

Word Count: 997

Zine Tumblr Link: The Prince's Uprising Volume 2

Leona outright glowered at the Prefect from his bed while they grinned at him like a sleep-deprived fiend from where they stood. Hands on their hips and at a safe distance from his bed, despite the fact they honestly looked like they’d reached a point where very little beyond success mattered to them.

Letting them stay here, in Savanaclaw, had most definitely been a mistake. He would’ve been better off just sending them away like he’d initially planned on doing and having to put up with both Jack and Ruggie nagging him.

After all, it really wasn’t his problem that the Herbivore had been ousted from the house by the cephalopunk. They were the idiot who’d decided to essentially make a deal with the devil so they could deal with the aftermath of their own stupid decisions.

He didn’t care if they’d done it for their friends or the demented talking cat who made up the other half of their student status. It was their problem, and he shouldn’t have to be involved. Even if it was funny to watch them try and figure out what was going on with the trio of Octavinelle goons.

But none of that amusement from watching them scurry about while he parsed them along with tiny nuggets of information was worth any level of the sleep deprivation they were currently causing him.

It hadn’t been so bad when they’d just kept to themselves, but they’d gone and gotten bold.

It was true, of course, that their best shot at beating the cephalopunk at his own game was to get Leona on their side, but Leona hardly cared to be used by anyone. Much less the Herbivore themselves.

Especially since he’d already lost to the Herbivore, of all people, once.

Because while he could claim that the overblot situation was the only reason they’d won and simultaneously put a hard stop on his scheme to ensure Savanaclaw won the Spelldrive tournament against that blasted lizard and his rabid Draconian fans, Leona knew perfectly well that he’d been soundly beaten by the magicless Prefect.

But none of that changed the current situation.

“Quit. It.” His words were growled as he stared down the Herbivore. Almost impressed that they didn’t flinch away at his irritation. 

When he'd first met them, they’d fled with their tail between their legs, but evidently enough that had changed. And he wasn’t sure the change was for the better.

But then they’d already dealt with two overblots now. One of which had been his.

In a bizarre way, he was almost amused that they’d grown a spine, but now he was wondering if he’d underestimated them. Again.

As if to prove his suspicions, they tilted their head. Their eyes staying locked with his as they continued to grin all-too-smugly at him. As if their victory were assured as they spoke with an idle gesture to their cat, “Let's take it from the top, Grim!”

Grim, spiteful little furball that he was, cackled with malicious glee as Leona felt himself tense. Already knowing what was coming right before the racket began anew.

“A-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh,” The blasted cat was out of tune, and the lyrics made no sense, but this was the umpteenth time he’d started the same accursed song that the Ramshackle duo had been yowling at him the entire night.

Yowling, which was notably accompanied by Grim beating on absolutely anything he could find that would make a racket so that Leona was cringing in what amounted to physical pain at the perfect den of noise that the cat alone was making.

And the Prefect, for their part, smiled oh-so-sweetly as they started singing like they were some sort of demented pop star who was determined to put Vil to shame, “In the jungle, the mIgHty jungle, the lion sleeps toni━!”

They cut off with a shriek as Leona could all but feel his temper snap into pieces as he dove at them with a snarl. 

The sheets fell in a wrinkled pile as he practically exploded out of them, and the Herbivore fled. Scrambling around the bed at impressive speeds as they shouted back at their feline companion, “Keep going, Grim!!”

More obedient than Leona had ever seen him, the flame-eared feline kept up his yowling that soon proved too much to take, and Leona switched targets.

He almost caught the four-legged monster, but Grim managed to wriggle under a cabinet right as the Herbivore started up their own caterwauling in what had to be the worst form of opera ever.

Leona’s ears flattened, and he spun. A curse slipping from his lips as he darted after them again. 

Had he been in a better mood, he might have been impressed at their evasive maneuvers that almost perfectly mirrored the motions of a panicked rabbit scrambling through underbrush as they dug their way across his bed and away from him.

And when he’d just about nabbed them, the cat started again. Making some sort of demented gurgling sound before zipping back into those piercing notes that almost had Leona clapping his hands over his stinging ears.

“FINE!” The Prefect and cat both froze in place, their eyes wide as they fell blessedly silent at his bellow as he seethed. His narrowed eyes darting between the two of his harassers while his tail flicked back and forth agitatedly.

“I’ll help you with your stupid scheme, so just keep your mouths shut and let me sleep!” The Herbivore had the good graces to flinch as he snapped out his surrender.

But Leona wasn’t about to be fooled by the relieved smile that crept onto the Herbivore’s face as they looked towards Grim, who was cackling like the villain he was. At least he wasn’t pretending to be anything he wasn’t.

Leona knew the Herbivore for what they truly were now, though.

A true villain that made the rest of this school’s student body look like perfect little angels.

[tmbswhodunit]

TMBS Who Dunnit 2025 - Average

SUMMARY: There was once a boy who was average.

You might think you know him. You've probably read about him. But have you ever really thought about him?

Or did you forget him, just like everyone else he knew?Like he himself did?

There was once a boy who was average.

And when I say average, I mean completely average in every way possible. Average brown hair, average brown eyes, average complexion, average size. He had average hobbies, friends, and tastes. Even his grades were average (although perhaps that was because he didn’t often put much effort into doing his work). In fact, the only thing about him that wasn’t average was that he was an orphan; but, as orphans go, he still wasn’t very distinct.

He often lamented this trait of his. It wasn’t bad, of course, to fit in, but he fit in so well that too often no one noticed him at all. His friends often lost him in crowds, he was rarely recognized when he accomplished things, and no potential parents ever seemed to be drawn to him like they were other children.

“Everyone is special,” he’d hear over and over again, from teachers to counselors to cheesy sitcoms on TV. But he knew he wasn’t. And most days, he was ok with that. He had made peace with the fact he wasn’t destined for anything great a long time ago.

But every so often, his mind would wander (as most children’s do) and he imagined what it would be like if he were even just a little bit special, a little bit different. Something more than average.

That dream came true when he began attending the Learning Institute for the Very Enlightened.

A special recruit, they called him, and wasn’t that something. He was someone that they looked for, that they had sought out because they believed he could accomplish great things, was capable of great success.

They believed he was special.

He wasn’t very sure how he had ended up at LIVE. After all, as we have already said, his grades were quite average. For that matter, he couldn’t even remember how he had physically ended up at LIVE. He couldn’t recall anyone telling him he was going, or saying goodbye to any of his friends, or even arriving there—but his head hurt whenever he tried to think about it, so he tried not to dwell on it too much.

Disregarding that particular detail, he very much enjoyed his time at the Institute. He found some of the work to be odd, but he had always heard that private schools were quite weird; and although he missed his friends, he soon made new ones. But above all of that, it provided him with a chance to be something he had always dreamed of being: above-average, and maybe even special.

The day he became a Messenger was one of the proudest days of his life. He remembered that day clearly: the usual crowd around the page, the sighs as those not selected walked away, the slow trepidation and churning of his stomach as he approached, the shock and then utter joy when his eyes spotted his name, his name on that list of chosen, special children.

Although becoming a Messenger made him special, his appearance remained average—though he soon came to realize that being average often worked to his advantage: Executives eyes (just like all those potential parents) seemed to bounce over him when asking questions in class or looking for troublemakers in a crowd. When you don’t stand out, it’s quite easy to go unnoticed.

Admittedly, he should’ve known better than to get cocky.

You see, despite becoming a Messenger, he still found the things they learnt at LIVE quite strange. Not LIVE itself, of course, as it was a great institution run by an even greater man, but some of the work was odd. He couldn’t ever remember hearing of schools assigning recitations of cryptic phrases simultaneously, over and over again, nor did he recall ever hearing about old-timey hairdryers that gave you enormous amounts of serotonin.

He was disinclined to ask too many questions the Whisperer, in case that privilege was taken from him, but he did grow curious about other things. One of those was the Emergency.

He had never been very involved in politics, but what the Emergency actually was had never been very clear to him, and since he’d been on the island it had been like it didn’t even exist.

It had popped into his head unexpectedly one day, and when he had asked an Executive offhandedly about it, they explained to him the different things that it impacted, why it was bad, and how they were working to stop it, and he had smiled and nodded and gone away satisfied only to realize that night that none of his questions had been answered, and indeed he knew as much then as he had before.

He asked a few more of them, getting different answers that always ended up being full of empty explanations, and even dared to work up his courage to ask the headmaster after a particularly good session in the Whisperer—but although the accomplished man used a lot of big and important-sounding words in his explanation, he still didn’t get any answers.

In fact, the most honest answer he got was when he asked a rather clumsy Executive with noticeably large feet. He had thought for a moment, scrunching his nose in consideration, then shrugged and said, “I’m not really sure.”

After that, he started asking more questions, becoming bolder with each one. He asked about the lessons, about Messenger duties, about the Helpers, even—anything and everything that seemed strange to him.

He wasn’t sure which question it was that had gotten him sent to the waiting room for the first time. Maybe it had been the amount of them, or the carelessness with which he asked.

The waiting room itself—well, he’d actually prefer to never talk about that again, so we’ll skip over that particular experience.

Regardless, the whole thing had left him a lot more careful and a lot quieter. He still asked a question here or there, but very rarely, and never about anything too serious.

You would imagine his surprise, then, when he was sent to the waiting room a second time.

“YOU!” Jackson had shouted on that fateful afternoon, pointing in his general. Everyone in the hall had jumped, including him—but he hadn’t done anything wrong, so he tried to go back to his conversation.

His roommate had fallen silent, however, eyes wide, and he felt a hand on his shoulder as he looked up and saw the Executive looming over him, eyes glinting with the glee of a predator that has just captured its prey.

“I’ve got you now,” Jackson declared with all the bravado of Mr. Curtain himself, grinning sharply as he led him away. Truly confused, he asked the Executive over and over again why he was going to the waiting room, what it was that he had done wrong.

The only answer he got was, “You know why.”

“I don’t,” he pleaded, “I swear I don’t.”

But Jackson had blindfolded him and taken him to that awful place which we won’t speak any more of, other than to say the very last thing he had heard was an offhand remark to another Executive about how he had “just been too average.”

Average.

He wasn’t special.

He had never been.

Just average.

As he sat in the chair of the Whisperer for what was soon to be the final time, the blue helmet fit snugly on his head, something felt different. As he tried to figure out what, but the thought slipped away. Then went another, and another.

Oh, he realized. My memories are being taken.

And the very last thought he had right before he forgot his name and the names of everyone he had ever known and loved, was that at the very least, he couldn’t be average if he had amnesia.

[glxzsyy-n1vana]

tokyo revengers characters in a relationship 

Characters: Nahoya Kawata(smiley), draken, Baji, Mikey, kazutora 

summary: how some of the tokyo revengers boys would act in a relationship

Nahoya: 

nahoya brings intensity, spontaneity, and a sense of reckless fun into the relationship. He’s not the type to plan candlelit dinners but he will drag you on a midnight motorcycle ride just because he “felt like seeing stars with you.” Expect a lot of unfiltered laughter, play-fighting, and unorthodox romantic gestures 

Despite his nickname and smiley demeanor, he's fiercely protective of those he loves— especially with you. He won't hover or control you, but the moment someone disrespects you or crosses a line? That grin will twist into something far more dangerous, and he won't hesitate to step in. 

Smiley doesn't sugarcoat anything, which can be both refreshing and annoying, if something's wrong, he’ll say it. No games and no silent treatment. He expects the same kind of honesty from you too, and while he might tease you to death, he does listen when it matters

Despite his wild exterior, Smiley had a strong emotional intelligence. He can read moods well (especially yours), and even if he acts like he's brushing things off, he pays attention. When you're upset, he’ll probably crack a dumb joke at first then once you're calmer, he’ll talk you through it with surprising insight

Once you're his, you're really his. Smiley isn't interested in half-assing things. He doesn't fall easily but once he does, he’s all in. Loyal and proud to be by your side, and always fighting to keep you safe —- emotionally and physically 

He will drag you into his twin brother’s life. Expect family dinners, deep talks about balance and loyalty and being part of the Kawata twin chaos. Angry becomes like a brother-in-law the second you and Nahoya get serious

Draken:

Draken is fiercely loyal. Once he's committed to you that's it; no doubts and no one else. He's the type of man who shows up for you constantly, even if he doesn’t always say the perfect words. He’d never cheat, ghost, or make you question where you stand with him. His love is steady, like something you can build your life on.

He’s naturally protective, but not overbearing. If someone makes you uncomfortable, he’ll be watching closely—ready to step in if needed. Still, he trusts you and gives you space. He doesn’t treat you like you’re fragile—he treats you like you’re his equal who deserves to be respected.

Draken isn’t flashy with affection. He’s more about the quiet, intimate things: resting his hand on the small of your back, offering you his jacket, checking in on you without making a big deal out of it. He won’t always say “I love you,” but he shows it—in the way he listens, the way he defends you, and the way he always makes sure you’re safe before thinking about himself.

Compared to most of the boys around him, Draken is unusually mature. He’s emotionally intelligent and doesn’t run from tough conversations. If there’s a fight between you two, he won’t storm off or say things he doesn’t mean—he’ll sit down and try to work through it. He believes in strong communication and mutual respect.

He acts all tough, but he lowkey likes domestic things. He’d help you cook dinner, remember to check your tires, offer to do your laundry if you’re stressed. He values the feeling of “home,” and if he sees that in you, he’ll protect it with everything he has.

He can look cold and hard to the world—but he’s a total softie with you. He lets you see the parts of him no one else does. That quiet vulnerability, that hint of sadness he never talks about, the pressure of leadership—he shares it all with you when you’ve earned his trust.

Baji:

Baji doesn’t do anything halfway—including love. If he’s yours, he’s yours, and he’ll make sure everyone knows it. He might not say “I love you” every day, but it’ll be in the way he grabs your hand before a fight, in how he instinctively shields you in a crowd, or how he’ll throw himself into danger without thinking twice—just to make sure you’re okay.

Let’s be honest—Baji can be a lot. He’s impulsive, sharp-tongued, and quick to anger, especially when it comes to people messing with what he cares about. But with you, he’s different. He still curses too much, still forgets to text back, but his energy softens. He watches your reactions when you talk, picks up your favorite snacks even if he acts like it’s no big deal, and lets you tug on his hair even though he complains every time.

He’s got a pack mentality. His loyalty to Toman and Chifuyu runs deep—and so does the loyalty he feels for you. If someone disrespects you, you’ll barely have time to blink before he’s stepping in, teeth bared, fearless. But he’s not controlling; he respects your strength. He just wants to make sure nothing touches you—ever.

Baji loves to mess with you. He’s the kind of boyfriend who’ll steal your food just to hear you complain, then hand-feed you the rest with a smug look on his face. He’ll call you annoying with that shit-eating grin, but his hand’s already pulling you closer. Sarcasm is his love language, and so are forehead flicks and sneaky kisses when you least expect them.

Baji’s not the easiest to get close to emotionally. He carries guilt, pride, and a strong sense of duty, and he hates feeling vulnerable. But when he opens up? It’s raw, honest, and intense. He doesn’t lie, doesn’t fake affection. If he lets you in, he’s all in. And he’ll expect the same kind of ride-or-die energy from you.

You’d be one of the few people who truly sees him—not just the fighter, the chaos, or the loyalty to Toman. You’d see the guy who genuinely cares. Who’d stop in the middle of a brawl to wipe blood off your cheek, or show up at your door at 2AM because “he couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Mikey:

At first, dating Mikey feels lighthearted. He’s goofy, clingy, and endlessly curious about the smallest things you do. He’ll randomly grab your hand just to swing it between you two. He’ll fall asleep with his head in your lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He loves teasing you, play-fighting, stealing bites of your food—and pretending he didn’t.

Mikey carries a lot. Grief, guilt, responsibility. He puts on a brave face, but underneath, he’s tired and hurting. In a relationship, he struggles to open up emotionally—he might distance himself when things get heavy, or shut down instead of asking for help. He doesn’t want to burden you. It’s not because he doesn’t care. It’s because he cares too much.

Mikey doesn’t just protect you—he claims you. Quietly, but fiercely. You’re his person, and that means he will walk through hell for you. He won’t make a big show of it, but if anyone crosses you? He won’t need to say a word. One look from him is enough.

He’s not big on over-the-top romantic gestures. Mikey’s love shows up in quieter, more intimate ways:

Long motorcycle rides where he doesn’t talk, but squeezes your hand when he feels overwhelmed.

Buying you snacks without asking, because he knows which ones you like.

Saying “Stay,” when you get up to leave, even if he doesn’t say why.

To him, love isn’t about grand speeches—it’s about the fact that you’re still there, even after you’ve seen his worst.

Being with Mikey means navigating his emotional highs and lows. There’ll be days when he’s energetic and golden, joking around and pulling you into his world. And other days, he’ll be quiet, distant, almost unreachable. The mood swings can be hard to handle—but he doesn’t want pity. He just needs someone who sees him, not the leader of Toman, not the broken kid—just Mikey.

When he lets you in, you become one of the few people he trusts with everything. He loves deeply, almost dangerously. If he falls for you, it’s for life. He’ll carry your pain like his own. He’ll remember the smallest things. He’ll smile at you like you’re his only peace in a chaotic world.

Kazutora:

Kazutora has been through hell. Trauma, guilt, loneliness—it all clings to him like smoke. He doesn’t see himself as someone deserving of love, so when you show him real affection, it throws him off completely. At first, he might push you away. Laugh things off. Pretend he doesn’t care. But he does. Desperately.

His emotions run deep—and sometimes dangerously fast. He can be affectionate and gentle one moment, then suddenly withdrawn or irritable the next. He struggles to regulate his moods, especially when he feels vulnerable. But he never lashes out at you with cruelty. If he ever snaps, he’s quick to spiral into guilt and retreat until you reach for him again.

Kazutora wants closeness more than he admits. He craves physical touch—a hand through his hair, fingers laced with his, resting your head on his shoulder. He’ll pretend it doesn’t matter, but when you pull away, his chest feels hollow. He has a deep fear of being left behind, so he keeps his walls up high… until you break through.

He’s not loud about it, but Kazutora is fiercely protective. He watches over you without hovering—reading rooms like a threat, always aware of your comfort. If someone hurts you, he won’t yell or posture. He’ll just go terrifyingly quiet. He has a don’t-touch-what’s-mine look that speaks volumes.

He’s not good with traditional gestures. Don’t expect candlelit dinners or sappy love notes. But he will surprise you with a stolen trinket because “it reminded me of you.” He’ll walk you home even if it’s out of his way. He’ll memorize the sound of your laugh like it’s the only thing worth keeping in this world.

Kazutora is loyal in a way that might scare you a little. Once you’re his, you’re his. No in-between. He’d fight, bleed, burn the world down if it meant protecting you. But he also needs you to remind him he doesn’t have to fight alone anymore. That he can have peace. That he can choose healing—and still be loved.

[wolfertinger]

salem's ratmouse oc deeply peeves me as a physically disabled person. i dont expect tiptop representation from every artist i see out on the street but since salem wants to be such a good representantive i'll give myself a pass. it definitely feels like hes only physically disabled with a visible walking aid "for the rep". it's such a common thing for physically disabled character in media to only be shown disabled and never be truly acknowledged as such beyond visuals because thatd be Uncomfortable!!! and that feels like exactly what hes doing here lol

drawing good depictions of physically disabled people being sexy and cool in media and being a good ally doesnt just mean drawing 1 character with a disability aid it means acknowledging their disability and the inconveniences and their EXPERIENCE with it. but i guess thats the theme with all his characters. all visual no depth

i have noted, many disabled people have an issue with salem, as of late. to salem. "disability" means, invisible disbility, with a walking cane. not being wheelchair bound. or an amputee. or being, partially paralized. or being disfigured.

salems desire, for "rep", is more about his desire for attention. because note, he never draws the "unattractive", forms of disability. just invisible disibility. he himself, claims to be disabled. but considering, he never leaves the house, only doom scrolls, and spends 16 hours a day hunched over a phone, drawing with his finger. no wonder, you say you are in "constant pain".

[hermitsdump]

does impulsive tattoo shock migraine out or do I need to waterboard myself first

[icewindandboringhorror]

"We can get through this by working together, reach out to your friends, community is all we have, a social network will be your security in the world, now is the time to lean on others!"

I do agree, and it's scientifically sound (pretty sure there is data about how people with better social networks live longer and etc) but also....augh..... what about the severe social issues, difficulty to leave the house, physical issues which lead to like zero socialization energy a majority of the time, etc. etc. Social support can be a replacement for structural support, but.. I guess I just wish it didn't have to be. Community is extremely difficult to build, even moreso if you're someone who has issues with social cues or group conversations or even just being around others in the first place. And blah, nuance, of course I'm just complaining or maybe being too negative or maybe misunderstanding, but, I hardly have the energy to brush my hair once every 2 months.. how am I supposed to maintain a wide social network and be active in a Community and Join Groups lol... sometimes it kind of feels like "er.. well if thats my only option then...... ruh roh". It's overwhelming

[woodsborostabathon]

“how could richie’s family possibly want to avenge him when he groomed and murdered people” well first of all he did neither of those things so let’s start there

[fushitoru]

infect me with your love

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

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

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

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

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

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

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist

fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.

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

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

that is, until gojo satoru.

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

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

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

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

but then, the door creaks open behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…what can i get you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and yet, here you are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you said to surprise you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“you know, i didn’t get your name.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i really can’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“as you wish.”

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

you’ve seen him before.

okay, pause.

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

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

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

alright, pause over. back to now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“nice hit, by the wa—”

“it’s you!” you exclaim. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“let me get that for you.”

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

gojo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

that day at starbucks, though.

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

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

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

what was it again?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no.”

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

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

“how is it complicated?”

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

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

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

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

“well, when you put it like that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

“rough night?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“from?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you should do that more,” he said.

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

“laugh.”

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

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

“is that right?”

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

“what?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“take my mask off.”

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

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

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

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

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

“gojo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you trust me, don’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“and yet, you’re still here.”

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

“guess i’m curious,” you admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“do what?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your breath catches. “satoru…”  

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

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

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

you nod, and then his lips are on yours.  

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

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

that’s when he freezes.  

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

your heart drops into your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

then it comes again, a little louder this time.

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

satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

for once, you thank the gods that he listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

nestled right against his morning wood.

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

oh, say can you see—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

satoru just tied you up using his webs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist

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

plspls pls comment and reblog!!!

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