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Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.

“Ask me if I fuck pans and I’ll hit you with one.” Requested by @xmicrxn Free to save. Credit if you use anywhere. Requests are open!

everyone who reads this post will get some big spicy joy within 24 large minutes (hours)

“When in doubt, go to the library.”

— J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

SPIDER-MAN GOJO SPIDER-MAN GOJO SPIDER-MAN GOJO SPIDER-MAN GOJO SPIDER-MAN GOJO SPIDER-MAN GOJO 😍😩🤭🫠🤤🥴

in your web of lies - s. gojo

summary: as a devoted student of science, you put all your time just to that. Misfortune falls upon you when you are faced with being in the same class as satoru gojo, your longtime academic rival and essentially the bane of your existence. It goes one step further when his strange behavior seems to get even stranger as the web slinging hero of New York suddenly swings into your life. . . not that there's any correlation.

pairing: spiderman!gojo x fem!reader

warnings: college au, excessive banter, guns, violence, death/bloodshed mentioned, sexual content, smut, porn with plot, mentions of SA, p in v, oral sex, missionary, doggy style, riding, little sprinkle of dirty talk

a/n: this is based off the spiderman gojo art by @ aliyartss on instagram!

First weeks of any semester are always brutal.

The sound of traffic clogging and polluting the streets, brutal. The beginning of ringing headaches from the lack of sleep, brutal. The start of all-nighters to complete homework and study, brutal.

That’s just a small piece of the brutality that follows college students.

At least that’s what most students can relate to.

You glance over at Shoko, next to you as you settle into class. Being miles ahead of schedule was always way better than being even a second behind. So walking into the small lecture room ten minutes before class plays in your favor even if it was Professor Yaga’s class, the same professor you’ve had for two past semesters already.

“You look a little annoyed,” Shoko comments while flipping through her notebook.

“Sorry—I had a bit of a fight last night with my Dad,” you sigh out, shaking your head. Your finger slides along the edge of your own notes. “And I guess I’m just a little stressed about everything. The JJ Tech guys are having me spend extra hours and I can hardly get an hour to myself in the day.”

“Well chin up, we’ve got a long lab ahead of us today,” Shoko tapped playfully against your chin, her eyes down on her papers.

“Hm, right,” you mumble, eyes drooping at the chalkboard. “Wonder how you’re getting through this lab by yourself.”

“Hey, Satoru is my lab partner. You shouldn’t worry too much about that,” she chides. Shoko has a habit of not looking at you when she’s in the middle of doing something while conversating. “You seem like you have something else on your mind. You wanna talk about your dad?”

You eyeball the warmup problem he has on the board, jotting it down in your notebook. Your mind races with that conversation you had with your father just last night. How he wanted to have an assigned detail with you on campus, safely getting you to and from class. You have enough to worry about with finally shifting to yours and Utahime’s new apartment in a few short weeks without having to think about your dad.

Your impending argument was scheduled to continue once you saw him again since you didn’t even have a fighting chance when he got a call about a high-profile criminal striking again. You wonder just what could have transpired last night, apparently there were witnesses that sighted him.

“Not really.”

His fingers trail down the side of his torso, eyes screwing shut when he grazes that sensitive expanse of skin. Throbbing mercilessly, he hisses through clenched teeth, opening his eyes and glancing at the banged-up mirror on his wall.

That skintight suit was still clinging to his body like glue. He tears his mask off his head, tousling his white locks in the process. His head tips back when his gloved fingers brush over that tender place on his side.

A series of slow, deliberate breaths travel past his lips. Mindlessly, he reaches for a vial of painkillers. He doesn’t even count how many he tips into his waiting palm before popping them into his mouth and chasing them down bitterly with a bottle of water.

The boy grunts out as he falls back onto his bed, hoping he could sleep the soreness off before class tomorrow.

RING! RING!

Those eyes of his that had just shut after eons of forcing himself to stay alert and prepared for any attack were cruelly wrenched open once more.

RING! RING!

Another blasted alarm sounded from across his room, an alarm clock he simply can’t punch to snooze as he’d already bought a new one after abusing his previous two.

Satoru sat up, wincing at the sting on his side.

He groaned, gruffly peeling that suit off his body. Thoughts of the day ahead warped his mind. He had spent all night traipsing rooftops, swinging through the streets in pursuit of a gang of sloppy bank robbers.

He usually had fun trailing and taking down thuggish rogues, picking them off and bringing them to justice ever so casually. He got to feel the rush of the midnight air as he swung from building to building, between the streets. Arms and legs easily stretching and freely moving without a care in the world.

He loves it.

Last night, he had run that stolen van off the road without much effort. Everything went swimmingly until he had foolishly been launched into a brick wall mid-chase.

That had caused him to lose a bit of coordination during the fight that ensued shortly after. After stringing them up with his webs, he had swung back home only to stop yet another mugger on the way.

Once he had finally returned the woman’s stolen purse and made sure she got home safely, he gave himself the same protocol.

He tries to rush out of the apartment as soon as possible. He had enough on his plate to worry about with school, he could hardly keep up with his nighttime activities.

No, not that. His work as a vigilante made it difficult to have even a moment to himself. Let alone the fact his internship at JJ Technologies started earlier this month as well. So yes, he has enough on his plate with no room to spare for the breakfast his conscience had suggested.

“Yo! Suguru!” Satoru calls. He is jolted out of his thoughts when he approaches his best friend right by the theology building.

“Oh, what’s up?” Suguru turned around. “You watch the game last night?”

“Wha—no,” Satoru shakes his head, pushing his glasses up. He sheepishly sighs, “You know I’ve been busy with the internship and with homework.”

“Oh right,” Suguru mumbles teasingly. “The internship? Speaking of, did you see the news? They’re saying the man who banged those guys up pretty good last night was the mysterious Spiderman.”

“Will you shut up?” Satoru gasps, almost slapping him.

Of course, Suguru knew. He found out in a freak accident only a week after Satoru had been bitten. The freak accident being Satoru forgot to lock his bedroom door while changing out of his costume and his best friend walking in.

“Relax. No one knows,” Suguru reassures, he takes a sip of his coffee. “Only a small population of the public are still choosing to be delusional.”

“Yeah, delusional enough to believe Spiderman doesn’t exist,” Satoru scoffs.

“No, delusional enough to believe he does,” Suguru corrects harshly. “If I didn’t walk in on you half naked with that suit on and saw how you shot out a web before you realized I was in the room, I would never have believed those photos I saw in the news either.”

“Spiderman is a household name now whether you like it or not,” Satoru self-righteously points at himself with his thumb. “You wouldn’t believe how big of a fan the ladies are.”

Suguru shakes his head as he eyes his student portal on his phone. “Fuck, I have a history quiz today.”

“Shit, me too,” Satoru grunts, shaking his head as he walks past yet another sorority bake sale on his way down the main streets of campus. “Wait—we’re in the same class.”

“Oh—yeah,” Suguru fumbles with his phone as he points at Satoru. “I think I might ask Nanami to let me cheat off him—Haiba won’t mind but let’s face it, he’s not the brightest—Wait, you never mentioned what exactly happened last night.”

“Toji Fushiguro’s on the run. There was a sighting of him last night and I went to track him down but no luck. Then there was a bank heist on West 7th, I wish I got to fucking sleep after. Being flung against a brick wall is not as fun as it sounds. Fuck—wait I have class!” Satoru interjects, darting off in the middle of the conversation, leaving Suguru with a look of disappointment on his face.

“I have the same class,” Suguru frowns.

Yaga has always been quite the authoritarian, he knows what to expect from one of his star pupils as he strolls into class with a lazy smile on his face, ten minutes late.

“How nice of you to join us, Satoru,” Yaga’s tone isn’t as sweet as his words. “I should count myself lucky you showed up at all today, no less right before we worked on our lab assignment.”

That hand you have your cheek resting on slides up to palm at your forehead, hoping to soothe the forthcoming headache once that boy settles into his seat.

“We’re switching lab partners today,” Yaga declares, pen in hand as he scribbles and crosses out names on his seating chart. “I know you must’ve been comfortable with your partners from last semester, but I’d like you to find your name on the board and sit accordingly. This partner is who you’ll be working with for the final project.”

Satoru was perfectly fine working with Shoko. Their scientific caliber was on par with one another and despite the fact they butted heads quite often, they somehow managed to do quite well on their labs.

His mind traps him in praying he doesn’t end up with Yuki that he almost doesn’t realize the fact you were his new partner. He whips his head to the right, seeing your brows raise as you glance back at him.

Seriously? Him?   

No one can relate to how brutal it is having Satoru Gojo of all people as your classmate in your organic chemistry class.

Yeah sure, give you an assignment of reporting the development and properties of organic photovoltaic cells for renewable energy applications or even deciphering the molar mass of your father’s whiskey collection, you could make sense of it.

You could never make sense of this kid, however.

Satoru Gojo.

The irritating kid you’ve been battling to beat out for the highest exam score since middle school. The kid that ran into class late and hardly seemed all that present but still landed a score almost as high as yours every time. The kid that sat at the back of class, dozing off during lab. The kid that spent a decent chunk of senior year playing Digimon on his phone and still antagonized you before every science test you had.

That kid you thought you wouldn’t have to worry about after high school but were proved severely wrong when you saw him on your campus your first semester. That kid you hoped you wouldn’t have to run into anywhere else but still did somehow where you had been interning.

If there was a chemical formula to understand why you couldn’t stand him, your list of grievances would have to be simplified to fit on one page.

You’re seriously contemplating on marching up to Yaga and demanding a switch in partners. Someone else. Anyone else.

Trying to change Yaga’s mind on anything though, was a feat greater than what any scientist could accomplish.

Heaving a sigh, you plop your books down on the table. There was this severity in your movements that wove seamlessly into propriety. He peeks over at your color-coordinated notes all lined out in neat handwriting.

Yeah, he’s been competing with you in school for years. It’s not like he meant to, he was just great at just about everything he did. It’s not his fault!

He knew you couldn’t stand him, and he enjoyed that for some reason. Getting under your skin with quick quips were designed to be much more fun because of that. Since he is on the clock every hour of the day, he needs to let out his stress somehow. Punching bad guys is not enough anymore.

“Look at your notes,” Satoru cheeses, flipping through your book. “All shiny and pretty. You know, if you put more effort in, you could look the same.”

You shove his arm, snatching your book back from him, “Shut up. Don’t make me mad. Words can’t explain how pissed I am already.”

“Aw, you know I’m kidding,” he grins mischievously. “You’re not that bad to look at.”

You press your lips together as you inhale heavily. Your eyes raise to look dead straight at the front of the class before you turn your head to face him.

He catches that fire in your gaze that he’s not even seen in the most vicious of criminals and mutants he’s gone up against.  

“I don’t get why Yaga didn’t call Suguru out for being late either,” Satoru frowns, facing forward.

“Because Suguru isn’t late every day,” you point. “You are. And half the time, you leave early. It baffles me how you still pass all your classes.”

“Is someone jealous?” Satoru smiles.

As you shake your head, you look down at your notes. You’ve known Satoru for many years, but he was always just a classmate. He was also always the classmate you would barely beat out to get the highest marks in science or any other class. The classmate that would get under your skin way too often.

There was something about him that made you pay close attention to him.

“Oh shit!” one of the students in class shouts out, eyes glued to his phone. Needless to say, he’s garnered the attention of the entire class. “There’s a robbery going on right now at the bank downtown! Six-gun men have all the customers and staff held hostage!”

This earns a series of nervous gasps and prayers from the students. The hair on the back of Satoru’s neck stands up and he’s still in his seat as his peers flock toward the lab table of the student watching the news live stream.

“Wonder when Spiderman’s going to show up,” one of his classmates ponder aloud.

“Nah, he can’t do shit. You think a clown in tights is going to take down a fucking group of men with guns?” another kid snarks, causing Satoru to all but roll his eyes as he stands up.

Ah, the everlasting and everchanging debate as to whether the wall crawling vigilante was a menace or a savior of society.

If he wasted his time worrying so much about what people thought about him, he’d never get a single thing done. He drowns out their discussion as he strides to the door with his mission clear in his mind: Save those hostages.

“Alright boys! Glad we wrapped this up!” Satoru, or should one say, Spiderman dusts off his hands ever so casually.

He crouches down, leveling with the leader of the gang who happened to be tied up thanks to Satoru’s expertise webbing. He breathes freely with the knowledge that the hostages have rushed out of the bank, straight into the arms of their worried loved ones outside and the police.

When a vial of green in the pocket of one of the tattooed thug’s glints in the light, Satoru reaches to pull it out. He squints through his mask at the bottle of green, “What do we have here?”

As expected, the thug spits out, “None of your fucking business, you bug.”

“Quiet, will you?” Satoru harshly smacks the man’s forehead.

“Robbing a bank on a busy day like this for me?” Satoru tuts, a menacing lilt in his joke. “You should feel lucky I haven’t strung you upside down in your underwear out on the street lamps. But I’ve got somewhere to be unfortunately, so have fun in jail!”

With that, Satoru extends his arms out and a thick web sprouts out in the direction of the tall buildings lining the streets. If it was any other day, any other time of day, he would’ve stuck around. Spewed out some more quippy remarks, had a bit more fun with the goons.

But alas, he must get back in time before class ends. He knew the twenty minutes he had vanished for were going to raise questions.

He was absolutely correct.

“Satoru, where the hell were you?” Yaga all but yells at the boy stumbling back in. “Class is over.”

The entire class has their attention steering over to the late boy. He knew what he had to say, the lie didn’t need to be ridiculous but he knew regardless, he would still sound utterly stupid. He did not particularly give a fuck though.

“Little boy’s room,” Satoru casually responds, not a speck of shame in his rather comical answer.

This has the entire class locked in a deadly silence. That is before they split into a fit of boisterous laughter. Satoru revels in the fact he’s defused the tension he suspected he may experience.

You narrow your eyes, eyeing Satoru as he trudges over to his seat, tugging his collar into place. You let your eyes fall to the tabletop, looking over your work.

Typical. He leaves for God knows what and you’re stuck doing his work. If this isn’t precedent enough to request a new partner, you don’t know what is.

He’s not said a single word to you yet . . . How odd. You expect him to do no less than tease the living hell out of you or ask if you missed him.

All that swarms his mind however is what the hell is in this vial?

“What the hell is in this vial?” Suguru murmurs quietly as he inspects the glass tube.

“Beats me,” Satoru replies, swiping the bottle off him. “I need to figure that out.”

“Don’t you think that maybe you should’ve handed it over to the police?” Suguru asks, the sound of fellow classmates typing away on their laptops and chattering away in the campus library buzzes in the background.

“Police won’t do shit,” Satoru bites back, rolling his eyes. “If law enforcement was capable of anything, don’t you think that there wouldn’t be a need for Spiderman?”

“What about Spiderman?” Haiba butts in unannounced.

Satoru nearly jumps five feet in the air at the sudden intrusion. His six eyes that worked in his favor as a sixth sense to alert him of danger have helped him tremendously in combat time and time again, but not so much with nosy classmates.

Quickly pocketing the substance, he looks at Haiba, “None of your business.”

“Are you kidding? I spent all afternoon looking for footage from today’s robbery—I got nothing,” Haiba whines, flailing his arms in the air.

“I heard it was pretty cool,” Satoru boasts pridefully, earning a well-deserved elbow to the gut from Suguru.

Haiba trots off to go bother Nanami before Suguru faces his best friend again. “Oh fuck. Y/n is coming this way. Good luck.”

The vigilante’s eyes widen when he recognizes your stern, no-nonsense face and stride. Everyone is well aware of what that means, your kind and lighthearted behavior is put on hold in favor of your stern approach to your academics.

He half expects you to create a scene in the library but he knows you better than that. You never openly got angry, the worst he’s seen you do is roll your eyes. It’s one of the reasons he pokes fun at you as much as possible, hoping to see how he can make you crack.

Yet, you never do. You hold notebooks and files close to your chest as you march to a halt three feet away from him. Indifferently, you pull out a packet and hold it out for him.

“Since your bladder has never-ending issues, I did your part of the lab today,” you chide like you have a myriad of other things on your mind.

“Shit—you did not have to do any of this,” Satoru knows he should be frowning, but he’s not. A little leer spreads on his face, eyes wide and glimmering through the lens of those glasses he absolutely had no more use for since the day he was bit by that spider.

“Don’t bail on me again. Then I won’t have to do it,” you purse your lips at him before you turn around.

He is left there with nothing else to do but embarrassingly watch you walk away, clutching his lab report in his hand.

“Hold on,” Satoru mumbles to Suguru as he watches you sift between the aisles of shelves.

 Before either of them know it, he’s making his way to the aisle you are in. He’s eyeing you up and down almost skeptically, eyes lingering far longer than they should.

“Can I help you?” you quiz quite impertinently, your right hand pulling out a heavy book from the biochemistry section.

“Why did you do my part?” Satoru tips his chin down, a crease forming between his silver brows.

“Because you . . . didn’t do it,” you slowly iterate, grasping the book with both your hands as you flip through the pages. 

“Well, duh, but why?” Satoru repeats. “You didn’t have to do it. I ran out of class and left it all on you—you shouldn’t have done it.”

You take a deep breath, slamming the book shut, “If you really think I did it for you, you really don’t deserve to be in the same class as me at all. I did it so I don’t have to rely on you to get the work done. I’d rather have the work done right than have it half-assed. And here I thought you were much more clever than that.”

“I’m not stupid,” he smirks. “Just confused about a lot of the things you do sometimes.”

“Yeah, because you don’t know me,” you say, sliding that book back into the open slot on the shelf. You look up, reaching for another book that is placed well above your head.

“I know you. I know you’re your father’s daughter,” Satoru’s statement is playfully delivered yet it strikes you like a bus. His fingers stroke the spine of the book you were reaching for, relishing the fact you couldn’t reach it. He looks down at you, tugging the book out and holding it in his big hands. “You might just be stricter than the captain himself.”

“Why are you talking like you know my father?” you glare, folding your arms.

“Seen his interviews on the news. He’s one tough cookie—but it only makes sense when you’re a cop, huh?” he has a lilt in his head.

“Why are you saying stupid things?” you question, narrowing your eyes at him. “I already have enough on my mind, I don’t need you badgering me with nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense, it’s my professional opinion as your partner,” Satoru holds the book out with a ridiculously charming smile.

“Lab partner,” you fix his statement, reaching for the book but he pulls it back out of your reach, stupid grin still on his face. “Don’t play games with me, I have to get to work now, and you have to get there too.”

You pry the book from his hands and stride off before he can annoy you further. Satoru’s head turns, following you march off. He’s not sure why he’s trapped in staring at you for so long.

“I’m guessing you plan on finding out on your own as to what’s in that bottle,” Suguru interjects in the middle of Satoru’s wandering mind, popping up in the aisle.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Satoru fishes in his pocket, hoping that the touch of his cool fingers on the glass will telepathically reveal its identity to him. “If I had the equipment to do it on my own . . . it would be so much fucking easier.”

Suguru gapes at him like he’s stupid, “Hello? You intern at the biggest scientific research facility in the city.”

Satoru’s brows raise and the corners of his mouth turn down, weighing the possible next route to his answer.

“Okay, you have to log the results in the system like this,” you instruct your team. “Then you move on to the next step. Trust me you don’t want to forget logging that data, it could entirely throw off the process.”

You’ve been interning at JJ Technologies since last summer which has done nothing short of drain you of any free time whatsoever. It’s only been several weeks since you were moved up to lead a fresh batch of young interns. Luckily, you haven’t had to deal with teaching them in the laboratory with the equipment, just basic information and note-taking thus far.

That unfortunately was only the first of four hours at the facility. The next three hours, you would be holed up in the lab, inspecting and experimenting with nanotechnology. As tiring as it is, it is just as rewarding.

Knowing the amount of good that can be done with this research and work was a brilliant means of motivation. Society has advanced already as it is—the world of medicine has benefited greatly—billions of lives have the chance to improve. How could anyone give up on that?

Thoughts of what homework assignments you have yet to submit reign your brain. Hours and hours of straining your mind to intake as much information and apply it all in the lab was making you want nothing more than to crawl under your covers and call it a week.

With a hefty breath, you take a well-deserved recess to the vending machine. Hoping that this little trip for a snack can hold a candle to the sleep you oh so desire.

Satoru knows his assigned place of work is four levels down. He also is aware that his group had been dismissed ten minutes ago and he should be swinging his merry way through the streets to scout for trouble.

He is also entirely aware that he should not be on the twenty-something floor that had a chance of having an empty lab right about now.

Swiping his boss’s ID card is far too easy, shooting an inconspicuous web at any cameras of interest is just as simple.

The hard part is deciphering what is in this damn vial. The lights are dim inside the particular lab he steps into. A breath of relief pushes out of his lungs as he pulls the small bottle from his pocket, circling the stations to get to the specific equipment he needs.

There’s a limited amount of liquid in the vial, so he knows he must handle this process with care and precision. The story would be different if he had another vial or two.

You watch almost lifelessly as a bar of candy and a canned coffee drop down, landing with a dull thud. Mindlessly, you reach through the bottom flap, hearing the faint hinge as you pull out your restitution for break-free work.

Closing and harshly forcing your eyes back open, you try to keep your mind alert as you march on back to the lab to clean up. When you open the door, you’re not expecting this boy to whip his head up at you like a deer in headlights.

“Gojo?” you furrow your brows, one hand still on the door and the other clutching your food.

Gojo is stunned into silence, a laughable silence. When he says nothing, you tip your head down, “What are you doing here?”

“I just had some work,” Satoru quickly lies. “My manager needed me to look at something. I know you’re pretty happy to see me—your face says it all.”

“Oh, does it? Aren’t you supposed to be on the 20th floor?” you quiz, left eye twitching.

In most situations, when Satoru’s backed into a corner, he can somehow flip his way out of there or even sweettalk whoever he needed to. But he can’t explain why he actually feels bad lying to you, it makes his head whirl. “Uh—yeah, but I had to use some of the equipment up here.”

Squinting skeptically, you near him slowly. As you do, Satoru can’t help but gulp. He’s not sure what it is he should focus on. The fact he needs to come up with a way to convince you to not report him? Or the fact you are only a couple inches to his left, looking over his shoulder? The fact you look so adorable in a lab coat?

“What is that?” you peer down at the vial, noticing he has already placed a drop of that substance down on a microscope slide.

“Not sure,” Satoru shrugs. “I haven’t got the faintest clue.”

You continue staring at the chemical concoction, you flick your gaze at him, “Mind if I take a look?”

“Go for it,” Satoru shuffles a couple inches over, giving you enough room to peer into the eyepiece of the microscope.

He can’t help but tautly swallow, hardly able to pay attention because of how sweet you smell. He has to stop himself from telling you just that but he can’t let it get to your head. As effortlessly as he spins webs, he only hopes he’s half as graceful when feeding you some half-assed answer as to just what this chemical was and that his manager most definitely would give him such a compound.

“Hmm,” you hum, slowly turning the dial on the side of the instrument to lift and then focus what was in the slide. “Figuring out what is it shouldn’t be too tricky. I just need to measure the resonance frequency by breaking the substance down a bit more. Then determining the chemical properties shouldn’t be too tricky.”

Satoru’s brows lift and the edge of his lips turn down, amused clearly. “Wow.”

“What?” you blink.

“I always forget how smart you are,” he says airily. When you shoot him a look that seems to be a hybrid of threatening and offense, his nose crinkles and his glasses shift accordingly on his face, “That came out very wrong. I just meant—”

“So this is why you broke into my lab?” you cut him off, still squinting down at the substance.

“I didn’t break in,” Satoru defends himself. “I just figured no one would notice.”

“Why don’t you check over the logic in that again,” you suggest, eyes glancing up at him. “It’s hard to believe you’re the guy who almost beat me out for valedictorian.”

“And why’s that?” Gojo tilts his head, leaning his elbows on the table. It leaves you eyeing him from head to toe as inconspicuously as possible. Sometimes you forget how tall he is. The fact he towers over you serves as a friendly reminder he’s not just any old geeky kid from school.

Before you can give him an answer, his phone buzzes. He shoots a glance down at it, his pretty features sinking. The program he had compiled with Suguru to tune into the police’s radio communications to pick up on any crime alerts had pinged with notifications on his phone. There was a robbery currently taking place at a jewelry store three streets away.

“Shit—my aunt needs me to pick her up from her cooking class,” Satoru quickly lies, blinking unsteadily as he faces you. “It’s kind of far and not safe for her to ride the train by herself. I have to go. Sorry for bothering you—”

“Wait—” you hold a hand up, earning a wide-eyed look from him. It’s kind of endearing how earnest he sounds. “How about you go, and I’ll keep looking at this for you? Once I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

“You don’t have to,” Satoru frowns, sliding his backpack on, his Spiderman suit nestled neatly inside.

“It’s no problem. You go—don’t keep your aunt waiting,” you beckon him to get a move on. “I’ll see you at school.”

There you go again, being so incontestably kind yet being so severe while doing so. It’s when you crack a hint of a smile to ease him that he actually does as you say. That must be the first he’s seen you sincerely look at him.

Satoru rushes out the door and you glance down at the vial again, trying to understand what exactly the contents of it were.

Satoru has no time to think about how badly he feels leaving you with such a task. He’s too busy webbing his backpack up high on an alleyway wall after he’s changed into his suit.

Before he knows it, he’s already in the air, swinging loosely through the streets of New York. He feels the wind rush at him like it wishes to capture him, keep him in the sky with the moon. But with how quick he’s moving, he feels invincible—like nothing can touch him.

Satoru’s fallen into the same routine every night. Despite the fact he never gets the recognition in his personal life, he would not give up being Spiderman for the world.

Citizens walking the streets all gasp and point when they see the great Spiderman shoot past them like a comet. His white and blue suit makes him look like he was meant to be a part of a winter night sky, the sapphire blue spider emblem in the center of his chest casting a beautiful contrast in the ensemble.

He pays no mind as the silver meshy strings of his webs cling to buildings, aiding him in passing through the streets with ease. He also doesn’t stop himself from enjoying the occasional flips to impress the children out with their families and friends. Satoru insists it’s entirely necessary.

Once he spots the store mentioned on the police comms, he zips around the corner. Landing right above the entrance to the small jewelry shop, he pushes it open rather discreetly. It’s almost comical the way the goons inside haven’t the slightest clue that the Spiderman was crawling into the shop right above their very heads.

Thanks to Satoru’s wall crawling abilities, he’s able to cling to walls and ceilings with ease and without so much as breaking a sweat. So when he casually gawks down at the masked thieves, he tilts his head in amusement at how panicked the men look shouting orders to one another.

“Quick! Before Spiderman gets here!” one spits, stripping a diamond chain straight from the display case. When his friend breaks the glass case all together, he screams, “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“The Spider’s not gonna come. He’s too chicken,” the other responds. “I’d like to see him try.”

“Cute,” Satoru chuckles above them.

This causes all four to whip their heads up at the masked vigilante. Satoru is only able to see their eyes through the cutouts but he can tell by the way their pupils dilate that they are downright terrified.

In the papers and in the news, Satoru is privy to the fact the general public is split on whether they see a need in all the flips and tricks that come along with Spiderman.

Satoru couldn’t care less though, he is wholeheartedly prepared to stand trial to attest to the fact that the flair is entirely necessary. He displays the testimony by the very way he does a backflip and lands with both feet and a palm planted to the ground.

“Y’know I left a really pretty girl all alone just so I could stop you?” Satoru teases lightly, straightening up and flexing his arms by crossing one over the other. “But hey, if that’s what you think, we can make this a lot more fun.”

One of the men reached for his gun, pulling it out and pointing it at Satoru. All he huffs out is a displeased and underwhelmed breath as he shoots out a web, yanking the gun back.

“Come on. Show a bit more effort. You’re killing me,” Satoru drawls like a six-year-old. His six-eyes alert him of an impending punch hurtling his way from his left, making him duck and grab the very goon’s fist in the process. “Missed me!”

The goon let out a threatening growl as he swung again, only to miss Satoru. . . over and over again. Satoru laughs childishly as he doges and parries off swings one after the other. Two of the others manage to finally point their guns at the arachnid hero, clicking the safeties with a string of snaps that causes the shop owner to gasp and cower further into the corner he was in.

Satoru rolls his eyes, delivering an unruly kick to one of the men that dominos into him clashing into his friend, knocking them both to the ground.

The hero giggles at the pathetic exhibition before him. He hardly bats an eye when one of the men throws something that resembles a marble to the ground. A cloud of smoke emits from the impact of the small pellet on the shiny limestone floor.

Satoru’s eyes widen behind his white and black mask. He moves to leap back but inadvertently breathes in far more than he intends to.

His head spins, or maybe it’s the room that is spinning, he can’t tell. All he knows is that his head is suddenly throbbing in pain, every nerve ending feels like it’s thrumming to burst within his very skull. Like they are conspiring against him and hoping to flee the purgatory of his mind.

His ears tune in and out like his head has been dunked underwater. Vision beginning to blur, he tries his best to plant his feet firm on the ground but to no avail. He’s hit with a great wave of despondency when he envisions his uncle’s dead body before him.

That and flashes of him in a beautiful house overlooking a balmy little coastal town, the sound of his laughter blends in with a girl’s and he cannot distinguish whose.

He hardly gets the chance to decipher the strange blend of images when he is suddenly hit in the back of the head with a crowbar.

Once again, the poor boy’s head rings and his head snaps down from the impact of the weapon to his skull. He lets out a pained groan, doing his best to gather himself and seize control of his sense again.

His vision begins to clear and all of a sudden, his six eyes begin to tingle and flash in his mind. INCOMING.

He listens to his instincts and ducks straight away, successfully dodging another deadly swing of that damned crowbar.

“Alright, party’s over,” Satoru scowls under his mask and flips back, snaking a well-aimed and well-timed web sticking to the man and tugging him back.

He punches him quite harshly in the face that it all but knocks him out. Satoru quickly lunges for the two goons in the midst of aiming their guns at him. The thieves don’t even process how quickly they are disarmed because Spiderman has already smashed their heads together.

They drop to the ground, leaving one more thug, quivering in terror. He points his gun at Satoru with a shaky hand, only to find that weapon of his leaving his very hands when Satoru tugs it at towards himself with the help of his webs.

“Last one, huh?” Satoru smugly says. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

The thug fumes as he charges at the vigilante, “I’ll fucking kill you. If not me, then the others!”

He throws a fist at Satoru, but he whips his head to the side, “Others?”

He then lands a punch of his own at the criminal before successfully dodging yet another hit. As Satoru’s third punch causes the thief to lose balance, he’s already in the middle of stringing the man upside down from the ceiling.

“Who are your friends—” Satoru stares at the tangled man, readying his fist to intimidate the thug. “And I advise you talk.”

“I’m not saying shit!” The thug spits, trying to wriggle free.

“You’ll be here for god knows how long. All that blood rushing to your brain, oof, must hurt a little.” Satoru threatens playfully. “And it’ll hurt like hell when I actually beat you to a pulp!”

“Shit! Okay! Okay!” the thief cries, panic-stricken sweat dripping down his forehead into his hairline. “I—I work for a guy named Jogo! He’s this freaky looking guy that wears this mask on his face—I’ve never seen him but he’s big in the group, works with some other guy—I don’t know his name.”

“Jogo,” Satoru mumbles wracking his brain to see if he has had a run in with him. “What is he up to?”

“I’ve got no clue! I swear!” the man attests frightenedly. “All I know is that they needed us to look for a specific relic—You see my partner you knocked out right there? He’s got a picture in his back pocket. Jogo sent a bunch of us on heists in banks and jewelry stores to see if we can find it but there’s no sign of it anywhere.”

Satoru steps back and grabs the photo from the pocket of the man the other thief had indicated. He pulls back the photo, glossing over it briefly.

It was a photograph of a box. Made of some sort of coppery-silver metal with engraved eyes on the sides of it. The irises though, were made of jewels—rubies.

“Going through a whole lot for this freaky looking thing,” Satoru waves the photo with a dexterous flip of his fingers. “Why are they going through all that trouble for this? And what’s in it for you?”

“Wish I knew why those guys want that thing,” the man shakes his head, eyes still wide. “They told us they’d give each of us a cut in all that we returned from the heists—Jogo is not someone to be messed with—he’d track us down and kill us if we went back on our deal.”

“Tch. You’re scared of the wrong people,” Satoru tuts, stowing away the photo for safekeeping. “Tell me what that thing was that your friend threw on the ground. That little ball.”

“That? I have no idea. The boss just gave my partner a few—I think that was the last one. He didn’t tell us what it was or what it did,” the felon explains.

Satoru feels his own fingers twitching in irritation, “Think again. Remember what it was and I’ll go easy on you.”

The criminal’s eyes widen, “I don’t know anything! I swear! Please don’t hurt me!”

“Goodnight,” Satoru grunts out, ramming his elbow into the man’s nose, putting him to sleep.

It’s a matter of seconds before Satoru is watching from a few rooftops over as the cops arrive on scene. The flashing blue and red lights flashing into the back of his very skull. He’s running through what the thug he interrogated said, trying to make sense of it.

Speaking of making sense, you’re lugging yourself out of the lab after finally making sense of just what that vial Satoru had given you contains.

The worry on your face embeds itself into your features as you stash the chemical in your bag. Why would his manager hand this to him?

You glance over your phone, seeing your father calling you as you’re walking towards the train platform. Taking a beat to answer, you speak into the receiver, “Hey, Dad.”

“Hi, sweetheart, are you on your way back? It’s getting late,” your dad says, chatter in the back cause your ears to perk. Radios and police codes being tossed around in dialogue.

“Yeah, I’m waiting for the train,” you reply, looking up and down the tracks. “Are you still working?”

“Yeah, captain duties, dear,” your father responds calmly, yet you can hear the annoyed strain in his voice. “That spider’s strung up a few men in a jewelry store downtown. Taking care of what’s left of this place.”

“Oh—you saw Spiderman?” you ask, watching the train stop in front of you, bracing yourself as the lashes of wind whipped at you full speed.

“No, he’s left his webs all over the place,” your dad grunts dishearteningly. “Damage control is going to have lots of fun with that . . . Mom’s going to be pretty mad at us tonight for missing dinner, huh?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” you nod like it’s obvious, sitting down and making eye contact with a gruff pair of men before quickly averting your gaze. “Maybe you should bring her flowers. She always likes that.”

“Yeah, maybe I will,” your father says. “Alright, honey, get home safe. I’ll see you in a bit.”

You think over what he says. Your father always mentions the elusive Spiderman. How none of his men have gotten even close to cracking the case on who the wallcrawler is. How Spiderman is somehow everywhere and takes care of crimes of all scales.

How could a man find the time to even do all that?

The desire to study a man like him plagues your mind far much more than you would like to admit. Who would pass up such an opportunity?

But more of what’s spinning in your mind like a deadly train is why Gojo has a vial like this?

Speaking of trains, when yours comes to a stop, you stand up to get off. It’s unfortunate that the subway stop couldn’t be closer to the next one you are supposed to take.

As you drag on down the street, you mull over what you plan to say to your dad when you try convincing him to simply leave you be once you move out because your safety is put more at risk from the distant and late commutes after classes and your internship.

There’s something in your gut telling you to rush, like you’re being chased or watched at the very least.

You toss a look over your shoulder, seeing those two rugged men about fifteen feet behind you. It’s well past dark and your heart hammers louder against your ribcage, a prisoner demanding release.

Facing forward again, you try to hurry as fast as you can but you feel helpless when you enter a scarcely populated street.

Fuck.

That’s when you break into a full speed run. You hear the footsteps behind you pick up. Your hand slips into your bag’s pocket to grab your mace or taser, but when your fingers only skim the glass of that substance Satoru gave you, you know you’re doomed.

You glance back again, thundering heartbeat blaring just as loud as your footsteps against rough pavement.

“Hey, pretty!” one of the leering men shout. They are far too close to you now. “We just want to have some fun!”

You reach for your phone to send an SOS message to your dad—but that’s exactly the moment the man grabs your arm. You scream in horror, trying to keep going but the other one grabs you too.

Against your will, they drag you into the deserted alleyway nearby. You’re still wriggling in their hold, hoping to free yourself. Thrashing, kicking, screaming, you try it all.

“Let go of me!” you scream. “My dad’s a cop and he’s on his way right now!”

“Shut up,” his friend spits. “You’re full of shit.”

“I’m not,” you grit your teeth. “Captain L/n—badge number 103—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” the first man says. “You look better when you’re not talking. We gotta do something about that.”

Your eyes widen, and you try pushing, screaming as loud as your lungs can take. The elbow you throw against the jaw of one of the men seem to have done some damage. His head whips to the side but surprisingly his body shoots back about five feet, striking against the brick wall.

Your big eyes follow the man, seeing that wasn’t your doing at all. Of course, it wasn’t. How could a girl like you simply cause a man to fly across an alley and slam against a wall?

That’s when he appears like a fallen angel. In black and white, a glowing blue in the core of his chest, a symbol of hope.

Spiderman.

He’s against the wall the man had flown into, but you have to crane your neck a fair amount to look up at where he’s clinging to. You can hardly blink at the fact he’s against the brick wall with no reinforcements whatsoever, just his fingers and soles of his feet keeping him afloat, defying physics, logic, and gravity.

“You gotta be at least a little attractive to hit on a girl like that,” Spiderman tilts his head, voice light yet husky, young.

“Fuck,” the man closest to you now was backing away. “I didn’t do nothing! I’m—I’m sorry—”

“Ugh, shut up,” the vigilante drawls, dragging out his syllables childishly.

He drops down with the most impressive of flips you haven’t even seen gold medalist gymnasts do. After he effortlessly sticks his landing, he wastes absolutely no time in lunging at your assailant.

He punches him square in the side of the jaw, the pop loud enough that you gasp, stepping back.

The man lets out a frightened cry, and right when you almost feel bad, you’re reminded of how you screamed a few moments prior. Yeah, this terror is well deserved.

Spiderman delivers a seamless kick to the side of his opponent’s abdomen. The entrancement you’re trapped in doesn’t let you avert your eyes at all. His movements are like water, like a choreographed dance even Broadway level performers can never imitate.

A scientific miracle. Something inhuman. Someone untouchable.

The man falls to the ground after taking a quite deadly strike to the face. Your eyes go from the attacker on the ground to his attacker.

The superhero stands there, his back to you, silhouetted by the dingy light from the end of the alley. He turns his head to the right, and you’re guessing he sees you from his peripheral because he’s still not looking directly at you.

You want to watch him for much longer, the superhuman that saved you. The superhuman in a well fitted suit, defining every inch of his body—his muscles, his perfect height.

“You okay, miss?” Spiderman asks, turning to you.

“Y-yeah,” you rasp. “Is—he . . .”

“Dead?” he finishes, snickering. “No. Just sleeping peacefully till the cops get here. Which should be in about five minutes.”

You nod, humming in the little frozen state of yourself. Behind the mask, Satoru wants to do a million things. Ask you a million things. But he knows he needs to keep up the persona of the wall-crawler he his.

“You don’t want to get caught in the lengthy questioning the police are going to do, right?” Spiderman (Satoru) crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

“Not really, no,” you hardly move at all as you speak.

“See? That’s why I like my way of business. Less paperwork,” the web slinger jokes. “I can get you where you need to be in a matter of minutes. Tell me where you were headed.”

You gulp, “Home. But what do you mean? I don’t think you have a car—wait a second.” That’s when the reality of the situation hits you. “You’re real?”

Satoru chuckles, “We’ve been talking for almost a minute now, lady.”

“I know, but,” you’re looking him up and down. “I thought those news reports were based on just pranks. Seriously—no one has seen much of you—I thought these criminals were just leaving webs everywhere as a sign of loyalty to their gangs.”

This gets the man to laugh again, his head is facing down, and he shakes his head. You’re staring again, it’s hard not to.

“Alright, miss,” Satoru looks at you, making sure he doesn’t accidently slip up and call you by your name. “Where were you headed? Home?”

“Yeah,” you say, watching him push himself off the wall and hold a hand out to you. You glance down at his hand, then up at his face. His mask is covered in synthetic fibers stitched to imitate webs.

“I know you’re shaken up by those guys and what just happened but please trust me,” he sounds inexplicably genuine, unaccountably sincere. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Your eyes soften, so does the rest of you as you place your hand in his. There’s a level of trust you don’t understand the strength of when you do so. It’s borderline undermined when he tugs you toward him quickly, eliciting a gasp from you.

“You might want to hold on tight,” Spiderman suggests, snugly sliding his arm around your waist, pressing you against him.

“What are you—,” you don’t have the opportunity to finish your question when you find that your feet have left the ground.

You grasp on tighter to him, heeding his suggestion without so much as a second thought. You look down, feeling the wind whipping in your hair. The sight below you is enough to draw a yelp. Well, anyone that is being swung through the streets of New York would. It’s only natural.

“Oh my god!” you scream when you feel yourself hurtling towards the ground.

He shoots another web in the nick of time before you hit the concrete, and you’re in the air again. You bury your face in his neck, clamping your eyes shut. Satoru holds you close, tightening his grip on you. This feels nice.

A part of him doesn’t want this little swinging spree to end. Maybe it doesn’t have to.

“Sorry. No seatbelts,” Satoru laughs. “Should’ve mentioned that!”

“You think?” you quiz, half gasping with the rush of the wind. “Wait! Where are you even taking me? I didn’t tell you where I live!”

“Just trust me!” he yells back.

You open your eyes, looking over his shoulder at the city. The lights don’t blur like you expect them to. You feel like you’re flying, like the moon was waiting for you to join with the stars.

Cars seem smaller suddenly. People look smaller. New York, though, looks just as vast as it always has been.

Once the initial fear shakes out of you, you stare at the city, “Woah.”

You turn to look at him—at Spiderman. He’s still focused on swinging you through the city with one arm. Studying his mask, you can see the fibers of fabric, polyester or something similar. There can’t be many people that can say they’ve seen Spiderman, let alone been this close to him.

You’re amazed, in awe of the impossible. Peace consumes you as you continue to gaze at the wonderous city you love.

Another swoop over rooftops and you feel him lowering towards one. You hold on again, hoping the landing isn’t so rough. Luckily, it isn’t.

You look around, realizing you aren’t on just any rooftop. You’re one of the rooftops of the building you live in.

“How’d you know I live here?” you quiz, brows furrowed and jaw slack.

Satoru has a bit of an oh fuck moment. Words almost fail him but he’s easy to recuperate.

“Well, your dad lives here, doesn’t he?” he points at the ground. “The captain?”

Your mouth that was agape slowly closes and your eyes drift to the edge of the building, “Oh. You know who I am.”

“I know who your dad is,” the man replies. “Seen him a bunch of times. So I’ve seen your face around the main precinct a lot and on the news.”

“You have?” you cock a brow.

“Yeah—hey, don’t worry about those guys. Just try not to be alone at night,” he advises, gesturing with his hands. “Guys see a pretty girl and don’t know how to act a lot of the time.”

You can’t help the slight brow raise when you realize he called you pretty. Satoru pays it no mind however as he scratches the back of his neck.

“Where were you coming from anyway?” he asks, pretending not to know.

“JJ Tech headquarters,” you answer, licking your lips discreetly to tame yourself from gawking at his lean yet muscular figure. Eyes lingering far too long on how the skintight suit fit him, accentuating everything.

Satoru catches this, smirking to himself, “JJ Tech, huh? You must be pretty smart.”

“Pretty smart would be an understatement,” you say. “I wasn’t even supposed to be there this late anyway. I should’ve been home two hours ago.”

Satoru’s ears perk up, he takes this as his opportunity to pry, “How come you stayed longer?”

“Just this guy—he ran in and asked me to help him with an assignment,” you grumble, rolling your eyes.

“Just a guy? He your friend or something?” he asks, leaning his back against the wall to the stairs.

“Or something,” you mumble.

“Oh?” Satoru pipes. This is the perfect moment to see what you think about him. To even flirt with you without any repercussions. “Does that mean he’s your boyfriend?”

“What?” you squeak, voice all high pitched. “God, no. No. He’s just a classmate. He pisses me off most the time—I can hardly stand him at all.”

Satoru scowls beneath his mask, not what I was hoping for.

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact you exist,” disbelief clings to your tone. “You know you’re a scientific marvel, right? Scientists would kill to study you.”

He laughs, it’s a pretty laugh, one that feels hauntingly familiar, “You want to cut me open or something?”

“Oh, I’m not qualified enough to do something like that,” you wave your hands. “Who’s to say I can’t study your body in other ways?”

Satoru can’t help but smile, he sees that glimmer in your eye and you sound so innocent despite how inviting you phrased that. You don’t even realize it, but he smiles wider.

“You’re funny,” he laughs, shaking his head.

There’s a bunch of things on your bucket list, a lot of things you aren’t sure you’ll get to even accomplish. One of them being making thee Spiderman laugh was definitely not one of them.

“Thank you for saving me,” you say, pulling him from his little fit of amusement. “I thought I was . . . I thought they were going to get away with what they wanted to do.”

Satoru raises his head again, straightening up. It dawns on him that he’s responsible for you being out on that street this late. That if he had hurried up, he could’ve gotten back in time like he planned. He just feels lucky that he made it in time.

He made it just in time, and he’s thankful for that. But he truly hates the fact you almost got seriously hurt because of him. He’s at fault and he knows this will haunt you for a long time.

“Don’t thank me. It’s nothing any normal human being wouldn’t do,” Spiderman tells you, walking over to the edge of the building. “Just stay safe. And know you can depend on your friendly neighborhood Spiderman anytime.”

And with that, he dives off the side of the building. You suck in a harsh breath, rushing and leaning over the elevated stone along the perimeter. Looking down, you find that you have to follow the black and white blur swing up again.

You smile breathlessly, watching the amazing Spiderman soaring off.

“Suguru, it was all my fault,” Satoru paces his apartment . . . ceiling?

 He’s walking in circles upside down, feet sticking to the ceiling like it isn’t scientifically impossible. His mask off but his suit remains on.

“If I hadn’t left her there for so long working on that freaking solution, she wouldn’t have left so late. If I was even a second off, I don’t even know what could’ve happened,” Satoru’s white locks are swaying as he walks. Although he defies gravity, his hair doesn’t.

“You saved her though, that’s all that matters,” Suguru assured, stuffing the chopsticks with a mouthful of noodles in his mouth. “But how did she not recognize you? There’s no way you talked to her.”

“I did,” Satoru drops to the ground. He makes his way over to where Suguru sits on the couch, picking up a box of takeout. “Maybe she’s not as smart as she thinks she is.”

“Please,” Suguru eyes Satoru, handing him a pair of chopsticks. “Don’t underestimate that girl, she’s smarter than half the tri-state.”

“Sure, she’s cute and happens to be smart,” Satoru shrugs. “She’s just a girl though, not a threat.”

“Why did you bring up her being cute?” Suguru narrows his eyes, lowering his food. “That had nothing to do with the conversation.”

“What?” Satoru mutters, chewing on his noodles. “She’s beautiful—there’s no denying that.”

“Beautiful?” Suguru laughs.

“What?”

“You just took it one step further,” Suguru teases, laughing again. “You have a crush on her!”

“What? No, I don’t!” Satoru snaps.

“Now it all makes sense,” Suguru has a wide grin. “Teasing her nonstop, annoying her to get her to yell at you. Wow, you can just ask her out, y’know.”

“Okay, you’re on drugs,” Satoru squints at his best friend.

“Yeah, yeah,” Suguru dismissively says. “So did you get that vial back from her?”

“Obviously not, I’m not supposed to know about that as Spiderman. Only Satoru Gojo knows that,” Satoru states, pointedly gesturing with his utensils. “I’ll ask her tomorrow.”

“Hm, what are you going to do now though?” Suguru asks. “I mean about this Jogo guy that thug told you about.”

“I’m not sure,” Satoru mumbles. “I’ll have to look into that.”

“Shoko, you know I wouldn’t make up something like that.”

“I know! That’s not what I said, it just sounds insane. Like, Spiderman? The Spiderman?”

You stare at her flatly and Utahime rubs your shoulders, “That sounds terrifying. Did you tell your dad?”

“What? Are you kidding? No,” you quickly spit. “If I tell my dad that he’s going to station two cops to follow me twenty-four seven. I can’t have that.”

“Y/n, that could’ve ended very badly,” Shoko frowns dejectedly. “What if Spiderman didn’t show up?”

“But he did,” you say. “If he didn’t, I’d be dead, and all my stupid little worries would be gone. But you don’t understand—that man . . . wow.”

Shoko and Utahime pause to look at one another, the former quizzing, “You—you don’t have a crush on Spiderman, do you?”

“Not a crush, no,” you chuckle, sipping your coffee before you look down at Shoko from where you’re sitting on the picnic table. “Fascination, yes, I have that. But to be honest, he was incredible to look at—his body was . . . ugh, I don’t have anything appropriate to say.”

“Now, this is how I know you need to get laid,” Shoko chuckles. “Having a crush on a spandex wearing spider is insanity.”

“Is it?” you look at where she sits on the bench. “You experience what I did, and I’d love to hear your opinion.”

Shoko frowns at you, then at Utahime. That’s when the latter says to you, “Wait, didn’t you need to talk to Gojo?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, sparing a cautious glance to your bag containing that mix. “Got to go over that stupid project before class. Would it kill him to be on time? He’s always late.”

There’s no need to tell your friends what the fuck Satoru had given you to configure on your own. Not until you at least talk to him and get the full story. You have enough on your mind as it is, having Shoko and Utahime’s thoughts thrown into the mix would only rattle and confuse you further. It doesn’t help that one of them grew up with Satoru and knows his aunt and the other loathes him almost more than you do.

“I’m going to grab a croissant before class,” Shoko rubs her stomach. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

You hop off the bench and head on down towards where your Orgo class is. There’s still about twenty minutes left till class and Shoko falls behind to grab her baked good.  

Those memories of last night carry you where you need to be. You strut along the path with a purpose, your hair is effortlessly styled, makeup barely there, yet it somehow masks just how disheveled you truly feel.

“Gojo!” you call as you spot him by the bottom of the steps in one of the University’s vast courtyards, he just so happens to be in the midst of discussing something Digimon related with Haiba.

Haiba and Suguru’s eyes widen as they realize it’s you storming towards Gojo and not just any other girl.

Satoru flicks his gaze over as you walk over, stopping in front of him. He’s not sure what to say, he knows he should probably address the task he stupidly left for you to do but he hardly strings a solid greeting together without sounding stupid, “Hey.”

“Can I talk to you—in private?” you ask, your face gave away an austere look, like you were about to scold a child.

How can he say no?

He nods, standing up and following you down the side of the building. The two of you are supposed to be heading down to class that happens to be the other way but he doesn’t even question you when he’s whisked onto the school grounds.

His mind fumbles through the events of last night. He had two conversations with you. One as your savior and one as the guy you got stuck with for science class. He’s racking his brain enough to decide how to behave although the answer should be obvious.

The boy follows you behind the bleachers, looking around with an incredulous quirk in his brow when you step into the dark underside of them.

“Is everything okay?” Satoru blinks as you stop.

“Gojo.” You sternly face him, not saying anything else.

“That’s my name, yeah,” he sassily retorts. “Doesn’t answer my question though.”

“Don’t test me,” you hold up your index finger threateningly.

Cute, he thinks.

“Where did you get this?” you hold up the small vial. “And the truth this time.”

Satoru’s eyes lock onto the green liquid, unsure what lie he should curate this time. He could simply insist on the same lie as before, convince you that you were overthinking. Or he could tell you the truth, ultimately putting your life and his secret in danger, but hey, it’ll save him from looking entirely idiotic.

“I told you, my manager,” he states, reaching out to take it.

You pull it back, further from his reach and he wants to laugh at how easy it would be to take it from your hands in the blink of an eye.

“How stupid do you think I am?” you quiz.

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” he says, a smile goes with that shake of his head, his hair falling over his bespectacled blue eyes. “Just a little scary.”

“Listen, I know your manager didn’t give you this because he wouldn’t give you this.” You pointedly flash the vial in his face. “Do you realize what’s in here?”

“Wait,” Satoru’s smile fades. “You’re telling me you actually found out what’s in it?”

You nod haphazardly, more confused than skeptical, “You don’t know?”

“No—I don’t, what is it?” he asks, nearing you too closely without meaning to.

You lower your hand, “It’s a highly concentrated blend of hallucinogens and anesthetics. One sip could send a man into cardiac arrest—or worse, kill him.”

Your eyes are on his, but his eyes aren’t on yours. His are on the bottle of chartreuse in between your fingers.

“Satoru,” you murmur quietly, lowering the bottle into his indecisive palm, his fingers edging closer to yours but pulling back ever so gently before they attempt to muster the courage once more. You glance down at his long pale fingers, his skin glows sweeter than the moon itself.

Your gaze dips to your skin grazing his as you place the bottle into his hand. You let your hand linger against his, not sure why you don’t think of retracting.

Why are you just realizing how pretty he is?

The rims of his glasses glint as he looks at your face, studying your features like he’ll never get the chance to ever again. You blink yourself into snapping out of it, pulling your arm back and swallowing dryly.

“Sorry about the trouble,” Satoru quietly says, stowing away the vial.

“It’s okay,” you reply, voice rasping. While his eyes are focused on tucking the bottle safely, you say, “I don’t know what it is you’re hiding—I won’t ask, but please be careful.”

Satoru can’t help the grin he cracks, “I’m tougher than I look.”

And when he walks away, there’s a strange feeling that stirs in your gut. A feeling that tells you he may be right.

You aren’t sure why you’re still thinking about why he had that chemical in the first place. Did he make it himself? Did he buy it off someone? What was it intended for?

The rest of your organic chemistry class, you’re left there wondering what that boy is up to. You’re left wondering why he is missing class again today after you just saw him. And you’re left wondering whether Satoru thanks Yaga for never marking him late or absent at all. Call it favoritism, you suppose.

He thanks any deity that he can think of when he arrives on time to JJ Technologies before his manager questions him.

He finds some time to slip away, sneak up to your floor while you’re instructing your latest interns. He smiles, watching you scribble something down on your clipboard while you walk.

“Okay, this right here is just a sketch of one of our current studies,” you point at a holographic, digitized image that appears above a table. “This is a paradigm for a new discovery of nanoparticles. They’re commonly used to reduce the number of catalytic materials within chemical reactions. There are two fields within certain industries that they are applied to. Can anyone tell me what they are?”

The students all flip restlessly through their notepads, struggling to look for the answer to your question.

Satoru can’t hide the snicker he lets out. Half the student look back at him and you peer through the batch of preppy kids to see him.

“Petroleum refining and automotive catalytic converters,” Satoru replies, still smirking complacently.

You have a bit of a curl to your lips, eyes locked on his as you say, “Yes. That’s correct.”

Seeing him appear within your mix of pupils almost throws you off, but you know you have a certain image before the students so you keep yourself composed. You quickly instruct the students to write the answer down and head to their stations with their teams.

When the interns disperse, you cross your arms, face to face with Gojo.

“What do you want?” you ask, a sickly-sweet smile on your face.

“Oof, would it kill you to talk nice to me?” Satoru acts like a wounded soldier, palm across his abdomen.

“I feel like it might, so I’d rather not take the risk,” you say pointedly.

“Hm, right,” Satoru scoffs, he looks down. “You’re going to be alone now in the lab, right?”

“No, I’ll be in the lab but not alone,” you say. “My colleagues are going to be in there with me. You need something?”

“No, I wanted to ask you something,” his brows tense.

An odd sensation stirs in your stomach, “Ask me what?”

It’s been a while since either of you actually began interacting with one another somewhat civilly. You don’t know what it is that will come out of his mouth but you’re suddenly hopeful.

He grabs your hand, leading you off to the side, causing you to jerk your head around in case anyone’s looking.

Once you are beneath the mosaic mural of DNA helixes on one wall, Satoru stops, letting go of you. You try not to let the idea of his hand staying in yours distract you from what’s to come.

He tries not to focus on how soft your hand is, and once again how the fragrance of your perfume feels like candy on a summer day.

“You didn’t tell anyone about that bottle, did you?” he whispers, eyes darting between yours and the rest of the busy facility.

“No,” you shake your head. “Of course, not. I had a feeling you wanted to keep it private.”

Satoru looks at you, his smile reaching his ears, “Aw, how sweet. You care about me.”

You smack the back of his hand, causing him to hold it close to him possessively and rub it gently from the very slight sting of your slap.

“Shut up,” you snap, catching the way his blue eyes gleam behind his glasses. “Is that all?”

“No,” he states, straightening up and switching his tone from light and playful to serious. “You said it was deadly to take a single sip. That the properties within it were so overly saturated it could do serious damage. But let’s say . . . you needed to use it in combat . . . could you?”

The nature of his question startles you, “Combat? Like if soldiers were fighting?”

“Yeah, sure, like that.”

You’re blinking heavily, looking towards the place where the wall meets the floor, “Well, I suppose it could be used in a vaporous form. Like gas or something. That could do enough damage too.”

“Ugh,” Satoru closes his eyes and pinches his nose. “I was afraid of that.”

“What is it?” you peer up at him through your lashes. “You’re hiding something.”

“No—I’m not,” Satoru groans. He notices the suspicion on your face, “You got time for a snack in the cafeteria?”

Flaring your eyes over his, you glance discreetly at the time, “Fine.”

You begin to walk away.

“That was a yes or no question! Not a secret third response,” he trails behind.

“You got your answer, didn’t you?” you gesture to yourself.

“Yeah, but you seem entirely unenthusiastic about it,” Satoru grumbles. “A little energy may do you good.”

You hit the elevator button, crossing your arms, “I’m not here to appease you.”

“Appease me? Oh, god,” he lets out a baffled scoff.

“What?” you furrow your brows. “Poor choice of words?”

“Not exactly,” Satoru replies, loosely shifting to get into the elevator. “It might be nicer, I guess, to know if you actually wanted to get a snack with me and not as if I’m holding you at gunpoint.”

You roll your eyes, “You brought up a snack and I happen to be hungry. Where does gunpoint come in the mix? You really want me to do cheer like you came to my rescue?”

He almost laughs from the irony but he knows not to. He knows just as well that things could have gone extremely wrong the other night if he had not gone about everything carefully. There’s another sort of irony to him, a different form of saving.

“Mhm, but you like coming to my rescue pretty often,” he responds, a lopsided smile on his lips as he leans against the wall with folded arms.

You squint at him, the word rescue coming out of his mouth reminding you strangely of the danger you were in right in that alleyway.

“What does that mean?” you say with tightening eyes.

“You did my part of the lab report to save my ass, you helped me with that liquid, you kept that secret for me,” Satoru breaks eye contact, looking at the ground. “And that time in freshman year of high school.”

His final reminder steers your heart to a slow pace, your shoulders untense. You remember that event all too well.

“I’m a decent human being,” you explain as if it’s a scientifically proven, immutable fact. “It’s less about enjoying something but more of the fact I would be miserable and angry with myself if I didn’t help someone that needed it.”

Satoru lifts his head to level with you, his eyes are wide in a blank stare. That is right before he suddenly blurts a short chuckle. “Spoken like a true hero.”

Your eyes flit upwards as the doors to the elevator open. He leads you out into the hall, his strides are much longer than yours.

“Wait up! I can’t walk that fast!” you snap breathlessly.

His gaze flicks over to you, his eyes close behind his lens, laughing again. Bustling closely to him, you quiz, “Okay, well you still have a lot of explaining to do. Like where you got that green thing from.”

Satoru stops by the line of sandwiches. His head turns to face you, “Don’t you trust me?”

“Absolutely not,” you’re quick to counter. He throws his head back as you grab a saran wrapped sandwich from the stall and face it at him strictly, “You’re not normal. That’s what I’m realizing.”

Satoru grabs a sandwich and a sugary soda too and he’s about to follow you as you walk off to a table but is interrupted when the employee behind the register curtly clears his throat. A nonverbal cue to pay for you both.

Satoru lets out a throaty groan, fishing deep in his pockets for a crisp ten dollar note. He rounds the table to the other side, sitting down with you.

“You’re having all these revelations pretty late into our lives, aren’t you?” Satoru picks up the conversation as if there was no gap in between. “I’m a little surprised you just came to the conclusion I’m not normal.”

“Hm, I’ve known for a while,” you hum, turning focus to your sandwich.

Memories are thrust upon you from high school. When you first met him, he hardly spoke. He was short with his interactions and would hardly have the grace to offer more than five words. He clearly didn’t enjoy being around people.

Suguru seemed to help him out of this at some point because in your sophomore year of high school, he came to school as a completely brand-new person. His personality shown more, and he only then began pissing you off.

In a way, it was better than seeing him so down like he was before. Because of that, you have been more inclined to tolerate his shit a lot of the time.

“Listen, Satoru,” you sigh, not even noticing the way his body electrocutes at the fact you called him by his first name and not his last. “I’m very serious about my future. It means everything to me and to my parents. There’s only a certain amount of shit I can tolerate. And I can’t tolerate you slacking off at my expense.”

Towards the end of your warning, you look at him. He lowers his drink from his mouth, eyes straight ahead.

“Fair enough,” Satoru says. His head falls loosely between his shoulders, his hair glistening in the fluorescent lights. “It’s important for your parents too, that’s something I respect.”

Your brows uncinch.

“It’s important I get home on time for my parents too,” you sigh, looking at the time.

“You have an hour,” Satoru asks. “Why are you worried?”

Now he knows why you are worried. He still has to act oblivious, that’s all.

He sees the faltering blinks, eyes dancing here and there, mouth parted without a word ready to fly out.

Satoru takes another bite from his sandwich, talking with a full mouth, “Is your dad strict or something?”

Those anxious eyes morph into a revolted side eye, “You know who my dad is. You know what my dad is.”

“Yeah, he’s just the captain. Not some flesh-eating monster,” Satoru makes himself giggle.

You set your forearm on the surface of the table, rotating your body to turn to him, “My dad is a great man. He’s all law and order and then there’s my mom, also law and order. If I didn’t have enough on my mind, now my dad wants to assign a detail to me.”

“Assign . . .” Satoru shifts in his seat, lowering his meal. “You mean have a pair of cops following you around all the time?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

Satoru’s eyes travel over your face while you’re not looking at him. If the captain does sign cops to tail you, that means that there’d be cops around him. Background checks, tailing him to get a sense of who he is . . . that could lead them to him being Spiderman . . .

“That—he can’t do that,” Satoru pipes, jolting you out of your little trance of eating. “That isn’t fair to you. You wouldn’t be able to hang around me—hell, they’d be standing right behind us listening to every word you say.”

Your lips turn down and brows raise, “I had no idea you cared so much.”

“Sure, why not?” Satoru dials down his emotion.

He supposes he’d have to stay away from you if your father went through with that after all. And he finds his heart twisting and turning from the very idea of doing that.

“He’s pretty stressed because of those string of bank robberies,” you exhale, Satoru’s eyes refuse to move from your face. “So my safety has gotten to his head too.”

Satoru’s blinks were slow, something that could be confused with lethargy, “Does he have any leads?”

“Not really. He just knows they’re all linked. He thinks Spiderman’s involvement is fucking everything up,” you say, remembering your encounter from last night.

“Hm,” and he can’t help but ask. “What do you think about him?”

“Spiderman?”

“Yes,” Satoru’s heart teetering on the edge.

“I think,” you begin, “he’s what our city needs. As a medical miracle, you decide to help others—that shows what kind of man you are.”

He has nothing to say for once. No quick quip, no fast remark. His mouth falls open, unsure how to respond. You were talking about his alter ego, but it felt like you were telling him.

“He’s pretty cool,” you nod, thinking about the vigilante.

He watches as you get up, saying, “I’ve got to get going, I’ve got to get work done before my dad picks me up.”

He feels like he has much left unsaid, but he still watches as you make your way out on your own.

Satoru is rooftop hopping, rushing back after he hit a dead end on a potential jewelry store he believed a heist may occur. That has been his routine that past week on top of annoying you in class and sitting with Haiba and Suguru in the library.

“Hm, okay. I just need to get a minimum of a C on this next exam to maintain my A,” Suguru mumbles aloud. “Satoru, you should maybe focus on your philosophy paper, you don’t want to get called out by the professor again—"

Suguru continues talking but Satoru is on a completely different planet. His gaze had flicked over to you walking through the maze of tables, and it was like an angel had stepped onto Earth.

The dim library of the university had mysteriously brightened tenfold. The incessant chatter of students around you crashes to a muffled halt as the faces begin to lose definition. All he can focus on is your pretty face. Your graceful smile. Your beautiful existence.

He feels his heart caper at the very sight of you laughing, the honeyed sound of it. His heart twists a bit more at the fact that it’s because of another guy.

“Hello!? Earth to Satoru,” Suguru breaks into Satoru’s eyeline. He looks back at whatever could have grasped his attention so unapologetically. He groans in frustration, “When are you going to tell her you want her?”

“I—what? I don’t want her,” Satoru snaps his head over at Suguru.

“It’s pretty obvious you want her, bud,” Haiba says with wide eyes and all Satoru can do is roll his own.

The sleep deprivation is catching up to him and he’s not sure how to remedy it. Those brief hours he does get to sleep he can hardly do so, he’s too busy trying to figure everything out. Where is Jogo hiding? Where is the next hit going to be? Why does he need that relic?

What could you be wearing tonight?

He has to shake his head like a wet dog, screw his eyes shut and bury his ears with his pillow. What is going on with him?

The next lab you have together, you spend most of it trying to figure out how to get through it working together and not competing against one another.

Afterwards, he wants to trail behind you, talk more to you but you’re tugged away by Shoko without fail.

 Every time.

Every time you sit on some staircase out on campus, step through the winding aisles of bookcases in the library, sit at some table in one of the cafes, Shoko or Utahime are always there.

He figures he’ll get the chance at JJ Tech but he’s barely seen you with how busy both of your schedules have been. His last resort is waiting for a perfect moment to get you alone. 

Satoru manages to catch up to you somehow once again in the library, studying for midterms.

“Here,” he places a cup of coffee in front of you on the table, it sat before your notebooks and thick textbooks like an almighty divinity.

Your eyes pierce through the coffee, then up at him, “How’d you know this is the flavor I like?”

You look tired, usually you can put yourself together enough to not seem so, but tonight it’s apparent. Your pens and highlighters are spread across the desk in a crazed frenzy.

“That’s the one you usually get at work, I don’t know. Thought you might need it,” he shrugs nonchalantly, sitting down.

You straighten up, wanting to smile but holding that feeling back, tying it down, “Oh, thanks.”

“I see you’re studying for . . .” Satoru tries guessing but squints at the papers you have strewn across the table, “what class?”

“Neuroscience,” you sigh, chewing on the end cap of your highlighter.

“Stop doing that,” he lowers you hand, essentially pulling the highlighter away from your mouth. He then opens the bottle of chilled coffee, handing it to you, “Here.”

You take it from him, eyes on his as you pull it towards your mouth, taking a sip. He leans back in his seat, his eyes roaming the papers you have laid out.

“Looks fun,” he drawls, looking through everything. “Have you had something to eat yet?”

“No, not yet. I’ll eat when I’m home,” you answer. “Have you?”

“No, me neither,” he says.

“Oh,” you ponder over what the situation is. “If you aren’t doing anything, we can go get something to eat right now.”

Satoru nearly stops breathing, he has every reason to frantically say yes. One: he happens to be starving. Two: he knows he’s going to be busy all night with studying and with his Spiderman duties. Three: he can sit and relax with you. Four: It’s you.

But he needs to get going, a potential lead came up in relation to Jogo he needs to check out right now.

“I can’t,” he wants to punch himself. “I have to help my aunt with something.”

Disappointment prickles through your body, a feeling you weren’t expecting in the least in a situation like this.

“Oh, that’s okay,” you gather your belongings.

“Wait—where are you going?” his eyes go wide, watching you pack your bag.

“Uh, home,” you say as if it were obvious. “Did you forget what we talked about that one time? Dad—security detail—never letting me breathe?”

“You can’t actually be worried about that,” Satoru says as you sling on your bag. “I highly doubt the captain will go through with that.”

“Just make sure you’re on time tomorrow for class, we have to work on that lab,” you tell him, flipping your hair as you adjust your bag on your shoulder. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“I have an issue with losing track of time,” Satoru frowns. “It’s not my fault.”

“Maybe use your glasses to keep an eye on the time. Are four eyes not enough? Do you seriously need six of them?” you challenge with a look over your shoulder before turning back to the exit.

He wants to laugh at the sheer irony of your question.

Satoru’s on a rooftop again. Another sleepless night is sure to pass him by. He follows lead after lead, suspect after suspect, but nothing.

That tip he got led him to nothing. Led him to nothing but missing class the next morning.

He’s thinking only about how guilty he feels, how he should apologize for bailing on you again during lab. Especially when you told him not to.

You count your lucky stars that you are sitting at home today worrying about your midterm exams approaching and not worrying in the lab.

Your father shows up at your door with a cup of hot cocoa, settling it down beside you. He has a cup of his own, a rare to see smile on his face as he sits down next to you.

“Thanks, Dad,” you beam, taking the cup.

“How’s studying going?” he asks.

“It’s okay,” you sigh. “How’s that heist case coming along?”

“It’s stressful,” he huffs out as well. “Got a bunch of different stories coming from the witnesses and that Spiderman jackass isn’t helping with my peace right now.”

“He’s not so bad,” you chuckle, taking a sip.

Your dad cocks a disgruntled brow, “That guy’s a menace. Just like that one news guy keeps saying.”

“That guy is crazy, Dad, and you know it,” this time you scoff.

“You calling me crazy, too?” your dad quizzes.

“No,” you set down your cup, “That’s not what I meant. I just meant that Spiderman has saved a lot of people. A lot of his good deeds go unnoticed because there are so many little things he does that don’t get broadcasted. Whatever—anyway, what are the witnesses saying?”

Your dad slowly lowers his offended brow and explains, “Witnesses from each location are saying they were knocked unconscious. Then there are witnesses who are also saying that the suspects dropped some sort of spray on them, then there are others saying it may have been a gas they inhaled.”

“Gas?” your nose scrunches.

“Hm,” your dad nods. “After they either inhaled or felt it on them, they started hallucinating. Some saw flashes of things they feared in their life, or of traumatic moments, or they were close to being driven to sleep by pictures of nice dreams. It all is difficult to figure out what it is. Our forensics team is having a shit time with narrowing it down since it may flush out of their system quick.”

You gawk at him, lost for words. It’s a highly concentrated blend of hallucinogens and anesthetics. One sip could send a man into cardiac arrest—or worse, kill him.

Your own voice rings in your head but his face is what appears before you. Those sparkling blue eyes and that silvery white hair. A flash of that green vial struck in an instant too.

“It’s all pretty confusing,” your dad exhales, taking a sip from his foamy drink. There’s a ring at the bell, steering his attention to it. He looks over at you, ruffling your hair, “You get back to it kiddo, I’ll see who it is.”

He walks out, closing your door and you look over that video about the fundamentals of chemistry, your notes splayed open with highlighters and sticky notes littering your desk.

But you can hardly focus—now that you’re thinking about Gojo all over again. This all has to be a coincidence, right? There’s no way Satoru Gojo of all people is affiliated with a high crime gang and drugging people to rob banks. There’s just no way.

But his voice rings in your mind once more—a memory of your conversation when he asked about that liquid being able to be used as a gas in combat. . . ‘I was afraid of that.’

The little three tapped choreographed knock on your door tells you that your father is on the other side.

“Sweetheart, there’s a . . . boy from your class here to see you,” your dad awkwardly says.

You blink the tiredness away, getting up and heading to the foyer of your penthouse apartment. Your hand rests on the railing as you descend down the stairs, only to stop halfway when your eyes land on snowy hair and silver framed glasses.

His sky-blue eyes lock onto yours, his blinks are restless, and his pretty lips are parted. You see him visibly gulp, like he was nervous to face you.

“What’re you doing here?” you finally say, remembering the fact he abandoned you once more today.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Satoru waits a beat till his heart tries to settle down. “Is that okay?”

You should yell at him, and you truly want to but for some reason you can’t. You huff out a sigh, beckoning him to follow you. As you turn around to lead him up the stairs, he’s once again scattering his field of vision everywhere.

He’s paying attention to the extravagance of your home. The chandelier in the foyer, the numerous potted bonsais and lilies, the expensive stonework polished floors, the ornamental china vases and molded ceiling. He shouldn’t expect any less from the daughter of the veteran police captain of the city and the successful assistant district attorney. Your parents were clear overachievers, mother and father both, it is no less than obvious you would be on a similar path of greatness yourself.

He eyes you rather shamelessly, it’s not like you have eyes on the back of your head. You glance over your shoulder at him.

Or maybe you do.

Satoru already felt scrutinized at the door when your father opened it. He should care a little more but finds that he doesn’t care one bit about the police captain’s protective gaze on him following his daughter up to her room.

You open your door, unveiling your bedroom to the boy. Suguru and Haiba would go nuts if he were to tell them he was standing in your room with you right now. Nanami would hardly believe him at all.

Your room is neat, that’s the first thing he notices. And it’s exactly how he pictured it. Furniture white, minimalistic and clean. The bed had four posts, sheer curtains draping down the top. You had white boards, bulletin boards, filled with excessive diagrams and notes. You had bookshelves in a corner of the room, lined with chemistry and medical textbooks where your desk was.

There was a wall of windows that overlooked the city, a balcony that had a set of Parisian doors to it. He wonders how much time you spent out there with your thoughts and what they could possibly be.

While he’s observing every element of your room, you face him. He has this wondrous look in those frosted eyes of his, a look that makes them look even wider. His lips part and when you look at him in the dim lighting from your study lamp, you notice the way his top lip prods out slightly over his bottom. That they have a pouted yet subtle curve to them that came to life when he smiled. That there was a soft pinkish sheen to them.

You wonder why you’re suddenly paying such close attention to him these days.  

“Here,” you speak, ringing yourself out of wherever your mind was going.

He cocks a brow, gawking at you rifling through your school bag. His puzzled expression deepens when you press a packet of paper against his chest. “What’s this?”

“Your part of the lab report,” you grumble, eyes cold yet thwarted. “Just memorize the material by next Friday before our presentation. I’ll make sure the rest of what’s left throughout the week gets done.”

Satoru’s entirely taken aback. You have every right to be mad but he wasn’t expecting you to still want to help him. His arm shoots out to grab yours before you can walk away. Your halted against your will, shocked as you gape at him trapped in the lamplight as it clings to his skin.

“Wait—that’s not why I came here,” he sighs begrudgingly. “I came to apologize. I’m sorry I missed class and bailed on you.”

“Twice,” you correct with furrowed brows.

“Twice,” he revises. “It was a shitty thing to do. And it won’t happen again.”

He swallows dryly as he stares at that cynical look on your face. He looks like a lost pet, waiting to be scolded by its owner.

“Promise?” you tip your head to the side.

“Promise,” he answers, he feels his heart tearing through his chest at how you’ve suddenly acquired a childlike disposition, one he’s never had the chance to witness before. And all because of him.

“Okay,” you smally smile, flashing your pearly teeth at him. “But if you bail on me again, I’m telling Yaga to give you a zero.”

“Got it—but how come you’re so sure he’ll give your word priority over mine?” Satoru challenges.

“Because you were the second smartest kid in high school, and I was the first,” you pointedly say. “I have a higher GPA than you, I have won three more academic awards than you have—and let’s face it, my attendance record outranks yours in an embarrassing way.”

Satoru presses his lips firmly and raises his brows in hilarity, trying to contain that laughter wanting to blurt out of him. He fails though, laughing anyway.

Your lips part as you stare at him, suddenly you’re so aware of how tall he is again, how he’s not as lanky as he used to be in high school.

“At least I’m not stupid,” Satoru tells you knowingly. “You could’ve ended up with a lot worse than me.”

“Really? Like who?” you cross our arms.

“Yuki—Haiba—Need I go on?” he speaks with a teasing tone.

“God, no. I got your point,” you hold your hands up in defense. Your nose twitches as you let your hands slowly fall to your sides. “You didn’t have to come all this way to apologize, you know. You could’ve just apologized tomorrow or over text, you have my number.”

“You wouldn’t have thought twice about forgiving me,” he puts his hands in his pockets. “Or murdering me.”

This evokes a laugh from you, cheeky and bright, this cold light of the moon suddenly feels like beams of sunlight embracing him, warm and comforting.

Then you point a finger at him, “But you have to tell me why you have that green liquid.”

Satoru can’t flip his way out of this corner. Another lie must suffice, “One of my friends from my neighborhood gave it to me—said he swiped it off some kid in his school. He wanted me to find out what was in it.”

“Oh,” you frown, all doe-eyed and innocent. “You should get rid of that thing. It’s dangerous.”

“Will do,” Satoru salutes with his middle and index fingers. He catches that little sideways twitch of your mouth, as you stare at him from the bottom up but stop halfway. “What is it?”

“I’m just a little shocked you’re not really how I thought you’d be,” you say. “Is that bad?”

“Depends,” Satoru eyes the room shamelessly, glancing at you before he sits down uninvited on your bed. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. We’ve known each other for like over half a decade—and we hardly ever really talked. I always thought you were some nerdy guy that had a bad attitude. I guess I thought you never really liked me.” You circle around the bed post to get closer to him.

Satoru’s brows are raised so far up high that they are practically skimming his hairline. He was talkative, just not with you at first. He feels like he might’ve been a bit blunt overall—but that changed for him when he became Spiderman years ago.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” Satoru says the unexpected. “I guess I just found you intimidating.”

“Me?” you point at yourself, sitting down. “Why? You’re, like, one of the most talented kids I know.”

“Because you’re crazy smart,” he blurts out, smiling as he can’t even maintain eye contact with you. He feels your body heat, just a few measly inches to his left. You’re in reach and he’s scared he’ll do something to cause you to slip away.

Your eyes widen at his words, and he seems to not be done yet with the way he sucks in a breath, hands resting either side of him on the comforter.

“You’re insanely clever and nice and it doesn’t help much that you’re pretty,” Satoru is shaking his head, meeting your gaze once again. Once again, gorgeous eyes stare back at him.

You furrow your brows, not remembering an instance in your life where you had seen him look so vulnerable for even a moment. Your eyes flick down to his pouted lips then back up to his eyes.

“You think I’m pretty?” you whisper.

“Is that even a question?” Satoru breathes.

You lean close, his icy blue eyes contrast his half lidded warm look behind his glasses. He inches closer, your noses brushing against each other.

Your lips are half a centimeter away from his. He can smell the scent of your lotion, the sweet scent of your lip balm. He’s so close to tasting it that he feels like he’s the closest he’ll ever be.

That tingling sensation shot up his spine and straight to his ears, not because of this tension.

It’s his six eyes telling him there’s an incoming threat. Footsteps. They’re faint, but he feels them coming this way.

He suddenly jumps up, grabbing the lab report and rifling through it, “Your dad.”

“What?” you’re taken aback, your face crinkling.

“He’s coming,” he says.

You blink at him, wondering if he’s just scared or if he didn’t want to kiss you in the first place.

“Listen, Satoru, if you don’t want to—”

Your door swings open, revealing your father. One hand rests on the knob and one on the door frame. The way he opened it indicated a sense of urgency, or a sense of wanting to catch Satoru in the act. The act being the boy making a move on you.

“Hey, sweetie, everything alright in here?” he eyes you quickly at the term of endearment but then keeps his razor-sharp cop stare on Satoru. He’s not doing anything to ring alarm bells, simply just thumbing through report papers like he gave the impression of initially.

“Yes, Dad!” You glare at your father. “I thought we talked about knocking.”

“Oh, sorry—I was just—” he attempts defending himself but your eyes widen as you tilt your head at him and he ushers himself out of your room.

“Jeez. You’d hardly believe I’m nineteen years old with a dad like that. What is he going to do after I move out,” you grumble. Your eyes slowly dance over to the boy who was standing up, “How’d you know he was coming?”

“I could hear his footsteps,” he says.

“Yeah, you told me like a whole minute before he actually was at the door,” you stand up, nearing him. “I know your eyes suck, but no one has that good a sense of hearing.”

“I told you that’s what I heard,” he defends himself.

You tighten your lips, watching him set the papers down with his eyes fixed on the door. His eyes are still but his mind runs a mile a minute. He’s ruminating on the fact he almost kissed you and that your father could have walked in. What’s worse right now though is the fact he is still standing in the wake of your missed moment.

“Satoru, something is up with you,” you stand up, taking a daring step forward. Your shoulders square in assertion, “I’m not sure what it is. But I promise you can trust me.”

He slowly turns his head to you, thinking about what to say but his breath stops short when you place your palms over his chest, gazing up at him.

He gulps, and he hopes you don’t see how his nerves are clearly rattling, shaking his very bones. His phone buzzes with the soft four chimed ring he’s all too familiar with and he curses himself and every other wrong doer in the whole city of New York.

“I . . . I’m sorry,” he grabs yours wrists. “I have to go.”

He goes around you, passing you without so much as another glance. You watch him leave your room and in the simplest of terms, you felt like shit.

You begin walking to your door to slam it shut when your father runs past you, frantically pushing his limbs through his police jacket, his other hand on his phone.

“Dad—what is it?” you question breathlessly.

“Sorry, honey, have to go in. There’s another theft in progress in the upper east,” your father explains in two quick breaths.

Your eyes follow him as you hear the front door shutting after he leaves, only a minute or so after Satoru did.

You can’t help that scowl you toss at your microscope on your desk, or how you sprint towards it to inspect the elements once again.

Satoru is thinking only about you. Only you, only you.

His cognizance on the fact he should focus on this heist is hardly doing him favors from how much he regrets not kissing you. If being caught by your father was a repercussion anyway, how bad could that have possibly been? Yeah, so what. Mild embarrassment, maybe a few threats here and there.

His hand wraps around the web he shoots at the side of the building, swinging straight through the shattered window. He has no time for histrionics, he just wants to get to the bottom of this case.

When the thugs turn to face the man that flew in through the window, they all drop what they are doing, scowling menacingly at the boy.

“Okay,” Satoru cracks his knuckles, tweaking his neck to the side. “Let’s wrap this up.”

That’s what prompts four burly men to lurch at the boy. Gojo makes quick effort to shoot at one’s face, gluing a sticky web to his eyes and hindering his senses completely.

He knocks over another one with a horse powered kick, pushing him into a glass display. He’s nearly amazed with himself by how rushed this fight is.

Another man comes at him with a closed fist, brass knuckles adorning them as they hurtle straight for Satoru’s face. With lightening reflexes, he swats the man’s arm, aiming the base of his palm straight up the man’s jaw. Except it isn’t his jaw he’s aiming for.

An anguished scream of agony leaves the man as he cradles his bleeding, broken nose. Spiderman towers over him again, kicking him in the gut while he’s down.

The fourth man fires several shots at Satoru, unfortunately for the goon, he hasn’t experienced just how the Six Eyes senses really benefit the Spiderman.

His gun is in Satoru’s hand before he knows it, a stringy web stuck to the end of it. The thief’s jaw drops, eyes reddened and wide when he witnesses the way the gun crushes in the vigilante’s hand, the pieces of it crumbling to the ground.

“This is getting boring,” Satoru whines immaturely. “I can’t believe I had to give up being with a pretty girl for this.”  

Forcibly tugging the man towards him with a web, Satoru delivers a lethal blow to the back of the man’s head, instantly knocking him out.

The sound of a glass rustling behind him draws his attention, the man he had knocked into the display was on his feet again. He has something in his hand that catches the vigilante’s attention, three small balls.

“Fuck no,” Satoru grabs the pellets by shooting webs again. “Not falling for this again.”

He lunges to the wall behind the man, psyching him out when he kicks off the wall and practically tackles the man to the ground.

“Not in the mood to get to know you,” Satoru frowns, his boot on the side of the man’s neck. “Where’s Jogo? And who gave you this?”

He hold up the pellets of gas, the stare of whitened eyes through his mask are enough to terrify the man.

“Please! I don’t know where Jogo is! I was just instructed to make this hit!” the man chokes out. “I got these through the—the lady we got that makes these—her name is Hanami—she works in a lab somewhere—we don’t know where. She has someone drop them off and she tells us where after the drop’s been made but—”

“You’re not telling me what I need,” Satoru steps down on the man’s throat harder.

“I—I can tell you where she gets her stuff from! In fact, I heard from somewhere that she’s got a guy on the inside getting her the goods. It’s at Myrtec Chemicals—one of her guys told me there’s a drop happening later tonight!”

“Thanks,” Satoru lifelessly smiles, kicking the man unconscious.

Shivering behind a wall of crates is not how you expect to be spending your Friday night. What you envisioned after a long night of studying was curling up with some popcorn and other snacks to watch a nice movie.

Most certainly not a group of men talking about people they are planning to kill.

“Man, I fucking hate the captain,” one spews. “I’d love to rip his heart out of his chest if I ever got the chance.”

You cover your mouth, trying to contain your gasp. The suspicion that Satoru may be involved with these men is tearing you apart. You haven’t seen or heard him in the last twenty minutes you’ve been here.

Standing outside the wired fence of Myrtec Chemicals is not how you want to go out. So slipping out now makes sense. You needed to make sure Satoru wasn’t linked to these guys and there’s been no sign of his loudmouth anywhere.

As you shift to run off as fast as you can so you can get to the bus stop at the edge of the next street, you accidentally bump your elbow into one of the big crates. A dull yet prominent thud reverberates through the air.

Fuck.

“What the fuck!”

“Someone’s here?”

“Who’s there?”

You know once again you’re cornered. Why must you test your luck so often? How on earth will you get out of this one?

“Hey! You!” a man is looking around the pile of crates, eyes landing on you.

You make a run for it but he grabs you—as expected. You cinch your eyes shut and a loud whoosh over your heads shoots through the air.

No way.

“Hey! Hands off her!”

The voice is hauntingly familiar. So is that black and white suit and that emblem of blue across his chest. That glowing spider—hope.

Spiderman leaps at the man that had grabbed you, striking him across the face. The other men shout out, rushing to grab their weapons, all the while the great Spiderman is making haste to scoop you into his arms.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Sorry about this.”

“That’s okay, been wondering about you for a while,” he says with ease, then he leaps and you scream out, not realizing you’re on top of a small security tower. “Stay put here, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod seeing the thumbs up he gives you as he falls backwards to the ground, flipping straight back into action.

You watch as he takes down the remaining men, but the fascination to him isn’t all that you think about. You’re trying to pinpoint that voice—that cadence and rhythm in it. It sounds an awful lot like—

“How’d you end up here?” the vigilante is hanging upside down by a web in front of you, attached to the top of the watch tower’s antenna structure.

You blink, retracting in place, “I thought my friend might be here, but I might’ve been wrong. I was just worried.”

“You get into trouble pretty often, don’t you?” he chuckles, still upside down.

That thought invades your mind again—his voice sounds too much like his. There’s no way. There’s just no way.

“Sorry about that,” you shake your head.

“Why’d you think he’d be here?” the man tilts his head.

“They’re using a chemical, aren’t they? Those thugs?” you quiz. “They’re using it on people when they ransack places like banks and jewelry stores. I analyzed the particles and managed to isolate where certain specialized compounds can be mixed and it traced back here. Thought I’d check it out.”

Satoru’s suspended in the air, his state of mind matches his physical state. Speechless, he does nothing but stare.

“Ugh, God, why are you so stupid for someone so smart?” he groans.

“Excuse me?” you quickly pipe, taking a step back as he lowers onto the tower’s rail with you.

His arm slips around you, and he murmurs, “You could’ve gotten really hurt. This was a very dumb thing to do.”

“I know that but . . .”

“Why’d you have to come, huh? You care about that guy or something?” he asks, shooting out a web to another building.

“Yeah, or something,” you quietly say, eyes on him. Your suspicion as to who is behind the mask is starting to piece together and you aren’t sure whether you should comment on it or not. “Wanted to make sure he was okay.”

He can’t even face you. Do you even know what you’re saying? He wants to chalk it up to delusion but a mind as sharp as yours can’t be subject to something so petty as delusion.

When your arms slip around his neck, you stare at him and you can practically see through him.

“Hold on as—” Satoru begins.

“As tight as I can, I know,” you finish, not even being as terrified as you were the first time he web slung you through the streets of New York.

He stops at the top of a building, one far too high above the ground. That is when you realize you aren’t on top of any old building at all. You gawk from this point, the highest point of New York’s famous Vessel.

You look down, overlooking the Hudson Yard and seeing that the structure is closed to the public due to how late in the evening it is.

“I’ve never actually been here before,” you marvel at the sight. “It’s beautiful.”

“Hm, it is,” Satoru mumbles, staring at your wonder-stricken eyes.

At the sound of his voice you turn slowly, facing him, “Thank you for saving me. Again.”

“Nothing to it,” he replies, his tone hinting at a smile you can’t see. “Think I might’ve chipped a nail back there.”

Your eyes flit over him, head to toe. While your eyes stay by his feet, you say, “I want to take off your mask.”

“That defeats the whole purpose of it,” Satoru states. “Then you’d see my face. It defeats the sense of mystery too when you find out who I am.”

“I think I already know,” your eyes settle back on the white blank eyes of the mask, wanting to see the blue you’d been thinking far too much about.

Satoru’s stunned silence screams over how you move toward him. Your searing palms set on his chest, he feels like he’s being scorched to ash with how close you are.

He makes no effort to move away or tell you to stop. He swallows his inhibitions when your hands hesitantly slide up his chest to the base of his neck. The tips of your fingers caress his collarbone and neck till they tug at the edge of his mask.

Satoru knows he should tell you that he can’t let you see but he wants it so bad at the same time.

That’s why he watches with withheld breaths when you inch your way as your pull up the mask, slowly.

The pale of his moonlit skin exposes itself to you while you gently tear the mask further up. His chin peeks out, the sharp cut of his jaw, then you see his soft lips, the ones you want to just lean in and kiss so damn bad.

So you do and he knows he’d be stupid to stop you this time around. Your mouth feathers over his before you finally press onto him. Your lips meet his, buttery soft, warming your cold ones by a single touch.

He kisses you back softly but you back away, his head following your back before you part lips. He gazes at you as you cradle the lower half of his face, easing him into letting you take the mask off further.

You pull it back more, seeing that pointed nose of his you were accustomed to watching crinkle as he smiled. Then you finally pull them away from his eyes and his hair. You aren’t so surprised anymore, not as much as you should be at least.

That snowy white hair, like a fresh fleet of ice had poured onto his head ever so lovingly. Then those eyes, God those eyes. The shimmering blue that twinkled so brilliantly in the amber light, the eyes you feel like you’re seeing for the first time without any pair of glasses or masks in the way.

For once, you are the one smiling and he’s left with a somnolescent look on his face, like he could fall over at any moment. His eyes are half-lidded, fixed on your eyes and fleeting down to your lips without any sign of subtly.

He bends his neck down, capturing your lips in his again before slipping his arm around you and his free hand to your face. Now even if you wanted to move away, you couldn’t. Key word ‘if’.

You feel the way he softly inhales from his nose, breathing in like he’s breathing you in. He’s gentle and yearning, like he’s wanted this for a long time.

He presses his lips a little harder, and you can’t help the little sigh you let out. If you were in this situation two weeks ago, you’d be running around flipping your lid at the revelation that Satoru Gojo was the Spiderman. Except now, that mattered slightly less to you.

You both pull away by a hair, noses grazing one another’s as you gaze into each other’s eyes. You pull back a little more to see his face in its entirety. A fallen angel.

The little fidget of your smile as you decide whether to smile or not is enough to have him take the lead and smile anyway.

“So you did want to kiss me,” you say cheekily, eyes glistening from the city lights, the winter air pinching your nose and cheeks.

“Yes, dummy,” Satoru responds with a quiet nuance of hilarity. His gloved hand remains on your face, his thumb pressing down on your chin.

Tipping your chin down, your mouth opens. The cool air of the night blends in with Satoru’s warm breath, swirling in a strangely comforting breath, one that bore escape.

He pushes his tongue into your mouth, doing his best to taste every bit of you because he missed the chance for far too many years. Here, there is no police captain father to rush in, no thug or criminal to interrupt, no man that could touch you. Other than him of course.

You taste like peppermint, like what he would envision a warm and loving Christmas with family to be like. He wants more—he needs more.

Your tongues twirl in tandem, pace still slow but you each feel a growing desire crushing on your souls. It’s heavy and bone rattling, enough that he pulls back to shake himself out of it.

“I should take you back home—your parents—”

“Dad’s going to be out all night with that heist and Mom drank too much wine at dinner and my brothers and sister aren’t going to say anything about me not being home,” you’re quick to arbitrate. “I’m a little cold though.”

“I can see that,” he laughs as you shiver, the frosty air intermingling with his warm breath to create a translucent fog. “I—I don’t wanna sound like I’m rushing but you can come home with me to my place. I can explain everything there.”

You press your tongue in between your teeth in thought before you grin, “Let’s go.”

You help put on his mask when he cranes his neck down to you. He grabs you and you know the drill, hold on tight and do not, under any circumstances, let go.

He’s swung you through the entire city again and you take the time to enjoy, this time trusting him without a shadow of a doubt. The city looks pretty from his view, you count yourself grateful to get a glimpse of that, and that he has shared this special thing with you.

He stops outside a half open window on the side of an apartment building, he helps you through the ledge, safely getting you inside. You take a few steps back and watch him crawl inside, dropping to the floor with the agility of a cat.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing this,” you say softly. “I can’t believe I kissed Spiderman. I can’t believe I kissed you actually. That’s crazier to me.”

Satoru tears the mask from his head, his hair all disheveled fell into his eyes, “That’s crazier to you? That you made out with me not that I saved your ass again?”

“Shut up,” you narrow your eyes, looking around. “This is where you live, huh?”

“Mhm,” Satoru answers, watching you. “So you looked into that liquid again. Why did you come all the way to that place? That was very dangerous. And very very stupid. You really came all that way because of me?”

You face him, the air still coolly frosting at the shell of your ears, “I thought you might’ve been involved with those guys at first but based on our conversations, I assumed that maybe you were trying to play hero.”

“And you showed up and realized I was,” Satoru peers down at you. “Idiot.”

“Hey, if I was an idiot, I never would’ve been there in the first place,” you jab your pointer finger straight into his chest. He lets out an exaggerated and overdramatic cough, clutching his heart as if you did serious damage. “Seriously, Satoru, I get why you couldn’t tell me but . . . were you planning on not being near me to protect that secret?”

He stills, the smile vanishing from his face. His icy hair falls over his equally icy irises, bottom lip pushing ever so lightly into his top one in a small frown.

“I didn’t mean to push you away. I tried to stop myself from being close to you—that day you were late was my fault,” he shakes his head, eyes wide.

“But you still saved me,” you justify.

“But you wouldn’t be there in the first place if it weren’t for me,” he counters quickly.

You lower your eyes, “I have a mind, you know? I can say ‘no’, and I can make my own choices. Staying to help you was my choice. And I don’t regret it.”

Your eyes lift to meet his, lights darkened in his apartment. The only thing illuminating the space is the moon, its incandescent glow spilling into the room as if it were sneaking in secrets.

Shining down on your clandestine meeting, you each are inching closer, lips feathering over one another’s before he can’t take it anymore and kisses you.

His hands thread through your hair, his fingers interlinking at the nape of your neck, pushing you against him. He’s kissing you like he wants to breathe you in, like you’re the air that needs to be in his lungs.

You let your tongue slide across his bottom lip, easing it into his mouth. You lap inside his mouth, exploring every bit that your muscle can physically reach, intertwining with his.

Feverishly, you keep kissing each other, and it simply isn’t enough. Panting like starved dogs, you want to whisper to him to take you to his room but it feels too far—and your mind is running in circles right now.

Between kisses, you reach back, shedding your coat and kicking your boots off. Fuck, why is it always so cold in New York? Couldn’t it be summer, so you had less layers to shed?

He’s reeling you back in every time your lips leave his for even a moment. Taking yourself away from him for even a split second is cruel to him, worse than battling a group of mutants as Spiderman.

Satoru appreciates your enthusiasm and your forwardness, considering he’s not as experienced as he’d like to be for you. Hey, it’s hard to date as a superhero. He just prays it’s not too obvious

Your hands are busy unbuttoning your pants as he backs you into the backrest of the couch, not as coordinated as he hopes. He is not all that concerned clearly because you find yourself on your back on his couch, him hovering over you, lips not leaving yours for even a slight moment.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he breathes, his hips in between your parted legs. “I can’t believe my luck right now.”

“You’re such a dork—” you begin to joke before he rolls his hips against you, that tent in his pants prods at the heat between your thighs and you gasp out in pure shock and thirst.

Your eyes widen when they shoot down between your bodies, seeing that prominent bulge at the front of his pants, so obviously emphasized in that tight suit of his. How had you missed that before?

“What was that?” Satoru teases, eyelids bonneting over his irises seductively, a coy smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth.

He tries to hide just how painfully hard he is but now he understands there’s no use. After all, he can still play with your head a bit—just a bit.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist.

And his lips are on yours again, swallowing in your gasps and vice versa. All the while, he ruts his hips against you, grinding and dry humping like two pathetic teenagers.

Each time he rolls his hips into you, you moan, humming into his mouth shakily. He’s taking each sound in with pride, he can hardly believe he’s drawing out noises like that from you, miss put together. His lips trek down your jaw, peppering kisses as he makes his way down your neck, a smile curling at his lips.

With hazy eyes, you let your hands skirt at his abdomen, trying to tug at the fabric at his waist, “How the fuck do you get this thing off?”

“You’re supposed to buy me dinner before you see me undressed, you know?” he chuckles against your jaw.

“Ha ha, very funny. Now take your suit off—I don’t want to play any more games,” you plead, your tone dwindles towards something most would call pathetic, but he knows better than to make that mistake. “Please, I just want you.”

Okay, maybe he’s wrong.

He doesn’t have the heart to wait any longer either. The command is clear in his mind, tear the suit off, but his fumbling hands make the effort stretch beyond eternity.

While he is busy with the strenuous task of undressing, you decide to get yours over with. With the desire to stop, go slow, take it all in, each of you are still keeping your eyes on each other—listening to the other’s breaths, taking in the sight of the other’s skin unveiling itself bit by bit. 

As ceremoniously as one could in a moment like this, you discard your top and kick off your pants. You regret the split second you look away because when you look back at him, his shirt is gone.

The spider suit has a variant of features, all that aid in the never-ending trade of fighting crime. That suit also serves justice to whoever it may be underneath it, but fuck it underscored just how beautiful Satoru’s body is.

In the dim light, you make out his chiseled abs, how his shoulder blades are sculpted like an artist spent every drop of sweat, blood, and tears into defining them. How those broad shoulders seamlessly crown the defined muscles of his biceps. Your eyes trail down his arms to his forearms, veiny and working to take off his pants.

That’s when your focus shifts to his chest once more. The plains of his torso display his corded abs.

And you’re counting. Five—six—seven—eight—For someone so rambunctious, he sure fails to flaunt his perfect eight-packed figure.

Your eyes lock in on his lower abdomen, how his waist his much narrower in comparison to the width of his shoulders. His hips hollow out as they carve out a defined line, trailing down between his legs.

Temptation is close to getting the best of you when you realize he’s been frozen in place for half a minute now. Shooting your attention back up to his lustful gaze, you’re suddenly hyperaware of the circumstance of you only in your bra and underwear.

“You’re staring,” you warn with a sharp look.

“Mm—and you weren’t?” he returns the same expression, smugly lowering to kiss you once more.

Any argument you wish to spew are revoked the second his lips are on yours again. Satoru’s hands roam your body. Despite the freezing cold of the winter, his fingertips are piping hot, searing your skin wherever they touch. Your hips, your waists, your face, your breasts, your thighs.

Those lithe fingers slide down your side, around your back and where the clasp of your bra is. And you want to giggle at how he’s struggling to get it unhooked.

“Need help?” you grin, leaning on your elbows.

“Shut up—I got it,” he grunts out. He doesn’t have it in him to admit that he’s suddenly registering the fact that it’s you. You’re the one underneath him right now. It’s your body he can’t believe looks this perfect.

His breaths stops when he manages to tear off that stupid bra from you, your fingers toying with the waistband of his underwear.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Hm?” you hum interrogatively, being cut off when he dives down. “Satoru—ah—”

He buries his face in the valley of your chest, kissing you harshly while making his way to your exposed nipples. He latches his mouth over one and your chest nearly caves in. A moan slips from your mouth, hands at the back of his head, curling in his hair while he sucks your tits so lasciviously.

“Fuck—Satoru—ah,” you try to keep your eyes on him but find yourself cinching them shut anyway.

“You sound so cute saying my name like that,” he gasps out, tongue flicking over your pert nipple, and hand massaging at the mound he’s left alone.

Chills dissipate over your arms and legs, causing you to let out shivers. Shivers that could be a mixed response of the cold air and at the sensation of his mouth sucking you.

Satoru begins to lower himself, trailing kisses down your stomach as he goes. He doesn’t stop when he reaches the waistline of your panties. His lips press on top of the cloth, over your pussy, his fingers curl into the waistband at your hips.

His eyes flick up to yours, a smile on his pretty lips as he takes in your expression, pure desire stitched in every crevice of your face.

He pulls down your panties, eyes fixed between your legs like he was seeing the holy grail itself. His mouth is watering at the sight before him. He can’t believe that after years and years of knowing you, this is the outcome. All the competition, the annoyed glances, quick remarks, all boiled down to this very moment. With you spread out underneath him like a slut.

“Fuck me,” he groans out, tossing your underwear to the side. He lifts your left leg, kissing your ankle and trekking his way up your leg. When he reaches your thigh, his tongue begins to playfully drag across your skin. “Mmm.”

With shaky breaths, you watch him get close and closer but then he stops. He mulls over every form of research he’s ever done. He knows if he puts his mind to it he can please you, he just needs a second to reel himself in. Quite unlike him.

You watch him carefully, seeing how his smile faded and how he’s swallowing down dry lumps. There’s a flush in his face that isn’t something you’ve seen before. Is he . . . nervous?

Your hands shift down, cupping his face. At the endearing action, his heart quivers, as do his eyes. That’s when his jaw slacks, tongue lolling out and licking up your pussy.

You suck in a fragmented breath, fingers trembling when he smiles again and does it again. The saliva on his tongue drips down from the tip of his muscle, dribbling straight down to your slit.

“Do you always get this wet around me?” he has a smile painted on his face that is reaching his ears.

“Can you for once put your mouth to good use?” you whisper back sharply, earning a deep chuckle from his as he lowers his face between your legs again.

Eagerly, he swipes a long languid lick from the bottom of your pussy to the top, milking out his spit as well as your arousal. His arms easily slip around your thighs as he now buries his face, lapping at your cunt like a starved animal.

A loud moan rips straight from your throat, you toss your head back from the sheer intensity. And you can’t help but cry out like that again, feeling his tongue circling over your clit over and over.

When he hears a rather high-pitched cry leave you, his chest swells with pride. He isn’t sure what he was so nervous about. He just can’t believe he’s the one making you feel this good—or you’re the one he’s ever had a moment of weakness like that for.

Tilting his head to the side, he angles his tongue. Licking, sucking slurping your cunt, he’s producing the lewdest of noises, getting absolutely high off your taste.

“Oh my god!” you whine, now rolling your hips on his face, fingers tugging his hair and digging at his scalp. “Do that again.”

“What? This?” Satoru feigns innocence, flicking his tongue repeatedly and quickly over your clit, teasing you.

You almost let a scream burst from you, slapping your palm over your mouth as he teases you. It dawns on you then that those blue eyes looking up at you, are the same very ones you took so long to truly see. He’s not in his glasses but that sight between your legs would’ve been just as gorgeous too.

His hands grip your thighs, pushing them closer to your chest. His jaw unhinges like he’s eating a meal, nose rubbing against your puffy clit as he feels himself become impossibly and painfully harder that he could cum right then and there.

Goosebumps ripple over your body, every cell in your body short circuiting. His fingers dig into your flesh in a bruising grip. With another wanton tug at his hair, he slips out a nasty moan, eyes deliriously rolling to the back of his head.

There’s a sense of greed in the way he’s eating you out. Hunger and lust intertwine together in his movements, he can’t get enough.

His hand comes down between your thighs, fingers swiping over your clit.

Your back is arching off the couch, loud and shameless cries escape you one after the other with no end in sight. With your vision beginning to blur like a flock of clouds rolling in before a storm, you feel a white-hot heat between your legs.

Your eyes flicker towards his face below you. His eyes were shut and his brows your furrowed adorably in concentration. His hair fell in soft tufts and his jaw and tongue are moving in ways you would never have fathomed to see before. Needless to say, he is so fucking sexy.

Feverishly rocking your hips as best you can to meet his insatiable mouth, you know your orgasm is closing in. Every piece of your being is only focused on this immense pleasure and straining to get to the peak point it so desperately needs.

He sees you becoming more and more restless, your legs shake more and your fingers tug harsher at his scalp. The way you’re practically screaming tells him all he needs to know, you are right there.

You scream when it hits you like a freight train. You’re cumming right on his tongue and gushing down his mouth. By no means does that indicate he is stopping though. He continues his motions through your orgasm, not daring to stop till you were done.

Free falling from a great height, you’re whining, clawing at his hair, his shoulders, anything. Pushing him away because of how criminally intense the feeling is. He stays right there, undeterred by your efforts to get him away from you.

Your eyes stay shut but your mouth hangs open, long and drained breaths filling the air. Satoru raises his head, “So fucking messy—I find it hard to believe you haven’t always had the hots for me.”

Meanwhile, you still are reeling in your post-orgasm state, chest rising and falling. Your eyes shift to Satoru straightening up, expanding his posture.

“You okay?” he says, devious tones underlying in his voice. Sincerity had flown out the window.

You respond halfheartedly anyway, “Mhm.”

You slowly move to sit up, biting your lip to ground yourself. Despite your head feeling as weighty as a boulder, you hold yourself up. Your hands reach for his briefs, fingers hooking into the waistband and tugging at them.

“Woah—someone’s impatient,” he chuckles.

“We both know you’d prefer this over anything else,” you say with a daunting lilt of your head.

“That might be true but—” he sucks in a sharp breath when your hand grazes over the precum soaked bulge in his briefs. “Holy fuck.”

Hearing his exasperated breaths draw a smile from you, urging your hands to tug his underwear down and freeing—no way.

No Fucking Way.

Judging by your reaction, Gojo understands through and through that you were expecting much less from him.

It isn’t like you expecting so much less, but you weren’t expecting so fucking much. A dire mistake on your end.

It’s monstrous, big enough that if you wrapped both palms around it, there’d still be uncovered length left. You tilt your head in awe, eyeing the slight curve in it. How his pale skin underneath doesn’t overmine the flush in his tip, the white precum seeding at the opening of it.

“Something the matter?” Gojo flatly whispers, fully aware of how long you’re staring. But by no means is he feeling the heat of it.

“No,” you quickly glance up at him, unblinking.

“Uh huh,” he accepts disbelievingly, a cocky smirk on his face.

You lean forward, wrapping your palm around it. You give it a few precautionary pumps, almost as if you’re petting a wild beast, hoping to tame it. When you hear the reaction it elicits from Satoru, you can’t help but fixate on his face.

His brows knit together and his mouth drops, heavy breaths escaping him. Not only that, but you feel it. You feel the way his dick practically jumps in your hand, sensitive to your touch yet wanting more.

Your chest swells with pleasure, letting your hand feel just what he has to offer. You can feel the ridges in it, the way his veins ran thick, pulsating in your hand.

“If I knew this was the most effective way to get you to shut up, I would’ve done it a long time ago,” you murmur, half-lidded eyes on his twitching face.

“Ngghh—Ahh—Shut up,” he shudders, one hand gripping the backrest of the couch, and the other reaching across his stomach, a feeble hope to ground himself.

“Why should I?” you tease, tugging at his dick as you begin sinking further down on your knees, eye leveled with his waist. “I like hearing you like this a lot more, Satoru.”

And just as you’re about to drag your tongue along the tip of his dick, something within him snaps. He shivers, grabbing you by the back of the head and pulling you to his lips. A soft moan slips from his mouth into yours.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer,” he breathes between kisses. “—I gotta be inside ya.”

Just then, you practically feel a second heartbeat between your thighs. There is no argument in the world that you could use to refute him. All you do is nod dumbly, giving yourself up to him.

He pushes you down, your back falling against the couch cushions beneath you. Satoru hovers over you, staring down at your face, truly studying it. His gaze flicks down when yours does too, to where your fist covers his shaft.

He shudders pathetically when your hand moves along his dick, pumping it impatiently. He notes the clear enthusiasm it elicits from you, how your body curves into him from how horny you were.

Satoru’s own hand reaches for his cock, jerking it slowly before he drags the tip up and down between your folds, gliding over your quivering hole enough to tease it but not give it what it craves so desperately.

You whine, feverishly bucking your hips up into his dick, hoping he takes pity and gives you what you want.

He chuckles darkly, “So needy.”

He slaps his tip against your clit and you gasp, legs jolting at the feeling. It is more than clear he enjoyed pulling a response like that from you, so he does it again. And when you jerk in place like that once more, he sadistically laughs in a way that you wouldn’t believe he’s a hero at all.

“Look at it when I put it in,” he quickly pecks your jaw.

You hesitantly look down, seeing how he coats his cock with all your arousal mixed with your cum. A little huff drips from your lips, watching how his thumb swipes over his tip, a little wet sound stringing as he fists his heavy dick.

While he aligns his cock with the opening of your pussy, your right hand flies to his left forearm and your left hand curls around one of the couch cushions.

He begins pushing it in, grunting as the softness of your walls cling to his tip, threatening to suck him in. Your jaw drops, choppy breaths falling one after the other at how it feels like he’s splitting you open.

“Shit,” he chokes, his hair tickling your face with how close he is. “You feel so fucking good.”

Your fingers tremble the further he pushes in. Your pussy wraps around him so deliciously that he has to remind himself to practice restraint—for your sake. Ever the hero, Satoru Gojo.

Your breath stops, realizing he has way more left to go when you spare a painful glance down. He isn’t even halfway in yet.

“Fuck—Satoru, you’re too big—it won’t fit,” you push at his abdomen, teary eyed.

“Then we’ll make it fit, baby,” he coos, swatting your hand away. “Nothing to worry about.”

When someone tells you not to worry, you learn, it is entirely appropriate to in fact, worry.

He angles himself to sink into you, glancing down between each of your bodies and up at your face, seeing your face contort into a pained yet pleasured expression. The more you become acquainted with his shape, the more it begins to feel good.

When he ruts himself against you, you let out a sharp squeal, clinging onto him. Your eyes feel like they are about to burst from their very sockets, in an almost cartoonish sense.

He watches you, a smirk on his restless face. He draws his hips back and jams them back into you.

“Oh fuck!” you cry, a crease forming between your brows.

“Aw, you look so cute,” he smiles, taking a breath to wince at just how snugly set he is inside you. “All the other guys at school would want to fucking kill me to get to have a sight like this.”

“You talk too much,” you shake your head, reaching up to grab his jaw.

“And you love it,” he pulls himself out till only his tip rests inside you, then he drives his cock back in you, stringing a shriek from you. He begins doing it repeatedly, thrusting in and out of you.

At first his pace is slow yet precise, the tip of his cock prodding so far inside you, you feel it kissing your cervix. Then he decides it’s better to make you work for it before he gives you his all.

His quickens his pace, his thrusts rough and catching you off guard with each one. Your legs wrap around his waist, ankles hooking behind him and toes pointing tautly.

“I’m beginning to think you go looking for trouble just to get the Spiderman to ruin you like this,” he accentuates his point with a well-meaning thrust.

The sounds filling the air are beyond your wildest dirtiest dreams. The sound of his heavy breathing is like music to your ears, just the way your moans are to his. The lewd noises of pap pap pap ofhis balls hitting your ass mix with the squelch of his cock drilling into your wet cunt.

The feeling of him on top of you—inside you, is something you can’t even comprehend the perfection in. Every inch of your body just feels so fucking good that you feel yourself teetering on the edge of delusion.

Your hands make their way up to the base of his neck, your fingers loosely intertwine behind his head. You moan again, letting your fingertips scratch at the back of his head.

Satoru pumps himself in and out of you. He can’t even help it—it’s like his body has a mind of its own. And now, he’s trying to have at least some form of restraint, trying his utmost best to not cum. It isn’t like you’re making anything easier on him.

He nearly falls apart when you pull his mouth to yours, gasping adorably as you let your tongue meet his. You’re sharing the same air at this point, and he fucking loves it.

You feel like you could cum at any given moment. You fixate on that feeling, realizing that you haven’t had time to yourself at all in the last few months. Certainly not enough time for a man to make you cum, let alone give yourself the time to do so.

Now though, you come to the understanding you were deprived. Satoru is giving you just what you needed after so long.

He knows that if his mouth stays on yours, he doesn’t have a fighting chance. So he parts from you, holding himself up by his arms and fucking you even harder.

Your hands jump to his biceps, whining as you do so. All the while, he soaks in your appearance. Your fucked out face, the way your tits are bouncing with every one of his strokes, and the way his cock is slipping so easily in and out of you.

When he suddenly pulls out of you completely, you hardly have beyond a second to realize he’s flipping you over. Your arms rest on the arm rest of the couch, while he adjusts your hips, getting you on your knees.

You turn your head over your shoulder, seeing his big strong hands spreading your ass, spitting down between your legs. You shudder, nose crinkling at the feeling of his spit dripping down to your pussy.

He then slides his dick between your folds again, coating it before he, without warning slips back into you.

He doesn’t ease into it like he did before at all. He has a quick, relentless pace from the get-go. His dick moves inside you like it wants to blend into your body, or perhaps go so far inside you that you feel him in your throat.

With this new position, you feel him prodding deeper than before. Your walls suck him in, helping the tip of his length brushing your cervix, this time at a higher intensity.

He angles his strokes better when his hands grip into your hips. With every lust driven thrust, you feel his fingers dig into your flesh even more. You’re more than certain it will leave a mark that you’ll be seeing for days.

“Fuck me,” Satoru breathlessly laughs. “You’re being such a good girl for me. You feel good?”

“So—so fucking good,” your eyes are closed, nails digging into the plush of his couch. “Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he darkly mutters.

He ruts himself into your pussy again, feeling the warmth that he never wants to ever part from. He clenches his jaw, trying to ground himself in the smallest way possible at the very least.

His pelvis slams against your ass with great fervor, over and over again. Your heads drops pathetically, forehead against the armrest as you jolt forward . . . forward . . . forward. Your shoulders blades contract, back arching and creating a beautiful crease down your spine.

While he’s fucking you, a part of him wants to bend down and lick up that expanse of skin. Right where the spokes of your spine take shape. Then his eyes fix on the way your ass meets his skin and he does not dare tear his gaze away.

“Mmm shit, baby,” Satoru throws his head back deliriously. “Sucking my cock in so fucking nice.”

Then he rocks his hips against you so zealously that the angle he’s at elicits a loud scream from you. Your body falls forward, knees shaking.

“Oh?” Satoru comes to a grinding halt. “Did I find something?”

He draws himself back and drives himself straight into your pussy again, realigning himself to hit that same spot again.

When you choke out a sob, he grins, “Looks like I have.”

You spare another glance behind you, meeting eyes with that complacent expression on his face. His strokes are quick, deep, and precise, skimming at your g spot just right.

“Oh my god,” you cry, arms and legs shaking. A familiar heat stirs in your core, an iron searing heat. One that feels much more intense than anything you’ve ever experienced before.

You look back again, seeing how Satoru’s washboard abs are glistening with a beautiful moonlit sheen. He throws his head back and you spy the way his jaw hangs when he moans.

Your trembling legs are on the verge of giving out and he feels your pussy clenching. He knows you’re on the edge. He hovers over you, his chest pressing against your back as his hand swirls your sensitive clit in circles.

His senses are clouding, vision blurring just as yours is. Every muscle in your body tightens without any direction, moving at their own accord. A million little tingles flurry over your body like blizzards.

Your throat is drying out from the sheer amount of stamina stringing out of you. And you weren’t even doing any of the work.

Your cunt tightens around him, clamping down on him. His ministrations on your clit get you right where he wants you, cumming like a whore on his dick.

You cry out, body spasming like you no longer have any control over it. You’re writhing beneath him, spilling the sweetest of moans that are going straight to his head.

“Yeah, baby, come on. You got this,” he’s whispering encouragingly in your ear, lips brushing against your helix. “Ah—ah—yeah, just like that.”

Stars stipple across the night sky of your vision. All flickering on and off as if children are playing with light switches in an empty house. Any rational thought flies out of your mind, all you can focus on is this feeling, ardent as a flame.

Satoru’s pace comes to a stop, hands slowing on your nub as he backs away. He chuckles as you slump into the couch, watching you catch your breath.

Once you do, you get back on your knees, turning to face him. He looks as if he’s about to spew some condescending rhetoric but you push him so he’s now seated.

“Your turn,” you say hoarsely, taking your place on his lap.

He surprisingly has nothing to say. Or perhaps he does but his tongue fails him quite severely in that moment.

You straddle his hips with your thighs, sitting up straight in his lap. Your arms are slung around his neck and he finds it so sexy the way one of your hands reach down to put his dick back in you.

As you sink down on his cock, both your mouths fall open, eyes on each other’s. Your arms are slung across his shoulders as you look him dead in the eye and bottom out. You softly whimper but fuck, the whimper that escapes him is worth more than any currency.

His brows pinch and nose scrunches, his pretty lips fall into a pout. One that you want to kiss off his lips so bad. His hands are on your ass, pathetically trying to guide you to go faster and move at the very least. And you do, but the speed you move at is far from fast.

You lift your hips up, and then slam yourself down, earning a strangled gasp from him. You do it again, eliciting the same reaction. Your arms slide down till your hands are at the nape of his neck, feeling the scruff of his undercut.

He moans again, this time wrapping his strong arms around your back and letting you take the reigns completely. He watches the way your cunt sheathes down on his cock repeatedly, your hair in your dazed eyes and all.

As you ride him, he can’t steer his eyes away from any part of you at all, especially your tits bouncing in front of his face. He can’t even help leaning forward ever so slightly, wrapping his mouth around your nipple, hoping it stifles his moans.

You let out a raspy cry, feeling the way his tongue flicks over your bud. His prior hope of suppressing moans is all but futile for you can hear how his heavy breaths spiral into pitchy whines.

Your hips gyrate, rolling against him and he’s already been edging himself to prolong his orgasm but now he knows he’s done for. His dick twitches, and he lets go of your nipple with a pop.

His hands come to rest on your thighs and he looks up at you darkly, “You on birth control?”

Your nails scratch tenderly over his nape again, you bite down on your lip and nod.

“Good,” he simply mutters.

He lets out a choppy moan again, eyes hooded and breaths heavy. His cock twitches inside you again, and with one final plunge in you he’s fallen completely apart. “Fuck—"

His cum spurts inside your pussy, ropes of white liquid shoot in you. The warmth of it invaded your space, hurtling deep in you before it begins leaking out of where the two of you are connected.

Shakily, you breathe as you look down, feeling his seed dripping down your thigh. You take a moment to breath, watching him come down from his high as well.

You both heave heavily, catching elusive breaths. Each of you slowly trail your eyes up at each other, staring for a moment before you both break into laughter.

He rubs his hands over your thighs, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you smile, tilting your head unconsciously. You flick your gaze over his face, seeing the damp mess his hair is now, sweaty and clinging to his skin. His eyes still have that wintered glimmer. A smile rests on his lips too.

“Can I ask you something?” you quiz.

“Shoot.” Ironic pun.

“Is the reason you’ve been getting under my skin a lot because you had a crush on me?” you ask.

“What? No,” he scoffs, hands on your hips. You cock a suspicious brow, your hands loosely skimming his neck. “You’re crazy.”

“Uh huh,” you nod sarcastically.

“You hungry?” he asks, raising his brows.

“Oh, like crazy,” you breath.

He grins, “Let me order something and I’ll get you cleaned up. Now where’s my phone?”

He stands up, carrying you easily with one arm as he reaches for his phone on the floor. You squeal, tightening your grip on him. “Satoru!”

He pays no mind as he’s already halfway through punching in his pizza order, “Hmm, how do you feel about stuffed cheesy bread?”

“I could go for it, yeah,” you say.

“Great. Done,” he clicks, a satisfied bliss on his face.

“You know have a lot of explaining to do, right?” you remind him.

“You don’t think I know that?” he scoffs airily. “I’d be pretty dumb to forget that with you badgering me around all the time.”

You open your mouth to argue and he laughs, “Kidding! I’ll tell you everything—I swear. Let’s get you cleaned up first. Food should be here by then so I’ll explain while we eat.”

“Okay, but I like hot showers—if you put me under cold water I’m feeding you to that mutant lizard thing on the news,” you warn as he carries you off into the bathroom.

“Oh—I wouldn’t dream of it,” Satoru says. “Besides, can’t take that risk. The city needs me.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you choose to keep your sarcastic remark to yourself. Instead, you lean your head against his shoulder, letting him whisk you away.

hope you guys enjoyed as much as i enjoyed writing this!! likes and reblogs are appreciated!!!

Twenty Years Later - Joel Miller x F!Reader

Plot: It’s been twenty years since Joel and Y/n parted ways with a farewell so crushing, they were sure it would last forever. Now, fate brings them back together in the form of a 14-year old named Ellie and forces them to set aside their past in order to secure the future.

Warnings: M for violence, gore, language, implied smut, and adult themes (16+)

playlist

————

Chapter One: Reunited

Chapter Two: Strangers In The Night

Chapter Three: Out On The Town

Chapter Four: Luck

Chapter Five: Soundtrack of Life

Chapter Six: Road Trip

Chapter Seven: Hands

Chapter Eight: Someone’s Something

Chapter Nine: Dry Your Tears

Chapter Ten: September 26th, 2003

Chapter Eleven: (coming soon!)

Chapter Twelve: (coming soon!)

Chapter Thirteen: (coming soon!)

Chapter Fourteen: (coming soon!)

Chapter Fifteen: (coming soon!)

Chapter Sixteen: (coming soon!)

Chapter Seventeen: (coming soon!)

YOU ARE NOT UGLY.

your brain is just trying to make you THINK that you’re ugly. and are you gonna let a GROSS, SLIMY, mound of fuckin WRINKLY PINK MEAT let you feel like you aren’t beautiful???? don’t listen to that jerk.

“But the company felt lonelier than being alone did. At least if I was alone, I could be myself. I could make my own choices. I could grieve. With people, I was always in this smiling in-between, wanting to cry but feeling I had to put up a front I was healing.”

— Sara Shepard, Meet Cute

Daryl Dixon Masterlist

Most recent fics at the top:

💖- fluff

❤️‍🔥- smut

💔- angst

One shots

Polar opposite's ❤️‍🔥💖

Stuck with you 💖

Safe ❤️‍🔥

He cares ❤️‍🔥

Jealous ❤️‍🔥

You're enough 💖

"I've discovered something" 💖

Home at last 💖

I found you💖

Mini Series 

Two is Better than One: Part 1, Part 2 ❤️‍🔥💖

Future: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 ❤️‍🔥💖

HeadCanons/ Drabbles:

Daryl X Glenn X Reader

Happy Birthmonth

Crafts

Daryl's adopted child

Series:

In the End: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 , Part 7

Aaaaaah this my be fav fic of law so far 😭😍🫠🙂‍↕️🥹

The Promise

MONSTER FUCKTOBER October 17th

Fossegrim Law x F!Reader

• N.SFW • 16.8K Words • • Monster Boyfriend AU • MONSTER FUCKTOBER Masterlist

• Author's Notes: I'm really glad I still had all of these drafted and ready to go with the OG tumblr yellow before they deleted it.

But also, yay NEW MONSTER FUCKTOBER CONTENT!

You guys wanna know why I've been so behind on writing? Look at that word count. Look at it. Really look at it.

I got no other MONSTER FUCKTOBERS done because of this one. So yeah. They'll come out when they're done.

I had three separate drafts of this story. THREE. Hated all of them, so I took the parts I liked and put them together.

You're welcome.

I have no chill, and this one is so lore heavy that I really hope y'all get as lost in it as Zoro would walking from one end of the yard to the other. If I don't get any others done on time, you know to blame this story.

Also, the mentions in here of Rosi being a vampire with a girlfriend is because he's the same Rosi for "Gimme More" for the 21st.

PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING

• After a long legal battle with your brother over your grandfather's farm, you finally start to settle in. Little did you know that you weren't alone when you threw open the barn doors, and how it would change your life forever.

• CW: Long Fic, oral (female receiving), vaginal sex, honestly for the length of all of this the sex is pretty short, angst, use of a gun, implied Doffy-cide.

• Listen to the Playlist: • Spotify • YouTube •

Your eyes blinked at the people in front of you as you opened the doors to the old barn at the edge of the property. Growing up, your Grandfather—Lao G, whom you called G-pa affectionately—had always told you to stay away from that barn. There was a chain with a lock on it for as long as you could remember. Now that it had been a few decades, it was overgrown and nearly falling apart. Since you were the now legal farm owner, you wouldn’t let his warnings stop you. Besides, you needed to inspect it to see if it was worth fixing or just let it continue to fall apart.

“I’m sorry, these are closed sessions,” a man on stage stated plainly, “Band members, organizers, and Mr. G only.”

You just stared. The man at the mic had a guitar in his hands, wearing long, old-school trap pants covering his legs to the floor to the point you couldn’t even see his shoes. There were three other men on stage with him. One with a floppy hat that looked like a penguin (and even had the word printed across it) at the keyboard, and another man with a hat that looked like a black mushroom with two white spots with another guitar. His hat also sported what looked like a fin, so it could have been a killer whale, but it was still hard to tell at this distance. However, the last of the group at the drums was the most shocking.

“Is… is that a Polar Bear?” Your eyes were wide in disbelief.

The bear gave you a broad smile and waved, “Yes, I am! Hello!”

“Bepo!” the man at the mic turned and scolded him, causing the bear to drop his head and apologize with a quiet and simple “sorry” as the other continued, “Someone get her out of here! Contact Mr. G. Ask him what’s going on!”

A ridiculously large man with tattoos on his face, and a woman with curly hair and a yellow beanie descended on you out of nowhere. But you were far too fixated on why this man kept mentioning your grandfather. “Hey, how did you know my G-pa? I didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Everyone in the room got quiet, looking at each other in disbelief. The man at the mic stepped back and away to speak with the other guitarist before he leaned back into it and the slight feedback hurt your ears, “Uh, repeat that please?”

You winced at the noise, the other two now holding you back doing the same, “My grandpa, the Mr. G you keep speaking of? He died. Left me his farm. Now why are you here? And what the heck is going on with—” you gestured about wildly to signify the general interior, “—this?”

A few more people came out of the shadows, everyone removing their hats as they whispered your words to one another. The man at the center of it all continued to stare blankly at you with his golden eyes that reflected the stage lights looked more shocked than anyone. He spoke into the mic again, “He’s dead?”

Throwing your arms up now that the other two had released you, you let out a groan, “Yes, that is what I’ve said. I’m sorry to bring the shock on you guys, but you have to understand my own in seeing an entire concert hall inside a dilapidated barn!”

Shaking out his head, the man quickly removed his guitar, handing it off to one of the others as he hopped off the stage. Approaching you quickly, you noticed his footsteps sounded like hooves. He had two large and curled ram horns sticking out from his thick and fluffy black hair and his ears were shaped like that of a goat. Placing a hand over his heart, he bowed his head quickly, “I’m sorry for your loss, but we need to talk immediately.”

For a brief moment, you were taken aback by how handsome he was up close, his intense features softened now that he was out of the harsh lights of the stage. But when he grabbed your arm and ushered you in a rush toward a back room, your awe returned to rage as you struggled against him, “Hey! What the fuck?! Let me go, asshole!”

Your protests fell on deaf ears as you were dragged through a swinging door that read “PRIVATE: STAFF ONLY” into a bright hallway, then into an office that was dimly lit compared to the hall. He sat you down rather abruptly into one of the chairs in front of the desk. Quickly, he moved to an office cabinet and started to pull out some papers. Placing a pair of red reading glasses on, he sat in the chair behind the desk, mumbling to himself as he looked over the files. The office was small and a little cramped, with lots of filing cabinets and various instruments from around the world on the walls. Finally, he pulled out a document and slid it in front of you.

“Basic NDA form. I will not answer any of your questions until you sign unless it pertains to signing this form.” He said.

Leaning back in the chair as if the paper were a rabid creature about to strike, you looked at it strangely. Then to the man in front of you, then back to the paper as you slowly reached forward for it to read it over. Luckily, you worked as a paralegal before inheriting the farm and understood most legal jargon. You gave the paper a good once over, then read through it again—it really was a basic non-disclosure agreement but with a few strange nuisances.

“Okay, who the hell is Trafalgar D. Water Law?” your eyes glanced up from the form to the man in front of you. It listed the name as “Party A” in the form, and while you wanted to assume it was the one in front of you, the day had already taken a turn you couldn’t completely wrap your mind around and wanted to be sure.

He folded his hands in front of him, an unamused expression as he cocked a brow, “Who do you think?”

You rolled your eyes, looking at the papers again, a blank line where it requested the full name of the legal owner of your family’s farm. Something in your gut rang out like a warning. The man had horns and goat ears, there was a talking bear, and the interior of the building did not match the exterior. While you always considered yourself an open-minded and intelligent woman, this was all still hard to believe.

Everything was already exasperating with your legal battle with your estranged brother in buying out his half of the farm with your share of the more than generous inheritance that was left to the two of you. He wanted to sell off the whole thing, but deep down in your heart, you knew you couldn’t allow that to happen. The land had been in your family for generations, and you had the certificates and historical status documents to prove it. You thought you had been done reading legal papers carefully for a long time now that you had finally moved in, but now that you were sitting here with it again, you felt your eyes going cross.

“And this power of name clause? What nonsense is this?” You held out the papers for him to see where your fingers were pointing, “What are you, a fairy?”

“Depends on who you ask. Most prefer the umbrella term of Fae.” The man you now knew was named Trafalgar D. Water Law shrugged his shoulders, “It ensures you that while I will know your full given name, I will never use it against you or utter it to others, and the same requirements apply to you, and your knowledge of my name. Everyone here just calls me Law, or some Trafalgar, both of those are acceptable. We will know each other’s full names, but neither of us owns them from the other.”

Blinking once, then twice, you leaned back in the chair again, “You have got to be kidding me. And I thought you wouldn’t answer my questions.”

“Unless they pertain to what’s in the NDA.” His long fingers tapped rather forcibly on the dotted lines of the paper, “If you don’t sign, I can still have someone erase your memory, and we’ll clear out the barn. Simple as that.”

“That’s shady as hell…”

“You want answers or not?”

Your jaw set harshly, feeling as if your teeth would become dust with how hard you ground them together. Taking another moment to read over everything a second, your heart pounded in your skull as it felt like your hand was not part of your body, printing your full name on the above line, and then signing and dating where it was indicated you should. In your haste, you practically threw the paper back at him with the pen as he read it over.

“Y/N M/N L/N?” He asked, looking at you with scrutiny in his gaze, “Huh.”

“It’s not Trafalgar D. Water Law at least.” There was a bite to your voice, folding your arms as you leaned back in the chair, crossing your legs, “Just what the heck is going on here?”

His face finally showed a new emotion beyond his blank stare, the slightest smirk pulling at the corner of his lip, “Thank you for your candor, Y/N-ya.” Law got a new file folder out from a place on his desk and placed the document in it before removing his reading glasses and folding his fingers in front of himself. He leaned on his forearms on the desk, “But to answer the questions I know are bouncing around in your head before you ask them: No, I’m not human. Yes, your grandfather knew. Yes, I had the same contract with him, just as my father did before me, and so on. Your family has had a deal with mine for…” scratching his head, he paused, then waved his hand, “for a very, very long time.”

You chewed on the inside of your lip, cocking a brow. Opening your mouth to speak, you took in a sharp breath before Law continued again.

“My family has helped enrich your farmlands and keep them prosperous,” Sure, that was your question, but he could at least have the decency of letting you ask it, “In exchange, we have protections from humans since the lands are private, and we also have use of this barn for gatherings and events where we have been unbothered by mortals. A place my own and our kind can come and let our hair down, not have to worry about getting caught. Places like this are few and far between, and very lucrative.”

Taking in his words, your brow still furrowed, “So, grandpa knew, could never tell any of us, and you guys have concerts in what is now my shitty barn. Did you really have to drag me back here so frantically?”

Law leaned back in his chair, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, “Yeah, we have to get the contracts signed. Otherwise, you’d be in danger come nightfall. We have an event, and creatures from across the world are coming. You may now be the legal owner of the land, which holds some protections, but not much these days. It’s not really the medieval times anymore, and frankly, no one respects verbal contracts, despite old magics still holding truer than paper. At least paper is viable both in your courts and ours.”

You felt like your head was filling with his words and draining it right back out your ears at the sheer volume of information, but one part stuck out to you the most, “What do you mean that I’m in danger?”

“You would be,” Law pulled up another one of the folders, gently tossing it in front of you with a thud, “But I have the contract to legally recognize you as our Human Liaison. It would protect you from any of that unknown danger. At least not having your name or soul taken. Just don’t promise anyone your firstborn.”

“I don’t want kids,” you stated plainly.

“Would definitely not stop anyone,” Law answered.

Grimacing, you looked over the secondary set of papers that he had handed you. Basic, like the last one, and to the point. You would be, just as stated, the “Human Liaison” between the facility—it’s your barn, why is it the facility?—and anything with the mortal realm. Luckily, this far onto the farm, it would be rare for someone just to randomly wander to this location and open the front door. There would be protections for you against the fae or others of the unnatural world. At least what you considered unnatural.

As you kept reading, you were waiting for the catch. Most of this had minimal consequences for you, and you even got a stipend. A very generous stipend. The farm had always done well, but you now better understood the hefty inheritance that your grandfather left you and your brother. But since you used all of your money to buy out his half of the farm and then some, you were flat broke. It was rough getting him to sign the paperwork without the money, and now with this news, you really hoped the selfish bastard didn’t come sniffing around.

You started to sign the paperwork, a brow cocked from Law, “What, no more questions?”

“Oh, fuck no. I have so many, but if my safety is at risk, then I need to sign these,” you spoke calmly, calmer than you had been so far during your interactions with him, “You’ve been pretty upfront, at least in a business sense. There seems to not be much downside for me, but nothing is stopping me from coming at you with a shotgun full of iron if I get shafted.”

Law’s lips pursed and his eyes went wide. He looked very concerned with your statement, “Uh, noted… we may have to make some amendments in the near future.” He reached across the desk and retrieved the papers when you were done.

There were copious amounts of legalities to go over and be signed, causing a minor headache to come on. Most were basic papers, Law’s words, but they would allow you to come and go through the facility as you pleased, allow you backstage to the shows, and give you the power to shut down any event you saw fit with proper discussion. Law had total control of the management of the place and would have weekly meetings with you over numbers and schedules. He also had a small list of outside orders you would have to make, which was another task of yours, but all in all the discussions were straightforward and you had no issues with them.

Then, he folded his hands on the desk again, making it more evident of the tattoos over them and “DEATH” written across both knuckles, “So, now that we are truly to the heart of the matter—”

“What the hell are you exactly?”

He let out a heavy sigh, running his hands through his thick black hair before tracing the shape of his horn on that side, a possible nervous habit, “I’m a Fossegrim. And before you ask, the closest thing I can describe myself to you as is like a satyr.”

“But you aren’t a satyr, I’m assuming?” you asked.

“No, that would be like others saying humans and monkeys are similar. Not to call satyrs monkeys, but we are of similar genomes, and there is an evolutionary ancestry line, but we aren’t actually the same species. Our magic is also sound and music-based, and theirs is more of a trickster class.” He spoke very matter of fact, obviously explaining this before, “I have charts and visuals if need be.”

You chewed on the inside of your lip, folding your arms and giving him a look, “Will there be a test on this or something?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t need them.”

Law looked strangely disappointed. However, he shrugged and stood up from his chair, then offered his hand to you, “Well, Y/N-ya, I look forward to our future business endeavors together.” His smile was a little awkward, and you could tell he was forcing one to seem more approachable. It was weird, he had smiled a few times during your discussions, and this one was just not right. You opted to not dwell on it, smiling awkwardly back at him and agreeing.

Leading you back out into the hall, you stopped Law before he opened the door into the main venue space, “Oh yeah, why did all the papers just list the barn as the facility? Do you guys not have a name for it?”

He glanced down at you, as if it were obvious, “Because that is the name of it. Just ‘the facility’—no caps. Before you say that it sounds dumb, I’m the one who picked it. Been trying to rebrand from just being… well, a barn.”

You let out a small snort, and this time he gave you a more genuine soft smile. Opening the door, everyone was waiting and immediately turned around to act as if they were not standing there listening to you and Law. He frowned, his brow returning to its natural state of furrowed. A growl escaped him, waving his arms about as he barked for them all to get back to work.

The only one who did not rush off was the polar bear, remembering Law having called him Bepo. He smiled to you brightly (How? He was a bear?) and waved, “Hi, welcome to the facility. You can call me Bepo.”

Giving him a polite wave back, and then extending your hand to shake, you smiled back, “Nice to meet you, I’m—”

You stopped, looking to Law as he shook his head. Right, names held power. He had already suggested not using your actual name, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t use your first. But in the modern age of social media, they could still find you. Crap, this was hard.

Bepo chuckled, “What if we just called you Mrs. G?”

“Uh, no. I’m not married, nor do I share the same name as my Grandpa.” You said scratching the back of your head, “Let me think…”

The polar bear shrugged, “We could call you Mistress, you are the new owner of the land and all.”

A heat flooded the surface of your skin, both loving and hating the name. It did make you feel powerful, but it also made you feel a little dirty. You fiddled with your hands, stammering on your words when Law put a hand on your shoulder, “Nah, that’s awful. We’ll just go with Liaison until we figure out something.”

You scoffed, “That’s just my title.”

“What do you think a name is?” Law cocked a brow, his golden eyes moving from you to Bepo, “I’m going to show her around. Finish the sound check and then we’ll run through the first half of the set.”

Bepo nodded, and the goat man motioned for you to follow him. His legs were longer than yours—even in the trap pants—and you quickly trotted after him. Law led you toward one of the bars, and you cleared your throat, “Um, so… you guys are playing tonight then?”

“Yeah,” he answered plainly, “And before you ask, no, you can’t shut this one down. We have to discuss it first.”

“Hey, no issues here. Go nuts,” you spoke with your hands as he walked you through more of the main area of the venue, “More curious as to what all will be going on. Is it just a concert? A general club kind of thing?”

Law shrugged, “A little bit of both. Tonight we have a few different bands playing, almost like a variety night. People will come just to vibe and dance, so we won’t put a full chair seating out, but there will be some tables along the sides.” He motioned generally through the space as Bepo began to tap on the drums for the sound test as the large man with the facial tattoos back in a sound booth gave him hand signals while adjusting dials, “Since it’s the weekend, we do have more of a dance club vibe on Saturdays, sometimes Sundays if it’s not falling on a holiday. During the week we have different concerts depending on who’s in the area, or even comedy shows, theater productions, a few children’s choruses. Depends on who books out. Otherwise, it’s just like a pub. People come for dinner, drinks, shitty bar games.”

“Oh,” you blinked a few times, surprised at how busy the place was, “That… is a lot.”

The man watched as you bit your lip, patting you on the shoulder, “The place is enchanted, there aren’t any noise violations to be concerned about.”

“I was a little more worried about kids at a bar…” you gave him a face, looking over at the bar set up as the bartenders were cleaning surfaces and spot-checking cups.

Waving a hand at it, Law shook his head, “We only serve sodas and water at kids’ events. Parents will usually bring cookies and snacks—it’s a pretty legit spread.” Law then paused, looking back down at you again with those golden eyes that reflected the light strangely, reminding you that he was not human, “Only eat the food served here if it has a sign designated for humans…”

“Why?” you snorted, “Because if I eat fae food I’ll never be able to eat human food again or be turned into a fae like those old stories?”

“Well, nothing we serve here will do that,” he guided you toward the bar and grabbed one of the menus, “That’s, like, royal court nonsense, which we only see them here for birthday parties or snooty nonsense. More like you’ll get sick to your stomach because you’re a different species.” Law’s long finger pointed to some of the symbols on the menu key, “Only order things that have this “H” next to them. If you feel adventurous, at least make sure I’m close if you choose not to follow this rule.”

“Duly noted,” your eyes looked over the menu, the items listed for humans were normal enough. Burgers, fries, burritos, nachos, beers on tap, specialty drinks—typical tavern or bar fare. The items not listed for humans, however…

Pointing at the drinks section, you felt you already knew the answer when you asked, “There are two separate Bloody Mary drinks on the menu.”

Law grunted, “One of those isn’t tomato juice.” You cringed at the thought and noticed only one of the drinks had the ‘H’ labeled next to it. It wasn’t like you drank Bloody Marys anyway, and now you didn’t think you ever would.

Putting the menu down, he then introduced you to the bartenders, the wait staff, the cooks, bouncers, and everyone in between. Law showed you the offices, backstage, green rooms, and then the balcony up higher with a great view of the stage. Mentally, it was still a lot to take in, and your brain had checked out a bit ago. You mostly just listened to the gentle tone of his voice, nodding along as you leaned on the balcony and watched his band finish the sound check.

Bepo waved to the two of you up in the balcony, and you waved back with a smile before turning to Law again, “Well, thanks for the tour. I guess I should let you get back to it and all, huh?”

He hummed in response, “Stick around for now. Listen to our practice. I won’t make you come back tonight, but you can if you want. They’ll let you in.”

You shrugged, “Sure, why not? I still have to figure out how the heck I’m even going to do all of this farm stuff alone.”

“Who knows, I’m sure there’s a solution.” Law pushed off the railing he was leaning on, getting ready to head back down below.

Watching him leave, you noticed a little goat-like tail sticking out of the back of his pants. You had to stifle a giggle, but when he turned back to flash you a look, you cleared your throat and asked, “What kind of music do you guys play, by the way?”

“Oh,” Law turned to face you, a playful smirk on his face that made your heart flutter, “New Age Modern Christian Gospel.” When you met him with a wide-eyed expression of surprise, Law laughed, showing sharper canine teeth, despite being a goat man of sorts, “I’m kidding. Just normal rock and roll. You’ll enjoy it.”

You snorted, folding your arms as you cocked your brow at him and spoke with a teasing tone, “That a promise?”

Chuckling, Law shook his head, waving a hand at you, “Sure. I promise you’ll like it.”

He left the balcony, and you turned back to the stage. Law performed a quick sound check for his mic before turning back to his bandmates, discussing something that couldn’t be heard before Bepo started a beat and they all broke out into the song. It was very catchy, a vibe you thought fit them well. More so, Law’s voice was like a siren’s call, drawing you deeper and deeper into the rhythm of it all. Even at the distance you were, the bass was enough to feel as though it changed the pace of your own beating heart.

After their practice, you realized the time and said your goodbyes as you headed back to the modest farmhouse you were still adjusting to being yours. It now felt empty as your ears continued to ring from the practice. You hadn’t brought much from your small apartment before coming here, not that you owned a lot to begin with. Luckily, G-pa still had a lot of furniture. His internet wasn’t the best, and you were struggling with getting a lot of bills switched over to your name. Granted, you had only been there a week now, so things were still just a giant mess.

Planting season was coming along sooner than you realized, and while your grandpa had taught you much, it was becoming more and more apparent to yourself that you had no idea what to do or even where to start. He had farm hands, you remembered seeing them, but you never talked to them, nor did you even know where they went in the off-season. Did he even still have them? You didn’t see them at the funeral.

The funeral.

It had become a common feeling—the grief that still overtook you from time to time. Like now, as you looked at the picture of you and your grandfather he proudly had sitting on the mantle of the old fireplace. You were so small compared to him, drastically different from the last time you saw him in his hospital bed. He looked so small.

Grabbing a pillow from the couch, you realized it still smelled like your grandfather. You hugged it close to your chest, muffling the sounds of your tears. Not that anyone could hear you, which was a strange comfort as you cried yourself to sleep.

There was a loud pounding on your front door, and it jostled you awake from your place on the couch. The murmuring voices caused your heart to pound, a slight fear it was your brother for whatever reason. You stumbled to your feet, head pounding and a glance in the mirror next to the door showed you how puffy your eyes looked. Still, you opened the door, surprised to find Law and some of the others standing there at the threshold. Each of them were wearing coveralls, but it was the aviator sunglasses and obviously fake mustaches that drew your attention, rendering you dumbfounded and speechless with how ridiculous they all looked.

“Whoa,” the man in the penguin hat made a face, “You sure she didn’t come to the show? She looks like she came to the show…”

Law rolled his eyes, removing the aviators, “Hey, Liaison,” he spoke your title almost naturally, as if it were your name, “You good? We could come back after our work.”

Your brows knitted together, your hands attempting to rub the sleep from your eyes, “Work? What work? Is there something at the barn today? And what are you wearing?”

“Facility,” he corrected, his voice flat, before he sighed a bit, “Not the point. We helped your grandpa with the farm, so we’re here to help you, too. It’s in the contracts and all.”

Okay, now you were for sure awake. You blinked at him a few times, giving him a blank stare. Yesterday had become a blur, you could barely remember what contracts said what, “It is?”

Law motioned for the man in the killer whale hat (Law had told you that was what it was during the tour) to come forward and show you some more papers, “Well, it will be when you sign these. Got a little distracted with the sudden news and your safety and all.” This time, you didn’t have the mindset to read through them—that would be something to sort out later—and signed as quickly as you could. The goat man watched you closely, “What? Not going to read ‘em this time?”

“If you’ve tricked me out of a firstborn, then that’s your problem now,” you spoke sarcastically, “But I honestly barely know the basics of farming. Y’all seem to already know what you’re doing, so I’m not going to say no.”

“Fair enough,” Law nodded as you handed the papers back to the other and he waved them off. He motioned toward the inside of the house, “May I come in?”

You nodded for him to follow you in with “Yeah, sure,” then slowly stumbled toward the small kitchen. The only item you had unpacked there was your fancy coffee maker, and felt it was the one thing that actually kept you going most days. “Coffee?” you asked him with a mumble as he sat at the kitchen table.

“Sure,” Law looked around the room, his focus not seeming to be on you, “Just black, please.”

Of course, he was definitely the type to drink coffee black. A small smile graced your lips as you looked back at him as he removed his hat, sunglasses, and fake mustache, “So, uh, what’s with the get-up? Do you want what few neighbors I have to be suspicious of y’all round here, or what? Is you guys being weird why I haven’t seen the farm hands G-pa had around? Scared them all off?”

His golden eyes wrinkled at their corners as he waved a hand at you, “Right, you aren’t aware, no, none of that.” Law stated plainly, “They’re enchanted. None of us are human, so it helps us to go out amongst humans or to be seen and yet not. You are now aware of what we are, so you see through the enchantment.”

“And see the stupid mustaches?” You smirked, looking back to him as he shook his head at you, “So I take it you guys were the farm hands of G-pa’s I suddenly realize I never remembered much?”

“Yep, all part of the enchantment.” Law leaned back in the chair as he watched you switch out the mugs in your fancy little coffee maker, “You would see us, but it would never be remarkable. You would never question why you couldn’t remember us, but you’d be generally aware that Mr. G wasn’t running the farm alone.”

You nodded along, yawning slightly as you began to add the fixings into your mug of coffee you needed to make it perfect for yourself. When Law finished speaking, the two of you fell into a relaxed silence. It was long, but comfortable, like this was a part of your daily routine your whole life. You brought the mugs over to the dining table where he sat waiting, placing an old mug of yours in front of him as you sat across from the man. Law took it, taking a sip as his features softened ever-so-slightly. Holding yours in your hands, you felt the warmth slowly seep through your fingers, into your hands, and through to the rest of your body.

You hadn’t even realized that time had passed until you heard Law addressing you a little louder than someone in the same room usually would. With a few blinks, you looked across the table to him, “Hm? I’m sorry, what?”

His face was plastered with concern, putting his coffee down as he shifted his chair around the small table to you. Law placed his hand on yours to put your drink down, then his golden eyes looked deep into your own. You realized how his pupils were oblong and sideways, reminding you that he wasn’t human, and yet you became lost in them as if his eyes could hold all the answers you had been seeking in life.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” Law’s low grumble of a voice brought your attention back to reality, his one hand checking your pulse on your wrist while the other was checking your temperature on your forehead, “I get you’ve been going through a lot, but are you at least taking care of yourself?”

You felt your cheeks flush with heat, your heart racing in your chest as your voice cracked, “Y-yeah, at least what I can. It’s been rough since G-pa’s death.”

‘Of course he was just checking on our well-being,’ you thought to yourself, ‘Don’t get ahead of ourselves here…’

Law nodded, still looking into your eyes as he was checking a few more of your vitals, “I can understand that. I felt like it took me years to get back on my feet when I lost my family.”

You cast your eyes down and away from him, “Oh. I’m sorry for your loss then.”

He shook his head, putting your hands back on the table, but not before leaving one of his tattooed ones on top of yours as he took in a long breath. Law reached for your coffee to give it back to you before he finally spoke, “Don’t be. It’s been a long time, and I found a new family, but I understand that grief. It comes and goes, just less frequently over time. But that doesn’t mean you should neglect yourself in the process.” Stretching back across the table with his long arms, Law grabbed his coffee, “I know we just met yesterday, but if you need to talk to someone, I have two ears. I’ve been told I listen well.”

His words caused you to choke up, and you did your best to hold back most of your feelings. However, the second his hand touched yours, you lost all resolve. You broke down and cried leaning into Law, which seemed to shock him at first. And yet he still wrapped his arms around you, holding you gently until the storm passed the the skies cleared for you enough that you could speak intelligible sentences again.

You told him about your life growing up on the farm in the summers, visiting your grandfather when you could. It was harder to see him when your father’s work took your family further away, but you called and talked to him every chance you got. Even as an adult when your parents split in a nasty divorce and your brother only cared about his business and the money it put in his pocket, your Grandpa Lao G was the constant of your life. When he passed, you weren’t surprised neither of your parents cared. All your brother wanted was the money left to him, and to sell the farm to get even more. It took many arguments through lawyers and all of your share of the inheritance just to get him to sell you his half of the land. The farm was far too important to you to lose, and while you were happy you had won, your victory still came with doubts.

“Honestly, I’m terrified.” You stared into your empty coffee mug, its surface cold to the touch by now, “I couldn’t afford another lawyer if he decided to come after it all. He plays dirty, and even with the iron-clad contract for the sale of his share, I wouldn’t put it past him to come up with something. The land is still worth something, but he didn’t see that at least. But it’s worth more than money to me, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything.”

Law listened to everything, keeping his chair close to you, “Well, be that as it may, we’ve signed all the contracts for you to be recognized as the owner of these lands by those of us from the other side,” he stood up, taking both of the mugs and walking them over to your sink, “So you don’t have to fight that fight alone if he does try and pull something. Even better if you give me his full name,” the man chuckled playfully, “We could bar him with hospitality.”

When your only response to him was a blank stare, he cleared his throat and continued while washing the mugs out by hand, “Hospitality Law falls under the Major Laws of Magic. That whole “can’t come in a house without being invited in” sort of thing you read about in fairy tales and movies. And before you ask, yes, you did invite me in. I asked if I could enter, you said “Yeah, sure”—” He did a very poor imitation of your voice there, “—and thus I can now come and go from your home as I please. You can also revoke my invitation and I would be forced out through a threshold immediately.”

You took it all in. But it was still a lot. It was also very tempting to test the statement and tell him to get out of your house, but you bit your tongue for now. Instead, you asked, “Is there a test on this?”

“No, but you should actually read the book and see my charts on this one. Those are extremely important things to know, Miss Paralegal.”

Letting out a sigh, you watched him as he placed both of the mugs on the drying rack next to the sink, “You promise there’s no test?”

Shaking his head, he turned around and leaned against the edge of the sink, “I promise.”

“For fucks sake, I thought your contracts were borderline psychotic…”

You couldn’t see his face as you sipped your coffee, still reading over the papers in front of you, but you knew Law was rolling his eyes. He kept banging around in your cabinets, looking for something before he grumbled, “They’re not psychotic, they’re necessary to protect you and me.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes, chewing on the tip of your pen as you looked out the window of the farmhouse to the old dilapidated barn. It had been six months since you had arrived at the farm, and between learning of the real nature of your grandfather’s farm hands along with the actual work, time flew by.

Everything had been a whirlwind—tractor repair, seed planting, new parts for the irrigation systems, you were surprised you still had your head. Penguin and Shachi had both been useful in helping you keep it on and even helped with some of the basic house repairs that needed to be done now, and Bepo had helped you start working on a personal garden in the yard since your grandpa had not been able to tend it for a long while. You and Ikkaku, a narwhal selkie, also had gotten closer, as she helped you relearn the town along with the local gossip. It was nice feeling like you had friends again after uprooting your life so abruptly.

Law was there every morning to wake you (via knocking on your window the first few days), then after you permitted him, by coming in and making coffee. You assured him you had an alarm set, which he acknowledged was fine, but it needed to be earlier for farm work. It was evident he was still being forgiving with you, but you still found it asinine that he was even doing it in the first place. He at least had the decency to get the house set up under the facility’s Wi-Fi, but didn’t realize that meant he would slowly bring over all of his office work over the next few days, and started working in your house.

You became a regular at the facility. Why not? It was literal walking distance from your house. Law’s band was phenomenal, but the name was something else you found strange—The Polar Tangs? Was he just bad at naming things? You always teased him about it during the breaks he would take to sit with you and Ikakku at the booth set aside just for you at the facility. He would usually respond with something snarky, and the two of you would tease one another back and forth. Ikakku picked up on you fawning over Law before you even realized you had deeper feelings for him, but her getting Bepo and the other two stooges (Shachi and Penguin) in on things, made it worse.

Law also became aware that the rest of them were constantly trying to get the two of you alone, but he was always aloof, brushing it off. The two of you were friends, business partners. The words stung, but he was right. It would hinder things to get a relationship all mucked up into it. You deluded yourself for now that it was better to push those feelings down further and further.

Then you were suddenly six months into this rodeo.

The night before, the facility had hosted a party to present you formally to the community as the “Human Liaison” of the farm now that you were the new owner. All of the various Fae Clans that either shared borders or lands or whatnot with your farm came and presented gifts while introducing themselves. You learned from Law that none of these were their true names, but more like nicknames, as all greetings were always followed with “You may call me…” instead of a usual “My name is…” It was just some of the little things you were getting used to.

Many of the gifts were what you had come to expect now that your life had become introduced to magic and the supernatural: various moon waters, a few enchanted items, a golden cow with the softest coat (her name was Sunshine and you would die for her). But there were a few odd ones that you weren’t even sure what to make of. How does one give the gift of discreet flatulence? How are you even supposed to accept such a gift? As you attempted to contemplate this, the whole venue had gone quiet as he approached.

Donquixote Doflamingo, Arch Fae, and King of the general realm your farm fell under the jurisdiction of. It wasn’t his full or true name, but people still did not even speak it for fear he’d show up.

You had met him before, along with his brother, Rosinante—who preferred to be called Corazon in public—a vampire lord. According to Law, Corazon allowed himself to become a vampire just to get away from Doflamingo’s influence. There was an extensive history that Law also made you learn, and you knew that Doflamingo was the one whom your ancestor gained the farmland from, but the books never said how. He was always charming and friendly toward you, but that crooked smile of his and his dark eyes behind his pink mirrored shades always left you unsettled with the heebbiest of jeebies. Doflamingo didn’t hide he was flirting with you, but you couldn’t help the feeling of your skin crawling when he’d lick his lips and smile.

When it was his turn to present to you, he dropped the stack of papers in front of you. His “gift”: another massive contract. It was the terms and conditions for your “Trial”, a tradition of all owners of the farm. You had Law helping you read over it while for whatever reason he was digging through your cabinets.

Rubbing your temples, you let out a sigh, “Do I really have to go through this? Why does shit like this have to be tradition? Can’t we just grow a giant pumpkin and hand it over to him?”

The goat man opened up your pantry, looking over a few things, “That could potentially be what he deems. The contract won’t name his challenge, not until you sign it and hand it back to him. You can always add in your own addendums if you need to, but he is still an Arch Fae, he will try and find ways to make you lose, it’s what he does.”

You let out a large huff, leaning back in your chair as you picked up your coffee mug, mostly to feel some warmth against your hands since it felt like they were going numb, “What is his deal anyway? The man is constantly trying to get into my pants, and now he’s challenging me for the farm back? Our family’s had it for nearly 200 years, what could he possibly need with it this badly?”

“Pride mostly,” Law stated, getting a few ingredients together, and not being quiet about it, “Doff thinks your family cheated him out of whatever the agreement was back in the day into him losing control of the richest soil. It could have also been that he felt kind that day and gifted your ancestors the titles and land and whatnot, but then changed his mind the next and decided he had been wronged. Who really knows? Man’s a kook.”

Rapping your fingers on the surface of your kitchen table, you watched Law closely. You could hear his hooves tapping on the old and discolored linoleum, but you never saw them under the trap pants he always wore. Sometimes you wondered how he walked, but hooves were different than feet, and you also were terrible in your anatomy classes growing up, so what did you know? It also was the study of humans, not whatever goat creature Law was (you could hear him correcting you in your head, bringing a small smirk to your lips as you sipped your coffee and watched his stance change to cock his hip ever so slightly as he looked through your refrigerator.)

“Speaking of kooks, what on earth are you doing?” you raised a brow as you asked, watching him grab a few eggs and the last of your bacon before he gently placed them on the counter then reached in to grab the milk.

“What’s it look like?” Law didn’t even glance your way before he was fiddling around on his phone, “You need eggs.”

“I have eggs. You just put them on the counter.”

“Well, you need more.”

You placed your coffee mug down, folding your arms as you watched the man begin to mix flour and eggs, along with some of the milk. Before long, there was a tap at the kitchen window above the sink. When Law opened it, you only saw a hand giving him a few eggs, most likely from the chickens that morning. The hand waved in your direction, and you heard Penguin warmly greet you for the morning.

Shaking your head, you waved back, even though he couldn’t see you, then looked back to Law, “You better replace anything you’re using.”

He smiled to you over his shoulder, or at least as big of a smile as he ever gave, “I promise.”

There was a shiver through your body, doing your best to not let him notice. Oftentimes in the last few months, there was a pattern that had come up in your banter with one another. You would ask something that would make Law respond with “I promise.” There was just something in the way he said it, something in the way he would smile to you when he did. Every time it made your heart flutter. It was the only way you allowed yourself to indulge in your feelings for him.

You stood to your feet, going to stand closer to him as you started to make yourself some more coffee, “What are you even doing anyway?”

“You’ve already asked that.” He snorted, breaking a few more eggs in after rinsing off the shells properly.

“You didn’t answer me.”

Law leaned toward you, his face closer as his grin became more of a sneer, “Then it means you didn’t ask the correct question.”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed his face away from you, but you couldn’t help your smile in doing so, “Fine, Trafalgar D. Water Law, why are you making breakfast in my house?”

There was a shutter through his body as if someone had dropped an ice cube down his back, “Now you’re being mean. Did you have to use my whole name? Like someone stepped over my grave.” His face contorted in displeasure, tongue sticking out as if there were a bad taste in his mouth, “Bleh, right to the heart of it all…”

“Answer the question, Trafalgar.” You teased, tugging gently on his horn closest to you.

“Now you aren’t playing fair, Y/N M/N L/N—” Since you were mortal, it didn’t have the same effect over you, but you still gave him a playful swat, “—Yes, I’m making breakfast, because normally you’d have done so by now and I’m starving. Figured if you weren’t going to do it, then I will.” You scoffed at his answer before he gave you a nudge with his elbow, “Besides, you’ve been occupied. Doesn’t mean I can’t make breakfast once in a while, yeah?”

Biting your lip, you had to look away from him to hide the heat you felt rushing to your face. You weren’t even sure any man in your life ever made you breakfast, besides your G-pa when you were little. It was a strange feeling, one that brought the butterflies you continued to deny back to life deep within.

He nudged you again, bringing you back to reality, “Go finish reading through the damn thing so we know what we have to deal with. Just point me to the pots and pans and I’ll have food in front of you before you know it.”

You pointed to a lower cabinet as you went back to the table, sitting down and just flipping through the book of a contract that made War and Peace look like a dime store paperback leaflet. Then you froze, gawking at one of the last pages. The general statement for if you lose the trial.

“Holy shit, if I lose, I have to marry the guy? What in the backwater 1950s misogyny?”

“You have to what—FUCK!”

Law yelped and gripped his wrist, falling back onto his rear as you rushed to his side. You were trying to figure out what could have happened, given his hand was sizzling and his skin steamed while it bubbled with blisters as if he had severely burned himself. The panic set in, your mind reeling at everything and anything in the house that could have caused this.

“What happened?” Was all you could muster up to ask as he lay on his back with labored breaths, gritting his teeth in horrific pain.

“Is that iron!?” Law barked, lifting his head from the floor to look in the cabinet. You were still confused as you looked between him and your cookware before he yelled again, “IS THAT FUCKING CAST IRON OR NOT?!”

With some hesitation from his angered tone (though it was justified given his condition), you tentatively reached into the cabinet and pulled out a cast iron frying pan with a ceramic coating that you had brought with you from your old apartment. You hadn’t used it much, but it was good for a few things. When you held it up, Law scuttled backward, trying to get to his feet, “Keep that thing away! You trying to kill me?”

“I…but it’s coated…” you were holding it up before you looked at it, then back to Law as he glared at it. You then held up your other hand in a defensive manner, “Okay, okay. I’m getting rid of it!”

Once you tossed it in your trash, you held out your hand to Law to help him up. He shook his head, “Wash your hands, please.”

Your heart was still beating rapidly from the commotion as you stepped over him to the sink, washing your hands over and over until he was finally standing again, using the counter for support. His hand wasn’t sizzling as bad, and after he told you that you could stop scrubbing, he put his hand under the water. The two of you stood there in silence as he rubbed his face with his good hand.

Reaching out, you gently touched his shoulder, causing him to jump before he looked at you, features softening to his typical blank expression. The man released a sigh, his eyes fixed on his hand now soothed by the cool water, “Iron is lethal to many of our kind. Just touching it can do this kind of damage to us. If you had ever cooked me anything on that without knowing, it would have poisoned me.”

His tone of voice was calm, but you couldn’t help the feeling in the pit of your stomach that you were being scolded. It was an accident, you already knew Law well enough to know he wasn’t blaming you. How would you have known? He had never mentioned it before, even with all of the lectures, charts, and books, and while you had some concept of fairy tales and things that people always said in media and stories as if they were common knowledge didn’t mean you knew them to be true or not.

He ran his good hand through his fluffy black hair, then removed his injured one from the water, almost healed. It still looked as if he had burned himself on something, and you furrowed your brow, grabbing a towel to gently pat his hand dry as you inspected it.

Again, Law sighed, putting his other hand on top of yours, “It’s okay, I’ll be fine. It… it just scared me, that’s all.”

You still managed to open his injured hand to look at it again, gently running your finger along the parts of his palm that didn’t show the burns, “I still should have known something. I sort of knew about iron, but I never figured this was how it would affect you. Pan was coated and everything.”

Law did his best to give you a smile, “You’re still fairly new to this, despite how quickly you settled in. I guess I should have given you better crash courses.”

Humming softly to yourself, your mind was miles away as you continued to trace the lines of his hand, just trying to remind yourself of how you could be better. You cared deeply for Law, even if you still did your best to keep it professional and friendly.

He lifted your face, hand cupping your jaw as he brushed his thumb against your skin. The gesture was far more intimate than either of you realized before you felt his thumb brushing away a tear. Law chuckled, “You don’t have to cry over it, big baby. I’m not mad.”

Despite the small giggle that came from you, you moved his hand away, “I’m not crying. One tear is not crying.” You then had to turn away from him to hide your embarrassment, as well as double-check your cookware that there wasn’t any more potential iron in the way, “Come on, let’s cook your breakfast.”

The two of you worked together to make scrambled eggs, bacon, and pancakes. One of the few upsides to inheriting your grandfather’s old house was his rarely used large cooktop that gave enough space for you and Law to stand side by side. He flipped the pancakes while you watched his tattooed hands do the work, even with the one having touched iron. The man was humming, and you could tell he was in a good mood.

Nudging him gently with your hip, you still couldn’t help but ask, “Sure you aren’t mad?”

“I’m sure,” Law chuckled, “but I will feel better after we eat.”

“Promise?” You teased him more, already feeling the jitters in your body before he answered you with a smile.

“I promise.”

Your head was in your hands as you could still hear Doflamingo laughing. Not as if it was a memory, he was at the bar with a few of his friends. Law had warned you not to go to the facility without him to hand over the contract. The two of you meticulously went over it with a fine tooth comb the whole day before, and you finally signed it with the name you consented to represent you (like hell you would ever let Doflamingo know your real name), but even though all of your clocks were correct, you got the time wrong and showed up an hour before everyone had agreed to meet.

And yet the fae was right there, at the designated booth just for you, sipping a glass of wine that was darker than the night sky and yet shimmered with an ethereal light at the same time, smiling in that strange and twisted way of his. His mantle of pink feathers always seemed like such an odd choice to you, and it physically sparked with what you could only describe in your mind as fairy dust. He always seemed allergic to buttoning his shirt that it made you wonder why he ever wore them in the first place. For a man with so much power, he always looked like he was on laundry day, and nothing matched.

His grin held all the secrets you knew he wasn’t telling you as he tried to sweet talk you into sitting next to him. He even whispered devilishly delectable words that almost tempted you to give in to his desires. Doflamingo was convincing, and you could see why he always had quite a few hot little things around his arm whenever you saw him out and about at the facility. There was an attractiveness to him, even with knowing what he really was. But there was always something there, something you were aware of. An intangible warning of extreme danger at the edge of his person where his shadow began, a deep-rooted fear of just how sharp his teeth really were in that deranged smile. His fingers always gave your skin soft caresses that promised peaks of pleasure, and yet they were stone cold.

It became easier and easier for you to always politely decline him without encouraging the wrath you knew lurked behind that dark gaze, sliding his oversized contract on the trial toward him. That was all you had gone there to do that evening, after all. You were wondering if Doflamingo somehow had something to do with your clocks being off in his attempt to get you alone, especially since his expression dropped, along with some of his glamor as he lost the alluring mystique that always made it seem like someone was standing in front of him with perfect ring lighting at all times.

But then he laughed.

Shaking his head, he stood to his feet, taking the contract and sticking it inside of his mantle as if he had a whole filing cabinet in there, “Alright, all business. I like it when you play hard to get. So I hope you enjoy your Trial by Yield.”

He said nothing else, laughing as he walked his strange walk over to his friends waiting by the bar. One oozed while the other always seemed to wiggle in strange ways, and you could never figure out which was more unsettling.

From the position of your booth, you could no longer see the man, and all of the weight of everything began to press slowly to your skin, pushing you down more and more into the fear of what was to come. Trial by Yield—what does that even mean? How is yield a trial? Did he expect you to fight? You were terrible at fighting. Was he expecting you to yield to oncoming traffic? Did Arch Fae even drive? In the back of your mind, you screamed for Law, as if he could hear you.

A hand clasped your shoulder, and you immediately turned to face who you at first thought was Law before you realized the hand was far too big, and the face too happy. Rosinante blocked out the light behind his head and was still a welcome sight as he looked you over with concern.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He slipped into the booth when you made room for him beside you. Unlike his brother, Rosinante was compassionate, caring, and wore his heart on his sleeve. Sure, as a vampire lord, he had his own secrets behind his red eyes, but he was at least honest with his intentions and motives.

Besides, being Law’s adoptive father (at least as you understood it) made you more inclined to trust him since you held such faith in Law. Rosinante had even trusted you with his first name, but you knew better than to use it in public. He wrapped his black feathered mantle around you, bringing you into his safe space. It was also enchanted that if he pulled someone into it, the conversation became private.

You let out a deep breath, your body beginning to shake as you spoke, “I… your brother just named the trial. He said Trial by Yield. And then just walked away. I have no idea what that means…”

The vampire lord rubbed your back, shushing you gently, “Hey now. It’s not so bad. He just means you have a year from this date to do what farmers do. To grow crops and run the farm. If the fates deem you successful, you’ll pass. The others know how to keep the lands lush and green, so there isn’t much to it.”

While his words were comforting, you could barely hold back your sob, “You seem so sure, but have you met your brother, Corazon? He’s going to do something to make me fail. I know it… I know he will.”

Rosinante just laughed, “Well, duh. I don’t think he’d be the bastard he is if he didn’t.” He ruffled your hair, giving you his warm smile that felt like all of your cares and worries would go away, “But you are not going through this alone. No one here would have you lose to him. We don’t want you to lose the farm, either.”

“And I’d have to marry him.”

His face immediately dropped into disbelief and a hint of anger, “You’d have to what?”

“Y/N-ya!”

Law’s voice rang out through the crowd. Your first name was no real secret to anyone at this point, but you still preferred if he wouldn’t just scream it in a public space. Calling back out to him, you forgot he couldn’t hear you because of the enchantment. He looked frantic, moving through the crowd of people.

You stood to call out to him, but since Rosinante’s mantle was still around you, he didn’t hear your voice. The larger vampire man had an easier time flagging Law down and directing him over. The Fossegrim rushed to the booth, and Rosinante got up to allow Law to sit beside you instead of him, releasing you from the warmth of feathers around you. Law slid into place, and you first saw the fear painted across his features before his brow furrowed together into almost a scowl.

“Why in the world did you come here without me?” He asked in a raised voice, “If it wasn’t for Uni and Clione texting me you already met with him—” Law never spoke Doflamingo’s name, usually using “Doff” “him” or on special occasions “that bastard”, “—I’d have never known you were already here!”

Glancing around Law straight to the two men at the bar, Uni and Clione instantly turned their heads away from you and pretended to clean the bar top. Hakugan, who also worked at the bar, waved at you nonchalantly as if you weren’t accusing them of making Law mad at you. Jean Bart pulled Hakugan’s arm down, shaking his head.

Your attention went back to Law, glaring right back at him, “I was honestly convinced I was running late due to every clock in my house and even my phone showing a different time. When I got here and it was just him, what did you expect me to do? Run away?”

Law growled, folding his arms. He really couldn’t fault you, but he radiated annoyance, “You still should have waited for me.”

Both of you were interrupted by Rosinante’s chuckle, leaning his cheek against his hand, “This little lover’s spat is cute, but there are bigger issues, kiddos.”

“We’re not lovers!” You and Law both answered in unison, the heat on your skin being both embarrassment and your heart shattering at the same time hearing the goat man say it out loud.

Rosinante continued to smile, “Sure, not the point. My brother named her trial.”

Law kept his arms folded, but his scowl dropped, “And?”

You looked at your hands in your lap, unable to look back at Law since Rosinante teased you both about being the L word, “He said the Trial by Yield. Corazon said that this wasn’t bad. It could work in my favor.”

While you tried to have some optimism in your current state, Law scoffed, “Of course he did.” Then let out a hiss, “That fucking snake.” (That was a new one.)

Rosinante’s face dropped into a frown, it did not do that often unless his brother was talking to him, “Do you wish to share your concerns? Or do I need to start showing Y/N your baby pictures again to make you talk?”

Law’s anger changed to a pout, “There’s a difference between me not sharing personal information, like my birthday, and letting me get my thoughts out now. Yes, I have concerns. The weather patterns for this coming year are predicting drought, and our water reserves are low. Trial by Yield means she has to show an increase from last year, which would be a blessing if there wasn’t also a minor blight we’re already fighting in some of the fields. There can be no interference on weather or soil from either side in a trial of time, only time can pass. We can order water, and get the plants treated, but if over time the overall harvest is less than last year, IE: the yield, she loses. Changing anything in our favor via magical means could be a literal death sentence, because he would get to pick the punishment.”

Your face went into your hands, mostly to hide how hard you were biting your lip to keep from actively crying. It was a moment before Law realized what he said and let out a sigh, “Hey, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. We can still do what we can.”

The heat of the tears in your eyes were threatening to overflow down your cheeks, and you knew removing your hands from your face would only show them and the world the depth of your current despair. There was silence all around you, and you felt Law’s hand ghost your shoulder, but instead, you heard him get up to leave.

“Where are you going?” Rosinante asked.

“To make a plan,” Law answered curtly, disappearing out of sight. The dam of your tears broke, and you began to cry. You hadn’t cried like this in months, and it felt worse that you were doing it in public.

Rosinante came back to your side, draping his mantle over you. “It’s alright. Just let it all out.”

You leaned into his side, still trying to hide your tears, just grateful that no one could hear you. When your tears ran dry, Rosinante even went to get you some water, leaving his mantle about your shoulders as he came back.

“Your girlfriend is a lucky woman, Corazon,” you gave him a half smile as you held the water in both of your hands.

He shook his head with a smile, “I’m the lucky one with her. She sends her love, by the way. Work has her overseas again.” Reaching under the table, he pulled a present from nowhere, “She also felt bad that she didn’t send you a gift for your celebration, and asked me to pass this along.”

Confused, you looked at the package, then to him, “Your lady’s human, though. She doesn’t have to present me with anything.”

He shrugged his shoulders with a soft smile, “She’s a part of my life, she wants to participate in our customs I guess. Besides, she said you never know when you’ll need it.”

Opening the box, you stared at the intricate knotted cross made of metal and plated in gold. The word “hope” was stamped across it. The whole present was confusing, neither you nor she were religious by any means, “Um, thanks?”

Rosinante smiled, leaning on his hand again, “Sometimes, hope can be the strongest weapon.”

The strongest weapon your ass.

The next year was dismal. You did hang the cross on the wall out of politeness since Rosinante and his partner came over quite often. However, the more you looked at it, the more disillusioned you became with the idea of hope.

The drought Law predicted was no joke. Water was hard to get ordered and shipped out as the news reported reservoirs and the like dropping to national emergency levels. The lack of water caused the disease infecting the plants to spread, and it was harder and harder to stay on top of it.

If it weren’t for the revenue of the facility, there really would have been issues with bills being paid and keeping your heads afloat. Your only escape from the demands and stresses of the day was listening to Law’s band play. A few months in, he had started to avoid you, so it slowly became one of the few times you could see him. The man still met with you to discuss issues, but after a while, he started sending Shachi or Penguin in his place or sending messages through Ikakku.

It hurt.

The more distance he put between the two of you, the more you felt the void sucking your soul into it. At least you could see him at his shows, and listen to his music, even if you had begun to know the songs by heart. The vibrations of the music would still flow through you, making it feel as if Law were performing for just you, letting you pretend that everything was fine for a short while.

And when it was over, your body would feel heavy. You already knew if you tried to talk to him backstage, he’d be gone or find a reason to not have time to talk. Law was keeping up on task with his chores and always made sure you got the reports and paperwork that you needed as the Human Liaison. But the only thing you really needed was for him to give you any sign that things were okay. Even if it were a thumbs-up from afar, you’d take that over this cold shoulder treatment any day.

Your chores took longer with the cows one day, and while brushing Sunshine (you would still die for her), you broke down crying against her soft coat. She slowly laid down for you to snuggle into her, and she reached her neck around to hug you as best as a bovine could. Sunshine truly was the best cow, and you allowed yourself to lose yourself in your tears. As your sobs softened into sniffles then to silence, you continued to brush your fingers through her golden pelt.

“I can’t do this anymore…” your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, “What little is surviving isn’t enough, and we have to harvest next week. I… I’m going to have to marry him.” If you had any tears left to cry, you’d do so, but there truly was nothing left as you felt the back of your throat drying the more you spoke, “I doubt he’ll let me go after he does. He doesn’t seem the kind of man to let what is “his” out of his clutches…”

You let out a laugh, feeling as though you were going mad at the acceptance of what was going to be your fate. It really was hopeless. There was nothing left you could do short of a miracle before becoming his personal Princess Leia on a leash. Oh god, he probably had that outfit for you already, too.

“It won’t happen.”

Jolting up at Law’s voice, you looked around in the barn for him. He was nowhere to be seen, and yet you were sure it was him. You swallowed down what little you had in your mouth, trying to coat it in any moisture possible as you croaked out, “You promise?”

He didn’t answer, causing you to tremble in your feeling of madness. You must have been losing your mind, laughing to yourself again. Holding your head in your hands, Sunshine nudged you with her nose, and as you looked at her, you noticed a piece of paper had fluttered to the ground. It landed face-up with a simple message.

I promise.

You clung to that piece of paper as if your life depended on it. What you wanted to do was to scream and yell and demand of Law why he had been avoiding you. But deep down you knew to just trust him. Law never did anything without reason, and that was the last real bit of hope you could give yourself.

Folding the note up as neatly as you could, you kept it tucked away in your pocket, then put it next to your pillow when you went to bed. You stared at it in the dark all night until you finally fell asleep. However, it wasn’t long before you heard panicked screaming and yelling. As you rushed out of bed, you could see it all just outside the window.

With the drought, lack of water resources, and blight, it was the perfect mix for the fields to catch fire—from what you had no idea. Your body shook, unable to respond as you watched the others struggle to contain it. Everything. Gone in an instant.

It still took hours before the fires dwindled to controlled smolders, but they didn’t have much to go on. Nothing was left, not a single yield.

You stood there, staring out over the desolate waste that had always been so green, lush, and plentiful since you could remember as a child. Sure, there had been fires before. Life and disasters happen. But this? It was devastating and poorly timed. Or, for Doflamingo, perfectly timed. The deadline for the end of your trial was just a few more days away, a whole year had gone by, and it was all for naught.

Ikkaku sat with you on the front porch, Bepo coming in and out as he tried to bring you food or drinks. You didn’t speak, nor did you realize any time had passed until you blinked and suddenly realized the sun was gone, and both of them were snoring. A cold wind blew, and you felt the impending dread of your future with it. The moon slowly became obscured by clouds, and you smelled the overwhelming scent of rain with it.

A cruel irony, of course it would finally rain now. You began to curse it in your mind as you saw the wall of rain slowly move its way up the dirt path and driveway of your homestead, feeling each prick of ice with the drops that touched your skin. With nothing left in you mentally, emotionally, and possibly physically, you got to your feet and began walking.

Down the once dusty path now turning to mud, around to the edge of tree line out toward the fields. They would turn to nothing but sludge from all the ash, but you had to see it for yourself. The confirmation that everything was truly gone. That there was truly nothing left. The proof of your failure.

However, the rain began to warm, and you were astonished that slowly, very slowly, green began to poke up from the dirt and decay. Where once was barren and desolate, turned green and lush. You had to be dreaming, or you’ve finally cracked under the pressure and were straight up hallucinating.

Rubbing your eyes, you blinked as the empty fields filled with full-grown plants, perfect and ready for harvest. How was it even possible? Or plausible? Was it magic? It had to be. But that meant someone was interfering, which meant you would lose anyway.

In the distance, barely over the pouring rain, you caught the sound of a violin. Its melody was soft, almost a lonesome wailing of lament. You remembered when Law was first teaching you of his kind, Fossegrim specialized in the magic of sound manipulation, meaning they used music to cast their spells. It was why he was more musically inclined, and you remember making a joke that he just used magic to make his band popular. He wasn’t happy about it, and it was the first time you saw him pout.

Your feet struggled to run on the slowly softening ground, knowing that you had to find the source. If it was Law, then why was he doing this? Now? After all this time? You never asked him to, and you knew Doflamingo would for sure demand blood for his interference. Law had been avoiding you for so long, why was he putting his neck out like this?

As you got closer, the music was louder, clearer; the feeling and intent of the tune more discernible. His song was sorrowful, full of heartbreak and pain. All of the pain you were also feeling at the dread of your failure. You had been out of tears for a while, but the rain on your cheeks would have hidden them anyway.

Finally, you made it to a small clearing. Law was sitting there on a fallen log as he played, stark naked, or at least it seemed that way, as for once you saw his goat legs and lower half. His ears were down, and his expression was more solemn than you had ever seen him before.

“Law!”

You felt like it took you ages to get your voice together to call out to him over all the rain. He jumped, dropping his violin and gawking at you as he rose to his feet—or hooves in this case. From his obliques down, he was covered in fur, with nothing but a small loincloth covering his bits.

“Y/N-ya!” He put his instrument down into its case, and you could see from this distance it was somehow staying dry even as he closed it, “Get out of here! Go home! You’ll catch your death!”

“Better than what I’m destined for!” You snapped at him, angry that he was making a sacrifice like this. He had told you the toll that magic can take on an individual if they use too much, and you could already see the deep recess of his eyes, his pallor was borderline sickly, and he looked like he hadn’t had a decent meal in a few days. Stumbling toward him, he met you halfway, catching you as you tripped on a root.

Holding your shoulders in his hands as he attempted to steady you, Law bent his body down to look you in the eyes, “Don’t say that! Don’t you dare say that!”

Your hands weakly beat against his chest, “And why not?! You’re pulling a fucking Hail Mary in the seventh-inning stretch!”

“None of those sports terms go together.”

“Who cares!” You threw your arms up, breaking his hold on you, “Law, you’re breaking the rules! He’ll—”

Your voice cracked as you attempted to gain your breath with your heart beating so hard it was disturbing your breathing. Law wrapped his tattooed arms around you, pulling you close to him as you sniffled.”

“He’ll kill you…”

Law did not respond. There was nothing for him to say. He pet your hair as if he were trying to squeeze the water out, despite the downpour you both were standing in. His arm hugged around you tighter, his lips pressed to your temple. For a long moment, he held you there. You could feel his heart against his chest, beating just as rapidly as your own.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” he finally whispered after a time, “I kept my distance in case I had to do this. I had to keep you away from my plan because he couldn’t come after you if you didn’t know. If I acted alone, you’d be free of him.”

Looking up at him as best you could in the rain, you pounded lightly on his chest once more, “Why Law? Why would you do this? Why risk your life for mine?”

His eyes went wide with surprise, reminding you that his pupils were long and rectangular, “I thought that would be obvious,” he gave you a soft and charming smile before he bit his lip and continued, “But I couldn’t…” Law choked on his words as he brushed the wet strands of your hair from your face, “… I can’t let him take you. My heart could handle you with anyone else in the world, but not him. You could be spared so long as you didn’t know that I pulled this. That I healed the lands… I’d spill my own blood if it meant you could be free of him.”

You cupped his face in your own hands, doing your best to wipe both his tears and the rain away, “But I can’t live my life without you in it, Law. Shit, even with you being an ass and practically ignoring me for the better part of the year! I still want you in my life you fucker! Because for whatever reason, I still love you, you asshole!”

He leaned in, pressing his lips against yours, somehow managing to pull you closer against him. His kiss was heated, passionate, and yet his lip quivered as he broke it, forehead resting on yours, “I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. Keeping a distance so no one would think you were a part of my plan. I’ve hated it; hated myself. Your crying has been driving me insane, and now it’s all been for nothing because you’re here and just… I don’t even know anymore.”

Law’s golden eyes looked deep into yours, his breathing heavy. You could no longer feel the rain, numb on your body as all you could feel was the warmth of his and the steady yet racing rhythm of his heart.

“I love you. I always have. I always will, and I will never stop.” His hand shook as he ran it through your hair, “I’ll do anything you ask to make up for how I’ve been. If this could be my last night on this earth, just smile for me, one more time. Please.”

You threw your arms around his neck, grinning near ear to ear, “Kiss me again, and I’ll never stop smiling.”

His lips found yours, a hum escaping him as the kiss deepened and you tasted the rain against his tongue. A sigh escaped you as the both of you began to stumble backward until you felt the rough bark of a tree. Your hands moved up into his hair as his lips trailed down his neck, and a few of your fingers wrapped around one of his horns.

Law let out a growl, his long and deft fingers slipping under your shirt to lift it up and out of the way haphazardly. The soaked fabric refused to leave your skin, but after a few frustrated grunts, Law managed to free you of your top as it plopped in the mud. It would stain, but that wasn’t a concern right now. His tattooed fingers managed to undo your pants, but he immediately ran into the same problem, worse now since you were wearing jeans.

“Why the fuck would you wear denim in the rain?” He growled, having to remove his lips from your body as he dropped to his knees (do goat legs have knees?) to pull your pants down.

Your own hands moved to help him, laughing, “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t exactly expecting to reconcile with the idiot I’m in love with when my life was crashing around me and I thought there was no hope left.”

He glared at you as you both managed to get your clothing off that the water turned to cling film. You managed to get your panties off with it, mostly because they also stuck to your jeans, and now you were just wearing your bra. His heated gaze took you in, and were it not for the rapid rising and falling of his breath, you’d have thought he froze.

Law’s hands moved to your sides, sliding up and down your waist and hips as his lips pressed themselves just below your navel. His kisses moved down until they tugged on your clit a few times, causing your knees to buckle slightly and your hands to grasp his horns. Doing so sparked a fire deep within him, and you gasped as his tongue furiously lapped at your folds with little warning. Your grip tightened as he let out another growl, rocking your hips as you rode his face, subconsciously directing him with his horns to the peak of your pleasure.

With your back arching off the tree, you knew the bark was imprinting its pattern on your skin, but gave it little thought as you got closer and closer. However, you whined loudly when Law removed his face from the apex of your legs and instead stood to his full height. He gripped you behind your thighs, spreading your legs around his furry hips.

Slowly, the head of his cock prodded at your sopping entrance until he gently pushed in, a shuttered moan escaping you yet again. You clung to him tightly, both of you panting heavily as he filled you in the most delicious way possible. Law’s hips met yours, a gasp escaping him as he started a gentle rocking motion that worked up into rougher thrusts.

“I love you, Y/N-ya.”

“I love you, too. Fuck, Law! Don’t let me go. Don’t ever let me go!”

“Never again.” He smiled against your neck, grunting as he gave you a small bite.

You couldn’t help your smile as you closed your eyes, hearing nothing but the slapping of his hips to yours and the heavy rain blocking out the rest of the world around you, “Promise?”

“I promise.”

After making love in the rain, the cold set in on your naked bodies, and though Law was half covered in fur, you could feel the chill setting in on his skin. You both ran back to your house naked, but luckily it had become late enough that no one was still there. Even though you were both dripping and covered in mud, you didn’t care about the state of the floors for now as you dragged Law into a hot shower with you.

He wasn’t the most thrilled when you asked if he needed shampoo for his lower half or regular soap. You felt it was a legitimate question, and he instead decided to distract you with kisses. It did work, you forgot any questions you’d have at that point. Once the shower was finished, you dried off and you climbed into bed while he blow dried his hair. This time you kept your question to yourself if he had to blow dry his lower half or not.

You were dozing off by the time he was climbing under the sheets next to you, wrapping you up in his tattooed arms, and kissing you sweetly. The sleep you had was deep, and you woke up to Law watching you. Normally, that may be a bit strange, but there was such a level of deep admiration in his eyes, that you couldn’t help but smile.

“Good morning,” your eyes were barely open, but you could see the smile he was trying to hide behind the pillow he hugged to himself as he lay on his stomach. Even with sleep still blurring your vision, you could see his little tail swishing happily behind him, “Someone seems to be in a good mood this morning.”

Law slowly pushed himself up to crawl a little closer to you, “Mmm, woke up to an angel next to me, so I can’t complain.”

He peppered your skin in kisses, the two of you laughing as you pulled each other into a loving embrace. Law leaned above you, his face illuminated by the dappling of sunlight through your windows and curtains. All felt right in the world, but there was still one last dark cloud looming on the horizon. Even with the comfort of his presence, and how you both were now on the same page with your feelings, there was still a sinking in your gut.

You must have already been expressing your doubts on your face, as Law’s expression also dropped. He cupped your face in his hand, running his thumb over your cheek, “What’s wrong?”

Placing your hand over his, you let out a small breath, “What now? Where do we go from here? And what do we do when… well… Doflamingo comes to collect?” You felt that was easier than asking what the plan was when he came to kill Law.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. It’s not a fight we can deal with now.” Leaning in, his lips pressed against yours in the softest kiss, positioning himself between your legs, “For now, I don’t like that the thought took your smile away. I intend to fix that.”

Your kiss deepened, your hands gripping his back already as he ground his hips against yours. However, the moment was lost quickly when Bepo kicked down the front door, “HOLY SHIT, Y/N! COME LOOK! THE FIELDS GREW!”

Multiple feet clamored down the hall, and Law immediately rolled off you, rubbing his face. Even he already knew there was nothing that could be done, and hiding wouldn’t solve anything. It wasn’t the first time Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin charged into your room, nor would it ever be the last. However, you knew it would be the most shocking as the two men struggled to get through the doorway before the polar bear, but the three got stuck instead.

There was a long silence before they started screaming about you and Law in bed together (at least you both were covered now), and the whole of your social circle knew within the hour. You and Law did your best to not make a big deal of it, but luckily for you both, the fields being miraculously green and full were a great distraction as getting it all harvested and dealt with took priority.

After a long day, you went back to your house to shower—not before Law pulled you aside and made out with you behind the barn, smacked your ass, and told you he’d come make dinner tonight—still feeling the high of your new-found love when you felt the chill down your spine.

For the second time that day, your front door flung open. You heard Law call your name, but something wasn’t right. He sounded strained, and not because everyone had been working hard all day. Pushing open your bedroom door gently, you reached for your G-Pa’s old shotgun that you always kept by the bedroom door, keeping it behind your back.

“Law?”

He coughed in response, and as you peered around the corner, you saw him, but he wasn’t standing, he was being held up by something. Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth as you gazed on in horror as you saw Doflamingo’s fingers stabbed into his skin. On top of that, he was standing in your house. You had never invited Doflamingo in, how did he cross your threshold?

You knew better than to scream. Showing the Arch Fae any sign of weakness or fear could make this situation worse. His mirrored shades always made it hard to see where his eyes were, but you knew they were transfixed on you. He licked his lips, a deep and menacing laugh rumbling forth from him.

“Heard through the grapevine that someone may have interfered with your trial. Thought I’d come take care of the interloper.” With a flick of his wrist, Doflamingo threw Law to the ground.

Biting your lip hard, you were certain it would bleed. You didn’t want to add any more fuel to the fire. The man may have been smiling, but you could sense the malice and anger radiating off him as if they were a physical force. His large form barely fit in your home, towering over you as he always had, but physically hunched over you as he encroached on your personal space. For each step in your direction, you took one step back until he had you cornered against the wall.

His long fingers still covered in blood reached down to lift your chin, forcing you to look at him. You felt Doflamingo’s breath on your face, it reeked of death, and at this distance, you could sense his glamor was fading. His distorted and elongated features were almost grotesque, as if someone made a caricature of what a human somewhat looked like.

Doflamingo hummed, squeezing your cheeks together, “Whether you knew about this or not, in the end, you lose. Hope the two of you had fun last night, but I guess I can let it slide. After all, we aren’t married yet, but as my bride-to-be, you shouldn’t even fathom looking at others ever again.”

“I ain’t marrying you.”

The scowl scrunched his face which was the only indication you spoke out loud. His teeth grit together, a threatening growl escaping him. You knew you had to think fast, but he was far too close for you to use the shotgun on him without hurting yourself badly in the process. Luckily, you knew where you were, it was your house after all and reached up above you quickly to grab the cross that Rosinante’s girlfriend had gifted you.

You brandished the cross in his face, Doflamingo scoffing behind the eyes of your brother’s possessed body, “That won’t work. I’m no vampire, and you aren’t religious.”

“No shit!” you yelled at him as you bashed the side of his skull and he went down, hard. Doflamingo screamed as he held the side of his face, skin sizzling, cracking, and popping. He thrashed on the ground, howling in pain as you held the cross up and then dropped it squarely on his chest. Another sound of agony came from the Arch Fae, but it was neither human nor animal.

“It’s iron!”

Doflamingo clawed at his chest, unable to pick up the iron cross as if it were a heavy weight. His fingers burned and shook, unable to do anything as you picked up the shotgun, preparing it as you pointed it to his face.

“You wouldn’t dare kill me in cold blood. There’s massive consequences for that!” He hissed. “It’s in our contract!”

Law struggled to stand, eyes wide as he watched you double-check that it was still loaded. You hummed, “You know, when I first moved here, Law made me sit and read through a billion and one books on Sacred Magical Law. The first of these was the Laws of Hospitality after we joked about baring my brother from the lands. Good thing, too. Because it helps me to know about article one of the hospitality law of sacred magic: “One will not enter any dwelling uninvited.” There are specific sub-laws of how to circumvent these things, such as how you used Law’s blood to enter. However, in doing so makes any contract you and I held null and void.”

Cocking the gun again you stuck it in his mouth, gagging him from trying to talk around the truth, “And since you crossed my threshold without invitation, any act I carry out against you falls under home law. I am the owner of this home. My choice is law here.”

“Huh…” Law pointed to himself.

“What? No, I mean, of course I’m picking you in the end. I meant law as in law of the land, justice law… not your name. I get to set the rules in my home.”

Doflamingo gagged and gargled around the barrels of the shotgun, but you knew better than to remove them. You looked back at him, seeing yourself reflected in his glasses, and for once, you thought you could see his eyes through them, the fear in them as he knew his life was in your hands was the first and last you ever saw of them as you pulled the trigger.

“You could have warned me, you know.”

Law had you wrapped in a blanket, now back in his office at the facility. He poured you a drink, placing the glass in front of you as he shrugged, “If I’m honest, I didn’t think you’d actually pull the trigger. But, yeah… Arch Fae tend to burst into flame when killed so… sorry ‘bout that.”

Nodding, you held the glass in one hand, sighing as you tried to erase the aftermath from your mind, even more so the fire that then consumed the house. You’d be fine to never see another fire in your life at this point.

“So, what now?” You looked up to Law, shirtless now that he was bandaged from his injuries. They weren’t deep, he’d heal over time.

Law shrugged, “Well, first of all, we rebuild the house.”

You gave him a half-hearted laugh, “Yeah, I meant more so with like… my killing the Arch Fae of the land.”

“Oh,” he sat back against his desk, folding his arms over his chest, “His titles and all that comes with it falls to Cora-san now. He’ll most likely refuse it and name someone else in his stead, and that person will take on the title of Arch Fae.”

Taking a sip of the liquor, you made a face as it burned the back of your throat. You didn’t completely pay attention when Law poured it for you, but you still weren’t prepared for it being so strong. Sticking out your tongue, you put it back on his desk and cleared your throat, “What about the consequences.”

Again, Law shrugged, “You said it yourself. He broke hospitality. Even at his rank, he is not above sacred law.”

You chewed on the inside of your lip, nodding almost absentmindedly. This time the night before, you were dreading your life as it was to come, and now, here you were. Free of it all. Doflamingo was gone, and you never had to be cursed by his shadow darkening your day ever again.

Law reached down to gently rub your shoulder, “Hey. How are you holding up?”

“I’m not sure,” you answered him, placing your hand on his before sighing out heavily, “It hasn’t sunk in with everything that’s happened I guess. So, prepare for a screaming crying breakdown in the future most likely.”

Law gave you a soft smile, “Noted.” He then knelt next to your chair to look up at you, a near-dreamy look in his eyes. Gently, he brushed a strand of hair out of your face, “I’ll be right here when you do.”

As you looked down to him and ran your fingers through his hair, then traced the shape of one of his horns, you couldn’t help yourself as you asked.

“Promise?”

“I Promise.”

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