Marvel: gojo of the seven sets

It had been a week since Gojo returned from his vacation with Rogue. Having teleported back to New York, the city felt louder than ever, the constant honking of taxis and chatter of pedestrians creating a chaotic symphony of life and the millions of thoughts floating around good God... Nah, its still the same. Yet, despite the buzz of New York, his mind kept drifting—back to the Institute.

Gojo had already visited the Xavier Institute twice since his return. His official reason? Seeking Hank McCoy's expertise on a special project involving his powers—something about refining his control over telekinesis to a degree most wouldn't dare attempt… and trying to re create a certain technique. Hank had been helpful, though bemused by Gojo's almost obsessive perfectionism.

But the real reason...

Rogue.

The way her eyes seemed to softened when they met his gem like eyes. That quiet intensity, green as summer fields, lingering on him as if afraid he might disappear if she blinked. The way she touched him—cautious, gentle, like she feared she might break him despite his unyielding strength.

The scent of her auburn hair, faint but intoxicating, with those delicate white streaks that cascaded down her shoulders, her micro expressions.

And her lips—soft, warm, lingering on his skin in stolen moments he could replay in his mind for hours.

His thoughts were so tangled in her that Gojo only snapped back to reality when he realized he had stopped dead in front of a small candy shop tucked between two larger buildings downtown. The red-and-white awning was slightly worn, but the colorful display of sweets in the window practically sparkled under the city lights.

He blinked.

'Ah... I think I'm in trouble aren't I?.'

The thought was comical enough that he cracked a small smile. With a chuckle, he muttered under his breath,

"Well... it's the good kind of trouble."

The door chimed softly as he stepped inside. The scent of sugar, caramel, and cocoa filled the air, wrapping around him like a childhood memory. Glass jars filled with vibrant treats lined the shelves—peppermint swirls, taffy ropes, chocolate truffles.

'Did Ethan really have to make me inherit Gojo's sweet tooth?'

He exhaled sharply but grabbed a few bags anyway—salted caramel clusters, chocolate-covered almonds, and sour gummies. He piled them onto the counter where a young woman with chestnut hair tied back in a ponytail stood.

The moment she looked up and saw him, her cheeks flushed pink.

"Oh! Hey... it's you again!" she stammered, suddenly fiddling with the cash register buttons.

Gojo flashed his signature grin, his voice smooth as silk. "Well, hello, love."

The blush deepened. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she began packing his candy.

"What's your name again?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

The smile faltered. "It's... Donna." Her expression dimmed as she added, "Remember? I told you last time."

Gojo leaned back, brushing his silver hair from his face with a hand. His eyes shimmered faintly beneath his glasses—just enough to catch the light and send a few of the other female customers whispering.

"Oh my God, he's so hot..."

"Do you think he's single?"

"I'd let him eat my candy spot any day..."

Gojo's enhanced hearing caught all of it. He smirked but kept his focus on Donna, whose fingers were trembling slightly as she packed the last of his sweets.

'Poor girl. Probably thinks I'm the playboy type...'

He could practically hear her internal monologue.

'Idiot... of course he forgot you. Just look at him. I bet he changes girls every night with a face like that...'

Reading her thoughts, Gojo didn't say anything, but his smile softened as he thought, 'As if...'

"That'll be $18.50," she said quietly, holding out her hand.

He handed her a crisp bill, and as she gave him his change, he noticed how her hand lingered for just a second longer than necessary.

The moment shattered.

Gojo's entire body stiffened.

A disturbance—subtle, yet distinct.

His senses flared.

Something—or rather, someone—was heading toward the shop. Fast.

From the corner of his eye, his enhanced vision caught a red-and-blue blur swinging through the skyline.

'Spider-Man?'

But there was more.

A car.

Barreling down the street with reckless speed, chased by the webslinger himself. Gojo squinted, zooming his focus further.

'Armed thugs... of course. Typical Marvel arming street trash with high-tech weapons.'

The driver, a bearded man with a scar down his cheek, locked eyes with Gojo through the shop window. His lips curled into a sneer as he raised something metallic—

A pulse rifle?.

The barrel glowed with a violent blue hue.

Before Gojo could contemplate further on how they got such a thing—

FWOOOOOSH!

The weapon discharged.

The blast streaked toward the shop window, shattering the glass—

"GET DOWN!" A lady who was standing close to gojo shouted.

With a thunderous BOOM, shattering glass in all directions. The sound echoed violently, making bystanders scream and dive for cover.

Smoke billowed from the impact, thick and choking, flooding the small shop.

Outside, Spider-Man swung through the air, the wind rushing past his face as the sound of the explosion reached his ears. His head snapped toward the rising plume of smoke.

"No, no, no! Shit—those morons!" he muttered under his breath, his heart racing as he released a webline and dove toward the scene. Landing on the cracked pavement in a crouch, he skidded forward slightly.

"Is everyone alright?! Somebody—anybody?!" he called out, his voice laced with panic as he stepped through the hole where the front wall used to be. Debris crunched beneath his boots, and his mask's lenses widened, scanning for movement.

Silence.

Then, a voice—smooth, slightly irritated—spoke from within the haze:

"Will you keep it down? My ears are ringing."

Before Spider-Man could react, a sudden gust of wind rippled outward, dispersing the lingering smoke like a wave. As the air cleared, the damage became more visible—crumbled walls, shelves knocked over, broken glass littering the floor.

But then, something... odd.

Everyone inside—the civilians, the staff—they were completely unharmed. Not even a scratch. Not a single speck of dust clung to their clothes despite the wreckage surrounding them.

Standing close to where the window used to be was a tall figure with white hair, his hand extended from the act of dispersing the smoke. His eyes—gem-like, crystalline, glowing faintly—locked onto Spider-Man. He looked... unreal. Almost too perfect, like a model.

Spider-Man blinked, his mind stalling for a beat before blurting out: "What... how—?"

He moved forward, weaving between shelves and rubble, still checking the civilians as they hurriedly evacuated. Some were whispering in awe, casting nervous glances between Spider-Man and the mysterious figure.

The last to leave was Donna, the cashier, tears welling in her eyes as she stared at the wreckage of the shop. Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched the counter for support, struggling to process the destruction.

Gojo glanced around the ruin, eyes narrowing slightly before he thought,

'My favorite candy shop...'

His jaw tightened.

Then came the shift.

'Oh... they'll pay for this.'

Without a word, he approached Donna, his expression softening as he knelt slightly to her height and gently placed the bag of candy in her trembling hands.

"Hold this for me," he said softly.

She blinked, confused. "W-what?"

"*I'll be back for that.*"

"Buy the shop—"

Gojo raised a hand, cutting her off without looking back. "*And for the shop too. Go home now. Okay?"

Her lips parted, about to protest, but something in his tone—steady, calm yet commanding—silenced her. With a reluctant nod, she clutched the candy tighter and turned to leave with the others.

Spider-Man, still slightly dazed, finally shook his head and spoke. "Okay, hold up—who are you, and how did—"

Before he could finish, Gojo's hand shot out, grabbing him by the wrist.

"Come with me. Let's go deal with some thugs, shall we?"