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Gojo Satoru, The Country Star, Makes You Swoon in "Backseat Serenade"!

"Well, well...look who snuck backstage and decided to come crawlin' back to her favorite country boy. Guess city life wasn't as pretty as me, was it, darlin'?"

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); No Curse AU; Second Chance Romance; Unplanned Pregnancy; Famous Ex/Baby Daddy!Gojo x Baby Mama!Reader; Old College Romance; Exes to Lovers; MILF!Reader; Public Sex; Outdoor Sex; Pussy Eating; Gojo is a Munch; Tour Bus Sex; Mating Press; Riding; Tongue Piercing; Dick Piercing; Deepthroat; Breeding Kink; Creampie; Switchy!Gojo x Switchy!Reader

Read HERE!

Choso Kamo, The Farm Boy, Ruins The Friendship in "Good With His Hands"!

"I've always stayed your friend 'cause you're at the top of the social latter and me? I'm just the farm boy...but now that you're here, there ain't nothin' stoppin' me from tellin' you how I feel."

Warnings: 18+ (MNDI); No Curse AU; Shy/Nerdy!Choso x Popular Girl!Reader; He Falls First Trope; Social Class Difference; Childhood Friends Trope; Hand Kink; Lowkey Flirting; Sexual Tension; Friends to Lovers; Skinny Dipping; Crush/Love Confession; First Time PIV; Virgin!Choso x Experienced!Reader; Mild Sweat Play; Switch!Choso x Switch!Reader; Sloppy Toppy; Spitting; Sneaky Outdoor Sex; Pussy Eating; Fingering; Standing Missionary; One Leg Up; Almost Caught; Mild Choking; Tongue Piercing; Raw Creampie; Aftercare

Read HERE!

Nanami Kento, The Rancher, Tastes Your Goodies in "A Sweet Lil' Temptation"!

"I know I shouldn't feel these things for you. This primal need...but God, angel...you just entice me. Your heavenly cookin' don't make it no better for a man like me."

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); No Curse/Modern AU; Older!Nanami (Early-Late 40s); x Younger!Reader (19-22 Years Old); Forbidden Romance; Childhood Crush; Single DILF/Divorced!Nanami; Baking Trope lol; Close Proximity; Eye Fucking; Mutual Seduction; Sexual Tension; Food Play; Nanami Tastes Your Apple Pie; Mutual Oral (Giving n Receiving); CHEST HAIR SUPREMACY!!; Deepthroat; Pussy-Eating; Kitchen Sex; Doggy on the Counter; Reader Cums 2x; Spanking; Mild Choking; Rough Sex; Hair-Pulling; Dom!Nanami x sub!Reader; Almost Caught; No Creampie; Facial & Cum on Tits; Aftercare

Read HERE!

Geto Suguru, The Outlaw, Steals Your Heart in "A Love Outlawed"!

"You ain't a bad lil' rider, partner. Maybe you can teach me some of your tricks sometime? Can't have ya outdoin' the best at his game."

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); No Curse/Modern AU; Criminal!Geto; Bad Boy x Good Girl Trope; Past Relationship; Heartbreak & Angsty; Ballroom Setting; Naoya Zenin Hate lmaooo; Seduction; Eye-Fucking; Past Sweethearts to Current Lovers; Public Sex; Garden Sex; Semi-Clothed; Pussy-Eating; Deepthroat; Dom!Geto x sub!Reader; Doggystyle; Standing Up; Cowgirl; Wearing Geto’s Cowboy Hat While You Ride It; Reader Cums 2x; Raw Creampie; Breeding; Love Confession; Choso x Yuki/Yuuji x Megumi Breadcrumbs 

Read HERE!

Sukuna Ryomen, The Gangster, Shows You One Hell of a Time in "In the Arms of Sin"!

"You think you can just come here, interrupt my beauty sleep, and order ME around? Nah, angel; ya ain't gettin' whatcha want 'round here till ya give me a reason to give it to ya."

Warnings: TBA

CUMMING 8/18/26!

Shiu Kong, The Pimp, Wines n Dines You in "A Price For Paradise"!

"You've got the beauty. The brains. The lifestyle. You're the pinnacle of a Southern belle, my dear...and yet here you are, splittin' those legs for a dirty man like me."

Warnings: TBA

CUMMING SOON!

Toji Fushiguro, The Bull Rider, Takes You For a Ride in "Buckle Up, Bunny"!

"Playin' pool and shootin' the shit with the likes me, eh? Ya got a thang for bull riders, lil' darlin'? What ever will your poor auntie think?"

Warnings: TBA

CUMMING SOON!

Higuruma Hiromi, The Sheriff, Teases n Disciplines You in "Teachin' The Bratty Belle"!

"I should keep your ass here till you've learned your lesson, but I've got somethin' better for ya. Somethin' a gal like you might enjoy."

Warnings: TBA

CUMMING SOON!

The makers of Kinktober 2025 are back again with a brand new list! The graphics are once again created by latte-cucumber. Check out our AO3 collection, or keep reading for more information.

More information

Kinktober is a kinky October prompt challenge that’s been running in one form or another since 2016. There are three prompts for each day in October, and the challenge is to use one (or more!) of the prompts to create something for that day. If you don’t want to use any of the three daily prompts, you can swap them out for the bonus prompts at the bottom of the prompt list.

If you have any questions, check our FAQs. Unfortunately, due to personal commitments, we won't be opening our askbox for questions this year. We've made it as rules-light as possible, though, so if your question is "Can I do this?", the answer is almost certainly yes!

Prompts

Condoms – Bratting – Watersports

Orgy – Embarrassment – Bestiality

Hate Sex – Suspension Bondage – Mind Control

Body Writing – Subspace – Master/Slave

Glory Hole – Cloning/Selfcest – Body Modification

Held Down – Riding Crops – Feeding/Stuffing

Dirty Talk – Cockwarming – Aphrodisiacs

Face Sitting – Switching – Scat

Orgasm Delay/Denial – Discipline – Whips

Gentle Sex – Chains – Noncon

Age Gap – Breathplay – Religion Kink

Phone Sex – Findom – Edgeplay

Frottage – Temperature Play – Emetophilia

Strength Kink – Roleplay – Vore

Corsets – Power Imbalance – Human Furniture

Nipple Play – Conditioning – Predator/Prey

Rough Sex – Begging – Furry

Deepthroating – Rope Bondage – Transformation

Public Sex – Daddy/Mommy Kink – Cigars/Cigarettes

One Night Stand – Pain Play – Snuff

Coregasm – Overstimulation – Predicament Bondage

Sharing – Boot Worship – Lactation

Vibrators – Caught In The Act – ABDL

Leather/Lace/Latex – Spreader Bar – Drugging

First Time – Non-Sexual BDSM – Knifeplay

Swallowing – Collars – Fuck Or Die

Spanking – Feminization/Masculinization – Inflation

Strap-On – Safewords – Torture

Quickie – Pet Play – Wet And Messy

Licking – Clamps – Oviposition

Fingering – Micro/Macro – Writer’s Choice

Bonus prompts:

Kink Discovery

Stripping

Coming In Pants

Omegaverse (Non-Traditional Dynamics)

Pornography

Sub/Dom Drop

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S&H CITY FRIDAYS🩸horrorland’s most iconic, number one parkland is back! the depths of hell fall on this dark and gloomy known as the devil’s playground, beholding true sex and terror that which may also arouse parkland guests…

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟏𝟔𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐒𝐌 ❞ starring CHOSO KAMO (jjk)

for your psychological evaluation, please answer true or false: “i feel like evil spirits possess me at times.”

⚠︎ TW: psychological horror, incubus/succubus possession, noncon warning jic, exorcism, religious themes, betrayal, hardcore demon sex, satanism, masochism, inspired by Nosferatu (2024)

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟐𝟑𝐑𝐃: ❝ 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 ❞ starring GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU (jjk)

never go alone to Horrorland, or you might just end up being the perfect prey for our naughty scare actors…

⚠︎ CW: fear play, semi-public sex, threesome (mmf), spitroasting, dumbification, degradation, mask kink, slight stalking, chase scene, slight exhibitionism, petnames, squirting, weapon play (knife + chainsaw)

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CARNALVANIA SATURDAYS 🏰 a hellish and rotten kingdom built on violent, lethal desire for power, corruption, and rumors of an ancient race. would you venture a realm where three distinct affairs collide into a carnal nightmare…?

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟏𝟎𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐉’𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄 ❞ starring TOJI FUSHIGURO (jjk)

while seeking solitude from your royal ball, you’re suddenly interrogated by a mysterious, yet alluring assassin…

⚠︎ TW: medieval fantasy au, assassin!toji, princess!reader, enemies to lovers, interrogation, dubcon/coercion, knife play, fear play, murder threats, semi-public sex, degradation/praise, stalking mentions.

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟏𝟕𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐓. 𝐈𝐈 ❞ starring LEON KENNEDY (re9)

the sweet prince that’s been turned by your own doing shows his filthiest image of ruin to his own subjects…

⚠︎ CW: gothic royalty au, vampire!leon, vampire!reader, msub/fdom, forced voyeurism/exhibitionism, noncon warning, humiliation, seduction, hypnosis, corruption, poisoning, bloody sex, chain bondage.

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟐𝟒𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 ❞ starring HIROMI HIGURUMA (jjk)

chained together in an unholy, hateful marriage, who conquers who on their very own wedding bed…?

⚠︎ CW: regency fantasy au, enemies to lovers, duke!higuruma, duchess!reader, arranged marriage, hate sex during wedding night, eventual soft sex, court politics, slight impact play, degradation, breeding.

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‎ 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃’𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋: ‎ ❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 ❞ ‎ ‎ starring RYOMEN SUKUNA (jjk)

a camping trip you planned with your friends turns out to be a total nightmare, all caught on camera…

⚠︎ TW: dark content, horror/thriller themes, murder, gore, ritual sex, demon sex, satanism, sadism, teratophilia, size kink, double penetration, betrayal, plot twist, inspired by The Blair Witch Project (1999).

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⚠︎ 𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬. 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. ⚠︎

You’re rolling your hips against his thigh, little sensitive bud grinding against the hard denim of his jeans—the threads of it barely holding the pant together or hiding the beefy muscles beneath the thick cloth as Satoru manspreads even wider.

Hands on your ass, cupping the plush globes like they were born to be in his warm palm.

Soft moans ring against his ear—fragile, delicate—everything you are. Faint like you’re still learning what sounds your body likes to make when you discover the new world of getting yourself off on your boyfriend.

“O—oh~”

Satoru is just so irresistible.

About an hour ago, your mouth had gone dry, panties instantly wet when he came out of the bathroom in a black button-up tucked into his dark blue jeans and a rusty-brown cowboy hat over his messy, always fluffy tuff of white hair.

He had barely made it two steps with his cowboy boots, heavy and leather against the floor—lightly heeled at the back making him taller than he already is, making it harder for you to even get to him when needed—before your legs subconsciously crossed on the couch and an ugly feeling crept into your chest.

Someone else was going to see the sexy ass piece of meat your boyfriend is.

Other girls would be able to run their eyes over those bulging biceps—the ones begging to be released from beneath that old and now-too-small chemise. Or they would salivate at his thighs, muscular and so manly covered by sturdy denim…

Or—

You knew that everything on Satoru was attractive. From the way he walked and talked to the way he looked and simply existed.

So the unwanted feeling of insecurity brewed quickly in your chest and dampened your mood before you could swallow it.

And of course, he noticed it. Your sweet, doting boyfriend always noticed the slightest tweaks in your days or faces.

He had crouched in front of you so caringly, pressed a large hand on the knee crossed over your other leg and looked up at you with those kind azure eyes.

You felt your heart melt and your chest swarm with love at the sight—but no smile had made its way onto your face just yet and that was a loss in Satoru’s books.

“What’s up with my sweetheart?” He had asked you to no response which he took with no offence—instead straightening back up and plopping himself right next to you on the couch.

Arms kissing, shoulders hugging. Legs pressing against each other before he hooked an arm under your waist and pressed your head flush against his chest.

Somewhere between straddling one of his thick thighs and hiding your face in his firm chest right under his chin, the fire between your legs had started to ignite again.

Little fleeting twitches and flexes of his leg—subconscious, of course—had your needy pussy pulsing his name in morse already as he tried to crack open the lock behind the reason your energy had fallen before.

Poor innocent little Satoru kept questioning you with soft tuned words and absentminded tracings of nothing with an actual shape on your hip while you tried to not whimper against him.

“Baby, c’mon tell me.” He whispers for one last time as his fingers comb through your hair.

This time, you break—mind too hazy to hold back anymore.

“I don’t like how other girls will see you.” You mutter, embarrassment would crawl over your being if you weren’t more scared of him catching the subtle drag of your hip against his jeans.

The hand on your hair stills, his face tilts sideways to inspect your expression—you’re pouting, or at least that was what he thought it was when really you were fighting back a moan.

“Are you jealous?” He muses, the corners of his lips smiling, pearly white canines slowly poking out.

A small grin stretches against his face—playful nature coming out even in the most shy of moments.

You groan a little against his chest, sending the vibration up his throat. A knot both in your chest and stomach starting to thread together.

Then he breaks out in a little breathy chuckle, head pulling back and resting on the headrest behind him, eyes sticking to the ceiling.

“You know I’m only yours, baby.” He says once the surprise settles in his bones.

“I know.” You mumble, hands fisting his shirt slightly as your back curves and you arch against him.

In the blink of an eye though, his hand falls from your hip—one of them—and the other settles on your ribs. He innocently coos into your ear, sending chills down your spine. “Now, let me help you out, m’kay?”

Shock buzzes beneath your skin at being caught—when deep down you knew that you had pushed it when you involuntarily bent against his warm body.

“Hm?” You try to play it off, hips stilling where they are over the muscle of his thigh. Your knees dig into the soft leather by each side, holding you in place as he tries to manoeuvre himself.

Satoru only smirks in return—the full kind. The one that half made you fall in love with his stupidness and the half that made you want to either slap it off or sit on it.

And he lowers his pelvis, brings his hips down the couch till you are sitting perfectly stabilised on the widest part of his leg.

The friction caused by his manspreading sends an electric jolt up your body that has you accidentally spilling out a moan—one caught between a breath and a whimper.

He chuckles lowly again, the sound heating up your heart and mind.

“Don’t get shy on me now, babe. Use me, you’re the only one who can do it, anyway.”

Something snaps in your chest. The grip on his shirt that you had loosens, hesitant hands moving to settle on his broad shoulders. Your head finds purchase in the crook of his neck as your body locks into place and you grind down on him.

Timid moans spill out of you as you slowly pull and push on him, feeling the imprint of his cock start to push against his pants just over your knee.

His hands securely help your ass arch, your clit drag over the flimsy piece of lingerie you’re only wearing under that slutty white skirt.

You’re no bunny with the way you’re riding him like this, leaving your juices over his thigh as your headband falls from your hair, but he could make you once if you start bouncing on his dick just a few inches upwards and a few extra swollen with pre staining the surface of his grey boxers.

Your whimpers, attempted to be bitten back at times but often not, send his mind into a frenzy as he tries to keep his hard-on at bay—at a level where it won’t hurt when he gets up because you both have to be at that Halloween party some time.

But it’s to no avail—hard to not be hard as a rock when his sexy, cute girlfriend is using him for her own pleasure.

Every witty, cocky remark in his mind fades as he finds himself swimming in the melody of your little gasps and high-pitched hums.

Satoru feels your pace start to stutter after a few more minutes, he catches the dark stain on his jeans when you ride up, behind the curve of your ass where your sopping, aching pussy is dripping all for him and leaving behind the essence he would lick off floors if he had to.

The grip he has on your hips tightens, fingers digging into fatty tissue as he helps you move down on him—taking control in guiding you over the top.

Your nails dig into his shoulders without any complaints from him—just heavy breathing brushing against your ear and synchronising with yours in the silent, dimly lit bedroom.

The coil in your stomach bounces, tittering closer and closer to the edge, tip-toeing and teasing you with what’s about to come.

One more harsh drag of your folds against him, over lace, cotton meeting denim in a scratch—and you’re shaking over his leg when you come down from the slowly-built orgasm.

The one with little effort but with sharp edges that leave your muscles spasming.

A content sigh escapes your lips as you melt against Satoru’s broad chest again—tension leaving your body, worries, your mind.

A soft smile also touches Satoru’s face as he watches your eyes flutter close, your puffy rosy lips looking back up at him and begging for a kiss while you drift into a peaceful place—all warm and fuzzy inside.

“My sweet girl.” He mutters. More to himself than to the world as his hand comes to cradle your cheek.

You go limp against him for a second, momentarily knocked out from crashing down from the high too strongly.

And Satoru makes no intention to leave or go to the Halloween party.

He was just fine with holding his drained love in his arms while the world continued to buzz outside in uneven lines.

JJK MASTERLIST, TAGLIST.

Actually my very first draft on tumblr that I never did. Just a drabble I quickly wrote.

Eight years out of UA and somehow you're still around. Still in the group chat. Still showing up to Kirishima's birthday parties and Sero's terrible karaoke nights. Still completely unaware that Katsuki Bakugo — the number five hero, walking explosion, a man who has never once backed down from anything in his life — has been quietly losing his mind over you since roughly your second year of school.

Everyone else figured it out years ago. Kirishima figured it out first, mostly because Bakugo made the mistake of getting drunk at his own agency's holiday party and saying your name four times in one sentence. Mina figured it out next. Even Todoroki figured it out, which says a lot, because Todoroki barely notices when buildings are on fire.

You did not figure it out. You are, according to every single person in that group chat, the last person on earth who has no idea.

So one night Bakugo sat down with a receipt from a ramen place and a pen that was almost out of ink and wrote himself a list. Not because he needed help — he would tell you he did not need help — but because eight years of doing nothing had clearly not worked and something had to change.

Here's what he came up with.

Rule #1: Don't call her pretty. That's weak. She'll see right through it.

You've been called pretty before. Plenty of times. It rolls off you like water because it means nothing coming from strangers. So the first time Bakugo actually looks at you — really looks, across a table at a group dinner while everyone else is arguing about something stupid — he doesn't say pretty. He says your hair looks stupid pushed back like that and it takes you a full three seconds to realize that's the nicest thing he's said to anyone all night.Kirishima kicks him under the table. Bakugo kicks back harder.

Rule #2: Don't let her see you get soft. Save that for when nobody's watching

You broke your wrist on a mission six months ago and Bakugo showed up at the hospital before your own agency finished the paperwork. He didn't say much. He sat in the corner with his arms crossed and glared at every nurse who walked past like they'd personally wronged him. You thanked him for coming. He said he was in the area. He was not in the area. He is never in your area.

Rule #3: If she teases you don't react. Reacting means she wins.

You have exactly one move against Bakugo and it works every time. You call him Kacchan in that flat unbothered voice of yours, the one that makes it sound like an insult and a joke at once, and he goes red before he can stop it. He tells you to shut up. You don't. He never actually wants you to.

Rule #4: Don't stare. Staring is for losers who can't say what they mean.

He stares anyway. Across bars. Across meeting rooms when your agencies do joint operations. Across the space between his couch and yours when the whole group crashes at his place after a night out and you fall asleep first, curled up small and unbothered like the world isn't currently on fire somewhere. He tells himself he's just checking you're breathing. He checks for a very long time.

Rule #5: If she steals your jacket let her keep it. Don't be a bitch about it.

It was cold outside a bar in October and you didn't bring one. He took his off without being asked and put it around your shoulders before you could even shiver a second time. You tried to give it back at the end of the night. He told you to keep it, said something about not needing two jackets anyway, which made no sense, and walked off before you could argue. You still have it. He knows you still have it. Neither of you has ever mentioned it again.

Rule #6: Don't get jealous. Jealous is for weak men.

A guy from a rival agency spent an entire mixer talking to you last spring and Bakugo spent that same mixer setting three separate small fires with his quirk completely by accident, according to him. Kirishima said it wasn't an accident. Bakugo told Kirishima to shut the hell up in front of everyone, which everyone agreed was extremely on brand and extremely obvious.

Rule #7: If she's tired let her sleep on your shoulder. Don't make it weird.

You fell asleep on the train back from a joint mission once, head tipping slowly toward his shoulder like gravity had made a decision without asking you. He went completely still. Didn't move for forty minutes. Told everyone later he just didn't want to wake you up. That was true. It was also not the whole truth.

Rule #8: Compete with her. Don't let her win just because you like her. That's pathetic.

You beat him at darts once, at a bar, fair and square, and he demanded a rematch on the spot. You beat him again. He demanded a third round. By the fourth round he wasn't even trying to win anymore, just trying to make you laugh at his increasingly unhinged trash talk, and you were laughing too hard to notice you'd stopped keeping score.

Rule #9: Play it cool when she touches you. Don't be obvious.

You have a habit of grabbing his arm when you laugh too hard at something, quick and unthinking, gone in half a second. It means nothing to you. It means everything to him. He has thought about that half-second more times than he'd ever admit under torture.

Rule #10: If she's cold under the table don't offer your legs. That's insane. Nobody does that.

He does it anyway. It's a slow dinner, everyone's talking over each other, and your foot brushes his under the table by accident. You don't move it. Neither does he. What starts as an accident turns into something else entirely — your foot pressed lightly against his shin, his ankle hooked loosely around yours, both of you carrying on two separate conversations with the rest of the table like nothing is happening below it. He nearly chokes on his drink when your foot slides slow up his calf, just once, just to see what he'll do.

He does absolutely nothing. Which is how you know it worked.

Rule #11: Don't ask about her ex. That's weak and clingy behavior.

He asks anyway, once, badly, wrapped inside a completely unrelated sentence about something else entirely so it wouldn't sound like what it was. You answered honestly and briefly and didn't ask why he wanted to know. He spent the rest of that night in a genuinely foul mood that had nothing to do with the mission report he'd claimed was bothering him.

Rule #12: If she gets sick you're not worried. You're just making sure she doesn't die. There's a difference.

You caught something nasty last winter and didn't tell anyone because you hate being fussed over. Bakugo found out from Kirishima and showed up at your apartment within the hour with a bag of groceries he refused to let you see the receipt for. He made soup badly. He stayed anyway sitting stiffly on your couch like he'd rather be anywhere else until you fell asleep on his shoulder for the second time in your life. He didn't move again. This time you were awake enough at the end to notice and you didn't say anything either.

Rule #13: Don't remember small stuff about her. That's obsessive.

He remembers everything. Your coffee order. The exact way you take your eggs. The name of the street you grew up on mentioned once years ago in passing. He tells himself it's just a good memory. Kirishima tells him that's not what a good memory looks like for anyone else in the friend group.

Rule #14: Don't get quiet around her. Quiet means she'll know something's wrong.

He gets quiet anyway sometimes when it's just the two of you left at the end of a group hangout and everyone else has gone home. You've noticed. You've never asked. You've started noticing you kind of like the quiet too.

Rule #15: If she insults your cooking don't take it personal.

You told him once that his katsudon tasted like it was made out of spite. He told you to make it yourself then. You did. It was worse than his. He has never let you live that down and somehow still makes you a plate every single time you come over unasked like it's not a big deal.

Rule #16: Don't let her see the soft stuff. Like the notebook. She can never see the notebook.

There is in fact a notebook. Bakugo would deny this to his last breath. It is not a diary. It is a training log that occasionally accidentally includes things like *she laughed at something dumb I said today* written in the margins in handwriting too small for anyone to notice. Nobody has ever seen it. It stays that way.

Rule #17: Don't dance with her at Mina's stupid parties. Dancing is for saps.

He dances with you exactly once badly at Mina's birthday both of you a little drunk and laughing about how neither of you knows what you're doing. His hand sits low on your waist the entire song. Yours rests flat against his chest close enough to feel his heart going faster than the song's tempo would explain. Neither of you comments on it. Both of you notice.

Rule #18: If she calls you at 2am for no reason answer immediately. Don't overthink it.

You called once at 2am half-asleep just to complain about a case that was bothering you and needed someone to talk it out with. He picked up on the first ring even though he'd been dead asleep three seconds earlier. Talked you through it for forty minutes in a voice rougher than usual low and half-awake until you finally calmed down enough to sleep. Neither of you brought it up the next day. You both remembered it anyway.

Rule #19: Tell her the truth eventually. Stalling makes you look like a coward.

He almost doesn't. Eight years of almost. Eight years of jackets and soup and 2am phone calls and a notebook nobody's supposed to see all adding up to exactly nothing because Katsuki Bakugo — who has never once in his life backed down from a fight — has apparently decided this is the one fight not worth having.

Kirishima finally sits him down and tells him flatly that watching this has become genuinely embarrassing for everyone involved. That you deserve to actually know. That you're not going to figure it out on your own because you're the single most unbothered person either of them has ever met and unbothered people don't go looking for things they've never been told to look for.

Rule #20: Ask her out. Just say it. Stop being a coward about it

He shows up at your apartment on a random Tuesday with no plan and no speech prepared which is unlike him in every possible way. You open the door in an old shirt and no makeup unbothered as always and ask what's wrong like something must be wrong for him to be standing there.

"Nothing's wrong," he says and immediately looks like he regrets starting that way. "I just — " He stops. Starts again. "You're coming to dinner with me Friday. Not the group. Just you and me."

You blink at him. For the first time in eight years something in your carefully composed face actually slips just a fraction just enough for him to see it happen in real time.

"Is this a date Bakugo?"

"Obviously it's a date," he says too loud the way he gets when he's covering for something. "What else would it be. Are you always this slow or is it just with me?"

You don't answer right away. You just look at him for a long moment the unbothered mask cracking wider by the second and something like a smile starts pulling at the corner of your mouth.

"Friday," you say. "Pick me up at seven. And Katsuki—"

"What."

"Wear the jacket back. I've had it long enough."

You turned slowly, already dreading what you knew you would find, and there he was, Satoru Gojo, leaning against the doorway that led to the treatment rooms with that infuriating smirk plastered across his face. He was dressed in the standard uniform of black scrubs that somehow managed to look expensive on him, his white hair pushed back with a headband that kept it out of his eyes. The sight of him made your stomach drop, because of course your mortal enemy, a frat bro, would be working here of all places.

"You've got to be kidding me," you muttered, “Don’t you need a license for this?!” But before he could even explain you began backing toward the door. Satoru however pushed off from the doorframe and sauntered closer, his hands tucked into his pockets like he had all the time in the world. "What, scared I'll see you in a towel?" he teased, and the challenge in his voice made something stubborn flare to life in your chest. You had never backed down from him before, and you weren't about to start now just because he happened to work at the one place you needed to visit.

"I'd rather have anyone else," you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest. Satoru just laughed, that bright, obnoxious sound that had grated on your nerves since the first day you met him at orientation. "Lucky for you, I'm the only one here. Unless you want to come back tomorrow when the girls are working, but something tells me that knot in your shoulder isn't going to wait." He was right, damn him, and you both knew it. The pain had been keeping you up at night, and the thought of another sleepless evening made you grit your teeth in resignation.

"Fine," you said through clenched teeth, "but if you make this weird, I'm leaving and filing a report." Satoru held up his hands in mock surrender, though the glint in his eyes suggested he was already planning something. He led you down a short hallway to a small room with a massage table in the center, the walls painted a soothing shade of pale blue. "Get undressed to your comfort level and lie face down," he instructed, his voice taking on a more professional tone that somehow made you even more nervous. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts and the soft instrumental music playing from hidden speakers. You stripped down to your underwear and climbed onto the table, pulling the sheet up to cover yourself as best you could. The paper crinkled beneath you as you settled into position, and you tried to convince yourself that this was just a professional service, nothing more. Satoru was still the same arrogant frat boy you had despised since freshman year, and no amount of massage oil was going to change that.

Men aren’t shit anyways, especially fraternity whores like him. What the hell were his credentials anyways? but you figured if he was good with his hands one way, maybe he could be useful for once. Best case scenario you’ll never have to speak if this moment again. 

When he knocked and entered, the room seemed to shrink around his presence. You heard him moving around, the soft click of bottles being opened and the squirt of lotion into his palms. "This might be a little cold at first," he warned, and then his hands were on your shoulders, warm and surprisingly gentle as they began to work the tension from your muscles. Despite everything, you had to admit that he knew what he was doing. His fingers found knots you didn't even know existed, working them loose with firm, practiced strokes that made you bite back a groan of relief.

"So what's your problem with frats anyways…or guys in general? You not into men or something?" he asked conversationally, his thumbs pressing into the space between your shoulder blades. You tensed for a moment, then forced yourself to relax as he continued his ministrations.

 "I-I don’t know? I guess?? Honestly they’re just a bunch of entitled assholes who think they own the place," you replied, your voice muffled by the face cradle. Satoru hummed thoughtfully, his hands never pausing in their work. "And you think I'm one of them entitled men?" he asked, genuinely curious rather than defensive.

"You're literally the president of Sigma Chi, and aren’t you some trust fund baby? You’re probably worse than most men."

His laugh was softer this time, less mocking and more self-deprecating. "Fair point. But maybe we're not all the same." His hands moved lower, working along your spine with long, sweeping strokes that made your skin tingle. You wanted to argue, to list all the reasons why fraternities were a blight on campus life, but his touch was making it hard to focus on anything except how good it felt. 

“Plus, i’ve been cut off from my dad for a good two months. after i trashed his yacht he was so done with me..”  You didn’t know what to say to that. And he sounded so, hesitant? Which seems quite unusual but you weren’t easy enough to let a sob story change your mind about frat nepo babies like him.

The massage continued in relative silence for a while, broken only by the occasional instruction from Satoru to breathe deeper or relax a particular muscle. His hands were confident and sure, moving from your shoulders down to the small of your back, then lower still until his fingers brushed the edge of the towel covering your ass. "Umm, y’mind if I work on your glutes?" he asked, his voice professional but with an undercurrent of something else. "A lot of tension builds up there from sitting in lectures all day."

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded against the face cradle. “Y-yeah…whatever, it’s fine…”

After your confirmation his hands slipped under the towel, and you felt the cool air hit your skin as he folded it down. The first touch of his palms against your bare ass made you jump slightly, but his touch remained clinical and focused as he began to knead the muscles there. Despite your best efforts to remain detached, you could feel heat pooling low in your belly, a reaction that had nothing to do with the massage and everything to do with the way his fingers dug into your flesh with just the right amount of pressure.

"You're really tight here," he murmured, his voice closer than you expected. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear, and your mind briefly flashed it another scenario where he might say a sentence like that. His hands continued their work, spreading your cheeks slightly as he worked deeper into the muscle, and you had to bite your lip to keep from making a sound. 

The silence stretched between you, filled only by the soft music playing from somewhere in the room. His hands continued their work, and you found yourself relaxing into his touch despite every instinct telling you not to.

Soon the quiet became unbearable, and to feel some semblance of dignity, you finally spoke up. "Y’know, this doesn't change anything, right?Just because you're good at this doesn't mean I suddenly support everything you stand for."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied. "Though I have to admit, having you here, letting me touch you like this...with these thoughts in my head? It's doing things to me that probably violate several massage therapy ethics codes."

You lifted your head to glare at him. But your flustered expression betrayed you. "Satoru Gojo! What is wrong with you?!” 

"What? I'm just being honest. You've been driving me crazy for months. The way you look at me with such undeniable loathing, it really does something for me.”

Is he…okay?

"Aren’t you supposed to be professional?" You reminded him, but you didn't move a single bit away from his touch. "Professional went out the window the moment you walked through that door," he admitted. "I've been trying to get you alone for weeks. This massage appointment was the perfect excuse."

"You planned this?"

"More like I took advantage of an opportunity," he said. "When I saw your name on the schedule, I may have...rearranged some things to make sure I was the one who got to work on you, and I may have bribed the front desk lady to help me out too.” 

"That's incredibly unprofessional," you chided, but you couldn't quite muster the outrage you thought you should feel. What the hell was happening? 

"She’s a sucker for romantic gestures. Plus, can you blame me? I think you’re gorgeous, even when you're all angry, and I've been wondering if you're as responsive to touch as you are to your man-hating." His hands moved to your lower back, and you shivered despite the warmth of the room. "Satoru, we shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what?" he asked, his voice dropping lower. "Shouldn't acknowledge that there's something between us? That maybe all this arguing has been foreplay?"

"It's not foreplay," you protested weakly. "It's ideological opposition."

"Mhm. And ideological opposition has never made anyone want to kiss someone senseless, right?"

You turned your head to look at him, and the intensity in his blue eyes made your breath catch. "This is a terrible idea."

"Probably," he agreed, leaning closer. "But I've been having terrible ideas about you for months now."

"Like what?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

"Like what it would feel like to have you underneath me," he said, his hands still moving in slow circles on your back. "Like how you'd sound when you finally let go of all that control. Like whether you'd still be mouthy with me while I was inside you."

"S-Satoru," you breathed, and it came out more like a plea than a protest.

"Tell me to stop," he said, his hands pausing. "Tell me this is crossing a line and I'll back off. But if you want this too..."

Instead of answering, you lifted your hips slightly, an invitation that made his breath catch audibly. His hands moved with more purpose now, one sliding between your legs to cup your pussy through the thin fabric of your underwear while the other continued to massage your ass. 

The touch was electric, sending sparks of pleasure racing through your body, and you couldn't help the soft moan that escaped your lips.

"Lift your legs for me," he instructed, his voice low and commanding in a way that made your stomach flip. You complied without thinking, raising your knees and spreading them apart so that he had better access. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear and pulled them down, leaving you exposed to the cool air and his heated gaze. "Fuck," he breathed, and the reverence in his voice made you feel powerful rather than vulnerable.

His fingers found your pussy with unerring accuracy, sliding through your wetness with a confidence that spoke of experience. He circled your clit with gentle pressure, building the tension slowly as his other hand continued to massage your ass, spreading you open for his touch. The dual sensation was overwhelming, and you found yourself rocking back against his hand, chasing the pleasure he was offering.

He worked one finger inside you, then two, curling them to find that spot that made your back arch off the table. "Fuck, you're tight. Been thinking about this pussy for months."

"Stop talking," you demanded, but your hips rocked against his hand.

"Can't help it. You make me want to say the filthiest things." He added a third finger, stretching you. "Like how I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. Like how I'm going to make you come so hard you forget why you ever hated me."

"Satoru," you moaned, and the sound seemed to drive him wild.

"That's it, baby. Let me hear you." His fingers moved faster, his thumb working your clit in tight circles. "Want to feel you come apart on my hand before I fuck you senseless."

The orgasm build up had you gripping the edges of the massage table as his fingers worked you higher. When it finally crashed over you, your whole body shook with the force of it, your walls clamping around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure washed through you. Satoru worked you through it, his touch gentle but insistent, until you were boneless and panting against the table.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, and you heard the soft sound of him sucking them clean. The intimacy of the gesture made your face burn, but there was no regret in his voice when he spoke again. "Turn over," he said, and there was a question in his tone that gave you the option to refuse. But you didn't want to refuse, not when your body was still humming with the aftershocks of your orgasm and the promise of more.

You rolled onto your back, and the sight of him standing between your spread legs made your breath catch. His scrubs were tented at the front, evidence of how affected he was by what had just happened. "This doesn't change anything," you said, but the words lacked their usual venom. Satoru just smiled, that same infuriating smirk but somehow softer around the edges. "Whatever you say," he replied, reaching for the hem of his shirt.

The rest of his clothes joined yours on the bench, and then he was parting his legs against the table with you, his body covering yours as his mouth found your neck. His cock pressed against your thigh, hard and insistent, and you reached down to wrap your fingers around him. He groaned against your skin, his hips bucking into your touch as you stroked him slowly.

"Condom," you managed to say, and he reached for his discarded scrubs, pulling one from his wallet with practiced ease. The foil packet crinkled as he tore it open, and then he was rolling it down his length with shaking hands. 

You weren’t sure whether you were relieved or disgusted with the revelation that he carried condoms to work. But when he finally pushed inside you, you simply couldn’t think. The stretch was perfect, filling you completely as your bodies moved together in a satisfying rhythm.

Satoru was elated. He had amazing and scandalous sex before, albeit not at work with his one sided little enemy over here. He hated how easily your walls clamped against him. 

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groaned, his forehead pressed against yours. "Better than I imagined, and I imagined this a lot."

"Less talking, more fucking," you demanded, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"Yes ma'am," he said, picking up the pace. Each thrust hit that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Satoru," you moaned, digging your nails into his back. "H-harder."

He obliged, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force. The massage table creaked beneath you, but neither of you cared. "Been wanting to-fuck…do this for so long," he panted. "Watching you in class, wanting to bend you over a desk and fuck that attitude right out of you."

"S-shit didn’t change…I still have the attitude," you gasped, meeting him thrust for thrust.

"Good. I like you mean." He shifted the angle, and you cried out as he hit something devastating inside you. "There it is…That's the spot, isn't it?"

"Don't stop," you begged, and he didn't. His hand found your clit again, rubbing tight circles as he fucked you harder. "Want to feel you cum on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me while you scream my name."

"Close," you warned, and he doubled his efforts.

"Cum f’me, baby," he demanded. "Gotta feel it."

You shattered around him, your orgasm even more intense than the first. He fucked you through it, his own release following shortly after as he buried himself deep inside you.

Afterward, you lay tangled together on the narrow massage table, both of you breathing hard in the aftermath. Satoru pressed a soft kiss to your temple and cheek before tilting your chin ans kissing your mouth. The gesture was so at odds with everything you thought you knew about him that it made your chest tight.

"So…Y’still hate frats?" he asked, his voice muffled against your hair.

"Maybe not all of their members," you admitted, and felt him smile against your skin. "Though this doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to start wearing Greek letters or anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he sighed, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "Though I wouldn't mind if you wore my shirt sometime. Just to see how it looks on you."

"One step at a time, Gojo," you warned, but you were smiling too. "This was... really unexpected."

"Good unexpected or bad unexpected?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice.

"Good," you admitted. "Surprisingly good. Though I still think your fraternity is a waste of time and resources."

"Fair enough," he said, helping you off the table. "But maybe we could agree to disagree? Maybe over dinner sometime?" 

 "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

a/n: i wrote this while in a long car ride. i wrote most of it but obviously i edited and finished the rest when i got to where i was staying

also sidenote, do u think my writing has improved?

+ i might do incel!gojo next some day when i get all my other wips sorted out

taglist: @genosblackwife @whispersingojo @6x-x9 @megumisrighttoe @laisaj-21 @sissi4tete @tchmiya @strawbscakes @gloomysel

your shirt held up by a singular thread as one of his claws dug into the material, swinging your limp body from side to side. his claws slipped once, a shrill scream escaping from your lips before he hooks you again in his grasp. crowds begin to gather around the building, phones in hand recording every second of the situation while some cops shout meaningless threats over a megaphone.

while pulling the mask on to protect the city had always felt like an obligation, like some divine punishment for sneaking around with gojo during a field trip and getting himself bitten by a radioactive spider, suguru didn’t hesitate to make his way over. it felt like necessity. adrenaline pumped through his veins with each web he ejected, pushing himself further and further to the clock tower.

“let me go, please!” you plead, desperate and petrified, with tears running down your face, pain thrumming against your forehead with a vengeance. blood rushes to your head, the sound of your heartbeat drumming against your ears overshadowing the chatter going beneath you.

“if you say so.” with a sinister laugh that made chills crawl up your arms, you were let go from his grasp. perhaps you should’ve been more specific in your request before the lizard sent you plummeting to your death.

“spider-man, help me!” your mouth’s open in a scream, other people gasp and scream underneath, but you can’t quite focus on them. cold air bites at your bare arms, rushing through your ears in brutal whooshes. the ground seems so close and yet so far away at the same time, as if you’re falling to your demise in slow motion.

suguru throws himself from the clock tower, propelling himself towards your falling figure in an attempt to stop your momentum completely. your hands claw at air, desperate to find something to cling onto that wasn’t coming. his fingertips grazed against your skin, reaching out to take a hold of your body.

CRACK.

he felt it before he heard it. felt the moment that your racing heart came to a stop, the moment that spider-man and suguru alike failed you. desperation clawed deep in his veins, his hands hooked underneath your legs when he got close enough.

“hey,” suguru’s voice broke into a sob, tears welling underneath his mask as he cradled you close to his chest. “open your eyes for me, sweetheart. please. talk to me. tell me you love me, tell me you hate, tell me anything.” guilt seeps in through the wound like a vengeance, a reminder that you wouldn’t be in this predicament if he wasn’t so careless.

if spider-man hadn’t allowed himself to feel a smidge of happiness, you’d still be alive.

—

“hey, suguru, breathe.” he wakes up to the sound of your groggy voice soothing over the nightmare, brows pinched together as your hand shakes at the material of his shirt. his chest heaves with each breath that leaves his lungs, cold sweat dribbling down his back to where his shirt’s stuck onto him like a second skin.

the same dream that’s been plaguing his mind for the past two weeks.

no matter how much he tries to do things differently—making sure he’s at the scene as soon as he’s dreaming, making sure that he stops your momentum before it breaks your back, setting up some kind of webbing to catch you, it’s always the same result.

you still end up lifeless in his arms.

wide amethyst eyes meet your own, tears clinging onto his waterline. reaching out, you gently wipe them away with the pad of your thumb. before you have the chance to react, his arms immediately pull you into a tight embrace. clinging onto you as if he needs to make sure this is real. “you’re okay,” you whisper, one of your hands rubbing against his back in circles.

you don’t question the nature of the nightmare, you don’t need to. every night, you hear your name leaving his lips in desperate screams, strings of webs thrown unconsciously against the wall across. “you’re okay,” he breathes out against your shoulder, breathing slowly but surely starting to even out.

reluctantly, he disentangles himself from the comfort of your embrace if only to get out of his sweat ridden shirt. streaks of moonlight bleed through the curtains against his bare torso, exposing every scar that his superhuman dna hadn’t managed to heal. a slash running across his stomach from the lizard’s claws. an x on his chest from the green goblin’s glider. one of the vulture’s scr—he pulls a black shirt on before you can continue to ogle further.

suguru slumps back against your bed frame, meeting your gaze. “are you not afraid of getting involved with spider-man? of your safety?” selfishly (the only selfish thing he allows himself to want), he hopes that the answer is no. that you won’t eventually grow to resent him.

“of course i am,” you admit with a small laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. a few seconds of silence pass by, hearts beating in sync against one another before you add, “i know you fight against ruthless people who’d stop at nothing to make you miserable. but i made my choice and i trust you more than i fear them.”

his lips press against your forehead just barely, leaving behind a featherlight kiss before a ragged exhale leaves his lungs. “it feels as though we’re on different paths. you’re… fuck, you’re incredible with a bright future ahead of you, whether it be at john hopkins or whatever med school you decide to go to. the last thing i would wish is that i’m the one who messed it up for you.”

you returned the kiss, lightly pressing your lips against the top of his head. the faint smell of rosemary and castor oil made themselves known (always religious in applying his oils at the end of the night even as he’s on the brink of death). “you’re wrong. we’re on the same path, suguru. you deserve just as many incredible things as i do.”

he wanted to say that you were his path, that he’d like for you to always be his path. deep down though, he hates himself a little more for being so unwilling to let go of you.

—

the streets of new york city buzzed under suguru geto’s webbed fingertips, taillights speeding by in a blur underneath. ears twitching underneath his mask, he could pick up on every little noise miles away.

from the children giggling at the several playgrounds scattered around central park, shoes scuffing against pavement as they rushed to run after one another in a particularly intense game of tag, to a woman shouting at her boyfriend at a bodega after his card declined for a chicken parmigiana, to a flash from a camera from one of the daily bugle’s reporters capturing a photo that would end up coming blurry.

nothing criminal that required his attention as of yet.

his fingers stretched out in front of him, webs shooting out in thin strings as he hoisted himself over to the next building. suguru plops himself over the roof of a banking tower, overlooking the city ahead of him. he ripped his mask off in one swift motion, wind blowing through thick strands of onyx hair.

for a couple minutes, it’s nothing more than peace—feet dangling off the edge of the building, birds chirping their sweet melody around him, salmon streaks painting the sky above as it started to grow late, until he heard it. a scream coming from roosevelt avenue and main street just a few blocks down. pushing his mask down, he throws himself off the building before swinging past 39th to get to the scene.

vendors usually lined up on spare corners of the street have long since made a run for it with carts in tow, sprinting off before their only source of income takes a hit. the only people at the scene were those passing by, eager to get a glimpse of new york’s web slinging vigilante. the only one he couldn’t manage to see is the person responsible for this outrage, even as all of his senses were running on overdrive.

before he could turn around to assess the type of villain he’d be dealing with, a metal hand tossed him off to the side like nothing more than a ragdoll. a surge of pain vibrated through his body, gravel crumbling and hitting underneath his feet. he pressed a hand to his side, a groan leaving his lips upon standing up.

“little underhanded to hit a man from the back,” he spoke up, face to face with his attacker. the green goblin. except he’d seen the man die in his arms, withering away into nothing but a husk that even luxury couldn’t fix. even with the same armor, he had a more muscular build. slightly taller than his predecessor.

“ah, but you should know how to deal with anything. even the strongest,” the masked man retorted easily, throwing a bomb at his feet. suguru barely had the opportunity to send it swinging a mile away to explode midair before the man was already approaching for his next attack, managing to knock him off his feet with a mere punch.

the man hovered over his frail body, an amused smirk underneath the mask. “my father talked a great deal about you, spider-man,” he started but suguru merely shook his head, managing to topple the man off his glider in one swift kick, “i don’t particularly care about your daddy issues.”

suguru threw a punch at the man’s abdomen, only to get blocked before his fist could manage to make contact with the armor underneath. he’d attempted to toss the glider at him, anything to weaken the man, but he simply managed to catch the throw midair. “like i was saying,” the man begins speaking once more, annoyed at the interruption, “my father would be real disappointed if he knew what a failure spider-man was.”

“would be if he were still alive.” probably the wrong thing to say. if their previous conversations had been nothing more than simple banter, the insult was enough to light fire to a flame. every punch the goblin threw was more precise, more angry than the last. the taste of blood lingered in his tastebuds, fingers pulling his mask up to his nose to spit it out. a few bruises bloomed underneath, starting to turn a deep shade of purple.

“fight back, spider-man! you’re supposed to be the hero!” the goblin cackled overhead while suguru barely managed to catch his breath. his lungs burned, suit tattered at the seams across his body in deep, deep gashes. a wince left his lips upon stumbling his way back up, bruises blooming across his chest and stomach.

he’d dealt with a variety of villains before: those with guns, those who could bench a small suv, those with a vendetta, with an ego cockier than they could ever back up, but he’d never had to deal with someone who handled each of his punches with the same intensity that he delivered them, that knew each of his attacks and how to counter them before he could think of something else.

fwip. fwip. with two webs strung behind, he propelled himself forward like a bullet straight onto the goblin’s glider. swiping his foot against his armor, he delivered a sharp blow. the goblin stumbled in his spot, arms flailing behind him. for a second, suguru had an advantage throughout the fight. had managed to get an injury in.

except, the man caught himself at the last second. “is that all you got?” the condescending laugh he let out was more than enough to grate on his last nerve. “you’re kind of weak, aren’t you?” the glider moved in sharp zig zags, feet sticking onto the bottom with a stubborn web all the while. the goblin took that opportunity to send metal blow after the next, each one leaving spider-man stumbling backwards.

—

once weak enough, a sharp strike from the goblin’s glider sent him propelling into concrete, head instantly ringing upon impact. wait, no. not exactly the kind of ringing spider-man was hearing at the moment. a flashing orange light broke him out of his momentary stupor, hand grenade ticking down the last final seconds. 5….4….3….2

heart beating against his chest like a drum, bleeding in with the ringing that resounded for a couple minutes now, suguru dragged himself inch by inch across rough concrete to avoid being in the bomb’s radius. 1… with a final beep, a large boom erupted behind, flames catching onto pieces of broken shrapnel laying on the street.

the force of the impact send him flying across the street.

fingers digging into the ground underneath, his arms tremble underneath as he tries to force himself to stand up once more. “come on spider-man, get up!” the crowd’s chants become more and more distant, vision shifting into nothing more than blurry figures flashing a bright light into his face. get up spider-man.

he can’t bring himself to stand up. pushing his chest off the ground feels like an impossible task, barely managing to raise his chin to meet the goblin’s mask before his body gave out underneath. every nerve was telling him to keep fighting, to keep defending the city, but his muscles ached with equal pain and exhaustion.

for the first time in a fight, spider-man doesn’t get up. he can’t bring himself to look at the crowds of people starting to leave, the hope that once burned through their bodies dimming down into nothing but sheer acceptance their hero had been defeated. “let’s see who our city’s hero’s supposed to be.”

the last thing suguru registers is the slight tremble in the goblin’s fingers, the spike in his heart rate as he tore the mask away from his bloodied face. people talked around but it amounted to nothing more a sharp ringing in his ears, vision spotty before suddenly…nothing at all. he passed out in the middle of the street, identity exposed for anyone who risk angering the goblin any further.

he wakes up to his face plastered across every billboard, newspaper, and tv screen alike. people on the street warily look up from their phone over at him, some even pointing and whispering amongst themselves about the city’s great spider-man.

—

suguru geto’s girlfriend only dating him due to the overwhelming amount of pheromones he releases into our breathing air

an article by the daily bugle | july 2026 | $1.99

sun’s shining, ice creams are melting, and animals are courting one another during this mating season. while most of us go unaffected by these rituals taking place, undeterred by the pheromones that species produce in order to attract—the same could not be said for the pheromones spider-man produces on the daily. that’s right, you heard it here folks.

while in nature, it would be the female spiders responsible for producing these pheromones, there’s no reason to believe that our infamous wall climber isn’t reproducing any of his own of his own pheromones to attract a mate. and it’s increasingly clear that spider-man takes advantage of these traits when it comes to attracting his girlfriend.

according to our trusted sources, dating spider-man is not a risk that many would be willing to take. from the various threats that the wall climbing arachnid faces on a daily to the overwhelming damage he leaves the city to face, there’s little likable qualities. and yet, his girlfriend seems smitten with him. while refusing to comment, it’s very clear that’s its hormones taking charge throughout the relationship.

read more on page 6-7….

—

“this is the journalism people pay for?” with a disbelieving laugh, you set down the newspaper suguru plopped on your lap upon getting home today. it shouldn’t have been surprising, you’d had more eyes on you than you’d expected these past couple days. more whispers, more pointed looks, more attention in general.

“apparently it’s what people want to see,” he retorts, plopping down with a sharp wince on the couch next to you. taking the first aid kit that now had a permanent home on your coffee table, you leaned forward to analyze the wounds littering his body. they were healing better than normal, though a few gashes still stubbornly failed to close.

“people are into the stupidest things,” you murmur, the sharp scent of 98% isopropyl alcohol filling the room as you pour a decent amount onto a rag. slowly, ever so gently, you start to drag it across the cut running down his abdomen. carefully measuring each of his expressions (even the smallest winces) for any moment he’d be in pain and refuse to admit it. “did gojo get to answering your messages?”

suguru carefully adjusted himself on the couch for easier access, beefy thighs nearly taking up the entirety of the left side (not that you were complaining) before answering with a shrug, “i think that an article about how i managed to make you fall in love with me makes for very interesting journalism.” reluctantly, he adds on, “but no, gojo hasn’t answering me lately.”

a moment of silence passes between the two of you, rag gently brushing against his abdomen. it’s not something usual between suguru and satoru, the two of them practically glued to the hip at every second of the day. dabbing on neosporin across the cut, you murmur, “he’ll get back to you. i’m sure he’s just busy, especially with his father passing away.”

for the first couple months, it’d been nothing more than newspapers plastered across the city with his face on them and the most ridiculous headlines imaginable. his grades slipping from a 99.99% to a 98.99%, how he managed to keep his hair silky smooth even in the face of danger, what restaurants had the spider-man stamp of approval after he’d been photographed stuffing his face.

it was something both of you could manage, though. at worst, he see a couple of them glued onto his door when he came back home from classes, and at best, maybe he’d get a laugh out of how stupidly ridiculous the headlines were getting.

gojo hadn’t bothered keeping up contact with either of you.

padding out of the laundromat near his apartment building, he was faced with a constable standing at the door. “spider-man, you’ve been served.” with a subtle scoff, the man drops a thick manila folder with court documents on top of the mountain of clothes he’s sporting in hand.

ripping the envelope open, he begins scanning through the charges being brought up against him. or, well, spider-man. destruction of public and private property. vigilantism. trespassing on private property. intimidation. breaking and entering, etc. the list went on for five more pages.

finding a lawyer that was willing to defend his case was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, most shutting the door before he even stepped inside. hogarth, chao & benowitz told him to get out before he damaged their reputation. donavan and partners wouldn’t even look in his direction. the only one that even allowed him to get a foot in the door was higuruma & associates (only two from what he picked up).

a low whistle left higuruma’s lips upon taking a look at the case report, tired eyes looking up to meet his own. “it’s a complicated case, i can’t deny that much,” he started off, hands folded underneath his chin. “but i’d be willing to take it, the burden of proof that the state has is theoretical. there’s a good chance we could win this.”

suguru blinked slowly, fully having been prepared to hear the man say the no he’d grown used to hearing throughout the last couple week. “you’re willing to help me?” he repeated, crossing his fingers underneath the desk with the hope this wasn’t an elaborate joke.

“that’s what i just said, yes.”

“why?” the question slipped out faster than suguru could control it, disbelief lacing his tone. everyone else had labeled this case as career suicide.

higuruma shrugged, head tilting to the side while he analyzed him, “i believe that you’re trying to do some good in the community. that, and well, i’m a really good lawyer.”

proceedings were long, held throughout the course of weeks to hear the accounts from everyone involved. from police officers whose jobs had been put into question with the masked vigilante swinging around the city, to the mayor, to insurance companies who had to reimburse in the millions over property damage.

crowds would line up behind wooden doors with signs raised above their heads, wearing spider-man masks in support every single step of the way. chants would be heard throughout the silence of the courtroom, echoing through each chamber as they shouted and pleaded for their hero to step out a free man.

which fortunately, only served to aid higuruma in presenting his defense to the jury. “as you can see by our crowd standing out there, they’re all spider-man. the prosecution has failed to identify my client in the suit at the occurrence of any of these crimes, and as far as i’m sure, any single one of them could’ve been committing the acts you’re accusing mr. geto here of.” he ended up walking out of the case with twelve hours of community service.

villains started making their way over to his campus, tearing through brick walls as if they were mere scraps of paper to get to him. “come out, spider-man!” everyone’s head would turn to his direction, staring at him expectantly even as there was a test worth 30% of his grade on the table.

“go, i’ll allow you to retake the test,” his professors would say, reaching over to take his exam papers off the desk. “and no, before any of you ask: i’m not extending the deadline to everyone else.”

the rest of his afternoon’s plans would be thrown out the window in favor for defending the city from the next crazed villain running rampant: one week from sandman (barely managing to contain him in a large enough vacuum), the next from a member of the hand that managed to escape daredevil’s wrath (not without a few katana slices through his suit, though). it was manageable, though, even if he’d had to start cutting down on how many activities he’d signed up for at the beginning of the semester.

until they started coming after you next.

scorpion had his metal tail wrapped tightly around your stomach despite your protest, hands pushing and shoving down at an unrelenting force, lifting you above ground. “let’s see how long it takes your little boyfriend to get here,” a hit of rancid air hit your nose when he spoke next to your face, face immediately scrunching up in disgust.

“so you’re using me to get to my boyfriend? very classy,” you remarked, facing the other way before he responded too close to your face. giving up on pushing him away, you opted to kick him where you had the easiest access to do so.

“OW, FUCK!” with a pained groan, scorpion recoiled forward with one hand tightly clutched around his dick. it gave you enough time to sprint away from the scene and find somewhere to hide. “CRAZY BI-” a web covered his mouth before he could finish his sentence. it didn’t take long for suguru to approach the scene, spiderwebs immediately pulling his tail before the scorpion retaliated against you.

it wasn’t long before the fight was over, scorpion neatly presented in a string of silk webs for when the police managed to make their way over to the scene. while you made your way back home with minor cuts on your body (and assignments due tonight), the night was far from over for spider-man: he still had to talk to the police and the reporters shoving a recorder at his face.

immediately making your way to the restroom to clean up, you’re met with a nasty cut on your side when lifting up your shirt. teeth gritting against one another, you slowly start to dab off the drying blood clinging to your skin. the door creaks upon opening, though suguru doesn’t make an effort to walk in. “i can feel you staring at me.” turning the mirror over, you’re met with concern looking at you through the doorway. “so tell me what you want to say.”

slowly, suguru pads his way into the restroom only to take the bottle of nearly empty ointment from your hands. with the same deliberate gentleness you displayed towards him, his fingertips lightly dabbed on a bit against you. “i can’t help but be worried about your safety. are you okay?”

it came from a good place, from a self proclaimed duty to protect, you knew that much. still, you held yourself up better than most. “i am capable of taking care of myself,” you responded, putting a bandage over the wound. “i know what i signed up for when i started dating you, suguru. i don’t regret that because of a simple cut.”

while it may have been nothing more than a ‘simple cut’, the sight of you tending to wounds that shouldn’t be there in the first place, that wouldn’t be there if not for him, was a sight that grew more and more difficult to see. “i’ve been thinking about visiting that wizard, nanami kento,” he suggests, tone so casual he could’ve been very well talking about the weather.

you toss away the bloodied alcohol pads cluttering your bathroom sink before meeting his gaze, “what for?”

suguru lets out a quiet sigh before answering, “i’m asking him to delete my memory from everyone’s mind. it’s been nothing but havoc since my identity’s been released and it shouldn’t be a burden on you, either.”

“everyone?” you prompt, bottom lip caught between your teeth. “even me?”

he takes a step forward, lips lightly pressing against your forehead. it’s then that you realize his mind’s been made up, despite how extreme the option seemed. “i promise i’ll find you tomorrow and explain everything.”

thick globs of tears run down your cheeks, hands coming to rest on his face. it’s a gesture much softer than he deserved. “promise me you’ll find me and tell me everything, please. i told you, we’re on the same path. i don’t want to lose you.” you don’t need him, obviously you’ve lived without him. but he’s engraved himself into every aspect of your life, from the coffee you drink in the mornings to how it feels to be known in the littlest of gestures.

what were you if not memories?

“i will, i promise you,” he reassured, gently wiping away the tears streaking your cheeks. “don’t cry because of me, angel. i promise you i’ll be there to tell you everything.”

long rows of trees lined up the entrance to the retired surgeon’s home, leaves crunching underneath his feet as he followed the trail to the home pushed into the back of the woods. nanami didn’t get the chance to open the door all the way before he spoke up, “i need you to erase suguru geto from everyone’s memories. make them forget who i am, make them forget about spider-man.”

—

suguru didn’t try to tell you the next day.

he had a piece of notebook paper stuffed inside his coat pocket, scribblings of what he could say to you—hello. my name’s suguru geto, you don’t know me yet and i’m sure this is really weird. but we used to go out. and i’m hoping that deep down, some part of you still remembers that you love me as i love you. (still a very rough draft, he’d admit), but he couldn’t bring himself to go through with it.

he almost did, though. stepped up to the lab you were supposed to be working in for the day and looked through the window to find you working at one of the tables with an erlenmeyer flask underneath a buret, adding in a few drops of what he’d assume is phenolphthalein into your mix until it turned a light shade of pink.

you were laughing, relaxed in a way he hasn’t seen since before you’d found out about his secret identity. the paper in his pocket suddenly felt meaningless, felt like nothing more than inconvenience. what were the odds you’d even believe some guy you’d never seen before sputtering out a love declaration? he didn’t even need to divide the total number of outcomes by number of favorable outcomes to know the probability was close to zero.

he was so lost in thought he didn’t notice you walking over, arms folded across your chest.

“is there a reason that you’re standing here staring like a creep?” you ask, foot tapping against the floor. being so close to you again knocks all the air from his lungs, every thought running through his head turned into mush. “my name is suguru geto and…” his mouth shuts, unable to continue the spiel he had in mind.

how selfish would he have to be to ruin to be your future all because he wanted to keep you by his side?

you’re still looking at him, expecting an answer. he awkwardly clears his throat before speaking up, “sorry. it’s my first semester here. i was wondering if you knew where i could find psychics 1415.”

he hopes it sounds convincing enough. anything to be other than the guy who was just peering in through the window. you don’t remember seeing him before around campus, even in passing. it seems plausible enough. “it’s on the other side of the building, second floor. there should be someone at the information desk to help you find your professor.”

with a curt nod, he gives you a short thanks. “maybe don’t be a weirdo if you need directions though,” you add on before he has the chance to leave, a small smile making itself known on his face.

“i’ll try not to. thank you again for your help.”

—

his muscles ache in protest upon standing up from his spot on the floor, blankets falling unceremoniously at his feet after getting his ass kicked by tombstone, the man an impenetrable force of sheer strength and power. one hand immediately flies to his back, rubbing at the aching muscles underneath.

overhead lights flickered on and off for about five seconds before the room was painted in a warm, orange light. trudging over to the kitchen, he was met with a sight that was nothing short of disappointing. a half empty bottle of water clouded with condensation bubbles, two deflated ketchup packets, and a rotten potato. his great reward for saving the city.

suguru padded over to the kitchen table, scooping up a few coins and rumpled dollar bills in his hand. $4.90 to hold him steady until his paycheck next week. enough for a few packs of ramen and a carton of juice if he managed to rummage underneath his sofa cushions for a dime. maybe two if he was really lucky this time around.

he indeed was not lucky this time around.

a small bell jingles overhead as he steps foot into the bodega, place virtually empty apart from the man standing at the front counter and a cat lazily sprawled out on a table, licking its front paw. suguru gives the man a lazy wave before weaving his way through the aisles, stopping in front of the ramen selection.

fifty cents each pack. scooping five into his arms, he made his way over to the fridges lining up the back of the store. beers…soda…gallons of milk…juice. he stopped in front of the vast selection presented in front of him, scanning each carton to compare prices. 4.99 for passion fruit, definitely not. 3.50 for premium apple juice, absolutely not. 2.30 for pulp orange juice. perfect.

the food was nothing short of unappetizing, but at the very least, he still had ten cents holding him over and a pantry full of pack ramen for the week if he didn’t get overly greedy.

—

days pass by in a blur of school, work, and swinging through the streets morphing into one. trees start to shed their green leaves for an orange hue, sunlight a little bit dimmer and the air a bit colder. the number of ‘DUE NOW’ bills sitting on suguru’s kitchen counter grows by the day, along with the past due assignments he’d failed to turn in because of a surprise attack appearing on the news.

though, he supposed that much was to be expected. it proved to be a good distraction from the overwhelming loneliness in his apartment, something else to focus on other than the fact that he didn’t have anyone to come home to anymore.

ever so often, he allowed himself to check up on you to see how you’re doing. you seemed to be better without him around. he swung close by enough to see you leaving the library late at night without constantly overlooking your surroundings, making your way back home.

turning to look over your shoulder, you don’t see anyone walking behind. just an elderly woman standing at the other end of the block hailing down a late night cab. the sense of unease clings onto you with every step you take, eyes staring at the back of your head in anticipation for the moment you let your guard down.

you brace yourself to turn around, letting out a deep breath before facing your stalker. spray the pepper on their face and take off in a sprint back home. in a quick swipe, you snag your keychain from your purse and begin spraying at…. spider-man?

with an over exaggerated cough, spider-man reaches up to waft away the plume of fiery pepper still being sprayed his way. immediately, your finger releases from the trigger, though not without you defending yourself, “come on, you can’t even feel it! plus, what were you even thinking sneaking behind me like that this late?!”

that you wouldn’t actually come to notice him. “i was thinking that i was swinging close by to the neighborhood and i said, ‘hey, that woman shouldn’t be walking around this late at night, let me make sure she gets home safe,’” he responds easily, hands raised up defensively.

you raise a brow, “so instead of offering to swing me back home, you decided to follow me around in the middle of the night?”

a brief moment passes between the two of you. “would you like for me to swing you back home?” you still had half a mile of walking left. you don’t hesitate in nodding, moving closer and wrapping your arms around his neck. he smells familiar, a faint smell of rosemary and cedarwood you’re not sure where you’ve smelt before.

the city beneath your feet blurred into street and traffic lights, everyone a tiny fragment of a much bigger puzzle from this distance. your fingers tightened their grip around his head, though, he was being gentle. you could tell that much. he didn’t get close to the ground when it came to striking his next web. never once did you feel in danger about falling in mid air with him.

he drops you at your front door, without so much as asking for your address in the first place. something that first struck you as odd before amounting it to the fact he’s probably seen you around if he was swinging around the neighborhood. hopefully.

“well, i still stand by the point you shouldn’t follow random women home,” you start off, fingers grazing against the door knob. you’re not getting in just yet. before you can talk yourself out of it, you walk up to him and press a small kiss on his cheek, “but thank you.” when you pull away, you notice his lenses widening a little, white nearly overtaking the top half of the mask before narrowing into little crescents. a smile if you’ve ever seen one before.

—

the library’s almost full when satoru and suguru step in through the door with the intention of reviewing for stats (which in their terms, was to do about thirty minutes of work and an hour of ‘taking a break’). while suguru’s busy borrowing one from the woman at the front, satoru sets up his ecosystem of electronics, i.e his overly expensive thousand dollar laptop, charging cables, phone, and tablet.

to their credit, neither speaks for the first twenty minutes of sitting down at the table. keyboards clack underneath fervent fingers, minutes slowly ticking by on the clock on the wall. each of their respective assignments are closer to being done—satoru’s null hypothesis rejected in both alpha .05 and .01 while suguru’s abstract on enhancing vacuum photodetectors slowly started to come together.

“i’m thinking of asking out this girl from my immunology lab,” satoru speaks up, voice breaking through the carefully curated silence of the library. a few dirty glares get shot his way, not that he paid much attention.

he decides to entertain him by asking,“who are you planning on asking out?” satoru says your name so casually he almost misses it, though it makes his heart ache all the same. still, this is what he wanted, right? he wanted you to have a normal life, wanted you to be happy even if it was with someone else.

so, he gave satoru the same manual he’d spent weeks memorizing to make you fall in love, little things he’d picked up from his time with you—all under the guise of them being suggestions. “maybe try giving her peonies instead of roses, most women think roses are too generic” and “don’t go for a restaurant, too stuffy. go to a cafe or someplace that’s comfortable yet intimate.”

gojo ends up taking notes on everything he’s saying, scribbling them onto a spare document on his tablet. “so, how do you know all this?” he prompts, brows furrowing. as far as he’s concerned, geto hasn’t exactly been seen dating anyone seriously.

shit.

rubbing a hand against the back of his neck, suguru tries to muster up a lie that sounds believable enough to a baby genius. “just, what i saw with my last girlfriend. most of the time it’s not the gesture but just that you have them in mind with it.”

—

satoru gojo appears on your doorstep with an enormous bouquet of light pink peonies in hand, dressed in a crisp blue button down that probably cost more than your family’s month of rent and a pair of black slacks while you’re in your pajamas (under the assumption you’d just stay in doing assignments). snowy strands of hair fell messily over his forehead as if he’d been running his fingers through them just a few moments prior. “guess what?”

quizzically, you raise a brow before ultimately giving into entertaining him, “…what?”

he extends the bouquet of flowers into your hands, exclaiming with a bright grin on his face, “i’m giving you the great pleasure of going out with me: genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, gojo satoru!” you’re sure you’re bound to get a noise complaint later. you also can’t help but wonder if he knows anything about you or if he just likes the idea of you after two weeks of close proximity in getting your project done.

“uh huh. what an honor,” you deadpan, rubbing a hand over your face. you still had a bioformatics quiz to do before 11:59. “unfortunately, most of us don’t have the privilege of falling back on a trust fund if college doesn’t work out so goodbye.”

“wait, wait, don’t close the door!” satoru all but whines, foot darting out to block you from shutting the door completely. he peeks his head in through the crack, “i saw your application to intern at gojo technologies.” the offer should’ve been one that had you immediately agreeing—gojo technologies was one of the biggest enterprises in new york, stocking up the country’s military and intelligence services through biotech.

whether it be nukes capable of destroying nations, medicines rumored to restore lost limbs, gliders sliding through air at fifty miles per hour, or performance altering formulas meant to enhance the strength and intelligence of an individual, they had it nearly all.

an internship there and your resume was practically golden when you decided to apply to med school.

instead, you merely let out a disbelieving scoff (fully ready to slam the door shut, foot and all), “you seriously think i need the help of some rich nepo baby who hasn’t worked a day in his life in getting an internship?—” you jab a finger in his chest, and he swears he falls in love, “—i’m perfectly capable of getting in on my own merit.”

“no, no, that’s not what i’m saying!” fuck, how did he manage to screw up worse with each word that left his lips? “i think you’re perfectly capable of getting in on your own. but we get thousands of applications every day, all i’m offering is that i get someone to actually look at yours.”

you wouldn’t admit to him that you’d submitted your application over three months ago only to receive nothing in response, not even an email to confirm that they’d received it. for a second, it almost seems like you’re about to shut the door on his face and tell him to fuck off (not unwarranted, but still).

“and it’ll just be to look at it?” you question, reluctantly taking the heavy bouquet that was meant to impress from his hands. all you felt is that he spent a couple hundred just to be able to mark something off a checklist.

“just to look at it,” he reiterates, “and if you don’t want to see me again afterwards, that’s fine too. just one date.” you take the bouquet of flowers from his hand, bringing them up to your nose.

“one date.”

—

the coffee shop that satoru chose to take you wasn’t one you’d been to before, tucked into a small corner in between a bookstore and a record store. there’s a few people sitting inside, with either a book in hand or a computer propped up in front of them. faux plants adorn the place, dimmed lights and lofi music playing on the speakers overhead making for a cozy atmosphere.

“do i know you from somewhere?” your eyes narrowed as you inspected the man —suguru, as per his name tag—standing in front of you, about to take your order. it feels as though you’ve seen before, your body instinctively wanting to be close to him despite knowing virtually nothing about him at all.

his gaze settled on to you, analyzing your features as if trying to figure out where he knew you from (like he couldn’t recognize you with his eyes closed in a sea of people). his fingers snapped, “oh. you helped me find my class once. called me a creep.”

recognition settled across your face, a quiet laugh leaving your lips. after getting his ass kicked by nearly every criminal in new york, it feels like a little slice of heaven. “oh, it’s you. nice to know you’ve settled into a job rather than stalking others around.”

obnoxious as ever, gojo clears his throat behind you, an arm going behind your shoulders. you shrug it off as casual as you can muster. “soooo, the two of you know each other?”

the two of you speak up far too quickly:

“briefly.”

“in passing.”

gojo’s gaze goes from you over to him before going back over to you, cerulean eyes narrowing in subtle disbelief he tried to mask with an easy enough going smile. suguru clears his throat before asking, “is there anything that i can get the two of you tonight?”

“i’ll just get a cappuccino, please,” you speak up, gaze traveling through the menu. they had better options, but you didn’t want satoru holding an expensive drink over your head if this date didn’t go according to his plans.

“my adoring, handsome best friend,” satoru starts off, an unnatural smile spreading across his lips. it how suguru knows he should expect some bullshit. “i’ll get your iced white chocolate mocha with cold foam, extra mocha sauce, and extra caramel drizzle and one of your mochi cake pops.” more dishes for him to clean up.

with a forced smile gracing his lips, suguru finishes getting the order down, “will that be all for you today?”

“that’ll be all, thanks.” gojo led you over to a small booth at the far end of the shop, pulling your chair back upon approaching. with a quiet thanks, you slipped onto the seat. it didn’t take long for suguru to approach with drinks in hand, an overwhelming sugary aroma emanating from satoru’s order.

slowly, you start to take a sip from your coffee. it’s not overwhelmingly bitter, nor too simple from the milk. it’s quite…nice, actually. just how’d you make it back home. “so, what type of plans do you have for your future?” gojo speaks up, pieces of frosting stuck to his lip.

“i plan on applying to med school once i’ve finished with my undergrad, maybe going out of state to find a hospital that’ll let me do my internship there,” you respond, setting your drink down. “how about you?”

“oh, me? i plan on stepping up to my father’s ceo position—” you narrowly manage to avoid rolling your eyes in his face. give him a chance. “though, maybe i’d like to pursue an aerospace direction with the company rather than sticking to the biotechnology approach we’ve been doing for years.”

as much as it pained for you to admit it, the date wasn’t all that bad. while he was self absorbed (maybe a given considering his position in the company), he didn’t spend a majority of the time talking about himself.

—

though, as well as the date might’ve gone, you were certain something was wrong with you.

that was the only explanation possible for why every single embrace, every single gift, every gesture from gojo felt completely wrong despite it being something that would make your heart flutter under any other occasion.

the bouquet of flowers, beautiful as it was, sat untouched in a vase in the corner of your room with minimal sunlight. they felt forced, much like everything else about your relationship with gojo (if you could even begin to call it that). as if he had the code to everything you enjoyed, but he was the wrong person wielding it.

it didn’t help either that it constantly felt as if he were hiding something from you, sneaking away from a date under the guise of having something important to get to. “look, i really have to go right now, the company needs me to sign something about a merger. i’ll see you later okay!”

you blinked, watching as he sprinted away from the restaurant he’d been dying to take you to. a waiter comes by with your plate, surprised to see you sitting there by yourself. “can i have that to go, please?” there’s no point in letting good food go to waste, even if you’d just go back home to eat it in your pajamas.

the idea of love wasn’t one you were put off with, even if it wasn’t your central focus at the time being. but you can’t help but feel as though, maybe, you were better at this with someone else. where every answer didn’t feel rehearsed, where you weren’t hiding a grimace underneath each forced smile.

though, every time you tried to delve into that train of thought, you ended with nothing. just fragments of memories buried deep inside, fragments that didn’t quite amount to anything of substance. maybe you were just desperately trying to find an explanation why everything felt so wrong with satoru when it should feel… right.

gojo doesn’t come back that night. news reporters chalk it up to an accident, something about him being the green goblin and getting blown up by one of his own bombs upon going against spider-man. every disappearance suddenly started making sense, why he’d leave in the middle of the night and come back with a few bruises on his abdomen. why spider-man would often be reported conveniently just after he would leave.

even tonight. while you were trying to convince yourself that one more date before you called things off couldn’t possibly be that bad, he was calculating how to leave as soon as possible to make another attempt at killing spider-man. it was nothing more than a waste of time.

warm tears ran down your cheeks, not from the loss itself, but from what it meant. he’d never had anyone to look at your application, simply taking enjoyment from your willingness to go along with his plan. during your time together, all the occasions you convinced yourself you were the problem for finding his gifts ridiculous and performative, you realize that you were the last thing on his mind.

and across town, suguru comes to understand that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t save anyone he loves from getting killed.

even more rambling down here, sorry 😓 mamdani prob wouldn’t let this happen in his ny but i greatly appreciate if you’ve read up to this point and i hope you enjoyed :3 a big big thank you to @sextier and @suguruss1ut for hearing to me yap about this for the past month and for proofreading my baby.

into the getoverse taglist: @tacobellfreshavocado

It wasn’t long before you’d let your mind start to wander. He was so kind. And professional, you wondered if he’d ever crossed those lines and confused himself for you. And in your last session, there was tension. Something odd that you simply couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the way he adjusted his tie everytime you hit your bottom lip, or maybe it was the way he watched the way you’d press your thighs together everytime he moved his grip on his notepad. But either way. You felt it. And although there was nothing sexual about the context of your conversation, there was surely something up spoken between you two. And there blossomed curiosity. You began to wonder what he sounded like when he moaned. What he looked like with his face etched in pleasure. Or what his hands would feel like digging into your soft thighs. You wondered if he, felt it to. This weeks session was different. The air. Was thicker.

“Good morning y/n how are you feeling today? Could you describe your mood to me on a scale of 1-10? 1 being a really bad day and 10 being the best day?” It was protococal. He’d been your therapist once a week for 6 months now. And he always asked the same question to start your sessions. Although it frustrated you at times, and you wanted to just get to the point, you knew, the question was still…relevant.

“About an 8”

He tapped his pen over his notepad with his legs crossed in those biege slacks he rotated in occasionally. “An 8. Why an 8 and not a 10 so early into your morning?”

You twirled your fingers in a strand of your hair before your face burned noticing the veins in his hands from writting (earlier probably)

“Um well…I-I haven’t been sleeping well, I’ve been up all night…”

He nods looking directly at you and listening intently. And for a moment his eyes flick down toward your hands curling nervously under the hem of your skirt, then immediately meets your eyes again. It was so fast you could’ve missed it, but you didn’t, you never did.

“What’s been on your mind?”

You gulped hard.

“Well…it’s not that big of a deal”

He shifts and leans back into his arm chair, legs still folded.

“It must be something significant if it’s keeping you up at night”

He taps his pen over his notepad while you sat there contemplating whether or not to tell the truth. Because the truth is? It was him keeping up late at night. The way he always knew exactly what to say, those rough knuckles that looked like the swords on them had aged and left scars from fights in the past. You cleared your throat. You know the only option was to tell the truth.

“I’ve been curious about…masterbation”

Nanami doesn’t move. But his face said everything. And he wasn’t one to be very expressive with his face. His typically relaxed and half lidded eyes were wide. You could actually see the hazel in his eyes. He held his breath for a moments before clearing his throat. His finger twitched over the pen in his hand.

“Yes. If that’s what you want to discuss. But just know. It’s not my profession. I’ll help you as best that I can.”

Your face was burning like you’d been sitting in summer heat all day. You barely held his gaze enough though his eyes never left yours.

“Is there a reason you want to talk about this? The interest is abnormal for you…”

“Um…not really…I just don’t have much experience with it…independently”

He nods and adjusts his tie. And even from where you were sitting, you could see his eartips turn pink.

“I see. I’ll do my best to help you. Tell me. What do you want to know about masterbation?”

“Well…I’ve done it before…but I want it to feel good…my friend tried it, she says she enjoys it and it helps you relax, but…I haven’t found enjoyment in it…or relief.”

Nanami’s eyes search yours as if he’s searching for a lie, like you asking him this was unbelievable. It was one of two things or both. That you weren’t typically shifting conversations to anything sexual, let alone expressing your own participation in it. Or the fact that Nanami Kento wasn’t particularly active himself. Immersing himself with work kept him too busy to think about things like, sex, or self pleasure. He cleared his throat gently.

“First, y/n, you want to make sure that you’re doing this for the right reasons, I’m your therapist, and I care about your well being. Make sure that you doing this is not to release stress hormones, that can increase the likelihood of an addiction. And when you’re stressed is when you’re the most likely to get attached to any available coping skill available.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I know…”

He nodded. “Okay. Well…have you tried, using your imagination? Having a picture or a voice in mind?”

You nodded slowly with your cheeks burning. Somehow. You could feel it, that he knew, that he was what you imagined.

“Okay then. Have you tried using two fingers? Instead of one?”

You shook your head no. Exhaling deeply and looking him in the eyes. His expression was always neutral, stern. He nods again.

“Try that. And…try curling your fingers upward. Not straight. Straight will start arousal. But curling your fingers is where you’ll find…your g-spot”

“And where is that?”

He exhales softly as his eartips turn a darker shade of pink.

“It’s at the front of your womb. Just upward. If you push against it, you’ll achieve an orgasm”

Your lips part in awe. The way he knew so much about a woman’s body, a woman’s pleasure

You fidgeted with the sleeve of your blouse and gulped.

“Okay. I’ll try it.”

He nods.

“If you like to discuss the after affects and self-care, I’m happy to help”

You nodded slowly before shifting the conversation.

“There’s been something else on my mind…Mr. kento”

Nanami’s eyebrows rose, two surprises in one session. They probably made Nanami’s entire week.

“Go on, tell me what on your mind?”

“Honestly…today would’ve been a 10…if I knew how you felt about me…”

Oh. Kento’s eyes widened, he cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. A nervous habit.

“Y/n, I’m sorry but I cannot cross my professional boundaries as your therapist. Please ensure to keep the context of the conversation around you and how I can best support you at this time.”

You pouted. Of course, he’d never risk his job over a connection that could be casual. You continued your session expressing concerns with work and your nighttime routine. But deep down inside your feelings never changed, and you weren’t giving up there. For weeks you began showing up to his sessions, in tiny skirts. Sinful ones, that barely covered your ass and lace panties peaking from underneath, and upur therapist is professional of course, even when you began offering to help him make his coffee during sessions, and bending over to pick up trash in those skirts. You’d caught him choking once or twice. But you never pushed too hard, and he respected women too much to demand you put on some clothes. So he allowed himself to be tortured. Until your next session arrived. You were in another tiny skirt, heels, a button down blouse that you left unbuttoned just enough to reveal cleavage and red lips. And during your session, minute by minute you watched him slowly break. Biting his pin so hard it broke, sweat at his temple, the light pink flush of his cheeks. He wrote in his notes but he couldn’t hide the heat flash that shot a wave through him.

You sipped coffee from a mug. He was kind enough to offer you a mug this time, instead of you just making his. Your red lips left a stain on the rim. But as subtle as it was Nanami was licking his lips absently. When you sat down your mug on the central coffee table, you leaned back into your seat, legs crossed your tiny skirt riding up your perfect thighs. He’s tried to deny himself by this point, but after this being close to the 10th time he’s seen you in an obscene skirt, it’s been easier and easier to catch him staring.

“How are you feeling today? On a scale 1-10? 1 being the worst. 10 being the best”

“A 10”

After what he taught you last week? Yeah. A ten.

Nanami leans forward in his chair, pen and notepad ready.

“Excellent. Tell me, what’s gotten your day off to such a great start?”

“Um…well I…I did the thing we talked about in our last session…”

“Mhm”

“It was…incredible”

Nanami’s cheeks flushed a soft pink. He hadn’t realized what you’d meant by what you talked about last time because during your sessions you typically cover a lot of ground, so it slipped his mind for moment until you’d said it was incredible. but oh. That.

He cleared his throat.

“That’s good, I remember that I did tell you if you wanted to follow up about that…that I um….I was willing to do that…”

“Because I thought of you.”

Nanami’s cheeks flushed. Him? Your boring therapist? He couldn’t believe his ears. There was a long stretch of silence.

“It’s um. it’s hot in here.”

You looked around his office. You knew there was central air in the entire facility.

“It’s cool in here for me”

You spread your legs subtle but well enough for him to see the panties you were wearing.

“You’re sure you’re not coming down with a fever Mr.kento?”

Cleared his throat and undid his tie almost frustrated and rubbed his mouth.

“Black lace”

You stiffened for a moment, almost unsure you heard what you’d heard.

“What?”

“Your panties. Their black lace. You’ve worn them before. Their my favorite pair”

Your chest felt like a bomb went off. Your face burned. But Nanami sat up in his seat across from you. The broad daylight beaming through the floor to ceiling windows in his office.

“And I don’t stop you. When you flash them. Because I yearn to see them one more time. Just incase, they’re a different color.” He groans behind his lips and pants through parted lips and flushed cheeks. “Let me see. One more time”

You stared at him in shock lips parted like you couldn’t believe what he was saying. But then he stood, towering over you. Tall broad and eager. “Please”

You nodded and spread your thighs slowly. He dropped to his knees looking at your wide legs like he’s found a rare diamond worth millions and. Burried his face between your thighs like he was a wild animal let loose. He hummed and let his warm wet tongue dragged over your lace covered cunt over and over until it was soaked and cool air hit making you get chills. he sucked your clit through lace groaning like a farel beast and moved your Panties to the side before licking and sucking away like a starved caveman. “Mmm, fuck, you have no idea, ngh—, how long I’ve wanted to, ugh, taste you”

His words muffled against your slick and drool covered cunt. He dragged the flat his tongue from the bottom of your folds to the tip of your clit in one long stripe before slurping up your clit and gripping your thighs. Every pleasured sound from you only made him bolder. Your thighs trembled with pleasure. He smacked his lips and groaned before slurping your clit again. He sucked your pussy until you were crying and creaming on his tongue, and then? He folded your legs hard to your chest and began pumping his girth between your slurp swollen folds, slick with your syrupy fluids. He pushed his needy cock so hard up your pussy your stomach buldged as you trembled and whimpered with each thrust that sent you bouncing hard.

“Fuck you look so damn pretty taking me”

He growled out, thrusting fractionally and tenderizing your g-spot. He squeezed your thighs hard as he railed you completely dumb and dizzy.

He popped his cock from your juicy folds and lifted you by the back of your head until you were sitting upright. His massive cock was right in your face pre-cum leaking over the tip mixed with your slick.

“Don’t get shy on me now y/n”

You bravely spit on his steel rod and stroked his girth.

“God yes.”

He mumbled out. Every roll of your hands sending jolts through him. He groaned letting your work your magic. You watched him pulse and twitch in your tight stroking grasp with parted lips like you wanted more.

“Go on…”

You leaned in rubbing the flat of your tongue over just the tip and making him shiver. Testing. Teasing. And then wrapping your lips around the fullness of his cock, stretching your lips. He hummed in satisfaction watching your mouth full of him like you had a foot in your mouth. He let you adjust for a moment, letting your droll drip around his veiny shaft before thrusting slowly.

“Ugh—, that’s it…”

He hummed out as your soft, wet lips pushed up and down his cock.

“So fucking naughty hmm? Torturing me in those little skirts?”

He gritted out sliding his hands in your hair and holding onto you before thrusting a bit harder. You let out a muffled sound.

“You don’t know what you do to a man y/n”

He groaned as you whimpered helplessly on the size of his cock.

“Turn around”

The command was simple, but you didn’t hesitate. You turned over on the sofa, hands curled into the cushions. He groaned a farel sound when he slid up your skirt until your black laced panties where revealed hiked up between your ass cheeks like thong. He squeezed your ass cheeks hard with eager groan and spreaded them before slowly lifting his cock back into you. Feeling him fill up your womb from this angle was overwhelming, you immediately moaned as he stretched you. He balled your skirt up in his fists and began slamming his cock into you.

“Risking my damn job to finally stuff you with my cock”

Your vision blurred, the pleasure uncharted as he burried every inch of his massive length into your tingling womb. Thrust after thrust sent you in a tizzy, you were no match for the way he pushed his cock so far up your womb he was kissing your cervix. Until he was filling you full of his cream like a jelly filled donut.

After your session. You could barely walk. You limped from his office. And once you’d gotten home after your drive, you saw a text from him. “When would you like to schedule our next session?”

Oh nanami the man that you are…more shortflix to come…

@Plagiarism not authorized