#general chip grunt

[unanimouslalablah]

Buzz Grunt and Lyla Vandermorgan; early 1980s

The two of them always knew one another, since their families were good friends for decades now. With always being around one another, their parents had high expectations for them to become a couple, and while they were friends, the chemistry was never there, or at least in the way its supposed to be for a romantic relationship. Buzz was more than fine with the borderline arrangement though.

Their parents didn't care to notice the romantic incompatibility of their children, as they were too busy engaging in their own gossip and delights.

[charliemwrites]

Part 5 of Nikto’s Commandments

Content: Mentions of Past Torture/Injury, Declarations of Love, Codependency, Protective Behavior

Nikto is familiar with torture. So, so intimately familiar with it. When he knew nothing else, he knew pain. He knew flayed skin and cracked bone and burnt flesh. He knew screams tangled up in chipped teeth and pulpy tongue. Agony became a filter through which all the world’s color bled.

He didn’t know how sweet torture could be.

He didn’t know he could crave the blade of a kind word. That he could relish the bone-deep ache of a gentle touch. He longs to be drowned in your soap and burned on your skin, wishes every brush would scar as badly as acid. Somehow, he remains intact.

You are a torture he could languish in for eternity. Would gladly be hung with a braid of your hair.

But you, blessed thing, don’t even realize what you do to him. The exquisite suffering that’s remaking him. Or maybe if you do, you’re too merciful to take it from him.

“Nikto…” you croon. You’re flushed and giggly, all but in his lap. “Is this three or four?”

“Four.” He’s been counting, but he won’t stop you from having more.

You wanted to go out with the rest of the KorTac team you two have been sent with. Ever generous, you asked if he’d rather stay in, but Nikto just nudged you out the door and sunk into your shadow like always.

“One more?” you ask.

He grunts in agreement. If you wanted to stay out till sunrise, he would escort you over sunbeams.

Aksel stands to get the next round and you cuddle in against Nikto’s side again. Don’t seem to mind the Kevlar under his shirt, or the knife pressed against your thigh.

“You sure you don’t want to play another round?” Roze goads, smirking, as she shuffles the deck.

You grin, wide and pretty and so blindingly happy. “You just want to cheat me at cards.”

“I could never with your guard dog on duty,” she purrs.

You scrunch your nose this time. “He’s not.”

“A guard dog or on duty?”

“Either! Both!”

Nikto clicks his tongue and slides your half-finished water closer. You agreeably accept the distraction, dutifully sipping another quarter of it under his watchful gaze.

“I am just teasing,” Roze soothes when you set the glass down again. “Nikto just takes care of you. It is good.”

You hum, apparently pleased with her roundabout apology. “It is good.”

You thank Aksel as he sets another glass in front of you, wiping at the side with an already-soggy napkin.

“Courtesy of a man at the bar,” he adds, winking and pointing.

Nikto whips around instantly, makes cold, deadly eye contact with a normal weak unbroken stupid man at the bar. He shifts when he realizes that it’s not your attention he’s getting and awkwardly turns away.

“It’s not drugged, right?” you ask. When Nikto turns back, there’s a frown on your face. He clenches the hand farthest from you, creak of leather lost in the noisy bar.

“No, I kept a close eye,” Aksel assures. “He just tossed some cash down to ‘pay,’ that’s all.”

You snort, shrug. “Whatever.”

Nikto settles again as you continue watching the card game, seemingly content just to be in the company of others. You sip at your last drink of the night, cheering Aksel on as the underdog of the table. Nikto tucks you close and counts cards.

It’s not long before you make an uncomfortable noise and pat at Nikto’s thigh. “Restroom, please!”

He slides out of the booth and silently helps you after him, a shriveled but mending part of him endeared by the wobbly way you cling.

“Okay I think I’ve got it from here,” you assure him, patting his arm.

“You want company?” Roze asks, frowning.

“Only if you need to go too,” you reply, “but it’s right there. I’ll be okay.”

She hums and pushes another few peanuts into the center of the table with the rest of the “pot”. Nikto hesitates, but you point out the door, clearly within eyesight.

“It’ll only be a minute,” you promise, stretching up on your toes to kiss his cheek over the mask. You toddle off before he can do more than freeze.

The whole team is snickering, grinning, or shooting him knowing looks when he haltingly turns back. If he wouldn’t take their hands for it, he’s sure at least one of them would be patting him on the back. But they know better than to try to make conversation, especially without you present, and return to their game. (He thinks this is what you would call “social interaction” and it’s tolerable, for now.)

Nikto counts exactly sixty seconds before turning to watch the hallway to the bathroom. Just in time to see the man that bought you the drink stand and saunter that way. He doesn’t enter the men’s bathroom, only hovers at the edge of the hallway. Waiting.

Nikto stands and crosses the bar with a speed usually reserved for those who don’t know they’re dead yet.

The man sees him coming, wavers between pride and the smart choice. Survival instinct wins out to make the smart choice and he slinks off before Nikto is even within arm’s reach. Not a word is exchanged.

Thirteen seconds later, you stroll from the restroom and instantly catch sight of him.

“Miss me?” you tease, coming right to him.

He hums because you’ll realize he’s being honest if he says yes. But you’re a little too tipsy to do more than grab his hand as he leads you back to the table. Seem amused as he ushers you back into your safe spot in the interior.

Another blissful half hour passes before you lean into him, big eyes peering up through your lashes.

“Ready to go home?” you ask in slow, imperfect Russian.

He’s hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol and his head swims like he’s drunk. You make a surprised noise as he grabs your cheeks in one massive hand, gives a little squeeze.

“Again.”

You blink, a little cross-eyed from how he leans in. “Ready to go home?” you repeat, only slightly less stuttering this time.

It’s obscene how quickly he fills out his pants.

“Yes,” he responds in kind. Your eyes light up.

He tosses some money on the table to cover your drinks and then maneuvers you out. You happily follow along, fingers curled in the edge of his glove.

He bundles you into the separate car you insisted the two of you take, knowing he’s not one for socializing or public. Only goes to the driver’s side once you’re comfortable and buckled in.

“You have been learning Russian,” he asks. It comes out flat, but you know him well enough to just sense the inflection in his voice.

“A little bit,” you admit, beaming. “I’m not good at it. I haven’t had a lot of time to learn.”

He shakes his head. Where did you find the time? And how did he not notice sooner?

“Say something,” he commands, too fascinated to remember who he’s speaking to.

“Ummmmm oh! I love you, Nikto!”

You squeal as he hits the breaks and jerks the wheel, taking the car to the side of the road. Parks there and twists to look at you.

“Say again.”

“I love you, Nikto.”

He narrows his eyes. Leans in. “Do you know what you are saying?”

You must not. How could you of all blessed creatures say something so—

“Yes.” You tilt your head, brows furrowing. “Unless I’m pronouncing it wrong?”

“You are not.”

You are but not so badly that he doesn’t understand - on a surface level at least. He can’t fathom those words coming from your mouth. Directed at him.

His hands convulse on the steering wheel. Wanting to reach for you but unsure why. What he’ll do. He’d never hurt you, that’s the furthest thing from his mind, but he doesn’t trust himself with you either. Not right now.

And then you say something else.

A handful of sounds. A name he hasn’t heard in years. A name he barely remembers but jerks him like a leash. What he was before Nikto.

“I love you,” you repeat once more in English. “Didn’t you know that?”

On his best day words are difficult. Right now, he can’t fathom what combination of syllables would explain to you the jumbled chaos in his head.

That you can’t love him, because he is a Thing of blood and bone and agony. That even if you could love him, he would be undeserving of it. Your voice rings in his head, church bells for a broken soul.

“No,” is all he rasps out.

You make a sad face. He feels like the lowest scum.

Then you’re scrambling out of your seatbelt, out of your seat. Climbing over the center console and into his lap. He doesn’t even feel it when your knee clips his ribs or the toe of your shoe hits his thigh. It’s nothing compared to the warm lapful of you he’s got peering down at him now.

“You know how I always remind you that you’re a person?” you ask.

He hesitates, then jerks his head in a nod. You mirror him, face so serious.

“Well you’re not just a person, you’re my person,” you explain. As if it’s so simple as spelling it out. “And I love you.”

“I do not…”

You wait for him to finish, but he can’t. He just squeezes his hands into helpless fists, unable to let himself touch you.

“Don’t what?” you murmur softly. “Don’t deserve it? That’s not your choice. Don’t love me back? I don’t care. I don’t love you to get something in return. Don’t understand? You don’t have to. I just do. It wasn’t a choice I made.”

You gently tug the topmost layer of his face coverings aside, drop a kiss to the tiniest sliver of skin visible beneath his eye.

“You’re my person and I’m your person,” you finish.

“Is that… what love is?” his voice is barely more than a scraped whisper. What little he remembers of people who used the word “love” towards him in the past made it seem like the blackest curse.

“That’s what our love is,” you answer easily. “Or can be, I suppose. You’re not required to feel the same way.”

He doesn’t think he does; what he feels for you is beyond that. Beyond, he suspects, what you might even have a word for.

“Again.”

Your face breaks out into a huge smile, lighting up the dark interior of the car.

“I love you, Nikto.” You press your palm to his heart and breathe softly in awe when you feel how his heart trips over itself for you. “Will you teach me to say it right?”

He leans his head back against the seat to take in the whole of you. Warm and comfortable and unafraid. Safe. (His…)

“Da. Repeat after me.”

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Masterlist

[prettyboykatsuki]

HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO

⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)

⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.

all sexual content present in part two.

⊹ wc ; 17.3k / 36.1k

link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.

LINK TO PART TWO

⊹ a/n ; well. its here. i wont ramble too much but i hope you enjoy and if you dont...well don't tell me. thank you to ame for your endless patience. likes and reblogs mean the world. the title is inspired by the poem linked.

⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.

“Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love.” - andrew kane, how to be a dog.

⊹ PART ONE : A CHILD BORN IN WINTER MUST NOT LONG FOR SPRING.

There’s a dog living outside of Gojo’s apartment. It’s a collarless, lonely thing. Clever, too. 

Though, Gojo doesn’t know much about its life before it started hanging around the area, he gets glances on occasion. It’s not emaciated and it doesn’t look hungry, but it’s roughened up with matted fur and a healed tear in one ear. 

More importantly, it doesn’t bother anybody in the neighborhood. Despite its outward appearance and hostility when approached, its aggression won’t go farther than a warning bark or growl. Most of the adults living in the building know better than to try, but some of the kids living upstairs desperately attempt to befriend it. Of course they fail, and Gojo thinks that that poor thing is growing apathetic to the touches of sticky hands. 

The whole building is pretty fond of it, surprisingly. Gojo lives in a upend complex in a metropolitan part of Tokyo and the people here can be snobbish. So it comes as a shock that this dog wasn’t shooed away months ago. 

Everyones sort of agreed to take care of it. There’s a food and water bowl outside of the security office - and just last week a sign was implemented of Do’s and Don’ts for what food scraps can be left. There’s a donation box to get some proper shots and paperwork - since it looks like the building's doorman has agreed to take it in if everyone chips in for the expenses.

(Gojo suspects this has something to do with those very kids, devastated by the thought of it being gone.)

Warm welcomes from the residents aside, Gojo hasn’t seen it act friendly before. He wonders about that.  It seems hesitant to trust anyone and he’s sure there's a good reason. It’s just that it's clever. To be a stray in this area of Tokyo and be so calm is an impressive feat, so he thinks it probably has some grasp of his own situation. If it acted cuter, it could get a warm house and family too. Though the whole aloof and distant thing does the job just fine, Gojo can’t help but wonder what such a clever creature is doing, turning away from living lavishly. 

Much like everyone else, Gojo’s contributions have come in the form of food scraps and some donation money to work towards the 5,000 yen goal. On the occasion their paths cross, Gojo sits near it. Sometimes, they share a moment of silence and Gojo talks just to see if it’ll ignore him. It seems like it’s listening. It always makes a grunt of dismissal when Gojo turns to leave and he’s started to count that as a little victory. 

Gojo isn’t intrigued by anything as much as that dog. At least not lately. It’s damn near impossible to seriously pique his interest and yet that clever fellow is one of the few things he stops to ponder at. 

Today, Gojo is intrigued by the dog that lives on the street of his apartment and the strange woman who’s petting it like some sort of domesticated baby.

He’s very, very intrigued by that. 

The rain comes down in heavy sheets. It’s a Wednesday, and he has no classes to teach so he’s home and preparing to run errands. He’s going about his day as usual, basically. When Gojo isn’t swamped with a mission or the reformation of Jujutsu Society - he likes to play the part of the average man. 

The plan for today was to take his unused car out of the lot so he could get some dry-cleaning done, go buy a new pair of sunglasses because his old ones are scratched, and go do some shopping. He needs to buy groceries again ( an uncommon occurrence) so that one's on the list too. 

He’s dressed down. A black windbreaker is hanging over his shoulders, tight gray shirt and some comfortable jeans. He’s got on his errand shoes, a nice pair of sneakers and his keys are hanging from a loop in his belt. His hair is styled down and he’s got on his glasses instead of his typical mask.

He has a gameplan, a fully fleshed out expectation of how today will go, and it’s derailed by a woman he’s never seen before. He’s drawn to you so naturally it’s baffling. 

You’re crouched just in front of the security office. Dressed in a loose skirt and long sleeves, looking down by the local neighborhood stray. For the first few seconds, he just lingers on in utter awe. You’re carrying a comically cute umbrella, clear with flowers and a pink edge. He kind of thinks you look like a peony. 

He approaches slowly, quietly. 

When he finally gets close enough to really see, he can hardly believe his eyes. That old, menacing mutt is happily getting his chin scratched by you. 

“Oh, uhm. Hello?” 

The sound of your voice startles him out of his trance. Snapping back to reality, he glances down to where you are and realizes he’s towering over you. In an effort to be polite, he steps back and gives you his most disarming smile. 

“Hi. Sorry for the intrusion, I was just,” He glances at the dog who almost looks offended at the interruption “I noticed you were… petting this dog. Guess I was a little surprised.” 

“Surprised?” 

And your surprise surprises him even more. He blinks slowly. 

“Yeah. He’s not aggressive or anything but uh,” Gojo chuckles, concluding you must be a little new “Well, he’s not exactly friendly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone succeed in well…petting him.” 

You’re taken aback by this information. Yeah, definitely new. 

“Really?” You glance at Gojo before looking back down at it “I just gave him some treats and waited a bit. He’s such a sweetie. Sure you mean this dog?” 

Gojo gets a good laugh out of that. Partially at your cluelessness and partially at your disbelief. He nods, smiling a little. 

“I’m very sure, actually. He must really like you,” He says, hands in his pockets. He bends down to join you, but he’s still a little bigger than you at that height “I guess I can see why. You’re pretty friendly.” 

You peek over at him. You seem a little shy at the compliment. Gojo feels his interest pique a second time today alone. New record. 

“Oh, uh. Thank you. I teach kindergarteners so I sort of have to be.” 

He hums. Reaching his hand towards the dog, who sniffs and cuddles his palm (something it’s never done before) in order to win your favor more. It really is a clever little thing, just like he’d always suspected.

“I’m a teacher too. A highschool teacher, though. No need for me to be friendly, I guess.” 

You laugh at his joke, smile reaching your eyes as you hug your knees to look at him.

“You seem plenty friendly to me.” 

He pretends to think about it. 

“Maybe you have a gift for making people come out of their shell,” He says with sincerity, relishing in the fact he’s finally getting to pet the dog in any capacity “I think this little guy could probably attest to that.”

“And you have a knack for flattery.” You quip. 

The natural chemistry is noticeable enough for it to catch Gojo off-guard. He grins. 

“Hey. I’m not all bad. And what's flattery if I’m being honest right?” 

“Sounds like something a flirt would say,” You tease, airy. He laughs a little. 

“You seem like you’re having fun giving me a hard-time.” He pouts. You giggle. 

“A little,” 

“Jeez. How rude of you…” He waits, prompting your name. You smile. 

You give him your name. You say it soft and easy. He makes sure to return to the favor. 

“And yours?” 

“Gojo Satoru.” 

__

You live up to your first impression in the time that Gojo gets to know you as his neighbor. 

Friendly. The word he’s looking for is friendly. 

There’s other words though. Sometimes meek, typically cheery, oftentimes quiet. You’re quite unassuming, and possibly too gentle when compared to everyone else in the general area. You fit in fine, no worries there. And Gojo knows that for certain because he can’t stop himself from watching over you like a hawk. 

He doesn’t really understand it himself. Gojo gets along with everyone. He’s always been a people person who likes to talk and likes to get to know strangers. There’s nothing that special about your connection in that way. You live next to him, directly across the hall.  You often knock on his door to give him something that you’ve made too much of or ask to borrow some sugar 

And it’s not done with any romantic intent. Gojo is good at reading people. He’s never seen someone so blatantly  romantically uninterested in him. You’re not even conscious of him as a man, cemented to him  by the one time you came to the door dressed in paper-thin PJ’s. He hasn’t recovered from the shock. One of the many times in his life where he was grateful no one could see where he was looking. 

He’s had a few months since your first meeting to get an idea of your personality and what things about you he should keep in mind. You noticed that he’s often not in his house, so you’re relatively aware of your surroundings. You’re often up late because your lights are always on well into the evening. 

(He finds out later you’re usually making lesson plans or little gift bags or planning birthdays. You really love your job, something he can commend while simultaneously  feeling quite jealous about.) 

You favor the lovely spring colors like pink and purple because you have so much of it always on you. You dress brightly in general. And you smile, often, and stumble over yourself trying to be nice to the other tenants. The kids in the building adore you. The sheer amount of propositions you’ve received to be someone's full-time nanny could probably keep you employed for another two decades. 

And you always put your best into everything, no matter what. 

This is probably the aspect Gojo is most fascinated by. It’s not exactly a novel trait. He’s encountered something like it before. One of his most prized students is Maki Zenin. Her whole thing is kicking ass through sheer spite. 

But unlike his students or anyone else he knows - you don’t seem to be motivated by spite or anger or frustration. Even when you are angry or upset - you always force yourself into being more understanding. Into being nice, kind, and still giving it your best if you’ve been shorted somehow. He’s tempted to call you a try-hard. It draws on the line of people pleasing sometimes but it doesn’t matter either way. This is a quality in you Gojo likes all the same. 

He's always been drawn to people who are earnest. His company favors such things. He cherishes Yuuji for such a reason, and can say something similar for Nanami. It’s a refreshing perspective. He’s not a bitter person, but he’s not an earnest one either. So Gojo likes that you’re so properly, gently sincere. 

For the last few months he’s made a real effort to talk to you. So he’s not just the guy next door, but at least an acquaintance and at best a distant friend. On the mornings you both have classes to teach, he walks you to your car and if he wakes up before you - he’ll bring you a cup of coffee or a pastry he knows you enjoy.  

You’ll often do Gojo little favors and he’ll return them - joking to each other about being a good neighbor. An inside joke with each other that Gojo is growing increasingly fond of, all together with leftover cups of coffee and glances that linger too long. Some mornings, he takes out your trash when you’re feeling too tired and you’ll do him the favor of getting the stuff out of his clothes that he doesn’t want to dry-clean. 

It’s these little exchanges that make up the bulk of your interactions. 

He’s even been to your apartment (another reason he’s sure you’re not attracted to him). He went last week to help you cut out little autumn leaves to put on your classroom walls, and you rewarded him with some lemonade. 

He’s still thinking about it days later, how you sit on your legs and the way your cardigan hangs off your shoulder. When you’re focused, you leave your mouth open a bit and poke your tongue through your lips. He’s endeared by it. 

 By you in general.

It’s all boring and mundane, but that’s what makes it. It’s a luxury he rarely affords. Craves, really, which is why he’s starting to go straight home more often than not.

It’s nice that you’re always there. That you’re usually home and when you’re not - Gojo doesn’t have to guess too hard about where you are. It’s so constant. He basks in the feeling of constancy like an expensive silk. 

It’s little luxuries like that, he thinks, that make you so special to Gojo without much effort on your behalf. Being up at the top means he is always fascinated by the place closest to the ground. 

What’s heaven to a man born there?

__ 

In your fourth official month of residence, the neighborhood dog finally gets adopted. 

He’s not there for the big reveal. He hears it from you while he’s on a mission, through a text message and a photo. He acquired your number early on, but you’ve only started doing these text exchanges recently. Reason being Gojo’s had an unusual amount of cases that need his attention and you’ve been very aware of his absence.  

(The first time you texted Gojo after 3 days on the other side of the country, he was scarily happy. After all, most times when he leaves - people are expecting his return.  There’s an assurance that he will return alive, that he has to. It’s not often people worry.

It was another thing he learns about himself through you. Being fussed about is refreshing.) 

Currently, he’s all the way down in Nagasaki. He’s been investigating what the local government has described as an “infestation in the water,” leading to poison and all sorts of hallucination. It’s been causing all of the local hospitals to fill up and the news is advising people to distill their water if possible when at home. Make sure to buy bottled, and double check on your children. 

In other words, there’s an unidentified curse wreaking havoc in small towns and rural areas at an unusually fast rate and Gojo has been sent to figure out its origin. What’s really weird is the location. He’s in Nagasaki prefecture, specifically in Hasami - a town in the Higashisonogo district. He really didn’t have much time to do research on the area, save for a few quick google searches and probing questions to his student, the well traveled Yuta Okkutsu who is a hair more familiar with the region than he is. 

But there wasn’t much for him to find. Hasami is known for the porcelain it produces. The population is a little under 15,000 and the weather is nicer in spring than it is in summer where it gets too humid. It’s considered a small town, though that number is relative in consideration, and currently the local officials are sending off reports about the water supply. 

Even when doing deep research using official means, there was nothing that unusual about the place. No major criminal incidents or occult presence or some other thing that would make this occur naturally. Gojo is no stranger to small town violence or bullying and they can often produce the most volatile curses.

But he’s currently on his 3rd day here, where he’s taken up talking with the locals and he can’t find any specific attitude that would foster a special grade. 

It had led him to a conclusion,  but one he was deliberately avoiding. That someone planted the curse here in Nagasaki, or maybe somewhere else. Which really complicates the whole affair, because then this is an investigation and not just a situation of fate. It also means that this curse was likely harvested somewhere and that Gojo can’t be sure it’ll be easy to get rid of. 

Most importantly, all that fanfare means he’ll be home late. 

Given how much he’s longing to see you, it’s the thing he’s been dreading most. 

It’s weird. He’s never dying to see anyone, with the exception of an old friend long gone. But Gojo has been desperate to see you for the few weeks he’s been away from home. 

(He can’t tell if it’s normal to long this much for a person he truthfully doesn’t know that well.) 

But, while he’s away from home, the thoughts of you play on loop in his head. Like white noise, static yet constant -  there, all the same.  As he walks the rainy streets of Hasami, hands in his pockets - he can’t help but wonder when the next time he gets to see you will be

It’s like some sort of miracle (aren’t you always one?) when Gojo hears his phone ring, buzzing against his abdomen. 

He’s drawn back into reality when he feels it. In front of a store that sells handmade plates and glasses, he lets it go for a while. Feels it buzz against his pocket while he settles his thoughts. He examines his surroundings,  notices the cars, and the mother with her daughter across the street and the gray sky - all before he picks it up. Your name flashes him on screen, and something itches deep in his chest.

The clouds open up. And it’s still raining, but there’s a ray of sunlight cutting through them. For a minute Gojo feels worldly, grinning with damp skin before he slides his thumb across the phone. 

You’ve never called him before. 

“Hello?” He greets, wondering if it was an accident. Then you come through the other side of the line.

“Hi ~,” You say, clearly doing something in the midst of talking “How’ve you been?” 

“I’ve been alright. Very shocked you called me, yanno?”

You laugh quietly. 

“Sorry about that. I just wanted to check in. And I wanted to say thank you.” 

“I mean… I’ll accept but I feel like I should know what for.” He jokes. Your tone goes sincere, marshmallow soft and twice as sweet. 

“You paid the rest of the fees for the dog out of pocket, didn’t you?” 

He smiles to himself.

“Ah. Busted. That was supposed to be a secret between me and Mr. Security-Man,” 

“He didn’t tell me. I just…guessed. Seems like something you’d do.” 

His first instinct is to disagree.

“It’s not like I did it out of the goodness of my heart, okay? It was looking a little sad sleeping during the cold seasons. It was very pitiful. So bad, so sad.” 

“Why’d you do it?” You ask, probing but not too deeply “Like… really. It was really nice of you, but it was a couple thousand and that can’t be cheap.”

He relents, head leaning back on the wall behind him. 

“The kids, remember?” He murmurs, eyes staring up at the gray clouds “You said they’d be sad if the dog didn’t get adopted soon.” 

“The way you’re talking about it makes it seem like you’re doing this for me.” 

“And if I was? Would that bother you, hm?” 

You wait a minute, hesitating with your words. 

“Well…no. I guess not, I just—thank you. I guess I’m just a little… embarrassed about it or whatever.” 

“Shy, huh? Cute.”

“Jeez,” You huff. Gojo can practically hear your grinning from the other side; it makes his heart flutter. He wants to go home, to wherever you are “And you always say you’re no flirt.” 

“I’m not a flirt. I’m just telling it how it is.” 

“Yeah? Well, thanks anyway then. It made them really happy. You should’ve been there to see it. Maybe you can tell them when you get back?” 

“Don’t wanna.” He states outright. 

“You didn’t even think about it!” You exclaim.

“Mm, because I don’t have to. I definitely don’t want them to know.” 

“Why not, though? You’d be their hero, y’know? 

Maybe it’s something in the air. The damp weather out closer to the ocean, or the distance between you. There’s a tiny echo in your words, mechanical through the speakers. The word hero leaves a melancholy in his mouth, floating in the back of his throat like liquor refusing to go down. He chuckles. 

“Ooo, are you into that kinda thing? Like, super charming knights in shining armor? Or superheroes, maybe?” 

You giggle on the other side of the line. If you notice him avoiding answering you, you have the courtesy not to say anything.

“Isn’t everyone? I don’t know. I think if a really good-looking guy saved my life, it’d probably make my heart race a little, yeah. I’d catch feelings over that for sure.” 

He takes a deep breath. Everything smells like rain. 

“Is that so?” He says, chest blooming with warmth “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

__

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed. 

He was out there for a long time, at least longer than usual when he’s traveling for a mission. He’s not used to hitting so many dead ends. The problem kept growing, but every trail he’d uncovered went cold in about a day. Just before he gave up hope, he was called in by Yagi. Since the issue has spread into other parts of the city, it’s no longer his solo jurisdiction. 

More hands on meant more time for Gojo to be teaching. It also meant that he would finally see you after so long. You waited for him outside the day he returned to Tokyo - wearing a cream colored sweater and the prettiest smile Gojo had ever laid eyes on. 

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed but it’s not entirely pointless. Upon returning - he had a somewhat shallow epiphany about the way you make him feel. About the way he’s affected by you, which is arguably more valuable than some lead.

Being away from you for so long is something that makes him so irritable. He’s had some time between then and now to come into terms with it. 

Falling back into his routine, it was obvious. Suddenly there was a gap he’d never noticed before that blew wide enough for him to fall through. He actively avoids not seeing you if he can, and ever since your permissive conversation a few weeks ago - it’s harder to notice the way his desires fester. 

There’s not much he wants out of his life. So when anything noteworthy pops up, Gojo is always eager to get a hold of it before it’s too late. 

He usually soothes that by reminding himself of your position as a civilian, a kindergarten teacher at that. The responsible thing to do is make sure you’re safe. To play the hero from the sidelines and ensure you don’t encounter anything from his line of work. That’s his whole life's work. To create a life like that, and it helps to stay on that path when he believes you’re sheltered from that reality. 

That’s why, when you tell Gojo you can see curses, he feels the entire floor collapse from underneath his feet. 

He receives such devastating news over a cup of coffee at that.

It’s closing in to Fall slowly and Gojo has decided to take you out to eat as an apology for his disappearance. He intended to give you another half-truth about his job so you wouldn’t lose any sleep over him. 

When it happens, it’s less that you tell him, and more that you keep glancing. Just over his shoulder, with this terrified expression that Gojo couldn’t not notice, even if he tried. 

You’ve got your hands around a warm drink, in a white, ceramic mug but your gaze keeps diverting to the place behind him. When he looks over to that same place, a curse is there. Small. More insignificant than a bug, but there. 

It’s risky to mention it. Because if Gojo is wrong, it’s not something he can brush off. He’d have to come up with something to excuse himself, and he isn’t sure how to lie out of that (even with his natural disposition of being a trickster.) But when you keep looking, his instinct kicks in. There’s no way you aren’t seeing it. 

He doesn’t ask you directly. That’d be too incriminating, so he lowers his tone. Watches you briefly as you tremble in fear. 

(A small, small  part of him is only asking because he doesn’t like how distracted you are from him. Killing the curse seems like it’d relieve that annoyance too.)

“Can you see it…?” 

The question makes you jump out of your skin. You reel back, eyes widened before the realization really sets in. 

“....It?” 

Gojo looks around the cafe for a minute, to make sure no one is listening before he turns around and points to the cursed spirit behind him. 

“It,” He says, thumb pointed at the deformed curse moaning in one of the booths. 

When it dawns on you that Gojo sees what you see, you cup a hand over your mouth in shock. He can’t describe the way getting that confirmation feels. It raises so many questions about who you are. More than he had before, at least. 

No longer are you the innocent, clueless civilian and that changes every interaction he’s had with you since the start. Though it’s not uncommon for people who can see curses to fall through the cracks, he can feel his own curiosity dig into his skin like seeds taking root. He doesn’t think he should be excited, but he is. 

He’s excited watching your fearful tremble. He’s never seen you like that.

“Yes,” You say, voice a little shaky this time “I can see… it.” 

He takes the spoon out of his latte and cleans it with his mouth. Studying your expression momentarily, he takes a deep breath before standing to his feet. The terror is so subtle, the kind he can only catch because he’s so familiar.. He knows those emotions better than he knows most. 

Curses aren’t phobias. Not illusions or ghosts, but tangible madness. Impactful to those who can see it, but nothing to those who can’t. Fear like that, which can’t be shared with anyone, has a specific look when it shows up in someone. Gojo hasn’t felt that fear since he was very, very little. He watches curses with the same bland expression he might watch a horror movie, but he can understand your reaction at least.  He knows it like the back of his hand. All the people he’s saved, who could see them too, always wore the same one. 

Still, he’s caught off guard. He feels bad that you’re scared. But the proximity between you and him which was once oceans wide has decreased significantly in no time at all. That feels good. Even better than he would’ve imagined. 

“Are you scared?” He questions intently, maintaining a sense of neutrality.

You swallow a lump in your throat, eyes glued to the table in front of you.

“Yes,” 

Your voice is a hoarse whisper. The corners of his lips twitch upward. 

When he’s sure no one is looking, he stands up and walks over to the table behind him. Pretending to look for something so he doesn’t look out of place. It doesn’t take more than a second to destroy it. It’s tiny, something he’d never think of fighting since it’s so harmless. The curse equivalent to a fly. 

He gives it a violent death and sees you look on with horror in your expression. He finds himself pleased with that, wiping his hands on his pants before returning. Maybe you recognize his strength when he sits back down. Still, instead of pulling away again, you fold your hands in your lap. 

“T-Thank you,”

He grins at you. 

“Of course,” He says  “Can I ask you something?” 

You nod your head and sip your tea. 

“Do you know who I am?” 

You look confused.

“...Are you a celebrity?” 

He laughs hard at that. Hearing that makes him not want to tell you. 

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” He reintroduces. You nod slowly “I’m a sorcerer.” 

Another lie of omission. The strongest, he should say. He takes a sip of his latte, frowning at the bitterness. Through his mask, he watches as you fiddle with your hands. He stacks the empty creamer cups together before opening two more sugar packets and stirring them. 

“A sorcerer…” You look perplexed. Confusion settles into the lines of your face. Sheltered, Gojo concludes. Only parents, who shelter you wouldn’t tell you what a sorcerer was despite your ability to see them “What does that… mean exactly?” 

“It means I kill curses for a living” He replies simply. 

“I thought you were a high school teacher.” 

He smiles. 

“Smart cookie. I am, but the school I teach at specializes in cursed technique and sorcery.”

“Oh.” 

You look befuddled. 

Gojo thinks he might be an opportunist. 

“Do you really not know anything about them? It’s rare for people to be able to see them and not know anything about them.”

You shake your head, eyes peering into your drink. He watches how the image reflects in your eyes.

“Uhm. Not really. My parents told me to do my best to stay away from it. We lived in the countryside but I had to move out into the city for work so I kept… running into them. I can’t like… kill them. And I don't always see them.” 

“You can’t use cursed techniques?” 

“I guess that’s what that is. I don’t think I can, no.” 

Vulnerable. 

“Hmm. What circumstances,” He says, purposeful in weaving concern in his words. 

“Is it that bad…?” 

Not really. His job and the job of his peers is to make sure civilians make as little contact with curses as possible. There are more people like you, and because curses feed off of negative emotions - many dangers can be shafted by just not reacting. Even so, it’s customary for people to have some semblance of protection. A weapon if nothing else, for anyone who can see them.

“Do you carry anything with you?” 

“Like a weapon? I have mace for when I take the train late at night.” 

“Not that kind of weapon,” He says gracefully. He can tell you’re out of your element, and some small and twisted part of him would like to keep you in the fateful dark.

“What other kind would there be?” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” He half answers. Your frown deepens. He puts his palm over the top of his coffee cup but doesn’t feel any warmth “Aw, don’t be like that. I’m just teasing. You’re always so calm and collected, I was surprised to see how scared you got, you know?” 

“Everybody gets scared sometimes.” 

“Mm,”

His non-committal response leaves you nervous again. Fidgeting with the edge of your cup or the loose threads in the sleeves of your clothes. What a bundle of nerves you are. Gojo puts all the comfort he can in his voice, dredging up some sense of sincerity.

“Well, since it scares you and I’m such a nice guy, I’ll protect you if you get into any trouble.” He says, snapping his fingers and pointing at you.

That makes you relax. Makes your shoulders droop, a smile gracing your pretty face. Gojo can feel the floor underneath him sinking as you tease him. His eyes trace the curve of your neck. He’s glad you can’t see him or where they look. 

“Oh, what? Are you gonna come running every time I need help?” 

He smiles. 

“I’ll be your personal Superman.” He promises, making a silly expression trying to make you laugh. It feels good when he succeeds, the weight of his words softened by it. If you feel how heavy the comment is, it doesn’t show up on your face. 

You snort, taking a sip of your drink and there’s something so kind in your expression that Gojo aches over. 

“That right?” You hum, smiling over the edge of your ceramic mug “You’re my hero.”

__ 

Since then, Gojo’s kept quite busy.

The last time he saw you at all was at the diner a few weeks prior and little has been different since then. You send more nervous messages than before, but aside from that things are the same.

He’s done a good job, he thinks. Partly of ensuring you, partly of instilling healthy fear. Your eyes always widen like you’re caught off guard by his comments - sometimes washed away with a laugh but other times genuine. Gojo likes to keep you on your toes. A  bit of harmless fun and endlessly amusing. 

Gojo would be there to protect you just like he promised before, so even scaring you isn’t something he thinks of as bad. It’s not untrue that you should be a little more vigilant, but just telling you to do so is no easy feat. 

He would like to be spending time with you today just the same as he has before, but he’s home alone instead. There’s been a brief reprieve between cases so he’s on his own to unwind. There’s nothing he wants to do, so he decides on a movie. 

Gojo is the only one of his friends who still has cable TV. According to Shoko it’s a luxury purchase but for him it’s one less choice he has to make when coming home to relax.

It’s an American film on now, some psycho-killer classic that he’s already seen a handful of times with Japanese subtitles. 

None of the lights are turned on, so the TV illuminates the room in flashes of color. He grabs a soda from his steel-gray fridge and cracks it open, listening to the soft fizz that comes to a slow halt. Pulling it to his mouth, he travels slowly back to his couch. The leather squeaks under the weight of his body. The weight of his back creates a divet that he can be comfortable in. He rests his head, glancing back again at the screen. 

A scream rips through the house, agitating his every nerve. He picks up his remote and turns it down just a tad before watching the movie with a sort of disinterest. Horror movies aren’t his favorite, admittedly. He pretends he scares easily, but the opposite is true. Gojo has seen too much for it to be entertaining, no less scary. 

He likes movies based on their creative merit. He’ll watch one on its creative merit. 

But to be scared? For frights? Not really. Very little gets his heart pumping hard like that. Sometimes the storytelling is good. Other times there’s something cathartic about the formulaic death. The final girl, the call from inside the house. The dependable and clean ending of tropes. Even if it’s messy or sinister, it’s fantastical. Fictitious and detached. 

Gojo enjoys that. For anyone else, it’s probably a twisted way to think about it but to Gojo it only feels natural. He doesn’t examine that detachment very deeply. He’s just aware of it, lingering in the back of his head. 

He takes a long sip of his drink. The sickly sweet taste slowly coats his mouth. Fizzy and smooth, it goes down easily. He sits up in his seat, making himself comfortable as he tries to pay attention to the movie. The main girl is hiding in the bathroom, and the killers' steps are echoing through the house. The broken, somber string instruments in the background, fill the white noise with apprehension and terror. 

Gojo doesn’t feel a chill down his spine. His eyes are still fixed on the screen though, with slight anticipation of what's next even though he already knows. It’s nearing the end and he’s seen this movie before. She’s not going to make it, and Gojo knows that. 

He watches intently in spite of that. The door bursts open and there’s a knife in her chest - and screams. It’s horrific and ugly, blood-spattered and graphic. 

He doesn’t flinch until the whole way through.

It’s brief, but the thought passes his mind. Lately, the only thing that Gojo seems to react to is you.

But he doesn’t think about it too deeply. There’s no need to. 

The TV goes to commercial and Gojo realizes he’s finished his soda. He stands back up, onto his feet to toss the can and grab another. This time, he grabs some snacks too. Piles them onto a plate, dried meats, and something mildly sweet for after before he returns to his living room. Sitting back down on his couch, he scrolls through his phone for anything interesting but comes up short of any results. 

He sits up a little straighter as the next movie plays. 

__

Spending time around curses is a necessary part of the learning experience.

Things you can’t learn in all the lessons and tutoring in the entire world. Even though Jujutsu Tech exists, and even given Gojo’s lineage - when he started working officially, he didn’t know everything. You can’t. No matter to what extent you study, there’s some things that you can only gauge through experience. Going through something over and over, like muscle memory.

Gojo spent a lot of his life wanting it to make sense. Wanting curses and the way they showed up to make sense. This is a lesson in truth, divine truth you can only take up in experience. Curses are human emotions, which means that they are finicky and everywhere. And the dangers of them will always look like the aftermath of destruction. 

Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do to prepare for why things happen. It’s why Gojo is always grasping for light where he can find it. 

Gojo Satoru stands in an empty parking lot all the way in Osaka. He examines the sight in front of him and can’t find anything he’s learned to prepare for what's next. 

Fog has rolled in thick clouds over every inch, limiting his vision. The air tastes of smoke, and the earth underneath him is damp. The wet concrete squeaks under the weight of his shoes as he takes in the surroundings. The parking lot of an animal hospital, in particular - where all the staff were reported to have fallen unconscious. After being rolled out by the proper authorities and after all the animals were moved into a different location - Gojo was left to examine the remnants of the incident. 

The reports are similar all across the country. Not the location. but the symptoms. People falling sick and ill. The initial reports of a water-borne illness didn’t progress far past the first city. It’s evolved since then. People get sick, pass out and hallucinate and animals lose all control. 

The aftermath isn’t very messy so luckily it doesn’t attract too much attention. There’s no bodies, or blood - nothing  heinous thereafter. The effects appear later in the people affected, taken over by an unnamed madness that appears to turn their internal experience to ruins. Gojo would’ve preferred the first situation. Violence like that becomes easy to digest with enough exposure. 

These kinds of symptoms are always hard to stomach. Civilians get answers that placate them. The truth is that there's something bigger out there at play and they were just so unlucky to bear witness to the terror. With altered memories and the badge of trauma, what they don’t know can’t hurt them. 

Gojo knows though, and sometimes he envies their ignorance.

He makes his way into the building. A set of glass doors greets him when he turns the sidewalk, with a blinking sign. Osaka Animal Hospital is written at the top in neon, accompanied by the words 24hr service. Gojo only glances at it briefly before sighing, hands on the bar to push himself through the heavy glass doors. He has to lean some of his weight to get through, and there’s just another set beyond those where he has to do the same. 

Then, he’s inside. 

The presence of the curse and of cursed energy ignites familiar caution within him. It’s here, in some capacity - or it was recently. The perpetrator is here too. Why that is, Gojo can’t quite understand. It seems a little backwards to linger here after everyones been evacuated and there’s no doubt someone would come to investigate. 

All Gojo can think is that maybe they weren’t expecting him. But by now, they must know he’s there too. Gojo’s presence is intentionally oppressive - by nature it must be. Now it’s a waiting game, a quiet one at that. 

Hospitals are always echoey and this one is no different. The squeak of his boots bounces off the walls as he takes steps towards the receptionist desk just to see if he’ll find anything. 

He leans over it, to stare at the left over records - untouched by the authorities. Everything looks like it was left in a hurry. Strew pens and a corded phone just barely back in place - with computers on a blue idle screen. All the daily documents are still out sitting on the desk with no organization to indicate they’ve been filtered through. No paper clips or post-its telling the next person working about what to do. 

Instead of walking behind the counter, he climbs over it with relative ease. Once he’s behind it, he takes better note of his surroundings. He doesn’t find anything completely relevant. There’s painting of animals, and some certifications for bills of health as well - but nothing that warrants his attention. He redirects through the papers in front of him, coming across a stack unexamined. Those answer sheets they give you to fill out so they can assess the situation before meeting you. 

They’re split into two piles it looks like, though that could just be some coincidence. Still, he flips through them. Directing his attention to the little comment box with the prompt what are you being seen for? 

It’s nothing serious. Normal things an animal owner would be upset or worried about like bowel movements and eating something that shouldn’t have been consumed. A minor injury or a worrisome behavior - but nothing that sticks out. For pages and pages, Gojo flips through the little packets trying to find anything. 

It’s not what he sees, but what he doesn’t. A blank packet of papers, with no name for the owner or the pet. Only a description in the prompt box, neat handwriting in a single line. 

“Showing signs of anxiety.” 

Gojo smiles to himself. Interesting. 

He jumps back over onto the other side once he’s seen it. It’s strange. Why would they go to the lengths of premeditating it like that? Whether it’s the curse itself or some third party, it’s an unreasonable thing to do. 

“Not like people like this are usually reasonable, but,” 

He saves the rest of the thought, sighing. The room has two hallways to go down. Both directions have some lingering cursed energy,  but the hallway leading to the overnight area is much stronger. It’s separated by a big metal door, so Gojo braces himself to go through it.

He walks towards it slowly and through the doors even slower. It’s a long, empty hall. The ceilings are low, white fluorescent lights over his head like a falsified halo. They flicker on and off, with the ones at the very end of the hall having fizzled out completely. Gojo can hear, feel, and see everything. He can hear his own breathing and the artificial crackling  of electricity. Feel the lingering presence of sickness, the sediments of a curse preparing itself to emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon. 

He peeks into the different rooms of the hallway. One half of the hall is kennels, once again empty and left in the same messy state as the front desk. The other half of the rooms look like surgery rooms, with a storage closet tucked into one corner. The hall comes to an abrupt stop at the end, a painted gray wall with nothing to offer at the end.

But when Gojo is half-way through, he hears it. A heart-beat. A human one, slow and steady like it’s not worried at all. Not moving or running, just there. Thump, thump, thump. 

Gojo perks his head up as he walks, leaning over to get a look at every room. Empty, empty, empty. 

Then, in the very last one is a shadowy figure. The sound of the heartbeat is louder and the feeling of cursed energy is so strong it’s nauseating. Gojo pauses when he peers in, waits for there to be any response to his presence. There’s no way whoevers lurking doesn’t know he’s there, but there’s nothing that makes him react. He frowns. 

His hand reaches for the handle of the door with a sigh, the mechanism inside clicking to let Gojo know it’s open. He takes a deep breath before opening it, stepping inside and shutting it behind him. 

Even with the room as dark as it, the person inside is clear to his vision. A young girl. Probably no older than 17 with… 

He furrows his brow. With a dog, from what it looks like. No ordinary dog, obviously. A curse in the form of a dog, with teeth too sharp for its mouth and fur that looks like a smear of charcoal and nothing like hair at all. It’s on a long leash, the chain wrapped around the young woman's palms. 

The dog seems to tense up at the sight of Gojo. The eyes are empty and white - almost transparent. It’s a snarling thing, muzzle over the mouth and clearly on edge. Gojo looks at its owner, the perpetrator in this instance. Who looks calm, black mask tucked over face and long dark hair with bangs cut sharp.

Gojo doesn’t know what to say here. He wasn’t expecting to make contact this easily with a curse and its master. It’s been months now, the authorities chasing after this special grade from city to city. She’s obviously strong, and so is that curse that’s strained against its collar like it’s ready to rip him in half if he moves. Not stronger than him, because no such thing ever happens - but strong enough for him to be cautious. 

He doesn’t step forward. He stops by the door and tilts his head. He’s sure she can’t see his eyes, but they make eye contact all the same. None of it makes any sense, but making sense of it isn’t Gojo’s job. 

Instead of introducing himself, he opens the conversation with a question. 

“Why’re you still here?” 

“I knew I was going to get caught soon.” 

An answer he couldn’t predict even if he tried. Gojo huffs. 

“There was some time between the authorities coming and this investigation. You could have left before then, no?” 

“Doesn’t matter. Something would’ve stopped me.” 

“What a weird kid. What led you to that?” 

There’s a minute where the dog (?) starts barking,  but the noise is nothing like a bark. It’s cosmic and strained, and sounds more like a distorted radio than an animal noise. It’s in the shape of an animal but it isn’t one, like it couldn’t complete itself to be one. Gojo winces at the sound, intensified in the closed walls of the room. It’s piercing, and a little annoying. 

When she soothes it, it calms down quickly. It’s obedient. 

“Uh. A vision. Closer to a premonition. Fate.”

“Fate said you were going to get caught today. Right.” 

“Aren’t you a shaman? Shouldn’t be that hard to believe.” 

“Point taken. How did you know I was a shaman and not some murderer?” 

She gives Gojo a pointed look. 

“Look at you. Plus, I can feel that you’re a shaman.” 

“Another premonition?” He asks, this time sincerely. She shakes her head. 

“No. Your aura.” 

Gojo stares ahead. 

“...Right, yeah. It doesn’t look like you’re planning on attacking me.” 

“I don’t think I’d win. I’ve never met anyone stronger than me.” 

“I’m the strongest there is, so I guess not. How did you wanna go about this, then? Famous last words?” 

“You go first. I’d rather talk to you than the other officials.” 

“Hm. Don’t know if I have any questions, kiddo. My job is catching you, not interrogation. I guess I am a little interested in why.” 

This makes her deflate a little. It’s hardly noticeable, but Gojo sees it anyway. The dog seems to react, snarling at her discomfort. He’s starting to understand the connection between them.

She thinks for a minute longer before sighing. 

“Well. I guess I should start about why, right? It’s an old story. I came from a small village. I used to walk miles to school everyday and I’d get bullied a lot since my granny was a shaman. It was just us growing up. A nice old house with not a lot of modern anything,”

Gojo crosses his arms, leaning back on the wall and nodding his head. He figures she’ll tell him top to bottom, so he doesn’t give any input. 

“My granny died a few years ago. I didn’t have any family so I moved on my own. Even back then, the only other thing I cared about were animals. I started working at a shelter and then I met Senbei.” 

The more she talks, the worse he feels. Gojo already knows how this story will end, but he doesn’t interrupt her as she pauses between her sentences. Being 17 and bearing the burdens of loss is something he regards as a nightmare. 

“Senbei was my best friend. Most loyal dog ever. And you know, I started my job with high hopes and kept him by my side. I wasn’t always angry. Working in that shelter and watching animals come in trembling every time I fed ‘em made me angry. How cruel and sick people could be.” 

Her explanations are jumbled and clumsy. She sounds angry but it’s not that simple, curling in on herself the more she talks. Noticeably, she doesn’t try to justify it. She says it easily, with acceptance that it happened.  He thinks that acceptance is harder to bear than delusion. Gojo can’t help but commend her silently. 

“I’m sorry you went through that.”  Gojo replies. 

He’s being sincere. 

“Should you be sympathizing with me?” 

“Doesn’t matter. I just do.”

Her expression softens. She looks sad, and it’s not like Gojo doesn’t understand.  She keeps going though, hands shaking in her lap. Gojo thinks she might’ve been waiting to tell someone. 

“I don’t know when I stopped seeing the good in people….I always thought about—about my granny and how no one—no one came to see her. She was always taking care of everyone and no-one—“

“I know, kid,” Gojo says with a sigh “I get it.” 

“Then you know,” She pauses, taking a deep breath. There’s frustrated tears pouring down her cheek this time. What a strange, sad thing she is:  “That you can’t go back. Even if you forget. It just—it changes you.” 

Yeah. Gojo knows something about that, too. 

“I was already pretty desperate when Senbei was alive. Just trying to hold on. When he was killed, I lost it. I just fucking— I lost it. I’m sure you understand. You get it right?”

Gojo looks at her confused. She shakes her head, looking down in her lap at the curse in her hands.

“I can tell you're like me.  That's why your aura is so tainted and… fucked up and  malicious. It should be crystalline blue kinda like spring water—but it’s muddy. Rigid.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact you’re hanging on by a thread. You can feel it too, right?“ 

Gojo remains quiet at her observation. He doesn’t know how to react. 

“When you want something so bad, it just— does something to you. Either because it won’t happen or because it needs to take your life to exist. Happened to granny, to me. It’ll happen to you, too.”

“I doubt that,” Gojo says, your face flashing in his mind. He shakes his thoughts away. 

“You’re thinking about it too literally. You want something, so you chase it and lose yourself in the process. You’re dead. No longer you, all tangled and in ruins. It’s not too late, but if you keep going—that thread is gonna snap.” 

“A premonition?” He says, partially sarcastic. She shakes her head. 

“No, a prediction. You don’t have to consider it if you don’t want to. I just thought I’d tell you since you gave me some last minutes with this Senbei.” 

Gojo shakes his head. 

“I don’t have any reason to be forceful if you comply. Take your time. I don’t have anything better to do.” 

Gojo glances at her as she pets it, having resigned herself to silently gazing upon it. He can’t stop himself from thinking about everything she’s said, so he averts his gaze to the ceiling and pretends otherwise.

The silent stretches, a pregnant pause before she speaks one more time. She has a look on her face Gojo can’t read.

“You know, it’s funny. Everyone thinks dogs are loyal to their masters, but that’s because we made them that way. We can’t stand being alone or unloved so we made something that can do both without ever seeing any less of us.” 

“You’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”  Gojo says, unsure of how to reply. She isn’t expecting anything, but remaining silent fills him with a sense of dread. 

“Guess so. You should take some time to think about it too,”

She says to him, petting the curse that whines like it’s been hit in her small hands. Gojo takes a deep breath. 

“…Yeah. I’ll do that.” 

__

The case ends anti-climatically. 

Gojo finds it funny. The officials came and the young girl was promptly arrested. He never even got a chance to ask her name. He learned through some probing that she only made two asks before being taken. 

The first, to keep her curse dog with her, and to send her thanks to the sorcerer who had apprehended her in the first place.

On the news, much later in the week - a news report surfaces. “Danger in the Deep,” giving reasonable and logical explanations for the events that occurred in cities across Japan not even a few weeks ago. New studies show, experts say, here’s a word from your local—a barrage of fancy language to pad the publishing, add depth and realism. The public is none the wiser. 

Gojo has to admire the commitment to keeping the peace. The case ends, and the girl gets arrested and put on trial. He doesn’t know if he’ll be seeing her again any time soon, though he’s sure he has the power to intervene. 

He’s hesitating to do so. Why stick his neck out for her in a situation like this one? Over other situations, more dire ones at that. She’d make a good ally.

Their last conversation hasn’t left the back of Gojo’s mind. He’s conscious of it, albeit it hasn’t slowed him down. He’s not looking for another assessment of who or what ghosts are haunting him. He’d prefer to put it all behind him now

So life, in some capacity, has returned to its baseline. It’s normal. He has cases but they don’t take him more than three days. He’s able to do his usual chores without anything impeding them. He’s been teaching, no longer forced to make his students fend for themselves. 

He’s been seeing you again regularly, too. 

He’s getting ready now to do just that. Scheduled to get another coffee together (something of a tradition now) and pick up some conversations. You’ve been busy, though Gojo doesn’t know the details of what.

He wants to know. He’s even tried asking but as soon as he gets close to the subject, you slink into yourself like you’re trying to disappear. Besides, he doesn’t want to intimidate you into telling him. 

(Though, it would be so easy to do. You’ve got a record for being a scaredy cat, and as much as it endears him - he is entirely too hung up on the potential for exploitation to admire it kindly. It’d be easy to turn the notches up, pressure you. With how easy going you are, you’d let him do it. Gojo bets you’d cave. He thinks the face you’d make would be entertaining too. 

Above all, the offer is tempting.) 

In spite of your refusal to discuss the specifics, Gojo does want to cheer you up in whatever capacity he can. So, he’s taking you out for a while and hoping a comfortable environment and the presence of other people will soothe your nerves a little. 

He’s getting dressed for it now, rifling through his closet for decent casual attire. 

He’s got his hair styled down, a pair of new sunglasses on the table and his clothes folded on his bed before he tries them on. Most of his closet is uniforms, plain black and boring. For now, he’s settled on a black crew neck and blue jeans - ripped at the knees. 

He looks over his appearance in the mirror, posing in it. Arms flexed and stretched over his head before putting them out in front of his body. 

He takes his time to take part in the ritual. He slips his boxers up over his legs, waist band tight around his torso and clinging to the curves of his thighs. He pulls his jeans up, low at his hips with a belt buckled through the front. Then comes his sweater over his abdomen. 

He wants to look nice. Though, he could be deluding himself - lately you seem a little more aware of his appearance. It makes him happy that his good looks haven’t failed him in the instance they matter most. 

As he puts on his accessories (in this case a watch and a ring) his phone buzzes atop his dresser. He stops to pick it up, a message from you on the screen. He peers over so his face can be read, then smiles. 

(sent 11:15am) Ready ~ 

He laughs to himself. 

(sent 11:16am) Almost ready. Need to look my best for such a tremendous occasion. 

(sent 11:16am) For coffee? 

(sent 11;17) For coffee with my favorite kindergarten teacher ofc ♡

You send back a simple reply telling him to hurry and come out. Gojo chooses to interpret your embarrassment as a sign. It puts some pep in his step, and he hurries to finish dressing up. 

He steps out of his house, locking his door from the outside before shuffling down a single flight of stairs and out into the front entrance of his complex. He notices you waiting at the front gate from where he’s standing. 

The neighborhood dog (officially named Pokupan) is asleep by the security office. You’re the same as always. Today's outfit is a dress with long sleeves and colored tights. It suits you. A splash of warmth in an otherwise dreary world, Gojo stands in place as he watches you for an unidentified amount of time. Minutes feel like seconds as you pace back and forth. Your phone must be in your purse because he can’t find it anywhere on you. 

He’s delighted when you finally turn your head to look at him. You cup your hand and give him a kind wave which he laughs at and returns enthusiastically. His stride is long, walking towards the gate. 

You have to tilt your neck up to look at him (making his chest squeeze unhelpfully) but you smile when you do so. 

“Hey,” 

“Hello there Miss. Waiting for a special someone?” He jokes. You flush. 

“They’re an important friend,” 

He tries not to let his smile falter. Friend. 

“Then, is it a bother if I ask to take you out?” 

This time you falter. Gojo notices it out of the corner of his eye, the briefest brush of nerves that makes it seem like you’re warming up to him after all. It’s gone as quickly as it came but it’s there and Gojo etches it into the back of his eyelids for memory. He smiles at you as you look away, flush

“Not at all,” 

He grins, again, even brighter. Then he sticks his arm out for you to loop in. You hesitate again. This time Gojo can’t be sure why.

“I’m just being a gentleman, you know?” He pouts. His frown takes effect as you loop your arms together. He keeps it friendly. Too much pushing and you’ll skitter away right before his eyes. Still, even this much progress feels good. It feels whole and light and good. 

It’s a pleasant sort of day. 

Not that it’s warm, or even sunny. It’s cold, on the edge of Autumn that dances into Winter. Freezing but bright out, the kind of sky where everything is clear. During the day the sky has no clouds and no stars when it comes to night time. 

Nonetheless it’s nice. The cold is the kind that makes you want to cozy into someone for warmth, so Gojo doesn’t mind walking in. The walk itself isn’t very long either. The cafe is near your complex, just about 15 minutes worth of walking. There’s no snow or ice to trip on, and because it’s freezing - you shiver every time you stray too far from the heat of his body so the walking is done exceptionally close together

There are kids and parents walking together on the street alongside you, dogs and their owners, street vendors with hot tea. It’s that kind of day where the cold doesn’t keep anyone indoors, in fact everyone seems to relish in the fact they can run and run and run without overheating. It feels like everything is in sync with each other, comfortable and harmonious in spite of everything else.

After 15 minutes, you’ve arrived at the store front. Not long enough for Gojo, but that’s okay. There’s next time he has to look forward too. 

(He tells himself this every time. It’s never enough for him. He can never get enough of listening to you talk. He could probably mimic your cadence without having to try. It’s a sound he doesn’t get sick of―a miracle, another one, because Gojo hates so many sounds―yet there’s one he always looks out for. 

There has to be a next time. If he forgets to tell himself as much, he gets so restless he can hardly stand.

The cafe is nice. It’s one of those places that you see on Instagram often with plenty of sweets for Gojo’s taste and plenty of fancy teas for yours. The outside has beige-colored brick and a brown sign decorated with cutesy drawings. You spend a good amount of time crouched beside it, taking a picture or two to later post on your story. 

“You have to tag me, okay? It’s your payment for wasting our precious time together,” He jokes. 

You stand to your feet and brush off your pants, the material of your coat rustling as you do. 

“Yes, yes ― I promise. I’ll have to ask who drew them when we get in there.” 

Gojo smiles at your enthusiasm before opening the door for you.  Another one of those glass ones with a logo printed on the top half and the metal tinted brown. A little bell chimes above your head as you head in first, and Gojo heads in after you. He has to duck not to his his head on the top of it.

It’s not too crowded at this hour. A handful of people sit among the many tables and booths. Your head is turned to the menu and Gojo trails behind you like a shadow. One to compliment all your light. 

It smells delightful inside. Like warm cookies and vanilla and tea. Gojo feels his sweet tooth kick in the minute you two stand in line. The barista is a doe-eyed blonde college student. There’s another employee with long dark hair and thin, narrow eyes. It reminds Gojo a lot of that girl he met a few weeks ago but he tries to put that thought out of his mind.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and eyes the menu. The special item is a yuzu cream cake, the picture of it hanging on the wall like employee of the month. There’s a glass display of all the other items and the menu matches the rest of the decor.

“This was a good choice,” Gojo says, entranced by all the desserts around him. You laugh, turning your head slightly to look at him. 

“Are you complimenting yourself right now?” 

“Am I wrong?” 

“Your sweet tooth is so bad,” You say through giggles “Your poor dentist,” 

He gasps in offense.

“I will have you know I keep my pearly whites pristine. Not a single cavity for the record.” He says back, placing emphasis on the last words. You snort a laugh. 

“I’ve never had one either,” You repeat back, perhaps mindlessly before saying “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other yet.” 

Yet. Yet. Gojo’s subconscious will hold onto that word for too long. It makes his heart beat too loud. He’s relieved that you’re nothing like him. If you were in this very moment, you would hear the thunder raging inside of his ribs. 

Instead of saying anything, he scoffs playfully. 

“I bet you were such a goody two-shoes that you never ate sweets before bed-time.” 

Your eyes widen in surprise followed by embarrassment, where you tuck your chin into your sweater. 

“Ugh,” You say, so weakly Gojo can’t stop himself from laughing “What’s wrong with being a goody two shoes, huh?” 

Gojo feels almost feline in his self-satistication. “I didn’t say anything was wrong with it, just that you were one.” 

Your frown deepens. 

“I don’t care for your tone, mister.” 

“Are you gonna scold me like one of your students?” 

“If it gets you to be nice,” You say firmly, in that Teacher voice that Gojo has caught glimpses of over the last few months. He does a fake salute. 

“Yes, ma’am!,” He proclaims,  soft enough so only you hear it. You break out into another set of his giggles, melting his cold heart. It’s not the smile so much as it is yours.  The line moves up just a little bit. Gojo steps in front of you before you have a chance, his figure shadowing you. 

“What do you want?” 

“I think I’m gonna get one of those fruit teas and some cake.” You say absentmindedly. He smiles at you playfully. 

“Heard,” 

Gojo turns to order for you both, laughing through your obvious protests about his paying for you. He’s able to block you from getting in the way as the cashier looks on the both of you bemusedly. When the order is placed, Gojo taps his phone against the reader before moving aside where you stomp your feet and follow him. 

“I told you I would get it this time,” You whine. He hums. 

“Mm, there’s always next time?” 

“You say that every time!” 

“So you never know? Maybe it’s next time for sure.” 

You seem to realize that this is a fruitless conversation and that he’s not going to relent. With a flush on your face, you cross your arms and pout. 

“I’ll get you back one of these times, I swear….Anyway, thank you.” You add the last part quietly. He hums. 

“It’s only fair, you know. After all, who else would come here to eat sweets with me?” 

You look taken aback but Gojo doesn’t retract his statement. He’s sure there’s someone he could ask. But there’s no one who would agree to it as easily as you have. The environment wouldn’t be so welcoming, either. Someone who would do something like this with Gojo is long lost. It almost feels foreign to him now. 

In order to ease the tension, you look up at him warmly. 

“Then, I’m glad you asked me.” 

There it is again. That warm, sort of fluttery feeling he gets in his chest being around you. He wonders if he’s allowed to be so happy. 

The food arrives at the counter, the young woman calling out for Gojo. You and Gojo split the task of carrying the plates, picking a nice booth in the corner with the top covered, You slide in across from him, situating your bag. 

You and Gojo go back and forth, setting up everything so it looks nice under the lights. Gojo takes on taking the photos this time, clicking from a few different angles and stopping to show you after each photo. 

“I’ll send you the picture later, okay?” 

“Don’t forget.” 

“I won’t, I won’t. Let’s eat, okay?” 

You nod enthusiastically.

__ 

You and Gojo eat and chat comfortably for a while. 

He’s not sure how much time passes. He wasn’t checking because why would he? He’d like to be with you a bit longer, so he refrains from thinking about it and hopes you do the same. Just a bit more, he tells himself. Until you really, really have to go. 

There’s nothing major to catch up on. You tell Gojo about your job, mostly and how you saw some friends from out of town the week before. Winter is coming and you want to do something nice for the holidays. You’re getting along well with your fellow teachers which is good. He was worried about that, but he can’t keep eyes on you at school. 

(Not for not having tried. He’s thought about it, but his presence would be too noticeable and he doesn’t trust anyone else to the task) 

So it’s relieving. Your only complaint has been that some of the students have the sort of parents you can’t handle. Pushy and involved in a way you can’t ignore but can’t tolerate either. Gojo jokes to take care of them, gesturing to his arm like he’s ready to knock someone's lights out. 

That makes you laugh, and following it you have this melancholy look that sends alarms blaring in Gojo’s head. You don’t broach the subject at all afterwards. You talk about everything else you can. The sale on radishes at the market, thinking about getting a car just to have it, maybe visiting your parents sometime soon. 

Gojo listens. He doesn’t have much to add. His work is strictly classified to people who aren’t in the field and it’s nothing fun to begin with. He does tell you what he can - usually about some antics his students have gotten into during training. He can at least talk about that. 

He tells you about the movies he’s watched, how he went drinking with his co-workers last week, and how he thinks Pokupan is starting to act friendlier to him. 

It’s fun because it’s you. Gojo likes feeling like he’s involved with you intimately. He likes hearing you talk. The sound of your voice is such a pleasant contrast to his own. You talk with a kind of joy Gojo could never hope to carry, all gestures and smiles and interjections - trying to make sure your point comes across. How you don’t think the kid sitting in the front is a bad kid, just needs guidance. How the material of your sweater isn’t really cashmere but more of a blend. 

Time passes  comfortably that way. The drinks and food have been reduced to crumbs and cold drops of tea, glasses emptied and phones abandoned. 

But neither of you have made any move to leave, and Gojo is still listening to you talk with a pleased smile on his face. It was a pleasant sort of day, remember? 

“So it was fine in the end, but the classroom was such a mess seriously―” 

So, it throws Gojo off when you stop speaking so abruptly. How easily the atmosphere melts, and what an unpleasant film it leaves behind. 

It feels like an axe hammering on a stop, a sharp and near violent thud that cuts off the end of your sentence. The air becomes tense in the blink of an eye. Gojo can feel it, the sensation of cursed energy. It’s stagnated, little like pebbles at the bottom of a creek. But it’s there, and Gojo can feel it creep over your shoulders like a sixth sense. Like someone skipped a stone over that same water. He senses it in the air like dust in the light.

He sits up straight, focusing his attention on you. 

“Hey,” He calls out, softening his voice as much as he can. Trying hard to identify what's wrong exactly “You okay?” 

Your hands shake as you lay them flat on the table. You’re almost completely spaced out by now. It all happens in the blink of an eye. 

Gojo stares at you, calling to you a second time. 

“Hey. Hey, look at me?” 

When you finally hear him, you jump in your skin. Your shoulders relax when you realize it’s only Gojo. Normally that would make him happy, but not like this. Your hands are shaking. A nervous fidget in all of your movements that he’s never seen before, like you’ve been shocked with electric wire. He hates it. The taste of your fear (this fear) is different and unfamiliar. 

He doesn’t like it. 

You turn your head to look at him then avert your eyes again. He can’t follow your gaze as it shifts. It’s too erratic.

“No, uhm. It’s just, uhm.” 

“Woah! Hey, Miss. I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” 

Everything feels like it slows down as Gojo watches your eyes snap up. Your expression drops again, even lower, and if he listens close enough he can hear the sound of your heart. Your discomfort is tangible. It leaves a metallic taste in Gojo’s mouth as you suddenly curl in yourself, shoulders hunched and peeling skin off your nails. 

You don’t even look to Gojo for help. Instead, your words go soft.  You become helpless in front of his eyes. 

“Oh. Yes, hello.” You bow your head trying to say as little as possible. Gojo stares as you shake like a leaf in the wind. Something ugly curls up inside of him, a knife twisting in his chest. 

“Aw, c’mon? What’s with the unfriendly act? Is it ‘cause you’re here with your boyfriend?”

You look up at him panicked. Not because of the comment, but because of his tone. Gojo hears it too. How sinister it is. Like he’s blaming you for it somehow, like you’ve wronged him. The feeling inside of him is so ugly, it’s so wretched. His knuckles turn nearly white from how hard he’s closing his fist. You put your hands up and go to explain yourself anxiously. 

It makes Gojo sick. He smiles, turning his head just a little so he can see. He opens his eyes and stares, focusing his vision on remembering every detail of the bastard's face.

“I’m not her boyfriend. We’re neighbors,” He explains, tone as cold as ice but smiling. 

Gojo puts pressure in the atmosphere. His natural and suffocating aura returns to him easily. He smiles and remains unnervingly still, waits in quiet for the man to respond. He scratches the back of his head, still indignant. 

“Uh. Okay. I guess that’s good. Wouldn’t be appropriate for a teacher to be out on a date like this huh?” 

Again. This guy, whoever he is, turns his head like he’s trying to talk down to you. Diverts his perversion and sadism towards you that leaves Gojo wondering what his head would look like against concrete. A bitter, heinous feeling waits inside of him, nesting into his ribs as the sound of every voice in the room comes to be muffled. All Gojo can hear is his heart. How long it's been since he’s heard it. 

It’s loud. A cacophony, or a hymn. Divine rage in the sound of his soul leaves has him unsure of how to proceed. 

Gojo glances at you. Your eyes are rounded, full of desperation. Pleading. 

Gojo hates whoever this is. Gojo wants to save you. He thinks you deserve to be saved. 

He stands up. He has enough height on the guy to be intimidating, the guy just barely coming up to his shoulder. Gojo stares down wildly, pulling his glasses to the bridge of his nose to peek briefly over the edge. The bastard stops talking immediately, words coming to a stutter, It’s satisfying. 

“Who are you?” He asks. 

“Wh-why is that any of your concern? Can’t you see I’m talking to―” 

“I didn’t ask about who you were talking to. I asked who you were,” 

He hears you from behind him “He’s a parent from my school,”

“Ah, okay. Interesting. Since you’re a parent, we wouldn’t want to make this a confrontation right?” Gojo says, bemused “It’d be a real issue for everyone if it turned out that way,” 

Gojo puts a hand on his shoulder, tightening his grip hard enough to hear him gasp. He’s weak, but that’s to be expected.

“So, I suggest you turn around and head home, hm? Since we wouldn’t want it to be a big fuss.” 

Gojo can see it now. With a little pressure, he could turn the blade of his shoulder in sawdust and watch him fall to his knees. He’d let out a cry, a sharp pathetic wail like a hit dog. Gojo would make him say sorry to you before he lets up his hand from his skin. He’d do it infront of everyone in the store so they could hold a little fear in their hearts. 

He won’t do it. Just for now. If it complicates your work then you wouldn’t be able to support yourself. What would he do if you ended up somewhere far away? Out of his sight, something like this could happen again and Gojo wouldn’t be able to take care of you. 

So he doesn’t crush it. He pushes his palms into his shoulder blades and whispers quietly, just so the two of them hear. He pulls away and watches as his face goes pale, a simple stutter leaving his lips. Something about how he’ll see you later and that somethings come up before he turns around and leaves.

Gojo watches as he does. The door chimes again, and the man disappears. The patrons who might’ve glanced turn away again like it was just a simple altercation, which is good. Then finally, Gojo looks at you where you are. Your hands are trembling so hard, a shake of relief in your shoulders as you cover your face. You look like you’re getting ready to cry, so Gojo takes it into his own hands. He cleans up all the food, wipes the table, and even grabs your jacket and bag as you take a minute to collect yourself. 

He taps your shoulder lightly afterwards, waiting for you to look up. Once you do he smiles, reaches a hand out to you so you don’t have to think twice. 

“About time to get out of here, huh?” 

You nod, so slowly. You look so relieved, even as you sniffle. Your hand is so small compared to his. He squeezes it protectively as you slide it into his own, and helps you walk out of the store together. 

The air is cold, the same as before, the temperature having warmed just a bit. The bell above the door rings as the two of you finally leave, standing in the street. Unlike before though, there’s something bitter in the air. The sun has hidden itself completely in the clouds and the streets feel emptier, lifeless. 

Gojo turns to you with a somber expression, trying to smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Do you want to go somewhere to talk about it, maybe?” 

You chew your lower lip then sigh “...Yeah. Probably should, huh?” 

You and Gojo decide on a place not too far from where you are. It’s a small park, a good place to end off an otherwise good day. 

You have to take the bus to get there, but there’s not many people. Gojo eventually gives you back your things, lets you slide your jacket on and fix your face - but ultimately takes your hand and holds it on the ride there. He brings it to his lap and you don’t pull away even though you seem to fidget the whole time. 

The bus finally stops in front of the park. It takes hardly any time, but Gojo finds he’s unable to let go of your hand so he doesn’t. Instead, he holds tight and lets you trail behind. You let him lead you quietly out back in the street. You give your thanks to the driver as the doors close. 

He can’t let go of your hand, though he knows now would’ve been a good time to do it. His grip only grows tighter. 

“Let's go find somewhere to sit,” He offers. You squeeze his hand this time and don’t look away. 

“Okay,” 

He tries to keep pace with you this time, instead of walking ahead. Your strides are shorter than his so he’s careful that you don’t fall behind. Your eyes still have that watery look to them but you’re no longer trembling from fear. Just the cold, if anything. 

And your heartbeat no longer sounds so hazardous. Gojo is still restless, still fidgety. His thumb is rubbing circles into your skin but it’s not really for you. 

You find a bench, eventually - in the middle of the long walk-way just a distance away from a playground. Gojo juts his chin out towards it, before turning over to look at you.

“Let’s go sit,” 

You nod as you walk together towards it. You sit first, and Gojo finally lets go of you. He sits besides you. There’s a minute where the whole world is deathly quiet. There should be something calm about it, but it isn’t. You’re no longer terrified, and a distance away. There’s no danger lurking in the dark and there’s no cars passing or children crying. 

Everything is calm and silent, but Gojo couldn’t feel more unease if he tried. He thinks he hides it well. But there’s that itch again, in a place behind his ribs he can’t reach into and he finds it hard to breathe. 

“So,” He starts, breaking the tension “I’m guessing it’s not a friend,” 

The stupid joke makes a smile appear on your lips. It’s small, but Gojo takes some comfort in it anyway. You wipe away your lower lash gently, a wet laugh leaving your mouth. 

“No, not a friend. He’s uhm… a parent from my school.” 

“The one who’s been bothering you for all these weeks?” Gojo supplies. You turn your head, eyes widened in surprise. Gojo lets out a breathy laugh. 

“You….knew?” 

“Not about him specifically, but I could tell something was bothering you,” He admits, and then adds “I always pay attention to my favorite person, you know?” 

The addition has you looking away, but Gojo doesn’t mind. You sigh, rubbing your face with your palms before leaning back against the bench with your head hanging off the edge. 

“He’s the parent of one of my students. Akio, he’s a good kid. A really well-behaved one but… too well-behaved. Never raises his hand, never complains or says he won’t do something.” 

“I’m guessing that sent off an alarm bell, huh?” 

You nod softly. 

“Yeah. I figure it was something at home, but I’d met his mom prior and she was a real angel. Then, his dad came to visit. The man we met at the store, and I knew right away.” 

Gojo feels his jaw clench listening to you talk. 

“But still, you know, my job as a teacher is to be as respectful as I can. I always politely declined him when he would make comments and remained professional. Eventually, his mom stopped coming altogether and—I tried, I really—but he…” You trail off, a lump in your throat. He watches as tears form in your eyes, his anger getting more and more tangible. He tries not to express it, putting a hand on your knee “He just… kept pushing. A-and once, he looked like he was gonna get violent. I made a report, you know, to the school. But you know how they are,” 

“They never even bothered investigating huh,” Gojo sneers. You laugh a tired sort of laugh. 

“Of course not. After that, I just tried to endure it. And I know he hasn’t done anything technically, but it doesn’t really feel like a matter of if but when,” You explain haphazardly.  Gojo squeezes where his hand rests. 

“I believe you. It’s okay,” He says as soothingly as he possibly can “It’s okay. I’m here,” 

There’s a sense of relief that washes over your whole body and before he knows it, you’re breaking down. He feels a lot of emotions all at the same time, watching your little frame as you lose it so easily in front of him. A part of him is so furious he wants to make it everyone's problem. Another part of him is so deeply sad knowing you’ve suffered all on your own. 

And the most notable part of him is the sense of protectiveness, burrowing inside of him. A sense of possession. It sinks into him like teeth, seeps into his blood like the venom of an animal so that he bleeds and breathes it. Gojo can’t shake that deep sense of urgency, a nameless and faceless desire that consumes him. He shudders.. He holds it in, all of it. Cups his hands so desperately so that it doesn’t spill over and touch you, the ink of ruining the soft white of your clothes. 

In a world that you have made beautiful, desire is ugly. Hideous and infectious, it tears Gojo limb from limb. It makes Gojo feel on edge. Gojo should not desire for any more than what he was. People always die when he does. 

But maybe they don’t have to. Maybe, he can protect you. He can keep you safe. He wants to keep you safe. He wants to keep you all to himself.

It’s in an effort to soothe those feelings that his arms find themselves around your form. It’s the first time you’ve hugged in such an intimate way. Where expects you to turn away - you don’t. 

Instead you cling, your arms around his jacket and your face in his chest. You cry and weep and sob and you look so small like that. You look like you’ll collapse and Gojo holds you. Says it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay as you let it all out. It must feel good to finally let it all out, after everything and he doesn’t intend to stop you. 

“I promise I’ll always protect you from now on,” And he says it, and means it. If you feel the weight of his statement, you don’t let it show “It’s okay. You can cry if you need too,” 

You cry and cry and cry. 

And Gojo thinks the call of heaven is nothing in comparison to the sound. 

__

In the end, Gojo can’t forgive him. 

It’s not without effort. He tries to do it at your request, because after all the tears he wants to help. He says he can maybe pull some strings. But that gentle heart you have declines. You don’t want it to become a big deal. You feel a little better knowing he knows. In the end, you don’t want it to affect that brats reputation. 

“You know how kids can be,” You say, voice full of concern for everyone but yourself “I don’t want to make school life anymore difficult than his life at home must be,” 

So, Gojo tries to listen to you. But days pass, and days turn into weeks. In the end, a month goes by and Gojo is full of terrible and divine anger. 

In the end, Gojo won’t forgive him. Gojo can’t let it go. He feels so righteous in it, he starts avoiding his own eyes in the mirror. There’s something inside of them he has no desire to look at. Eyes that tell all, Gojo turns away from their gaze. Gojo is angry for you, and it’s not in his character to do nothing about it. 

He decides on less of a whim that it looks. He wonders about alternatives, if there’s anything that can stop this feeling from imploding inside of him but nothing comes.

When he decides that nothing can be done, Gojo goes out of his way to start watching him. 

Like any mission, he needs enough background information to map out a plan.  He wants to make sure that it has virtually no pushback for you. There’s always a possibility you’ll get caught in the crossfire and that’d be the worst possible outcome. Gojo can protect you from a lot of things, but he’s not as confident about the law. 

(Not that he can’t. Just not in the good, right way he’s sure you want him to protect you in. Gojo’s love is divine, not right. There’s nothing in this world Gojo can’t shield you from, because he’s the strongest.)

 He also can’t make anything obvious or leave any room for interpretation. If there’s anything that feels off when the reports go live - you’ll stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. He thinks in the instance you find out (about all of it, the premeditation  especially) you’d probably tuck your tail and run. 

(Gojo would find you. But the chase means there’s some time you’re apart. The thought is almost nauseating.) 

He likes that you’re curious about everything. In most instances anyways. But he thinks it’s better to leave you in the dark sometimes. Having you worry about it would ruin the point of this. And sometimes, it’s better not knowing every detail. Honeytraps are more ethical than nets. 

He’s doing it for you in the end, like he does most things. And the kid will benefit, maybe even get some sympathy from his classmates for a while about the tragedy that befell his father. Gojo thinks it’s a good plan because no one loses.  It’s a lot like killing a curse. 

It only takes two weeks to learn virtually everything there is to know. A guy like that doesn’t have much he can hide. 

The name of his target, he learns, is Nobu Watanabe. Father to Akio Watanbe and ex-husband to Akiko Watanbe. He’s a recently released felon (let off on good behavior) with a battery and assault with a deadly weapon charge. He’s a college drop-out, and has been working a lot of odd-jobs since he was 16.

His personality is bad, worse is his drinking and smoking habits. He’s often found drunk in the street, and has a track record for single nights spent in a cell. His ex-wife is usually the one bailing him out. Gojo can’t help but feel sorry for her. Somehow, he doubts that he’s good to her. He’s a deadbeat father through and through. He only offers to pick up his kid to harass you. At least from what he can tell. 

He isn’t as awful to his kid as everyone else. Gojo doubts that was always the case. Akio isn’t a bad kid, but it’s hard not to notice the way the light in his eyes disappears when his father comes around to pick him up. A head always looking towards the floor, hands tucked in his pockets. 

It’s difficult for Gojo to feel any guilt about what he’s doing. After everything, he can’t find it in himself to feel any regret. 

His target is currently working at a dock, not too far from the city. He seems to work there most days, working at a bar on the weekends. It’s a big company that handles foreign goods that he does physical labor for. Lifting and moving boxings, checking inventory - it’s not a complicated affair. 

If there’s not a major shipment, he still seems to clock in so he’s definitely paid some kind of hourly wage. He smokes often on the job, but works diligently when there is something to do. An easy but physical job, he’s strong. Gojo can understand what intimidates you about him. 

Gojo, though, isn’t intimidated by him at all. 

He waits a week before he takes action. To shake off anyone or anything that might be trailing him, and to make sure that everything is the same as he observed. That his schedule wasn’t going to change. A week passes, and when Gojo has confirmation - he decides to do what he does best. 

Gojo Satoru decides to play God on a Sunday.

Sunday is a day shipments come in and a day he often works alone. The pay is better on Sunday and Nobu is the only one on his shift who takes it. He’s not expected to finish the strenuous work because he’s alone for such a long stretch of time - just to make a dent in it. The people at the next shift are the ones who finish the job. 

He starts his day as early as 6am. It’s near winter, so the world is painted in a miraculously melancholy blue. Gojo follows him that morning. He knows the route well enough to trail behind him and not attract any attention. They pass together, turning corners and taking bus rides until Nobu’s finally in at his job. 

There, they part briefly. His target goes into the big white building and he goes on top. Gojo has to teleport to the roof because everything is gated with security cameras covering every inch of the property. Following him puts Gojo at risk. So he waits on top of the building, hands in his pocket and pacing until Nobu comes out the otherside to the docks. His jumpsuit put on haphazardly, only half-pulled up to his waist, with a clipboard and pen as a bunch of boxes waiting for him to check them. 

After Gojo confirms that he’s alone, he lies in wait. He sits and waits - watching as the clouds pass. Watching the open sea, how it remains unchanging no matter what boats pass through to shore. He looks at his phone every now and again to check the time. 

It shouldn’t be too difficult to actually do it. 

You know, if Gojo turns his infinity on, there’s nothing in the world that can touch him. He can touch it, but it can’t touch him. There will always be a barrier between his hands and the world. Between him and the known universe, a bridge that started burning the minute Gojo was born into it. If Gojo turns on his infinity, there’s no way to leave traces of him behind. 

Did you know? If Gojo turns on his infinity, his fingerprints don’t show up. There’s no DNA to find. Not a trace of him in the world that he hasn’t left purposefully. Even if Gojo chokes him with his hands bare hands - he wouldn’t be touching him. But Gojo can feel it. Feel his pulse, feel his breathing come down slowly.

If there’s such a thing as heaven or hell, Gojo wants to ask God about being homicidal. If it was a flaw of human design or their Lord reflected inside of them. 

He lies in wait on top of the roof until 7. 

When 7 hits, the world around him is still so dark. No one kills in broad daylight. The heavens are murky, sky full of black clouds like puffs of smoke. It’s freezing cold, a spine-tingling chill making its way up Gojo’s skin and hardening his hands. . Gojo waits for the doors of the garage to creak open. When the sound echoes into the air, a metal screech in the void, Gojo stands to his feet. 

He jumps to the ground, landing with a dull thud. He comes out unscathed, a cat on his feet. He dusts off the front of his pants. Nobu hasn’t taken notice of him. Gojo takes a look around them. There’s no cameras in the warehouse. Gojo waits alone in the dark. 

Five minutes. It’s five minutes when all of the lights go out. 

“What the fuck?” Nobu mumbles, dropping his clipboard on top of a bunch of boxes, running a hand through his hair. Gojo waits in silence, watches as he turns around. 

When he finally does, he jumps back in shock. Gojo feels a cold chill run through his body. 

“What the fuck? Who the hell are you?” Nobu asks. Gojo grins. 

“Ah, you don’t remember? We met a few weeks ago! We had a nice little exchange and everything.” He says, voice going higher by an octave. The man in front of him stares, off put by Gojos’ presence. He stumbles in his thinking, his body tensing up. 

“Who the…what the fuck is going on?” 

“Hey, don’t be so scared,” Gojo says, then uses his teleport to phase himself closer. Nobu’s eyes widen, shocked. Scared out of his wits, with the story of heartbeat like he’s being hunted. “Tough guy like you has nothing to be scared of, does he?” 

“W-w-what…how did you…” 

Gojo shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry about it, man.” He says, voice calm and smooth and even. He’s surprised by how his emotions feel in his body. Like he’s so angry that he’s not. There’s something inside of him, the white waters that wade, that Gojo can feel. It’s strange “We’ve got about 5 minutes till the lights come back on.” 

For a while, they stand at a draw. No one moves. Not him, or Nobu, or the open oceans. It’s quiet for a dock. Even quieter for a dock in Tokyo, and Gojo’s not even using his abilities. He probably won’t need too, other than infinity - there’s not any good reason for him to exert himself any more than he must. 

Weeks of planning, weeks of watching, weeks of waiting. Nothing feels like it matters at the moment. He wants it to be over soon-ish. 

It’s not that Gojo is particularly sadistic. 

It’s just that, everything feels like it’s teetering over this very moment. He thinks it to himself quietly like someone trying to remember where they last left their keys. 

Briefly, Gojo thinks “I can’t go back,” after this. In the back of his head he just knows.

He envies this aggravating strangers' ignorance, too. 

“What do you want from me?” He says, stuttering - a gasping breath of fear in his lungs that snaps Gojo out of his thoughts. Gojo shrugs. 

“Nothing, really. I’m not short on money, you know? I make a good living,” He says, spouting off about nothing as he closes the gap between them. Stepping closer infinitely until Gojo backs him into the garage, into the tall tower of boxers where there’s no cameras and no witnesses “Hm…is there anything you can do to fix this?” 

No, Gojo answers mostly to himself, But wouldn’t that be nice? 

“P-please, I have—” 

“A son right? And an ex-wife, and a dead mom in Saitama. You didn’t think I came here without doing any research, did you? We’re the same in that way you know, I might be a frivolous - but hell if I’m not diligent,” 

He looks like he’s going to throw up. Gojo remains indifferent. 

“Who are you?” He asks, this time really wondering. With that hoarse voice of curiosity, of defeat.

Gojo hums.

“Good question. Who do you think I am?” Gojo poses and lifts his hands up. He puts them around his neck, pushing hard until his back is against the stack of boxes. It’s dark but Gojo can see everything. He keeps his open, tightening the grip of his hands slowly. 

Nobu tries to spit something out but the words get sputtered, muffled by lack of oxygen. 

“Do you think I’m a devil? An angel? God? I wonder,” Gojo says, staring. With his mask on, but his eyes opened wide. “Guess I’m kind of like a boogeyman,” 

Gojo can feel it. His body underneath his palms, gasping and struggling for air. He can feel his hands try to pry his hands off. He can feel his body slowly start to lose its air, how he deflates like a balloon. Gojo is unmoving, unfazed, unworried. He’s near motionless except the hard grip of his hand on his neck and the pulse that slows gently under his palms. 

It takes 5 minutes, maybe less, with all the strength in both his hands. Gojo isn’t counting. He holds on for maybe 2 minutes after that, just to make sure it’s not a fluke. He waits till the heart stops sounding in his ears and until the body is completely limp except for where Gojo is holding him away. He goes out sad. Useless, even. 

When Gojo stops, Nobu’s body drops to the floor with a dull thud. He stares at it for a while, then sighs. It’d be nice if he could just leave it there, but he does his due diligence. Picks it up from the ground with relative ease, over his shoulders. 

He walks it out towards the dock - the very edge, before tossing it in water and watching it sink. When it disappears from his sight, Gojo is left with his reflection in the deep blue. He meets his eyes for the first time in weeks, and knows he’s seeing exactly what he thought he would. 

His anger has settled, just barely. Just enough to be able to see the change in his own vision. With his Six Eyes, Gojo can see that there’s no turning back.

 With his mask on, he looks at himself, warped in the vision of the sea. The vision of him—crystalline and white and blue—murky and moving. 

Gojo jumps to the roof and turns the light on again. The power comes back. 

A dog barks distantly, over and over and over. Gojo watches the sun rise alone. 

__

The following weeks pass without a hitch. Gojo feels like nothing has changed. 

(But that’s not true. Everything is different. The same but different)

At the two week mark, winter has set in and Gojo is spending time with you in your apartment together. Currently, you’re cooking dinner (after carefully instructing Gojo to stay put in the living room.) Gojo is sitting watching T.V. He’s helping you grade papers at the coffee table, humming to himself. 

It’s about 7 when the news starts to play. A local news channel and a familiar face on the T.V. Gojo is surprised when the breaking news report airs. 

“Two weeks ago, a missing persons report was filed for ex-convict Nobu Watanbe. Sources say he was last seen working at a Dock in Tokyo - which experienced a power outage. It’s reported that Nobu seemed to have gone missing at the time, and hasn’t made contact with anyone since then. Could this be the work of a…” 

The rest of the report  Gojo tunes out. He turns his head slightly to see if you’ve noticed. Your eyes are glued to it., standing and staring silently. You place your spatula on a towel on the counter.

“We got word about a week prior to this,” You say, breaking the silence after some time without Gojo prompting. He looks at you “Akio started coming with his mom again and she gave me the story. It wasn’t unusual for him to up and disappear, but he hadn’t done so since Akio was born,” 

“That so?” Gojo says, nonplussed. You nod. 

“I feel guilty but,” You trail off, rubbing your arm anxiously “I can’t help but be… relieved. Just a little. I don’t want the guy to be dead or anything, but it,” 

Gojo stops you in the middle of your sentence. 

“You don’t have anything you need to feel guilty about,” He corrects, voice stern. You give him a sad look but he remains firm in his stance “He was harassing you for weeks. It’s only natural that you feel relieved, you know?” 

You’re not entirely content with the response, but you seem to know well enough this isn’t something Gojo will compromise on. You sigh, looking down at the floor. 

“Yeah. That’s true I guess, but still. I wonder what happened to him, or if he just decided to run away,” 

Gojo pretends to think about it. 

“Maybe. Otherwise…guess it was God’s divine punishment,” He says, continuing to grade papers. He doesn’t even look up as he says it. You let out a puff of air through your nose in amusement . 

“Yeah,” You say, “Maybe. I should thank him some time,”

Gojo hums.

“I don’t think that’s a bad idea,” 

[vibingpyro]

General Hobie Headcanons!

-He definitely carries a penny in his pockets just so he can use, "Penny for your thoughts?"

-Has the randomest shit in his pockets. Crumbled pieces of paper? Check. An half eaten bag of chips he was saving for later? Yep. Turning those tiny crumbled pieces of paper into balls to toss at Miguel when he isn't looking? You betcha.

-Snacks non stop yet gains nothing. He would be wandering around HQ bored as hell and eating his chips in one sitting, then eat a burger, then drink an soda in like ten minutes and still be hungry. He would stare into your soul while refilling his soda in a water cup down at the spider cafeteria.

-Hobie just has the warmest hands. He's a heater, so he gets warm very easily so him wearing crop tops and tanks should be expected frequently, I see this man just chilling in his boxers briefs at his place, absolutely miserable in the heat and only giving one word hums or grunts in response to anything he's asked.

-He has stabbed himself with his pins on more than one occasion. He switches out his pins depending on the day, but he has some sentimental ones that he refuses to take off. "Ova' my dead body, more like."

-definitely has a weird sense of humor and talks to himself on the daily, although most of it might be late night delirium because he is for sure a night owl. "Is darkness just the lack of light or is light the lack of darkness?" A pause..then a whispered continuation. "Am I just darkness with the lack of light???" Proceeds to stare at his hands as if they personally wronged him.

[1800titz]

THE THRILL | Phone sex operator AU

preview

“God— I feel good, too. I’m so wet for you,” you hum. 

The confession is syrup on embers— a simmering, wet heat in the trench of his underbelly, and feels like liquified nirvana across his fibrils. 

It pries another grunt from the asunder seam of his teeth— gravelly, husking— the rasping growl of a faceless stranger on the verge of splintering. 

(Hunk of a man, precarious footing like the lip of a mountainside, toying at the sutures of pseudo-phone-sex— an automated script of moans and coaxes— and crooning please with your fingers dug under the cotton of your underwear and sweat on your brow.)

And maybe that’s the thrill of it. 

Chasing the dirty bliss on borrowed time— costly minutes— painting the monolithic bulk of an innominate outlander behind your eyelids when you pour your work ethic into doing the very best job, giving it your all, heel of your palm pressed tight to your clit and your fingers tucked deep. 

(Because, maybe, you both feed off the kick. Chasing the same buzz that’s molded off an intricately carved proxy of intimacy.) 

There’s something marginally less vulnerable (marginally more— parceled up in the seedy filth along the grooves of your fingerprints, saturated on the crumbling bulwark of melding scripts and vices), in evading the tangibility of sex through a phone. In pretending—

“Yeah,” Harry grunts, hips flexing into the nook of his fist. His shoulders quake with the shudder that rolls up his nape. The swivel chair creaks under the pressure of the motion. “Can hear it, dirty fuckin’ girl—“

And in the knurled grimace that graces his pink mouth (the guttural hiss shattering in his windpipe) you nearly taste euphoria off his bared teeth. The way you know they glint white. Soak in the scorching deluge of the same ecstasy when he ruts into his own hand at the way you moan. 

Your favorite regular. 

He was different. Chipped his way under your skin and sinew to make home in the hollow he carved from the moment he dialed. Heady timbre flowing like smoke; sultry, kerosene-soaked, rough-hewn in hedonistic pursuit. 

So unlike the other regulars or the one-timers rolling onto the line, scuffing their speakers against their clothes when they shuffle, voices low and brittle when they beg you to tell them how you’re going to step on them and call them filthy names. 

(You moan and purr how you’re so close, how bad you want them to cum inside, phone tucked to your cheek, sprawled with your legs kicked up over the arm of the couch, scrolling through Pinterest meal prep recipes on your laptop.) 

You should feel ashamed, maybe, at the startling ease it took for him to thaw you away and reverse the roles (leave you hankering for the sweet warmth of a gray haze— thick, smoggy, petrichor with your tummy buzzing and your breath caught in your throat— when he bid you goodnight with the murmur of we’ll do this again, sweetheart before the line clicked). The way it left you feeling like you were on the line with an operator on the other end, milking you for more. 

(“And what name should I have in my mouth when you make me cum for you, hm?”)

(Borrowed time, costly minutes; you soak in every cent he spills into your wallet.)

・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・・。・。・・

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[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 61

part 1 | part 60 | ao3

cw: mentions of canonical minor character death

Chapter 14

It's twilight by the time they make their way to Rick's place — gnat clouds swarming, sun dipped low, Lover's Lake an inky smudge beyond the blur of passing pines. Steve’s not totally sure how they got here, this dusty service road that's more pothole than pavement; one minute he's bitching about doomed love and double VHS, the next he’s taking the scenic route to a drug den.

There were some important moments in between, he’s pretty sure.

He’s also pretty sure he blacked out somewhere around the moment the morning news reported that an-unidentified-Hawkins-student-who-very-well-could-be-Eddie-Munson was found dead in his fucking trailer.

Kinda difficult to resurface from that one.

Feels like his soul’s got swimmer’s ear.

Even hours later — after Dustin and Max burst into Family Video talking a mile a minute about how Eddie was alive and they needed to use the phones; after Ernie stupidly gave a reporter Steve’s name, swearing up and down on the TV that his neighbor Steve Harrington was an upstanding young man who would never do something like this; after they spent an agonizingly long afternoon lying low and taking backroads to avoid the cops because the cops probably suspect Steve of murder now, oh god—

“It’s this next right up ahead,” Max says from the back seat. There's a map spread over the bench between her and Dustin, and Steve blinks himself awake; gives her a nod in the rearview.

Beside her, Dustin’s munching on Twizzlers he stole from the store — window down, easy slouch, just way too chipper for the situation at hand. "So Steve," he says conversationally, "now that you're a fugitive, does that mean—?"

Steve cuts Robin a pleading look.

Robin reaches back and smacks the little twerp upside the head.

"Ow!" Dustin whines.

"Shut up, please," Robin smiles.

Max makes a sound like she's trying not to laugh and checks the map again. "Right here," she says, pointing. "After that weird tree stump."

They turn onto another road that could be generously described as paved, once, several decades ago, and eventually, the winding path lets out onto a slightly nicer street. Aging but cared for, Holland Road is a crowded row of little lake houses, trailers and shacks with manicured shrubs and chipped fence paint, weeds growing through the sidewalks beneath pristine American flags. Steve pulls into the driveway of #2121.

It looks abandoned. Dark inside and out, a truck parked on the curb that's likely been there for a while, its tires sagging in a mulch of old wet leaves. There’s an autumn wreath on the front door.

“You sure this is the place?” he asks as they climb out of the car.

Max sasses him for questioning her navigation skills, Dustin unsuccessfully tries to land a revenge slap on Robin — a move that earns him a retaliation wedgie and a wrestling match he was never gonna win — and Steve pops the trunk and feels a hundred years old. Feels every bit the exhausted dad trying to keep the family road trip together as he grabs his nail bat and slings his duffel over his shoulder.

"You planning to spend the night?" Dustin teases from Robin's armpit, still bent double where she's got him in a headlock.

"No, just-" he drops the bag at their feet with a grunt, “doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Dustin’s eyes bug out. “Is that a can of goddamn bear mace?”

“Keep your voice down!” Steve hisses.

“You keep your voice down!”

"Should I just go ahead and choke him out?" Robin offers.

Steve considers it for a second: knock 'em all out, stuff 'em back inside the car. Go do this shit quietly by himself.

He rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips.

"You're no fun," she pouts, but she lets Dustin go.

Dustin grabs flashlights and walkies out of the bag, passes them around the circle. They take a moment to steel themselves — huddled together in the dark, shoulders tense, the creepy house looming ahead. Sharp shadows stretch toward them. Croaking sounds creeping from the edges of the lake.

Robin puts her flashlight under her chin like she's about to tell a scary story. "Alright, kiddos," she says in a deep, ominous voice. "Let's go rescue Steve's ex."

Stunned silence in the sudden vacuum her words create. Steve lets out a tired sigh. Dustin’s jaw is on the curb.

“His WHAT?” Dustin shouts.

Oh, my god. “He’s not my ex."

Robin rolls her eyes and says ‘sure’ under her breath, and Max turns to Dustin, laughing. “You didn’t know they were a thing?”

“We’re not—” Steve tries again.

“What were you trying to get them back together for then?”

She seems genuinely curious. Dustin seems three seconds from spontaneous combustion. “What was I WHAT?!” he yelps, limbs everywhere. Reminds Steve of Eddie so bad it hurts.

“Okay,” Steve interrupts, clapping them both on the shoulder; drops his voice to a harsh whisper. “In case you two forgot, we’re here to rescue Eddie.”

“Who you’re dating.”

Dustin’s voice is small, disconnected, his gaze far away. Like he’s shellshocked.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “I— Yes. No. It’s complicated.”

Max snorts at his answer, Dustin makes a series of faces like he's gonna need seven years to process, and Robin interrupts his crisis by waving her flashlight like a traffic guard, walking backward up the hill as she directs them toward the house.

“Why don’t we just go find him first?” she suggests, making a rainbow with her hands, flinging light through the grimy windows. “And then Stevie here can answer alllll your big gay questions.”

Steve glares at Robin. Dustin glares at him, narrowed eyes for a full ten seconds like 'yeah, you fucking better,' and then he takes off up the driveway hollering Eddie's name.

—

part 62

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[in1-nutshell]

Add this to the bottom of the barrel.

I was playing tears of the kingdom and my brain did a hop skip and a jump.

Human body that climbs everything and everyone. has killed a bot with some really archaic weapon, lord knows what they'll do with an actual gun. doesn't really talk but communicates through grunts and hand gestures.

plus

Rodimus who just wanted to get a midnight drink - ...Buddy?

cut to Buddy who just stares back at him for a moment before running into the vents.

Rodimus - HEY GET BACK HERE!

Buddy is chaos. There is no stopping them from climbing anything they can get their little hands on.

Hope you enjoy!

Human Buddy who communicates in grunts, noises and likes to climb with Rodimus Prime, Cyclonus, Nautica, and First Aid

SFW, Platonic, Human reader

MTMTE

The crew picked Buddy up from a planet’s flea market.

Buddy looked so miserable and malnourished.

The crew members were outraged seeing a human so far out in space and being treated like this.

Some go off in a corner to think of a plan to get the human without buying them.

Buying them will only make the buyer rich and chase more humans.

Whirl was the one who stole them from the buyers after causing a diversion.

For once Magnus didn’t put him in the brig for stealing them

The human didn’t speak like any normal human and was very distrustful of all the bots.

Except Whirl.

With time the human eventually warmed up to the bots, but they never really learned how to talk.

They were just fine with the grunts and noises.

It was a random name generator that picked their name since many bots had already gone to the brig for wanting to name them and others not agreeing.

Buddy was a simple name.

And they seemed to like it.

But there were some habits the bots picked up on.

Buddy loved to climb anything they could get their little hands on.

This caused much distress and amusement amongst the crew.

Buddy becomes the crew’s mascot/ friend/ gremlin that lives on the ship.

Rodimus

Rodimus likes Buddy.

He even set up a little chair for them on the main bridge in case they wanted to sit there.

He put it there after too many times seeing Buddy trying to climb the chair themselves.

And that one time they did manage to get on the seat and Rodimus nearly sat on them.

That’s why Buddy now has their own chair.

Do they use the new?

Yes and No.

They use it when they are on the main bridge for more than 5 minutes.

But they don’t sit on it.

At least correctly.

The amount of times Buddy has sat down on the chair wrong nearly glitches Ultra Magnus’s circuits.

Buddy knows this and likes to get a laugh out of everyone.

Rodimus is the loudest.

But not everything is fun and games.

Rodimus hates it when Buddy uses the vents.

He’s scared they are going to get lost up there like one of those Earth videos of families not finding their gerbil until they had to cut a hole in the wall and find it deceased.

Buddy, obviously, doesn’t listen to him.

Rodimus came back to his room after a meeting with Magnus and Megatron.

Turns on the light.

Buddy is sitting on his berth eating some chips.

“…Buddy?”--Rodimus

Buddy stares at him before running to the vent on the ground.

“HEY! NO, NO, BUDDY WE TALKED ABOUT THIS!”--Rodimus

Buddy makes some mocking noises in the vent.

“I HEARD THAT!”—Rodimus

Cyclonus

Being one of the bots on board that they were slower to warm up to, Cyclonus does find himself looking after them.

He blames Tailgate for planting the idea in his helm.

He lures Buddy in with treats and by being calm.

Buddy warms up to him eventually.

Cyclonus wants to teach Buddy how to talk so they don’t have to rely on noises or grunts like some unintelligent being.

Buddy was intelligent, they just couldn’t talk or write, that’s all.

He tries his best and sees that Buddy does try their best.

Even if they manage to make a letter sound, is plenty accomplishment for both.

“Repeat after me. Hello.”--Cyclonus

Buddy tries to say but huffs instead.

“No, like this. Hello.”--Cyclonus

Buddy starts making noises that sound like a cat hacking on a hairball.

“…Maybe that’s enough lessons for today.”--Cyclonus

Hacking noises increase.

Nautica

Nautica is one of the crew members that got along the fastest with Buddy.

Maybe it was her being friendly and kind to them.

Or it could also be the snacks she secretly gave to them after their meal.

Who knows?

Buddy has a habit of climbing on her when they want something or need to relax.

They do this with certain bots too, but she still feels honored to be chosen for this job.

All she needs to do is acknowledge Buddy, then be still until they reach the top of her helm or neck cables.

Gives them many head pats.

Buddy looking at Nautica from across the room.

Nautica was talking to Brainstorm about her new wrench.

Buddy walks over and begins to climb her leg.

“EEP! Buddy! You know better to do that without me knowing.”--Nautica

Buddy still keeps on climbing until they reach the top of her helm and just lays there.

“I guess someone wanted some attention?”--Nautica

Buddy huffs but pats her helm.

First Aid

Also, one of the faster members Buddy warmed up to.

But First Aid doesn’t really know why.

He did help Ratchet in making sure they were okay and helped them around the ship, but he didn’t do anything extraordinary for Buddy to like him.

But he is fine with that.

First Aid rather enjoys the company of the smaller human.

He knows Buddy is smart.

One day First Aid came in feeling a bit under the weather and Buddy was making all sorts of gestures and noises to get him out of his desk and to the med slab.

Even trying to carry his digit to the slab.

They knew he wasn’t feeling well and wanted to help, something First Aid found endearing.

However, …

Giving Buddy checkups were 50/50

They could come into the med bay doing everything he said to do and get a treat by the end.

Or…

They would be ‘clawing’ and squirming at everything that came towards them.

First Aid walks into the med bay.

Buddy is sitting on his desk chewing.

“Buddy? Buddy what are you chewing?”—First Aid

Buddy pauses, but then chews faster.

“NO, NO, NO WHAT DO YOU HAVE SPIT IT OUT!” –First Aid

[talewrites]

Fragile Part 2

Generation: Bayverse TMNT

Tmnt x Reader Fanfic

Pronouns: Gender Neutral (except ‘dudette’ and ‘princess’)

Warnings: guns, blood, injury, panic attack, not proof read

Part 1

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The next time you open your eyes, you see a white paneled ceiling. For a horrifying moment, you believe you are back in the lab, and bolt up in bed. An icepack that was resting on your bruised shoulder comically gets flung across the room.

Frantically looking around, you see the inside of a hospital room. But your panic only subsides marginally. You know you are not safe here. You throw off your bed sheets and swing your legs over the side of the bed. But you almost fall off the edge when you suddenly feel the suffocating weight of exhaustion on your limbs. You had been running for your life all night.

You look down and see that you’ve been changed into a hospital gown with a pair of thin papery shorts, and a bracelet on your wrist that reads a name. “Jane Doe”. You rip it off and discard it. A large bandage was stuck to your knee where you had scraped it, and thick gauze were wrapped around your feet. You noted that your arm where the purple mutant had pinched you was heavily sore. You shivered with the familiarity of it. Like the soreness after receiving an injection.

You wondered marginally how much time had passed, and glancing out the open window you saw the sun was getting close to peaking over the horizon. By your guess, you’d barely been out more than 2 hours. You needed to leave. Now. You reach for the IV in your arm, but before you can rip it out, a large thump at the window startles you.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

There in the window sat the large form of one of the turtle mutants. The one with the blue bandana, Leo- your hazy memory recalls. So they were the ones who had brought you here.

“I can’t stay here, I need to go.” You rip out the IV anyways, making the mutant flinch sympathetically. A small trickle of blood traveled down your arm. He gets down from his perch on the windowsill and comes to stand in front of you. He moves to put his hands on your shoulders but hesitates when you flinch away from the touch.

“It’s okay now, they can’t find you. Donnie took out the tracking chip. There are police guards stationed outside-“

“That’s worse!” You didn’t mean to shout, but your anxiety was peaking again.

Leo looked at you with concern.

“They’re going to know to look for me here. The hospital is not safe. The police are not safe. I have to get out of here right now.” You tried to stand up but your legs felt like jelly and you stumbled. A large strong arm caught you around your waist and held you up.

“Now hold on just a minute, what do you mean?” He asked you seriously, lifting you up and setting you back on the bed.

“It’s the Foot. They’re in the police force. They’re tapped into the hospital security cameras. It’s only a matter of time before they find me! Dr Stockman always told me there was no place in this city I could hide from him. He-!” Suddenly a beeping in the room cut you off. You looked around for the source, and Leo quickly pulled a small cracked iPhone from his pocket.

He apologized to you, asking for a moment, and immediately answered the phone. He held the device up to his head as he looked at you sympathetically. But his expression turned serious.

“What?” He responded to the fast report coming in from the speaker. You could barely make out any words. That is, until you heard the last sentence.

“The Foot are inside the building!!!”

Leo’s and your eyes met in shocked panic. You suddenly hear a shout and a grunt from out in the hallway, the sound of the police on duty being subdued.

“We need to go.” Leo said to you, and without wasting anymore time he tucked away his phone and scooped you up just as the door slammed open.

You looped your arms around his neck and held on as he ran for the windowsill. You just barely caught a glance at the figures in black invading the room, pulling out guns and shooting at Leo’s retreating figure as he leapt out the open window. Bullets bounced off his shell.

The chilly air rushed you all at once and stung your bare skin. Then a loud clang and you were jostled as Leo grabbed onto the metal fire escape of the adjacent building.

“Come on fearless, we gotta go!” Shouted Raph from above.

Leo held you with one arm around your waist. “I’m going to need you to hold onto me really tight. Do you think you can do that for me?” He asked you firmly.

You nodded at him, and adjusted your hold tighter around his neck.

“Good. Let’s get you out of here.” He slowly released his hold around your waist, careful you wouldn’t fall, and quickly began scaling the fire escape up the side of the building. Once he got to the roof, he set you down among the other 3 mutants.

The Foot had retreated outside the hospital and some were piling into cars while others began entering the building, taking the stairs up to your location.

“They just won’t quit!” Shouted Donnie from where he was watching over the edge of the building.

“Whatarewegonnadowhatarewegonnado- ouch!” Raph smacked Mikey from where he was guarding the roof door.

“That’s enough Mikey!”

Leo stepped up. “We’re bringing them back to the lair.”

“What?!” The other three shouted in unison.

“We need to get a better grasp of what’s going on. There’s a lot we don’t know. And until we can figure out why Stockman is so desperate to get them back, and find them safe passage out of the city, we keep them safe. At home.” Leo said pointing his finger with finality.

Mikey whooped with excitement. “We’re having a human over!!!”

Donnie smiled.

“I don’t like this fearless.” Gruffed Raph.

“It’ll only be for a little while. They can stay in my room.” Leo assured Raph.

“Aw no fair! I want them to stay in my room!” Mikey complained.

Suddenly loud banging could be heard from the roof access door making him shriek comically. He braced the door and shouted. “They’re here!!”

“Time to move out.” Raph wasted no time and scooped you up like you weighed nothing, making you yelp in surprise. He ran for the edge of the building, you grabbed around his neck and braced yourself, and he leapt off the edge of the building. You buried your face against his chest so you didn’t look down.

Raph snorted. “You holding on tight enough, princess?”

“Me next! Me next!” Begged Mikey as he landed beside you on the next rooftop.

The four of them leaped from rooftop to rooftop, keeping away from the main roads where the Foot in cars tried to follow. The sun was almost up. Eventually you came upon a back alleyway that the mutant turtles quickly descended into, Leo using his katana to loosen and knock away the sewer cover. You were deeply confused until suddenly Raph jumped into the hole and you were assaulted by the sour rotting smell of the New York City sewers. Raph held you while he slid down a sewer pipe, followed by whoops and cheers of the other three. A tell tale clatter of the metal lid being closed behind them.

For what seemed to be a few miles of sliding through pipes and jumping over large water basins and train tracks, they arrived at a wall. You thought they were stopping for a break, until Donnie stepped forward and pulled on a pipe that triggered the wall to open up into a large open room. You looked around in awe as Raph carried you in. There were street signs and neon lights and spray painted art all over the walls. You walked by a small kitchen and a living room with a couch that Mikey promptly flopped into. You saw Donnie trail his way muttering into a dark den full of blue computer screens. But Leo was leading the way towards a shadowed area in the back and you got nervous.

Raph squeezed where he was holding your thigh in reassurance, his expression stoic.

You arrived at a doorway covered by a piece of fabric with Japanese kanji scrawled across it in black ink.

“This is my room. It’s the most clean, so you can stay in here for now.” Leo said walking in and pulling back covers of the pristinely made bed.

Raph followed in and gently sat you down on the edge of the bed, and stepped back to stand against the wall with arms folded.

As soon as you sat on the bed, you truly felt the exhaustion weigh heavily on your body. You felt pain radiate down your legs into your bandaged feet. Tensed shoulders from the stress and bruises. And your eyes felt strained and sore from being on high alert for so long. So much had happened and the gravity of the day came crashing down on you.

The pain and tiredness must’ve been clear on your face, because Leo gave you an empathetic look.

“I’ll grab Donnie to patch up your arm before you go to sleep.” He stood up to leave but you stopped him.

“Where are you going to sleep?” You asked quietly.

Leo smiled kindly. “The couch. That is, if Mikey hasn’t already fallen asleep on it. I’ll be right back.”

Then it was just you and Raph.

It was silent as you looked at each other. Then the thought that had nagged at you earlier that night came back to you.

“How did you all escape?”

“Who?” Raph looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Dr Stockman. How did you get away?”

Now Raph just looked confused.

“Stockman was the one who ran away, not us.”

Suddenly Donnie entered the room with a med kit and Leo followed with a glass of water and an ice pack.

“Hey brainiac, check their head. They’re asking weird questions.”

That seemed to peak Leo’s attention.

“What kind of questions?”

“They asked ‘how we escaped Stockman’.”

Donnie flicked on the bedside table lamp and kneeled in front of you. He pulled out a little light from his pocket and checked your eyes.

“Well I don’t see any signs of a concussion. What did you mean by that exactly?” Donnie asked you, opening the med kit and taking out a packaged alcohol wipe and began to clean the blood off of your arm where the IV had been. You’d forgotten about that. You looked confused as well.

“Dr Stockman mutated the others in the lab, like Bebop and Rocksteady. I didn’t know there were other mutants outside. When did you escape?”

Donnie, Leo, and Raph all stopped and exchanged a look that you couldn’t read. This conversation was drawing on what little energy you had left.

“We weren’t mutated by Stockman. We’ve been like this for about 25 years now.” Donnie answered you.

Your eyes lit up.

“Then… how did you….?”

“That’s a conversation for another time.” Leo interjected.

Raph left the room, and you heard the sound of a smack outside the door followed by Mikey’s whispered “Ow!”

Donnie finished up dressing your arm while Leo supervised. You were starting to sway in place, eyelids heavy as you blinked to stay awake.

“I’ll change your bandages later. Sleep well.” Donnie said with a kind smile before taking the med kit and leaving the room.

“If you need anything, just call for me. I’ll be just outside, okay?” Leo said.

He came up to you as you laid down heavily in his bed, falling asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow. But you were still awake enough to feel the cold press of the ice pack being placed on your bruised shoulder and the blanket being pulled up to your chin.

And then you slept.

A small meeting was called in the living room.

“What are we gonna tell dad?!?!” Mikey squawked and Raph and Donnie shushed him.

“I’m sure he’ll understand! They have no place else to go!”

Leo walked up behind them and joined.

“Donnie’s right. And we’ll text April later. Maybe she can bring them some clothes to wear.”

“Why don’t they just go stay with her?” Raph argued.

“We can’t put April in danger like that, she gets enough heat as it is. We can’t be sure the Foot won’t be tailing her now to find out where we’re keeping them!” Leo persuaded. Things were starting to get a little heated.

Raph confronted him. “And what about us? You heard them! We don’t know what Stockman did to them. They could be dangerous.” Raph and Leo got up in each other’s space. Mikey and Donnie jumped in to try and defuse the situation before a fight broke out.

“Woah woah hey! I think we’re all just a little tired, alright? Let’s all get some sleep.”

“Yeah! I’ll make pancakes! With extra syrup! Then we can talk things out with dudette in the morning. Sounds good?” Mikey bounced enthusiastically.

It was clear on everyone’s face they were all tired from being out until sunrise. So without further arguments, they all left for their own rooms for some much needed rest. Leo grabbing a blanket and promptly passing out on the couch.

Part 3

@itsberrydreemurstuff

@honeysuckleboy

@thecreat0r64

@eli-chris

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Random hybrid! AU idea that I have floating around my head rn (featuring reader x poly!141 dynamics) 😎

So I’m picturing a world where hybrids are often treated like second class citizens. They can have jobs, but they don’t achieve high status in them, and more often than not will have humans manage or mind them. They’re very similar to humans, but often have smaller statures and of course have tails and ears of animals, sometimes even horns or feathers or claws. Generally hybrids will be sent to jobs they’re best suited to according to their ‘breed’.

One of those jobs can be serving in the military, in fact in this AU it’s encouraged for families to send their hybrids to jobs that they can ‘live away’ in just so that the government can curb trends in neglect and stop antisocial behaviour from runaway hybrids. Our MC is one of these hybrids that gets sent away, born to a family of two humans that couldn’t understand how they’d ended up with a kid with defective ‘dog’ genes.

Of course, reader grows up with a chip on their shoulder because of their crappy parents, so pretty much from the get go in their new job they’re a cheeky shit. They don’t take orders well, they’re constantly being disciplined, they mouth off, they’re sloppy and ultimately they don’t want to be there.

However after a brutal few months of punishment reader eventually caves. They do a good enough job that eventually the traits that make them difficult, become the ones that make them hard as nails. They’re the ones that make reader actually proud of something for once in their life, their capability to do what others cannot.

And for years reader serves and does their job well, though never having the black mark of their bad beginnings scrubbed from their record. Other hybrids have soldiers choose them, to be their permanent handlers and serve them on the field for as long as they live. Though reader never gets the pleasure, as much as they start to yearn for someone that might want them, that might wish to train them and take the time to smooth out their still jagged edges. No one ever wants to take the chance. No one wants the onus of shepherding the black sheep.

Then Ghost shows up.

He comes to the grounds and says his Captain, a man named Price, has ordered for a hybrid to join their team. They need one that can keep up in stressful environments, one that can move fast and take orders quickly. He stressed how deadly the jobs would be and immediately the handlers are balking, not wanting to waste their well trained hybrids on a task force with a near constant suicide mission. Until they remember that you’re still around. Little smart mouth sod that you are, wouldn’t be much of a waste if they were back again after disposing of you.

And so you’re pretty much sent off packing with a kick on your arse and a silent but ever inferred ‘don’t fucking come back’ order.

When you first get a proper look at the skull mask clad giant, you’re scared shitless. The handlers had done some damage to you in their time, but this man stood multiple feet above you and could take you out with one swipe. The fear he elicits is enough to keep you quiet for at least 5 minutes until you’re back to your usual self. Back to the wolf that growls and snarls and bites at the bars, the one that tries to keep the hurt at bay with a flash of their bloodied teeth.

Ghost sees through the act right away. He knows how bad hybrids have it, he has an inkling of what you’ve been through. So instead of treating you how they would, instead of grabbing your scruff and going to hit you and slam down that ‘insolent’ personality of yours he shows you the utmost amount of patience and kindness.

He gently undoes your too-tight collar and replaces it with one from his bag. He puts a couple fingers under the leather just to make sure it’s comfortable for you. Even after you grunt at him when he asks if it’s ok, he just huffs out a laugh at you and ruffles the hair between your ears, rubbing a flat palm around your fluffy head. He doesn’t even care when you growl at him for it, something you’d have been lashed for before. Instead he withdraws his hand and respects your space. He even leads you to a car and has you sit in the backseat with him, telling you after that it’s alright to lean against him and get some rest if you’d like!

Already you feel like your defences are shaking loose. You’re not quite sure of yourself. No matter how many snide remarks you make at the man he doesn’t try to correct you, he doesn’t even give you a cuff around the ears. He just shrugs you off and gives you watchful looks, sizing you up and making you feel even tinier than you are.

It unnerves you like nothing else and ultimately, as you start to dose off and slip ever closer to Ghost, you wonder what the rest of his team will be like. You wonder if maybe your new posting is just the change you’d been craving…

[danieyells]

One of the Vagastromers had eagerly come back with some fascinating winnings from Sinostra--some Frostheimer had bet their new car and lost. While the gambling was certainly to be gently chided over, the minor victory over Frostheim was of more value to the Vagastrom general students. There was, however, a small problem that the whole house couldn't figure out--the electronic key hadn't come with the car, and they couldn't turn it on in the first place.

Alan, after examining the vehicle, went to the only person he knew could help.

"Oooh, not a bad ride." Leo circled the car, dainty fingers running over the smooth, shiny exterior. "These things aren't even a year old. You really screwed that guy, I bet his daddy'd whip his ass if he were here."

He sat atop the car's hood, enjoying the eager eyes on him. "Yeah, I could crack one of these. Shouldn't be too hard."

He resisted the urge to wince as the bunch whooped and high fived with the secured victory. Always so loud at the littlest things. Alan gave him a nod and Sho sighed, going to fetch Leo's 'work' laptop for him.

A few hours(and a non-insignificant payment) later, and Leo handed the Vagastrom student's phone back to him. "There. Bluetooth car key. Make sure your phone's charged or no getting in the car without me."

The general student eagerly thanked him, promising to return the favor later despite already paying him, then turned to his friends as he opened the doors, telling them to get in for a ride. Another little chorus of cheers went through them and they made their way into the vehicle for a drive that hopefully wouldn't get the car confiscated by Darkwick.

"Good job." Alan grunted from where he'd been looming above Leo quietly, having finished maintenance on some of the vehicles in the garage shortly before. Leo predicted his next move, carefully catching his arm with both hands.

"Nope!!!" Leo yelped, tilting his head away to glare up at the Captain. Alan flinched a little, uncertain what was wrong. "Do not pat my head with those oily hands, Cap! We are not getting that shit in my hair today."

"Ah." Alan pulled his hand away to examine it. Although he's been wearing his gloves while working it was, in fact, blackened with motor oil and grime. Leo examined his own hands and clicked his tongue in irritation. He'd saved his hair, but not his skin. "Sorry."

"C'mere." Leo sighed, shutting his laptop with his elbow. He stood and shuffled and scooched it under his arm without using his hands, then grabbed Alan's large wrist and began to guide him to the stairs. Alan, having had gotten closer to Leo and Sho than he'd intended, was oddly becoming used to being led by the little influencer and followed him up the stairs.

When they reached Leo's door he paused and glanced at his hand again before grimacing. He reached over and wiped the oil on Alan's shirt(which hardly bothered Alan himself, as it was already somewhat oily) to the best of his ability before opening it and bringing Alan inside. He'd just wipe it down later.

Finally, Leo led him into his spacious bathroom and the broad vanity top, turning the hot water on high in the sink. Immediately he thrust Alan's hands under the flow of water.

"I know how to wash my own hands. . . ." Alan grumbled as Leo helped to spread the hot water over Alan's large hands with his small ones. "The water's too hot."

"Hot water gets oil off. Suck it up." Leo pulled Alan's hands from under the stream and grabbed the bar of soap he used for washing his hands before placing it into Alan's hands. He rubbed and lathered it into a frothy, sweet-selling lather all over his fingers. Leo grabbed the soap and rubbed it a over Alan's wrists and an inch or two further up before he could wash it off, then grabbed a small brush with hard bristles and furiously worked the dirt out from under Alan's nails. "Your nails are disgusting. I don't just mean from the dirt--why are they so chipped. And your cuticles--I'll be here all day if I keep this up."

Stopped himself from forcefully manicuring the nails of someone who wouldn't appreciate it, Leo shoved Alan's soapy hands back under the steaming hot water and let him rinse them clean. "Dry them with the blue striped towel. Don't touch anything else!"

While Alan dried his hands, Leo washed his own, grabbing a paper towel to dry them with and shut the water off. Alan resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck, sure he would somehow end up being made to wash his hands again if he did so. "Thanks. They're just gonna get dirty again, though."

Leo hummed in acknowledgement and watched Alan impatiently, arms crossed. Alan, confused, looked towards the exit behind Leo. Leo cleared his throat in exaggeration and glared up at him.

". . .What is it?"

"You can pat me now."

Alan blinked and took a moment to process this. "Ah. Got it."

Alan sat his large hand on top of Leo's head, and pat him a few times. Leo smiled, proud of himself, and lifted his head into it, even standing on his toes a little. He tilted his head so Alan's hand would land against his cheek, then grabbed his wrist to hold him still again, rubbing his face into Alan's freshly cleaned hands like a cat. Uncertain what to do, Alan held his hand still until Leo released him.

"Alright! I'm satisfied! Get out." Leo chirped with a smile, moving past him to fix his slightly disheveled hair.

"Oh. Alright." Alan dropped his arm back to his side and made his way out the bathroom and back to the main part of the garage. "Thanks for helping that guy."

"I made money off of it, he gets to ride his fancy car, some nobody in Frostheim lost, everyone was happy. It's whatever! Don't touch anything but the doorknob on your way out. I already have to clean the floor after your filthy boots were in here. . . ."

[unanimouslalablah]

Grunt Household, 1983

Buzz Grunt was more than happy to take over his father's place in the military, to the point where he spent more time training than with his girlfriend Lyla, who he thinks is lazy and unmotivated.

Missy worked very hard to keep the Grunt gamely together, especially since she grew up in a single family household, and dealt with a lot of trauma/scrutiny due to it. General Chip's sternness and disciplined mindset attracted her to him.

General Chip was told by his family to not marry that "love child" Missy, but her mindset and intelligence in her view of everything really caught his attention. She was the one risk he took in life, and he's thrilled with that one choice.

Both were heavily involved in the politics and upper society of Strangetown, and were more than thrilled with how they helped build Strangetown. They had the perfect family and perfect lifestyle

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Study Bunny (Prodigal Son One-Shot)

Martin Whitly x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

Summary: You ride Martin's thigh.

CW: daddy kink, medical talk, possessive behaviour(ish)

Prodigal Son: @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Martin was far too perceptive for his own good, you thought. He always seemed to know exactly what you were thinking even before you did. It was a little uncanny, to be completely honest. If this was the twenty-four hundreds or something, you would have been concerned that he’d implanted thought reader chips in your head or something. 

“Oh, my dear,” he’d said one day when you’d questioned him about his ability to know what you were thinking- not about the chips. “I’m just exceptionally good at reading people.” 

You weren’t really sure whether it was people in general, or just you. He did spend an awful lot of time with you, after all. It made sense he’d get used to you enough to read your face. 

Anyway, you were thinking about all this while perched in his lap in his study. Martin was peering over some anatomical diagrams in preparation for a surgery he had in the morning. You’d been planning to leave him alone to his study, but you had found yourself in his lap somehow anyway. That sort of thing had a tendency to happen, you’d noticed. 

What could you say? Martin was a convincing man. And quite cuddly. How could one resist such temptation? 

“Dear, you’re staring again,” Martin commented without looking at you. You blinked twice, clearing your brain from the fog that had been seeping through the corners. 

“Was I? Sorry,” you replied sheepishly, dropping your head onto his shoulder. Martin chuckled, and you saw his cheek muscles move with his smile. He sighed and put the paper down on the desk. He turned his attention towards you and placed both his hands on your hips. 

Your breath hitched ever so slightly, and the sharpening of Martin’s gaze let you know that he did not fail to notice it either. 

“Mm,” he hummed thoughtfully. “Interesting. You know, I’ve noticed you tend to have heightened feelings of arousal and hormone spiking around the mid-month mark.” 

You blinked. Did you? 

“Yes, my dear. Interesting, I know.” 

You felt his fingertips press a little harder into your hips, and the resulting whimper it pulled out of you was as embarrassing as it was telling. Martin chuckled- a wolf’s grin on his lips, and dragged your hips just slightly against his thigh. 

You bit your lip, taking the initiative and rocking yourself ever-so-slightly against his thigh. Martin grinned wider if that were possible, and leaned back in his chair so he could appreciate the sight in front of him. 

You rolled your hips harder, delighting in the jolt of pleasure ricocheting up your spine. Martin let out what could only be a possessive growl and pushed his knee up for you to rut against. 

“That’s it. Fuck, my love. Stunning,” he grunted, voice like gravel. “Watching you fuck yourself on my thigh like this? Fucking gorgeous, my dear.” 

You whimpered, pleasure shooting up your nerve endings and setting you alight. Your muscles were aching with strain, but the pleasure far outweighed the delicious stretch and burn. 

Martin started bouncing his knee, sending jolts of pleasure into the mix, giving you a different sensation to take your ecstasy from. 

“Mm, maybe I’ll have to conduct a little study on you- when do you reach your hormonal cycles? How do we measure when they’ll be coming up?” Martin leaned in to whisper darkly in your ear, saying, “when are you most pathetic for my cock? Hmm? Yes, I know, dear. Pathetic little thing just wants to cum.” 

You were getting close now, having him speak to you like this and with his hands on your hips rocking you against him- you would never have lasted long, anyway.

“Would you like that? Daddy’s little study bunny? Oh, look at you. Yes, I know,” he growled possessively, eyeing you hungrily, all thoughts of his upcoming surgery forgotten. “Fucking cum for me, my love.” 

And cum you did, whimpering and moaning as your hips jerked against him erratically, releasing with such vigour that your whole body shook atop him- much to his delight. 

“That’s it. Oh, my good little dove.” 

You panted, dropping your head back onto his shoulder and letting out a giggle as the endorphins flooded your system. 

“Fuck, I love you,” you panted. 

“I love you, too, my dear,” Martin replied, pressing a soft kiss to your sweaty forehead and turning back to pick his papers back up. 

“I’ll just finish these notes and we can retire for the night,” he said, already losing himself in the papers. You nodded, yawning tiredly. 

“Sounds good to me, beloved.”

[hannie-dul-set]

Embarrassing Heeseung x embarrassed reader or someone other than Hee whtv you want... I only think of him for this tropeedkmf...

[sweet venom]. there’s nothing in the world more potent than desire. it overwhelms, senses taken by the singularity of want— the want for something, anything— everything, gnawing at the veins that pulsate under thin flesh. everything is blurry save for the very object of that desire, a vivid clarity amidst countless gray abstractions.

“i’m hungry.”

and when that desire is combined with your shameless boyfriend’s bloodthirsty appetite—

“can i bite you?”

—things are bound to get a little bit dangerous.

heeseung must have forgotten that you’re in the middle of a party right now (and in the middle of a conversation with jay about extraterrestrial life). or maybe he simply doesn’t care, because jay’s face of absolute judgemental disgust across the kitchen counter doesn’t seem to affect him at all, either. “get a room, you freaks,” your friend says before evacuating the area with a can of OB, and he takes that as a green light to go all up in your space.

your own can feels cold to the touch in your palm. jay might have evacuated, but there’s still jake and jungwon in the kitchen entryway. sunoo just walked in too, to snag a bag of chips from the counter— who, in fact, just became an unwilling witness to lee heeseung getting elbowed in the rib after trying to nibble on your neck.

“oh my god.”

literally trying to nibble on your neck, because you just felt his fangs graze your skin a little just before you managed to push him off. “heeseung,” you hiss, scolding him. it’s a good thing most people’s thoughts usually lean towards usual hormonal behavior instead of vampirism when witnessing a scene such as this.

still. it doesn’t redact from sunoo’s sense of violation at the sight. “seriously? right in front of my chips?” you turn to sunoo, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. which is bad, because heeseung twitches from behind you and suddenly tugs you closer and wraps his arms around your waist. you feel his uncaring breath in the space between your neck and shoulders, sending shivers down your spine, but more than that— you feel embarrassed as fuck right now.

someone ought to put this bloodsucker on a freaking leash.

“haha, sorry about that.” you elbow him again. again. and again, because the fucker just won’t budge. a mindless groan drawls out from his throat like he’s drunk on something, and you flinch. shit. good thing it was low enough for only you to hear. not good thing is how you can feel two significant sharp points of pain pressing into your skin. “heeseung, get a fucking grip.”

he interprets that as tightening his grip around your waist. god damn it. you mutter a few silent prayers to mother mary up above.

“i’ll pretend i didn’t see anything.”

“thank you, i appreciate that.”

your face still burns, but when sunoo turns around and turns a blind eye to heeseung’s shameless display of indecency, you immediately latch onto one of his arms and pry him off you, dragging him out the back door before he makes a mess out of you in sunghoon’s kitchen (not the hot kind. the bloody kind).

surprisingly, he doesn’t protest as you manhandling him out the door with a grunt, locking it shut before you submerge him and you in between the bushes and night and the outside panels of the house. does he want everyone to find out that he’s a life-sized mosquito? you wonder, but with that hazy look in his eyes, you doubt he’s thinking of anything besides wanting to leave a pretty mark on your neck— maybe a few if you’re feeling generous.

but you’re not, because you’re pretty sure they’re gossiping about you inside the house right now. “heeseung,” you sternly start. heeseung is batting his eyes at you expectantly. you want to punch him in the face. “we’re in public. what the fuck?”

he says nothing for a moment. silent, before he makes a very astute observation.

“not anymore.”

you blink at him.

well.

he’s…he’s right about that one, isn’t he?

“heeseung— ah—!”

desire is a dangerous thing. it makes people believe you ditched the party to mess around with your boyfriend, when in reality his feeding time is just overdue. but really—

“more,” heeseung grunts, a sharp taste of breathless iron on your tongue as he trails up from your neck to your mouth. “need more.”

—there’s not much difference when desire muddles the line in between.

[bigball-thefrog]

Bath-Time Crocodile X Reader pt2

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Pt1

I wasn't originally going to do a part 2 but I was asked to in the comments by @llynx7 so it took me a bit to think of a part 2 but I hope it's good enough you enjoy it :)

Warnings/Tags:

Lime

Massage

Bathing with significant other

Accidental genital touching

Implied sex at the end

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Reader POV

It's been a few months since I first took that bath with Crocodile. Our relationship has actually improved a lot! It went from it being our monthly bath to him wanting to bath together almost every day. He's less grumpy when we go out, we go on more dates, he's just more affectionate in general even when we're in private.

He came home and sat on the couch tired and looking exhausted and sweaty. I sat down next to him and he pulled me into his lap. "Is the bath ready?" He asked as he placed his head on my shoulder. "Yes but unfortunately I accidentally made it too hot that I think it would make you more stressed..." I said. He groaned and sat up straight, "Now what? I need that bath and my shoulders are killing me!" His tone was slightly raised and he looked annoyed now. I sat there thinking about how I could still make him happy, and then it struck. "Hey honey, can you lay on your stomach?" "Why?" "Just trust me, I have an idea of what we can do while we wait." Crocodile sighs as he takes me off his lap. He lays face down on the couch and looks back at me, I take off his coat and climb on top of him, straddling his lower back, "What the hell are you doing!?" he snaps sounding a bit nervous. I lean down and whisper to him, "Just trust me, remember I want nothing but the best for you." He sighs and rests his head on his arms. I place my hands on his shoulders and began working away at all the stress built up in his back. It was as hard as a rock with many years of pent up stress, despite the absolute boulder of stress this man has on his back I started to chip away at his stress determined to make him feel more relaxed. He let out a few grunts and sighs and even one or two moans as I put more pressure on his back to crack it a few times.

After about 30 minutes his back was finally free of knots and didn't feel as hard as a rock anymore but more soft and relaxed as the dessert sand, quite fitting I must say. I gave his shoulders a few more squeezes and got off him. He groaned as he sat up facing away from me and only turned hi head to look at me, "Do you think the water is ready yet?", "Well it should be ready by no-" "Go and get in so long, I just need to do something first..." I looked at him a little confused but shrugged it off and went to the bathroom. I stripped down and got in, the water still warm and relaxing. I layed back and waited for Crocodile. I eventually was gonna get out to check on him but stopped when he walked in with his head down and his coat held in front of him and a dark blush on his face. "Honey are you okay?" "I'm fine! Just... Don't look while I get undressed okay?" he said with a hint of embarrassment as he turned around. I was confused because we've seen each other naked a few times now so why is it different this time?

I closed my eyes and waited for him to get in. Instead of him getting in behind me he got in, in front of me with his back towards me and leaned back onto me. Holding back the air trying to escape my lungs from his weight on me I moved back and moved my legs around his waist. "C-Crocodile Honey? What are you doing?" "Just... Just felt like leaning on you for a change, is that wrong?" he snapped back with a slightly annoyed tone I shook my head no and he leaned on me again. I just sighed as I grabbed the soap and started washing him. I washed his shoulders, arms, hair and back and was making my way to the front when I felt him start to tense up. I tried asking him what's wrong again but he refused to say anything, I made my way down his chest and abdomen making sure to clean carefully, I touched his hips and that's when he really tensed up, I thought nothing of it and continued cleaning, but then I felt something stiff. I was confused on what it was so I put both my hands around it and started feeling it up. It was long and very thick, when I got to the top of whatever it was I tapped it carefully to try and figure out what it was, Crocodile moan and let out a shudder as I did, why would he.... Oh... Oh no...........

"Crocodile is that your......?" "Yes. Yes it is..." We both sounded embarrassed as I realized what I was touching. "I am so sorry..." "Please just... Can we just stop talking about it?" "Alright, I'm sorry... Was it.. Was it because of the massage?" "Yes, yes it was..." We then sat in awkward silence in the bath, neither of us wanting say or do anything now, eventually I got out the bath and grabbed my towel. "Where are you going?" He said as he watched me get out. "Sorry sweetie the awkwardness is just too much to handle, I feel like I'm gonna pass out with all the blood running to my cheeks, I'll just... I'll leave you alone for a bit..." I turned to leave but Crocodile quickly gripped my wrist and pulled me back, "Crocodile, what're you-" "You said you wanted to make me feel relaxed right? Well I think I have the perfect way you can help me relax~" I was gonna ask what he meant when he suddenly ripped off my towel with his hook, I gasped loudly and tried to cover myself. Crocodile chuckled and caressed my body with his cold hook, sending shivers down my body, "Yes, this will do perfectly~" he said as a smirk grew on his face. He put his hook under my chin and slightly lifted it up so I could look at him, "Now sweetheart, get back in he tub~"

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I know I said once a week but some stuff came up with my dental problems and I'm starting exams soon so I'm a bit stressed rn but to make it up I'll try to post two one-shots this week :) Also if you haven't seen it I've updated my rules list and I will now try and do smit one-shots as well. Please be aware I haven't written smut before so it will most likely not be good but I hope you enjoy anyway.

Kelly🐸

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 9

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“Scuse me, buttercup,” Dotty climbs up on one of the high stools along the craps table, “oh, look at this tall drink of water.”

You come up beside her, crossing your arms over the leather trim as she leers at the man next to her. You haven’t missed the comments or how she runs stream of mind, much like her son. It explains a little but not enough. You still don’t understand Lloyd, or was it Marion?

“You here alone, lovely?” She continues on, “if so, I think it’s my lucky day. I should run the table, huh?”

“He’s not,” a woman with cherry curls leans around the man caught in the crossfire, “he’s very much not alone.”

“No harm in askin’,” Dotty chirps as she places her chips on the table, “lotta cuties wanderin’ ‘round, don’t you worry, honey. You have fun with yours.”

The woman grabs the man and tugs on his arm. He sighs and collects his single stack before letting her drag him away. You watch Dotty as she chuckles.

“Oh, them young ones get so testy,” she chimes, “I like to rile ‘em up a little.”

“Uh huh,” you hum and toss in a chip as the dealer prompts for a bet.

“Not you though, I can sense it. ‘Sides, Pookie don’t like the insecure ones, ya know? He needs a girl gonna pull him around by his mustache.”

“He’s… unique,” you agree.

“Oh, he’s always been a special one. Me and Harley knew it from the start. ‘Fraid we didn’t do too good about the only child complex. He does love attention.”

“That’s one way to put it,” you scoff as your money is swiped away with a loss. Dotty on the other hand and handed a generous pot.

“Ah, you know the men folk, they gotta put on the brave face but they’re all melt like sugar in water once they got a woman’s hand around there… well,” she cackles shrilly and pushes her winning backs into the centre to wager. She either doesn’t care or doesn’t realise the risk. “Let me tell you, Harley lumbers ‘round like that Frankenstein fella, barely a word to be heard, but I get him on his back and he’s whimpering like a giddy puppy.”

“Dot,” you gasp.

She laughs and waves away your surprise, “like father, like son, I’m sure. You don’t gotta play coy with me. And knowin’ Lloyd, you don’t need any tips, neither. Oh, but we did try something new. Hon, you ever play around with hot wax–”

“Right, uh, no, not, um, yet?” You clear your throat awkwardly, the conversation veering well out of your control. She really is a lot like Lloyd.

“Too bad, but I think you’ll like your wedding present. We had it sent to your room for tonight,” she explains as another gambler takes the seat at her other side. She turns to greet the stranger with her fuschia painted smile, “oh, hello! You ready to lose?”

The man grunts and offers little rebuttal as he puts in for the pot. You pass as Dotty puts her elbow up on the table, “oh, wow, is that a tattoo? Oh, lord, can I see?”

You watch her long acrylics graze the man’s arm brazenly. She is the biggest flirt in the world. You’re happy enough to fade into her shadow. 

“Uhhhh,” the man drones in confusion.

“I been thinking of getting one, ‘bout time I’d say,” she pushes her chest out and puts her hands to her tits, “was thinkin’ a little bumble bee on the one and a honey pot on the other.”

The stranger chuckles, “cute, er, it’s just a lion,” he unbutton his shirt to reveal the rest of the snarling beast, only its mane visible previously along the edge of his collar. Dotty touches his firm peck and traces the line with her fingertip.

“Oh, you're so strong,” she preens, “did it hurt?”

“Little,” the man doesn’t pull away, apparently too dumbfounded to stop the groping.

“Dot,” you hiss and nudge her, “maybe we should move on–”

“And how’s a man like you all alone?” She ignores you.

“Well, I… I’m waiting for my buddies,” he shrugs as she caresses his chest and reluctantly pulls away.

“Early bird,” she praises, “what are you and your buddies doin’ in a place like this?”

“Bachelor party,” he answers, “gonna play some tables, see where the night leads.”

“Sounds delightful,” she claps and kicks her feet cheerily, “oh my, where are my manners, I’m Dotty, in my day they called me Naughty Dotty, and this is my daughter.” You give a small wave as she introduces you with a wave of her hand, “she just got married herself but you see, she didn’t get no bachelorette, so we’re here doin’ our best.”

“Oh, um,” the man leans over, “congrats, I, um, I’m Colin.”

You withhold a cringe. Of course that’s his name. Of course. You smile as Dotty squeezes his arm, “do you mind if maybe we tag along til your friends come around…” she gives a dramatic look around, “got all these creeps hangin’ around and I’m a small town girl, I wouldn’t mind a strong man to scare ‘em off.”

“Ah, sounds alright,” he says with a lilt of confusion.

“I’ll give you half my winnings even,” she offers, “big boy like you, you could take the whole pot.”

You try to hide your amusement as the man blushes. You lean over and lower your voice, “Dotty, maybe you should tone it down?”

“Nonsense, I love my husband,” she whispers back, “ain’t nothing wrong with a little flirting,” she shifts and covers her mouth, “he likes to fuck me when I tell him all about the young ones.”

Your eyes round and try not choke on your tongue. Well, this is gonna be an interesting night. Far from what you expected.

💎

“Dot, Dot, Dot!” The chant fills your ears as the half-dozen men slam their fists on the table.

Your mother-in-law tips the tall glass back as she drains it with ease, a trickle slipping down to her chin as she gulps down the lager. Your purgatory feels rather dull as you sip at a glass of tame lemonade and watch with startled fascination. She finishes and raises it in victory before plunking it down.

“You’re turn, baby boy,” she points at the thick blond with his burly shoulders, “take that shirt off.”

You shake your head. Your pleas for her to settle have gone unheard and at this point, you can only enjoy the show. It’s actually pretty amused by the whole show. You wonder if Lloyd knows about his mother’s antics. Either way, you can’t say it’s a boring night.

The man, Justin, shifts as another moves along the bench and he lays across the leather. He lifts his shirt and Colin puts a shot in his belly button before stepping back. Dotty bends to squeeze a trickle of lime along his stomach and licks the trail down to the glass before taking it in her mouth and standing to throw it back.

The men cheer again as she wobbles slightly in her heels. Your own feet are screaming from the strappy monstrosities you’d walked the expanse of the casino in. Dotty climbs up to straddle Justin and throws her arm up like a cowboy as she pretends to ride him like a horse.

“Okay, wow,” you shove your lemonade aside, “Dotty, I think it’s a bit late,” you stand as you raise your voice.

“Nooooo,” the symphony of male voices rumbles around you.

“Yes,” you insist as you grab her elbow and turn to speak to her directly, “what about Lloyd? Harlan?”

“They can wait, the night is young–”

“It’s after midnight,” you say.

“Oh, ain’t nothin’ wrong with some fun,” she warbles as she shakes you off, “eh.”

She reaches drunkenly to your strap and pulls it down your shoulder. You curse as your tit pops out and you quickly cover it back up as the men cheer again.

“Don’t she got a set, boys,” she trills and pushes herself off Justin. She faces you and gropes your chest, “come on and get a feel–”

“Woah, woah, stop,” you catch her wrists and shove her away.

“Yeah, stop,” a deep timbre undercuts the din, “ma.”

Dotty’s head wobbles as you both turn to face Lloyd. He doesn’t look impressed as his mother catches your arm and leans on you heavily. She giggles as you give him a look between desperation and shame.

“Pa’s waiting,” Lloyd marches forward and clutches her other elbow.

“Eh, who are you?” Colin comes up behind Dotty.

“This is my son,” Dotty strokes Lloyd’s sleeve lovingly, “isn’t he so cute?”

“Alright, let’s go,” Lloyd snarls as he pulls her forward, her heels clacking under her as you take her other arm, “sweet cheeks,” he speaks over her head, “hope you didn’t get your fill.”

[thelittlestspider]

Mr. Brightside

ships: Matt/Peter (one-sided), Matt/Foggy (one-sided), Peter/MJ, Matt/Glorianna

Summary: Peter sets out to befriend Matt and unexpectedly falls for him. Unfortunately, Matt loves someone else.

Chapter one

Peter doesn’t know when it starts exactly. This crush he has on Matt Murdock. Aka Daredevil.

He thinks maybe it starts because Matt is nice to him (despite Peter making an ass of himself). At first he’s just this stoic badass Peter runs into sometimes out on patrol. Then Peter finds out his secret identity and well, it piques his interest. So he starts hanging around, tries to make an effort to get to know him better.

At first Matt hides from him. Probably trying to shake off what he feels is an annoying kid tailing him. So Peter parks it on a rooftop with some food and talks to Matt. He figures worst case scenario Matt ignores him or tells him to shut up; best case scenario he eats with Peter. It gets his attention either way.

It takes a while. Long enough for Peter to wonder if Matt really just doesn’t like him at all and wants him to go away. Then finally after two weeks, Matt shows up. He melts out of the darkness like a red shadow, looming over Peter with an annoyed look on his face. Peter’s spider sense is quiet.

“Who are you talking to?” Matt demands, frowning. He crosses his arms, glaring down in Peter’s general direction.

“You,” Peter answers, grabbing a chip out of the bag, scooping some guac and shoving it in his mouth. He makes sure to chew extra obnoxiously. Matt’s face twitches, frowning deeper.

"Why?"

“Well, I was hoping to find someone to share this with…” Peter rattles the bag of chips. “But if you’re not interested…”

Matt plops down next to him, snatching the bag away. He takes a glove off and digs around in the bag, looking for the perfect chip. Then upon finding the perfect one, scoops up a big bite of guacamole with tomato and onion, shoving it into his mouth. He chews aggressively like he’s determined not to enjoy it. Then lets out an annoyed breath through his nose.

“That’s really fucking good,” he says.

“See D? That wasn’t so bad.” Peter bumps Matt with his elbow. “Sometimes it’s good to have friends.”

Matt gets a funny look on his face then. Like he isn’t used to people wanting to be his friend. Which is kind of sad. Peter had seen Matt in his fancy suit with his fancy lawyer job, and assumed Matt had people falling over themselves to get to him.

“Is that what we are?” asks Matt.

Peter smiles.

“If you want to be.”

Matt’s quiet then. As if he’s listing the pros and cons of being Peter’s friend. If it was anyone else Peter might have been a little offended. But he figures this is Matt’s way of processing things; he has to carefully consider things, weighing them like a baby bird cupped in his hands.

Then a quiet “Okay.”

Peter can’t stop grinning.

.

Peter’s mission to befriend Matt is slow going, but successful. Matt lets slip little things from his personal life: stuff that happens at work, people he hangs out with, goons he fights. Peter gets the impression Matt is kind of a lonely guy. He thinks maybe that’s part of what drew him to Matt in the first place; the fact they’re both loners. Weird guys who don’t really fit in. (Not that the vigilantism helps with that).

The only civilian friend Peter hears about is Foggy. The rest are either dates or coworkers. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but...it sounds awful lonely.

They’re stopping a robbery when Peter finally gets the nerve to ask Matt to hang in their civvies.

“Hey D,” Peter dodges a hit from Dickhead #1 while Matt roughs up Dickhead #2. “You wanna hang out sometime?”

Matt grunts. “Don’t we already do that?”

“Well, I mean yeah.” Peter webs up Dickhead #1, then jumps feet first onto Dickhead #3 before he can draw his gun. “But I was thinking we could hang outside of work? You, me, a pizza, pack of beers. It could be fun.”

They take care of the rest of the goon squad and Peter leaves them webbed up. He doesn’t really care what happens when he’s not there. Either the cops will get them or the victims will beat the shit out of them. Whatever.

“So,” Matt starts. “Beer and pizza, huh?”

They’re swinging fifty feet in the air, giddy with the relief of stopping people dying. Laughing and whooping as they race each other through the city to Peter’s apartment. Matt wins.

“Cheater.”

Matt laughs.

“Sore loser.”

The two of them start play fighting after they slip through Peter’s window into his bedroom. Somehow they end up wrestling on the bed and Peter lets Matt pin him, the two of them laughing.

"C'mon, you're not even trying!" Matt laughs, holding Peter's wrists.

Peter smirks.

"Oh no, whatever will I do," he deadpans. Matt shoves at his face and Peter laughs, shoving him back. He lets his head rest on the bed, looking up at Matt. He's a good looking guy, Peter notes, obvious even under the mask. Square jaw. Generous lips. Straight nose. He looks like he could be a movie star. Or an angel.

There’s something about Matt that draws him in. At first he thought it was just him thinking Matt was cool. The need to get closer to him, impress him, make him laugh. But then he started looking at him too close, noticing things about him. The freckles on his face. The fullness of his lips. His muscles and the way his suit clings to them.

Peter wonders how soft his lips are. What sounds he makes when he comes.

It's so quiet. The air feels thick in the silence. Matt is a warm weight on top of him. Peter's hands rest on Matt's thighs, thick with muscle. Matt seems to realize then what a compromising position they're in and clears his throat.

"Well, I um. I better get going."

He gets off of Peter and makes for the window, trying to escape this awkward situation as fast as possible. Peter listens to him climb down the fire escape, then puts his hands over his face.

I'm in trouble, Peter thinks.