#I’m going to do the chores and go to campus though

[starmapz]

what you know - ch2: prom queen || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. mutual pining. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic (attacks). mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12.3k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

The sun is high in the sky, warming your skin in the crisp air. The sounds of chatter and laughter fill the campus and in the distance a student is playing their guitar. Your thoughts, however, aren’t occupied by the warmth or the idle noise that fills the air around you. Your mind is preoccupied with Sukuna.

“Honestly, I just can’t get over the fact that you actually make it sound like you had a good time with him,” Shoko comments as you make your way from your lecture to the lunch hall. Of course, you’d left out any portions of the story that felt private, things Sukuna was likely trusting you with. Even without the shreds of vulnerability he showed you, your time with him is still so uncharacteristic for how Shoko would know Sukuna.

“Well… yeah. Honestly, I did,” you admit with a shrug, casting a glance at your phone to take a look at the time. “Hold on, I need to make a pit stop.”

Shoko hums in confusion, standing at the edge of the pathway as you casually jog to wait at the fountain for Sukuna a few minutes before noon. The autumnal breeze is cool as it hits your face, leaving behind a faint blush over your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Your fashionable but functional auburn knit sweatshirt hangs loosely over your shoulders to protect you from the wind’s bite as you shift from side to side on your heels awaiting Sukuna.

A minute past twelve, you catch a glimpse of him in the distance. His hair is pushed back as usual, his leather jacket hanging over his shoulders with a plain black muscle shirt and a pair of loose jeans hanging off his hips. His hands are shoved in his pockets, expression unreadable as usual.

As he approaches, you wave with a sweet smile. He meets your gaze, barely acknowledging you with a small nod. Coming to a stop before you, he drags his backpack down from his shoulder, digging through it for the GameBoy to hand it to you.

“Thought he left it at yours,” Sukuna sighs as he passes it to you.

Taking one look at the console, you shake your head as you slide your hands over his fingers and wrap them around the device for him. He scowls at you as he realizes your meaning before you can say it.

“You can keep-”

“No.”

You blink at his stubbornness, pulling your hands back to fiddle with the hems of your sleeves. “I really don’t mind. He’s a good kid, I’d rather it go to use than rot in my drawer,” you shrug.

“He stole, he doesn’t get to keep shit,” Sukuna insists.

“Then make it some sort of incentive. Get them to do some chores and if they do, they get it.” You smile at the idea, after all it’s somewhat of a gift for both kids given that they wouldn’t need to share any longer.

“It’s yours. I’m not taking it,” Sukuna stubbornly refuses, holding it out closer to you as though he’s trying to shove it into your grip.

Like that, it clicks and your gaze softens as you look up at the man towering over you. He doesn’t want to feel like a charity case, like he owes you something. He’s trying his best to get you to take it back for the same reason he hated that you paid for dinner. He doesn’t want to feel like he needs help.

“Why don’t we say it’s a gift for you instead of them, then?”

His brow twitches, somewhat taken aback, but he doesn’t say anything, quietly listening to you as you continue.

“As a thank you for saving me from being covered in oil. Now they won’t fight over your GameBoy and you can have some peace.”

You half expect him to boil over and blow up at you for even suggesting to give him a gift when you already paid for his dinner. And really, keeping you out of the hospital is more of a common courtesy than something that’s deserving of a gift. Yet, to both of your surprise, Sukuna just stares at the console, the air between you falling somewhere between tense and comfortable.

He’s fighting an inner battle to keep himself from blowing up, but he can’t bring himself to be upset with you. The part of him that does feel some sort of anger over the situation barely puts up a fight. He knows he doesn’t want to be angry with you just for being yourself. For being kind.

He sighs, shooting you one last look of consideration before he gives in. “Thanks,” he gruffs, shoving it back in backpack.

“No problem!” You grin cheerily. “Why don’t you come grab lunch with Shoko and I?” You ask, shooting a glance at your friend smoking on the path a few feet away as she waits for you.

Sukuna follows your gaze to Shoko before shaking his head. “Nah, I-”

“C’mon Sukuna,” you interrupt what you’re sure will be a meager excuse to not have lunch with you, making a point of not using his nickname in the middle of the campus. “Just for a bit?”

His eyes roll to the side as he gruffs out a “fine,” slinging his bag over his shoulder before shoving his hands in his pockets. He follows after you with a grumpy expression as you bound back to Shoko.

“Wait, is he coming with us?” Shoko asks, more in disbelief than anything else as you nod. She doesn’t mind, but Sukuna isn’t usually seen eating in the lunch hall. More often than not, he can be found with his group of friends tucked away in a back corner of the campus where it can’t be seen that they’re smoking weed.

Then there are the rumors that he’s been seen having a quickie in some girl’s car, something you wish Shoko hadn’t told you. You’re not even really sure why you’re so opposed to that knowledge but it makes you feel some sort of way.

You fall back into conversation with Shoko, trying to include Sukuna as best as you can although he doesn’t make it easy.

When you reach the lunch hall and grab your usual table, you pat the chair beside you for Sukuna to take a seat in as you and Shoko sit and pull out the lunches you’d both packed. You couldn’t be bothered with using one of the campus microwaves so you had meal prepped a bunch of sandwiches and salads for the week.

As more students begin filing into the cafeteria, the seats beside you begin to fill as the rest of your friend group finds their way to your table. Gojo and Geto sit on either side of Shoko, sharing an uneasy glance with one another at the sight of Sukuna at your side, followed shortly after by Nanami and Haibara, who hardly seem phased by the sight of Sukuna.

“Sukuna, right? I’m Haibara!” Yu introduces himself cheerily. You can practically feel the uneasy tension of the table as Satoru and Sukuna seem to have some sort of silent battle of egos. You can’t even really be shocked by it, they’re both about as boldly egotistic as it gets.

“Hey,” Sukuna replies without casting Yu a glance.

Sensing the uneasiness of the table, you do your best to lead damage control. “Sukuna and I have been working on a project together, I thought it would be nice to have him join us!” You introduce the idea to your friends, setting your palm on his bicep. Sukuna’s muscles are tense beneath your fingers, so you squeeze his arm gently in reassurance.

He finally rips his attention from Gojo, flashing your hand a glance before his unreadable expression lands on you. Slowly, Suguru pulls Satoru’s attention to him and the tension in the air dissolves. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as you take a bite of your sandwich.

When your hand leaves his bicep, Sukuna leans over the table on his elbow, chin in his hand as he stares blankly at the wall.

“Are you not gonna eat?” You ask with a tilt of your head.

“Nah, I’m fine.”

You pout, eyes filled with concern. Much to his dismay, you shove the rest of your sandwich in his direction. He curls his lip at the thought of taking more from you, shaking his head as he shoves your hand back. He can’t take more from you, not again. He can’t.

“I still have a salad, you can have it!”

Fuck, why are you so kind? And to him? Why are you so kind that he feels like he’s going crazy?

“Stop,” he grumbles, and he thinks if you were anyone else he would just walk away, so why does he tolerate how pushy you can be?

“Please?” You plead, tilting your head. You’re not sure what sort of miracle causes it to happen but with a glare, he snatches the sandwich and turns his shoulders to face the wall. Even as he makes a show of being a prick about it, you’re just glad he takes it at all.

You pull your fork from your bag with a smile and begin shoveling your salad into your mouth as you catch the look Shoko’s giving you. The way her brow is raised, eyes flitting between you and Sukuna says it all as you roll your eyes.

To your disappointment, Sukuna excuses himself shortly after finishing the sandwich, before you have an opportunity to chat with him at all. You call after him, but he doesn’t so much as acknowledge your presence. Sighing at the sight of him walking away without so much as a word to you, you can only hope you haven’t accidentally angered him again.

“What brought that up?” Geto asks curiously as the table focuses their attention on you.

“Yeah, since when does that asshole eat with us?”

“Satoru!” You kick the white-haired man from under the table. He sneers at you, crossing his arms over his chest dramatically as he waits for an answer. “He’s nice. I just thought he might want to join us,” you shrug. “He’s not an asshole.”

“Are we talking about the same guy? The guy who pretends he has charm for a night so that he can get someone to suck his dick at a party and not return the favor?” Satoru asks as he rolls his eyes.

“You’re one to talk,” Shoko teases with a knowing look, trying her best to divert the table’s attention away from your painfully obvious interest in the tattooed man as you fumble with your fork.

“At least I don’t flat out ignore anyone I sleep with afterwards.”

“Oh please, as if you’re any better. The way you greet people like they’re strangers that you didn’t fuck the night before may as well be criminal,” Geto scolds with a frown.

With a scoff and a roll of his eyes, Gojo drops the conversation, not thrilled at the idea of being roasted by the whole table. He may be the school’s heartthrob, but at this table he’s just Satoru.

You expect that to be the end of your lunches with Sukuna, but to your surprise on your way past the fountain the following day, you spot him sitting on the concrete’s edge. Nudging Shoko, you point at him and the two of you make your way over.

You walk past the courtyard fountain every day on your way to the lunch hall and you know for a fact that Sukuna doesn’t sit here. He’s in a baggy shirt and cargo pants, and you note that he looks tired again, his work likely wearing him down.

“Hey!” You greet him, bounding over with a grin. He lifts his head from what you assume is a notebook, his pencil halting as he looks you over and hums as a greeting. “You left so quickly yesterday, I didn’t get to say bye,” you pout, jutting out your lip.

His gaze flickers to your lips and back so quickly that you’re sure you imagined it. “Had somewhere to be,” he gruffs, shutting whatever he was working on.

“You should join us,” Shoko cuts to the chase, too hungry to watch you beat around the bush when clearly you wanted Sukuna to join your group for lunch again.

He contemplates the decision, but nods. When you grin up at him as he gets to his feet, he’s sure he must have gotten a head rush with how his head feels like it’s spinning. He’s not even really sure what he’s doing at the fountain to begin with, his legs brought him here without thinking twice about it.

He trails a short distance behind as you and Shoko discuss the strange lesson you had just gotten out of. Your professor has a habit of going off-topic to discuss his latest interests, which is frustrating enough as is, but on top of that, you have a test next week that both you and Shoko feel horribly unprepared for. Rather than learning about the modern revolution, you instead learned about your professor’s preferred bait to catch sea bass.

“Well if the test calls for the difference between deep sea fishing and lake fishing, I’m set,” Shoko scoffs, pulling a cigarette from a small box in her pocket and balancing it between her lips. She pulls out a lighter, sparking it multiple times to no avail, unable to light her cigarette.

Before she can groan about how her lighter’s about as useful as that class, Sukuna nudges her and hands her a lighter as he falls into step between you. Her eyes widen and she casts a glance at him before her lips quirk up into a grateful smile. Once lit, she hands the lighter back and thanks him as smoke puffs from her lips.

Sukuna hums, dropping the lighter in the pocket of his cargo pants. You don’t expect him to have anything to add to the conversation, but his deep voice catches you off-guard. “I could help.”

You tilt your head to look up at him questioningly.

“I’m a history major,” he reminds you.

“Oh!” You exclaim, lips pursed. “You know the modern revolution?”

“Mhm.”

“I-” You pause, staring straight ahead as you near the lunch hall. Of course you want to say yes, but one sidelong glance at his face reminds you just how little time he already has, and as is you’ve been taking up a lot of it recently. “Um, are you sure?”

He raises a brow as you hum and haw over his offer. “Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

It almost feels foreign to hear the man most commonly known for his shitty attitude and poor attendance offering his help in tutoring, of all things. Yet, if he’s proven anything to you over the past couple of weeks, it's that you shouldn’t be judging anyone so baselessly. After all, he may not be the most eloquent with words but Sukuna is extremely smart and dedicated.

“That would be great, thanks Sukuna!” You beam, grateful that maybe you won’t fail your test next week.

You push through the doors to the student cafeteria just as Shoko is stubbing out her cigarette beneath her foot. You and Sukuna follow her to your usual table, though as you make your way there it occurs to you for the first time that you’re being watched.

Multiple pairs of eyes follow you and your salmon-haired new friend, many giving you strange looks while others regard you with jealousy. You shrink into yourself, suddenly too aware of the eyes on you.

It’s not that you aren’t accustomed to staring on one hand, Satoru and Suguru sitting at your table earns a lot of longing eyes in your direction and you would be lying to say you don’t get your fair share of lingering stares. On the other hand, you can practically feel seething anger and envy coming from the surrounding crowd in droves, because Sukuna doesn’t sit with others at lunch. Sukuna doesn’t offer to tutor people. Sukuna to most, is an enigma. A hot one, at that. To most, he’s a cold-shouldered asshole who people would beg to sleep with.

Clearing your throat, you focus on the lunch you’ve pulled out of your bag as you take a seat. It’s still from the same group of prepped lunches from the day prior, a sandwich and salad, nothing too fancy, though your stomach growls at the sight of it.

Sukuna drops his bag at his feet, leaning forward over the table with his elbow propped beneath his chin just like the previous day. The rest of your friends file into the lunch hall shortly after you, and aside from Satoru’s clear contemptful look towards Sukuna, no one seems to think twice about having him there. Yu cheerfully greets him and Suguru offers a calm wave. Sukuna doesn’t return either, but if either of your friends are bothered, they don’t show it.

Before you can take a bite of your sandwich, you glance over at the man leaning over the table beside you. His expression is tired and distant as he stares blankly at the wall off to the side. Just like yesterday, he doesn’t have a lunch, so you push the container with your sandwich in it towards him until it nudges his elbow and gets his attention.

Sukuna blinks twice before staring down at the container. He shoves it back to you just as he had the day before.

“Take it as a thank you for helping Shoko and I study?” You plead, pushing it back towards him and insistently holding it in place. He sighs a little overdramatically and takes the sandwich, taking a bite of it and returning his chin to rest on his palm.

“You wanna do that now?” He asks as he finishes his first bite, staring sidelong at you.

Your eyes brighten and you grab Shoko’s attention with a nudge of your shoe against her leg across from you. “Come review the modern revolution with us.”

Her eyes, along with several other pairs of eyes at the table, fill with surprise and she nods as she gets up and settles on the opposite side of your new study buddy. Pulling out your textbook and notes, you open to the chapter your professor had seemingly glazed over in class.

You learn quickly that Sukuna isn’t the best teacher. He isn’t patient and doesn’t love repeating himself, but he does know the subject well. In spite of his obvious scowl when you ask him to reiterate a point, he still does so even if it’s followed by a dramatic sigh. By the time lunch ends, you have a surprisingly good grasp on the first chapter of your textbook.

“You’re a lifesaver,” you sigh as Sukuna gets to his feet quite suddenly. He doesn’t say anything, his expression unchanging as he slings his bag over his shoulder. He nods in acknowledgement and before Shoko can thank him he’s already gone again.

“You like one weird guy,” she comments as she slides into the chair he’d been occupying.

Turning your attention in her direction, you raise a brow. “I don’t like him in that way.”

She smiles, eyes shining. “Yeah, alright. You just run to him every time you see him for fun then, huh?”

“I don’t run to him every time I see him,” you scoff, shoving your notes into your bag.

“And I don’t smoke behind the lab,” she snorts, laughing when you shove her.

“Such a bad habit,” you mumble, diverting attention away from you. After all, Shoko’s wrong. Sukuna’s hot, but you aren’t crushing on him.

Not that the following day does anything to prove her wrong when you veer sharply to the right at the sight of Sukuna at his usual (as of 2 days ago) spot at the fountain.

“Hey!” You greet him as cheerily as ever as you stop in front of him. He shuts his notebook at the sound of your voice, his aloof expression shifting to one you almost don’t recognize on him- mirth. He looks well-rested today all things considered, and his shoulders seem to relax at the sight of you.

“Hey,” he replies easily, shoving his books into his bag as he gets up to trail behind you and Shoko without even needing to invite him to join you.

“You know, I’d almost think he likes sitting with us,” Shoko whispers quietly to you, casting a glance at him. He’s watching your exchange although you’re positive he can’t hear you. You do nothing more than giggle in reply.

“Care to share with the class?” Sukuna chides with a raised brow.

Just as you go to shake your head no, Shoko happily repeats herself. “I was just saying I think you like sitting with us.”

Sukuna’s expression is unreadable as his gaze flits to you momentarily before it lands on Shoko again. “I don’t have to help you study if you don’t want me to,” he replies evenly, his tone just as chiding as Shoko’s.

Her eyes widen slightly and she goes silent as she turns to light a cigarette with a new lighter. Sukuna smirks in triumph, his chest rumbling with a teasing hum. She lets you know she’ll catch up with you in a bit as she decides to finish smoking before following after you.

“How are Yuji and Choso?” You ask now that Sukuna falls into step with you as you enter the lunch hall.

He rubs a hand over his face, casting a glance around him. “Exhausting,” he grumbles, stifling a yawn at the mere thought. “Yuji’s been giving the sitter a hard time lately about going to bed when I’m not home.”

“That’s kinda sweet, honestly,” you comment as you catch sight of Haibara and Nanami already seated at the table. “He loves you.” Taking a seat beside Nanami with Sukuna on your opposite side, you quickly greet your friends before your attention returns to your tattooed counterpart. “I still don’t know how you do it all, though.”

He sighs as he leans forward on his hand, the dark circles under his eyes evident. “I dunno either.” There’s something forlorn about his tone that causes your face to fall.

You take in his expression for a moment, wanting nothing more than to offer your help but you think better of it when you recall the way he reacted the last time you offered help. “Sorry, Kuna.”

Sukuna sits pin-straight as you use his nickname, an unspoken warning in his eyes. “Don’t call me that,” he growls, his voice lowering an octave as he shoots a glance at his surroundings.

“Oh, right! Sorry,” your cheeks redden as he relaxes slowly, letting the mistake go as he realizes it wasn’t intentional. You let out a breath as you realize he’s letting it slide, thankful he’s not taking it too seriously. “I think it’s cute,” you comment with a shrug as you pull out your lunch. “The name, I mean.”

“The last thing I need is to be seen as ‘cute’.” The word is sour on his tongue as he scornfully huffs his displeasure at the nickname.

You can’t help a smile at his comment which is somehow equally as cute as the nickname itself. Before you can tease him anymore, Shoko takes a seat beside him, pulling her textbook open to chapter two of the modern revolution. It doesn’t take long for him to dive into explanations of the demise of the military government that begin to make more sense with someone explaining the subject in more broad terms than the textbook states.

At some point in his lesson, you push your sandwich towards him and to your surprise, he seems to subconsciously take and eat it. You’re grateful to see that he doesn’t make a big deal of it either. Sukuna isn’t entirely aware he took it at all, his body acting on instinct as a natural part of the new schedule that came along with joining you for lunch.

It’s heartwarming regardless to know that to some extent, you’re getting through his tough exterior.

As your next class quickly approaches, you begin to pack up and tilt your head at Sukuna. “Will I see you in Art History later?”

The tall man casts a glance at his watch. “Yeah but I’ll only have a couple of minutes after class. Choso has some…” he stares at the ceiling as he wracks his brain for an answer. “I dunno. Some thing at his school.”

“No worries! We only have the visual portion left anyway. Oh! But I did refine the written part a bit, I was hoping to go over that with you.”

“Sure,” he agrees, and just like every other day he’s striding quickly away before you can even say bye. You let out a soft sigh as you watch him leave, staring blankly at the door until Shoko nudges you.

She has a knowing gleam in her eyes as she slides into the seat where Sukuna had been. “So, lovergirl. Care to admit it yet?”

“There’s nothing to admit,” you groan with a roll of your eyes.

“Sure, sure.” She lets the silence hang in the air for a moment as she leans against the table. “So since when have you started lying to your literal best friend?”

“You’re so dramatic Sho, I’m not lying,” you roll your eyes. “There’s just more to him than people think. He’s nice.”

“He’s nice to you,” Gojo butts his head into your conversation, only to receive two glares in return.

“Shut up, Satoru,” Geto scolds the white-haired man with a scowl. You shoot him an appreciative smile, but you’re taking back the smile almost immediately as he follows up with, “I’m listening in to this Sukuna drama, don’t interrupt.”

Idiots, both of them.

“You’re equally as unbelievable,” Shoko rolls her eyes at her friend, shoving her textbook into her bag alongside you as you both get to your feet to head to your next classes. “Listen, all I’m saying is that you’ve been around him a lot lately and it’s pretty fucking obvious at this point. So I don’t know if you don’t want to admit it to the dumbasses at the table, to me, or to yourself, but you aren’t fooling me.”

“Sho seriously, I promise it’s not like that. I just… feel for him. He’s a nice guy and has way more on his plate than any one person can handle,” you insist.

“And you like him.”

“And I like being around him,” you rationalize yourself to her, staring up at the ceiling as you leisurely make your way to your next class.

“You’re lucky I need to go the other way, girl. I could fight you on this all day.”

You brush her off with a wave and smile, sighing as you’re finally blessed with silence. It’s not that you don’t love Shoko, but her incessant teasing over Sukuna is becoming a lot. Not only that, but you don’t want to begin questioning your emotions when it comes to him given that you both have enough on your plate as is. Your attraction to him is surface level, and that’s fine with you.

–

When you’re dismissed by the professor, you quickly make your way up to Sukuna, who’s chewing on a toothpick with his nose in his notebook. You take a seat next to him, knowing you won’t have much time but hoping to at least get something together for the visual portion.

Sukuna casts a glance at you, keeping his thumb on the page of his notebook he was engrossed in as he shuts it and leans back. There’s a scowl on his face as he takes a look at the time. “Y’ got ten minutes.”

He sounds grumpy, so you try to make things quick. “Right, let’s start with the visual portion, since we have about a week left.”

Sukuna hums, sitting up and setting his notebook on the surface in front of him. He taps it a couple of times in thought before he opens the page to the one his thumb had kept a tab on. Curiously, you peer at the page as he pushes the book towards you.

It’s not a notebook at all, but a sketchbook and your eyes widen as you take in the stunning art scrawled across the page. All three art pieces the two of you had chosen have been blended into one piece, with the fallen angel at the center. Your jaw drops as you pull the book closer, examining the details and the way Sukuna has shaded everything.

“You drew this?” You gasp, tearing your eyes from the gorgeous piece Sukuna has drawn to take a look at him.

“Yeah. It’s just a sketch. I’d do it on letter size paper if you’re good with it.”

“Just a- what?” You gawk at him as you stare down at his ‘sketch’. It already looks like a damn masterpiece and you’re certain you could turn it in as it is and still get a high grade. This is better than anything you had in mind, the only thing you feel guilty over is that he’s actually done the whole thing on his own, and you doubt you can do anything to help. “How can I- I don’t know how I can help with-”

“So y’like it?” He smirks, leaning somewhat closer to you.

“It’s amazing! I don’t know how I can help, though,” you admit, looking up at him with a furrowed brow as you examine his features. A muscle in his jaw clenches as he chews on the toothpick that’s still hanging loosely from his teeth, dark eyes set on the page in your hands.

“You could look after the-” he pauses, glancing around momentarily to find that there’s no one nearby when he continues. “-the brats while I work on it.”

“Is that… enough? I mean, I’ll owe a good portion of the grade to you,” you point out.

“It’s fine,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

You can’t help it, but you’re pouting at him, and he can’t help but smirk at the sight. You want to do more to help, though a break from his brothers is more than enough for him to consider the visual portion to be a group effort. Besides, he knows you edited his written portion to sound more formal. He doesn’t realize it only took you five minutes, but that’s besides the point.

“Text me when you’re free? Oh wait-!” You snicker to yourself. “Email me when you’re free?”

In an instant Sukuna is on his feet, shoving his things into his bag as you giggle to yourself. “I’m leaving,” he grumbles, throwing his hood up over his head and popping in his headphones.

“Don’t forget to email me!” You call after him. He flips you off on his way out the door, your continued laughter to yourself met with stares from the few remaining students around the room. You aren’t oblivious to the fact that you and Sukuna are… an odd pair to say the least, but it doesn’t make the stares any less uneasy as you quiet down and quickly slip out of the room not too far behind Sukuna.

–

Sukuna’s email came fairly early in the morning before you woke up. When you checked it, you smiled to yourself.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 6:34 AM off at 4. come over after

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Saturday, 10:04 AM You gotta make these emails sound less like booty calls. Sounds good though!! I'll be there at 5 :) 

You’re don’t expect to ear back from him given his lack of phone, so you get ready and go about your day while you wait for four in the afternoon to pass.

To your surprise, a bit after he’s off work, Sukuna sends you his address and a teasing ‘don’t threaten me with a good time’ that sends your mind spiraling more than you’d like to admit as you stare at the screen with a pounding heart. You don’t know how to reply to the email, so you leave it be, shutting your laptop for good measure.

It’s just teasing, anyway. It has to be.

So why the hell will your heart not slow down?

You drive over to his address with a bag of takeout given the time. Sukuna’ll likely be irritated by it, but at this point you’re willing to push his buttons to show him gratitude for how much help he’s been on this project, especially if you owe what you can only imagine will be another perfect grade to his art skills.

You dial his unit number in the lobby of his apartment at the buzzer, listening to the shrill rings from the box as you wait.

“Come up!” Comes Choso’s voice over the buzzer and the door beeps as it unlocks. You smile and make your way to the elevator, glancing over each unit number until you reach Sukuna’s door.

“Come in,” Sukuna’s deep voice travels through the door. You twist the knob and realize suddenly why it was Choso who answered the buzz, and why Sukuna had insisted that watching his little brothers would be enough.

Towards the back of the apartment is a table where Sukuna’s seated, clearly trying to work on the project. Choso is leaning over the edge of the table, eyes trained on the drawing as his face is practically blocking Sukuna’s. Yuji, on the other hand, is another story entirely. He’s dangling off of his older brother’s arm, going on about something he saw on TV today. You can’t help a bubbly giggle at the sight of Sukuna’s frustrated glance in your direction. He looks like his patience is hanging on by a very thin thread.

Yuji’s head whips around to face you when he hears the door shut and he cries out your name, dropping from Sukuna’s arm to bound up to you. Choso follows shortly after, waving at you as the youngest brother runs straight into your arms. You pick him up, supporting his weight as he hugs you while you smile at Choso. You kick off your shoes, making your way over to your project partner.

“How’s it coming along?” You ask, taking note that Sukuna seems to be using more than one medium, graphite and charcoal. Peering over his shoulder, you smile at the sight. Sukuna’s got basic shapes blocked out on the page, and the fallen angel’s face started. It looks so professional that you can’t help but wonder what Sukuna’s doing as a history major.

“It’s coming,” he grumbles, leaning forward on the heel of his palm as he eyes the way you’re trying to hold up his youngest brother, while also holding onto a brown paper bag and your backpack hangs off your shoulder. “Yuji, get down,” he scolds, crimson eyes sharp as the young boy clambers down from your arms and immediately begins excitedly prodding at Choso to get his attention.

“It looks amazing so far! I brought some stuff to keep the kids entertained while you work,” you tell him, rolling your shoulder in reference to your backpack. “Oh! I also brought dinner for us all.”

Sukuna’s eye twitches. You know what’s going through his mind right now, you can practically hear it, so you elaborate before he can snap.

“I just thought it would be a nice thing to do since you’re doing the whole visual portion of the project and all I’m doing is watching these two angels.” You make sure to emphasize that he’s doing more work than you are, that this isn’t a favor, this is repayment. All you can do is hope he’ll let it slide.

Your tattooed counterpart lets his gaze trail to his brothers as you call them angels, before it lands on the bag. He frowns, reaching out to take it from you and set it on the table in front of him as he looks in the bag. You know he’s not happy, it’s about as obvious as the sun in the sky, but for one reason or another he’s holding back his attitude, and for that you’re grateful.

“I’ll eat while I work. Leave me be,” he mutters, his voice strained as he shoots you a very obvious dismissive and irritated glance.

Your smile falters as he pulls a meal out of the bag before shoving it back towards you.

“Just let me know if you need anything,” you smile hesitantly before grabbing the bag and turning back to the two boys. They lead you over to the living room, split from the kitchen and small table area by only a counter.

Sukuna’s apartment is nicer than you expected. It seems to be a two bedroom apartment with a small kitchen and living room area. It’s obviously older and a bit run-down in comparison to your apartment but Sukuna’s kept it fairly clean considering how much work he already has on his hands. There’s an old flat screen TV facing a couch in the living room, as well as a shelf of mostly kids’ movies and a couple of horror films.

You take a seat with both kids excitedly peering at you as you open the takeout bag and hand each of them a small plastic bowl with ramen. Yuji takes it giddily and Choso quietly thanks you as they begin eating.

Your night is entertaining as you look after Sukuna’s little brothers. They’re both sweet and excited to see you, and you’re more than thrilled to find them warming up to you even more. When you pulled the old GameCube out of your bag and hooked it up to the TV for them, they were both over the moon and entertained for the rest of the night, making your part of the project beyond easy.

Glancing back at Sukuna as the boys played an old kart racer, you find yourself admiring the way his broad shoulders rise and fall with each breath, sharp eyes focused on his art. His jaw would move every so often as he concentrated on the project, running a hand through his pink hair in an effort to keep it off of his forehead.

As the night closes in on all sides, Sukuna makes his way over to the couch, leaning over the back of the couch on strong arms.

“Time for bed, all of you.”

“All of us?” You tease, peering over at Sukuna. His veins are protruding obviously from his muscular forearms and you need to divert your attention as your cheeks heat up at your own thoughts.

He smirks at you, eyes somewhat lidded. After a moment, he chuckles breathily and rolls his eyes, but his attention is pulled away from you quickly by his brothers. Yuji and Choso protest adamantly with their older brother, neither of the young boys wanting to head to bed ‘so early’ as though nine is early.

“If you two go get ready, I’ll read you something before bed,” you coax in an effort to alleviate any effort on Sukuna’s part. He eyes you curiously, and though you can’t see his expression, he’s relieved that he doesn’t need to argue with the kids.

“Promise?” Yuji’s eyes are filled with wonder as he approaches you.

“Pinky promise,” you reply, extending your finger to him. He wraps his own tiny pinky around yours in a silent agreement before the two boys go running off to brush their teeth and get changed.

Silence settles between you and Sukuna, one that sits somewhere between easy and tense. There’s really no way of knowing with him whether he’s still upset that you brought dinner or not as his expression gives nothing away. You can only hope his chuckle moments ago points towards the latter.

“Are you that shit at MarioKart or did you let them win?”

His gruff voice breaks the silence with a teasing lilt that makes your lips pull into a smirk. “I let them win,” you say with a fond smile as you glance at the screen detailing your seventeen losses.

“Yeah? The Prom Queen’s a gamer?” Sukuna’s got a sparkle in his eye that you don’t recognize from the past couple of weeks of getting to know him, but it suits him. His tone is as teasing as it is cocky and it’s exactly what you would expect from someone with an ego as big as his, at least now that he isn’t so painfully sleep deprived and toning himself down to handle his brothers.

You wonder if this is a glimpse of who he really is.

… Wait, did he just call you the Prom Queen?

“Prom Queen?” You scoff, eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sukuna raises a brow. “You tellin’ me you didn’t try to get elected Prom Queen or however that shit works?”

You open your mouth in an attempt to defend yourself but you can’t manage to formulate a retort. As any chance of sparing yourself from humiliation dies on your tongue, Sukuna lets out a breath somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

“Figured. I bet you ate that shit up in high school,” he teases further.

“Whatever, it’s not something to be ashamed of,” you pout, staring down at the indigo controller in your hands as you fidget with the buttons.

“So why’re you actin’ that way if you’re not embarrassed?” Sukuna pushes, smoothly hopping over the back of the couch as he leans close enough to you that your cheeks heat up from the close proximity. His eyes narrow as his smirk turns to a grin when an idea worms its way into his mind. “Holy shit, did I clock ya? You didn’t just try to get elected- you were the Prom Queen, weren’t you?” He pushes.

Huffing, you let out an exaggerated groan. “Yeah, I was. So what? It was fun.”

Sukuna throws his head back against the couch in a laugh. A genuine laugh that makes any amount of embarrassment over how easily he’d read you dissolve. His laugh is hoarse, husky in the way his speaking voice is, and you can’t help but smile despite yourself as warmth pools in your chest at the sight of him at ease and enjoying himself.

“‘Course it was,” Sukuna agrees teasingly with a shake of his head.

“I bet you didn’t even go to Prom.” There’s no way you don’t have him read like a book too, Sukuna wouldn’t possibly have gone to-

“You wanna put money on that bet?” Sukuna’s got a smug grin plastered across his face as your jaw hangs ajar. Shocked isn’t really the right word for what you’re feeling right now, but there’s certainly more to the grumpy history major than meets the eye.

“You went to Prom?”

“Don’t sound so shocked, Prom Queen,” he moves his hands behind his head, leaning back as he spreads his legs like a slut. Not that you’d say that to his face.

“I’m not- I’m just-”

Saving you from the embarrassment of trying to defend your misjudgment of Sukuna, Yuji calls out for you. Setting the controller aside, you flee from Sukuna’s side in search of the room where Yuji’s voice rang out. You disappear from the aloof man’s sight as you peer into the first of three open doors, oblivious to his gaze searing into your back as he chuckles to himself.

After a couple of moments, he sighs heavily, running a hand roughly through his messy locks. What the hell was he doing letting you into his life so carelessly? Fuck, you were helping his brothers fall asleep right now. Even for projects, Sukuna never brought anyone home. He didn’t get friendly with people either. His secrets started and ended with Uraume, his best friend, and now somehow you had wormed your way into his life and the thought of such a thing had him squirming in discomfort.

He rolls his shoulders backwards, staring at the ceiling as he listens to the sound of your voice. You’re speaking softly as you read to the boys, giggling when Yuji begins to tell you you’ve said one of the characters’ names wrong. Sukuna’s eyes flicker mindlessly over small details in the ceiling. A water stain here, a small hole from the rocket toy Choso had gotten for his birthday last year. Small details, small distractions from the real turmoil in Sukuna’s mind that he was avoiding.

You know too much about him. You’re too close. Once this project is over, that’s it. All ties cut loose, he can’t have you so close to him. He’s better off on his own, the way things have always been.

Hell, he’ll even still help you pass your test. But once that’s done and this project is handed in, that’s it. He’ll disappear. You don’t belong in his life and he doesn’t belong in yours. You aren’t two sides of the same coin, you’re cut from entirely different cloth.

You round the corner quietly after several minutes of Sukuna deliberating, smiling softly at him as you plop down on the couch beside him. “So, how’s the project coming along?”

Sukuna looks down at you, an eyebrow quirked. “Did they actually get to sleep?”

Your head tilts questioningly. Cute. Wait, cute? Sukuna shakes his head as if to shake the thought from his mind. Shit, he needs to get laid. Get these thoughts out of his head.

“Yeah, why?”

“Huh.” Sukuna taps his finger on his thigh twice. They never fall asleep without Sukuna there, even if he’s in the apartment. The neighbor across the hall who helps with babysitting always mentioned the two boys would whine and cry until Sukuna returned to say goodnight. So what makes you different?

When Sukuna doesn’t elaborate, you decide not to push, bright eyes moving behind the couch to the table. “Can I see the project?”

“Mhm.”

Your excited grin pierces his chest in a way that leaves him dumbfounded and frozen to the couch, unable to follow you as he stares blankly at the win screen of MarioKart. What the fuck was that?

Skipping off to the table, you stop and peer over the table at the mix of charcoal messily strewn along the edges of the paper in a similar style to ‘All is Vanity’, one of the three pieces your project is on, while the rest of the piece is precisely detailed in graphite. The fallen angel at the center of the piece admires himself in a skull-shaped mirror while clocks melt and litter the surroundings in a subtle manner. It’s so gorgeous and meticulously detailed that it draws your breath from your lungs in disbelief.

“Kuna,” you gasp, eyes wide as you admire the piece that Sukuna did in- what, five hours? “This is beautiful.”

The sound of your voice snaps him from his stupor and he gets to his feet, eyes trailing the length of your body before landing on the art piece. 

“You think so, Prom Queen?”

“Don’t call me that,” you mumble, unable to pull your gaze from his art.

“Don’t call me ‘Kuna’.”

“It’s cute,” you insist, finally looking up at him. He’s frowning, eyes narrowed as he watches you sit down at the table and admire the art.

“I ain’t cute.”

You choose to ignore him, instead admiring his art once more.

“That work for the project?” He inquires.

Nodding eagerly, you grin at him. “There’s no way we don’t get a good grade. This is way better than anything I could have come up with.”

Warmth pools in Sukuna’s chest, unfamiliar as it takes root in his heart at your compliment. He scratches at his chest idly as if to rid himself of the feeling, humming in response.

Silence settles over you as you lean back in your chair. You know you should probably leave, but something piques your curiosity.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you in history?”

Sukuna’s crimson irises flicker between yours in thought. He contemplates whether he wants to bother with the conversation at all but gives in and sits down at the table with you. He runs a hand through his tousled pink locks, sighing.

“My dad was a history teacher, shit’s interesting. It made sense at the time.” He doesn’t look at you, resting over the table with his temple against his palm.

“Why not go into art?” You ask.

He shoots you a sidelong glance, rubbing his hand over his face. “What the fuck am I gonna do with an art degree?” He asks. There’s no malice in his tone, he’s asking genuinely. “Shit’s no better than history for someone like me.”

“I’m not sure…” You deliberate. “Marketing or graphic design?” You offer, blinking at him.

He scoffs a laugh. “Shit’s impossible to get into. No firm wants a delinquent with attendance issues and face tattoos for an intern.”

Though he speaks matter-of-factly, there’s an underlying sadness to his tone, one that’s burrowed between layers of exhaustion and carefully built walls. He rubs his eyes, inhaling sharply.

“It’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

“I think you could do a lot with your art.”

He lets out a deep sigh. “Maybe.”

“Really, I mean it when I say-”

“I get it.” He interrupts, a biting edge nipping at his tone as he shoots you a sidelong warning glance. You blink at him a couple of times, nodding slowly as you realize this is clearly a tough subject for him. Really, what subject isn’t tough with him? Sometimes you feel like you’re walking on eggshells around him, never knowing what’ll set him off next.

“Sorry,” you mumble, glancing at the art in front of you. “I just thought-”

“I don’t care what you thought,” he snarls, that last strong of patience for the day snapping. “Shit’s complicated, alright? Not everyone gets everything handed to them on a silver fucking platter.”

Hurt pangs in your chest, piercing your heart in a way you don’t expect. You know his reputation, you know he can be an asshole, but it’s still a side of him that you haven’t seen yet. You bite your lip, nodding slowly. “You really think that?” He doesn’t reply, fire burning behind his pinprick pupils. You scoff out a breathy laugh. “Right. Um- I should go.” Your voice is meeker than intended as you get to your feet and head to the living room to pack up.

Sukuna’s head is still leaning on his palm as he stares at the table, his chest rising and falling with each frustrated breath. He doesn’t say a word as the looping background music from MarioKart cuts out suddenly. You stand uncomfortably on the opposite side of the couch, shifting on both feet as you stare at Sukuna.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave.” You throw your backpack over your shoulder, turning to the door and flipping the lock. One last glance at your project partner tells you he hasn’t moved. You press your lips into a thin line, nodding as you show yourself out.

When you’re finally gone, Sukuna leans back in his chair, slouching back as he stares at the ceiling. He knows you’re hurt, he’s not oblivious that he snapped at you. Maybe this is for the best though. He’ll be gone from your life before the week even starts, like you never knew him at all.

–

Lunch the following day brings an uneasy feeling that settles in your chest as you walk past the fountain. You need Sukuna’s help, but when you slow as you approach the path that leads to the fixture, he’s not there.

Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach. Had he really been that hurt by your words? You hadn’t meant to get under his skin, you only intended to help- but that’s the issue with him, it always is.

Besides that, you’re not sure what’s worse- the fact that you can hardly bring yourself to be mad at him or that he hurt you in assuming that life came easily to you and you didn’t have your own fair share of struggles. Sure, you aren’t working two jobs and taking care of your younger siblings, but that doesn’t mean life is a free ride for you.

“Where’s your bad boy?” Shoko asks, scanning the clearing for any sign of the man in question as she slows to a stop beside you. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped when you turn to face her.

You chew on your lip, shaking your head. “I don’t think he’s coming.”

Shoko’s brow lifts. “Oh?”

“I think I pissed him off,” you admit, mindlessly tugging at the hem of your skirt. “Sorry. If you fail the test, then drinks are on me,” you mumble, hardly trying to mask the hurt in your voice.

“Are you alright?” Shoko asks, pushing past your insistence on buying drinks.

“Yeah. Yeah! I’m fine,” you shoot her just about the least convincing smile she’s ever seen.

“C’mon girl, I always told you he was trouble. Just didn’t think he’d break your heart before you even admitted to liking him,” she mumbles the last part, earning a scowl from you as she tugs you away from the fountain.

Plastering a smile on your face, you let her lead the way to the lunch hall, taking a seat in your usual spot. Nanami slides in beside you alongside Haibara, with Gojo and Geto only a minute behind them.

“You’re early,” Kento comments, surprising you as his mahogany gaze peers past you to where Sukuna’s been the past week or so.

“We’re always the first ones here,” you cock your head to the side, wishing desperately in this moment that you could be oblivious to the stares from the rest of the table. For all they know, he could just be sick. Or away for the day. Or at work. They don’t need to know you had a petty and stupid disagreement.

“I fucking toooold you he’s an asshole,” Gojo interrupts your thoughts with the most grating comment he possibly can and you have to shut your eyes and take a breath in order to respond evenly.

“Nothing happened, Satoru. We just finished our project and he doesn’t need to hang around anymore,” you attempt to defend yourself.

“Oh? So studying wasn’t a priority, then?” Geto has his own way of being equally infuriating. Although Gojo has a reputation for being a nuisance, it’s a wonder Geto doesn’t share that reputation.

“We-” You pause, chewing on your lip. “Finished. We finished studying.”

“I seem to recall you were only on chapter three,” Nanami comments, though his push is more out of concern for your grades than your personal business, so you don’t let it get to you.

“That sounds right,” Geto agrees, as though the ball has been passed back to his court. “Of five, isn’t that so?”

“Enough, boys,” Shoko scolds in a motherly tone. You let out a breath, thankful for the way she manages to wrangle in Satoru and Suguru. Gojo shoots you one last knowing smirk, entirely too proud of himself for something that doesn’t concern him. Geto’s final glance cast your way is more genuine. Although he enjoys teasing, it’s clear he does care. You don’t spare either of them a glance as Kento speaks up.

“I can help you study, if you need. I’m no history major but I can read a textbook and make cue cards.”

You let out a grateful sigh, smiling half-heartedly at him. “Honestly, I’d appreciate it.”

He nods as you grab your textbook and notebook, pulling it open to the fourth chapter in the modern revolution section and beginning to go over it. As you work through the chapter with Shoko and Kento, you mindlessly pull out your salad and sandwich, your attention wavering and your hunger dying as you stare at the sandwich in particular.

Something stirs deep in your chest, twisting like a knife. Not only had your attention completely faltered, but so had your hunger, and you can only hope the rest of the table doesn’t notice as you quietly return the sandwich to your bag.

–

As Friday approaches quickly, you prepare your project to be turned in, only able to pray Sukuna would bring the visual component on his own terms, otherwise you’d be fucked. Your professor is fairly old-school and prefers everything to be turned in personally, which would be fine in most scenarios, but unfortunately you know Sukuna and you know he has a habit of not showing up to class.

Maybe you should have taken the art for safe keeping.

No, that would be rude.

Sitting in your usual spot with your printed thesis and your face in your hands, you rub your features in an effort to clear your mind. Sukuna needs this grade just as much as you do, he’ll be here. You sigh to yourself, watching the clock as the minutes tick by and Sukuna doesn’t make an appearance. You can’t even bring yourself to pay attention to the professor, too caught up in your own thoughts.

With one last glance backwards, you feel your heart sink to your stomach in dread as you have to turn in your project without the visual portion. You’ve chewed your lip raw at this point from the nerves of Sukuna not showing up and the taste of iron is stark on your tongue. Running your tongue over your lower lip, you wait until the rest of the class has left to meekly make your way to the front.

“Hi, I’m really sorry but I thought Sukuna would be here and he has our visual portion, so I’m not really sure what to do.” Your voice comes out as a mumble and your professor tilts his head questioningly.

“He dropped it off this morning. He let me know he wouldn’t be at class and that you have the thesis.”

“Oh.” You purse your lips, staring down at the thesis as you set it on his desk. You can’t decide whether you’re more shocked he was so proactive, or hurt that you couldn’t talk to him. Shaking your head, you plaster a smile over your features and take a breath. “Well, here’s the rest, then.”

Your professor observes you for a moment before accepting your submission, placing it in a folder with Sukuna’s art that’s been carefully placed inside a portfolio intended to keep charcoal from smudging. Catching a glimpse of the art makes the memory of Sukuna’s frustration pop back into your head and you press your lips into a tight line, excusing yourself.

It’s over. You don’t need to see him again. You don’t need to talk to him again. You can and should forget about him.

Pulling out your phone, you text Shoko in search of some liquid therapy.

–

A full week and a half later, your life has returned to the status quo, which you’re grateful for. Sukuna is little more than a passing thought, just another project partner in another class. Back to how it should be.

You managed to pass your history test and although you owe a good portion of that to Kento, you can’t deny the fact that Sukuna had been a godsend in helping you truly understand at least the first half of the modern revolution. You had wanted to share your grade with him, but at the end of the day, you weren’t friends. You had to keep reminding yourself of that.

“I literally owe you my life, Kento,” you sigh as you stare at your grade on your screen. “I honestly think my parents would have killed me if I lost my scholarship over a bad grade in history of all things.”

He hums, a calm smile gracing his sharp features. “No problem. I’m taking that class next semester, so I suppose I’ll be prepared.” You grin, casting a glance at Shoko who’s scrolling the page in search of her grade.

“Oh thank god,” she breathes out when she finally finds her student ID, leaning forward on the picnic table you’re all at after your last class.

The days are getting colder as fall makes way for winter. Leaves coat the ground, the sound of their crunching a constant as students make their way to their next classes. A crisp breeze bites at the exposed skin of your ankles, reminding you to swap your cute heels for a pair of warm boots.

Pulling your coat more snugly over your body as the breeze nips at you, you barely notice the vibration of your phone in your pocket. Pulling it out, you stare at the caller ID with a furrowed brow.

“Who is it?” Shoko asks curiously as she takes note of your expression.

You shrug, setting the phone back in your lap. “Auto Parts and Services?” You shake your head, leaning forward over the picnic table. “Must be a wrong number. I’ve never used them and my car is fine.”

“Maybe they heard the way you called your car fine even though it rattles whenever you stop,” Shoko teases.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “It’s just a loose screw or something, it’s not a big deal.”

“I would argue a loose screw in a car is a big deal,” Nanami frowns, concern etched across his features.

You open your mouth to defend yourself when your phone rings again. Confused, you pick it up, staring at the screen. “They’re calling back,” you comment, your thumb now hovering over the green button as you contemplate picking it up. Maybe someone hit your car while it was parked? No, then you would be getting a call from your insurance, right?

“They’re probably just trying to sell you something,” Shoko shrugs. “I’d ignore it.”

Taking her advice, you nod and set aside your phone again, letting it ring. If it was important, surely they’d leave a message.

“Anyways,” you continue, “you passed?”

Shoko nods. “I don’t know how you did it, Nanami, but I owe you too.”

He smiles easily, zipping his jacket up. “You don’t owe me anything. I don’t mind.”

“I’m still gonna do something for you,” you insist with a grin.

As your phone rings- again- you start to feel as though you really should pick up.

“Is it the auto shop again?” Shoko asks as you stare at the screen.

You nod, shooting a glance at her with a furrowed brow and, against your better judgment, you finally pick up and bring your phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Christ, you have a working phone but just can’t be bothered to use it, or what?”

Your eyes widen at the sound of the gruff voice on the other line. “Sukuna? You know, you could have started with a hello, or-”

Shoko and Nanami exchange a glance at the realization you’re getting a call from the very same Sukuna you’d been moping over the last week.

He audibly huffs on the other line. “Listen, I-” he cuts himself off with another frustrated huff, struggling to get through what he wants to say. “I wouldn’t be fuckin’ calling if I had anyone else to turn to.”

“Did you just call to insult me, or-?”

Another huff. “No. I didn’t mean it like that,” he sighs, shuffling on the other line. “Listen, I need-” he pauses, the silence on the line tense as he contemplates what to say. He harshly rubs his hand over his features as he finally manages to find his words. “I need a favor.”

Your jaw parts and you stare blankly at the picnic table. You should turn him down, you tell yourself. He should reap what he sowed in choosing to be rude to you, but are you even still mad about that? Were you ever mad over it? It hurt, sure, but a part of you hopes he didn’t mean to lash out. Didn’t mean what he said. You knew his boundaries and you’d pushed, even if only a little bit.

Sighing, you wonder if you’ll regret this. “What’s the favor?”

“The woman across the hall usually watches the brats while I work but Yuji just got sick and she’s ancient and doesn’t want to get sick too,” Sukuna begins to explain.

Stifling a halfhearted laugh, you shake your head. “You can’t say that about her, Sukuna,” you mumble over how he refers to the woman.

“What?” His smirk is audible in his tone. “It’s true. The point is, I can’t leave them alone. Choso can’t cook and I don’t-”

He doesn’t have money for them to order and he doesn’t want to leave them alone. You can fill in the details without him needing to embarrass himself any further than you’re sure he’s already feeling.

“I can… I can watch them,” you agree quietly. Shoko and Nanami exchange another glance.

You hear shuffling on the other side as Sukuna lets out a breath of relief. “I’ll owe you one, or whatever,” he grumbles, covering the shop’s phone with his hand as you hear someone call his name. His voice is muffled as he tells them he’ll be right there. “When you get there, just let Cho know it’s you on the call box. He’ll let you in.”

“Oh, um, yeah! Okay. When will you be back?”

He pauses for a moment. “Ten.”

You pull your phone away from your face, blinking at the clock. It’s just past three, you’ll be with them most of the night, which you don’t mind, but the lingering feeling of discomfort over your last interaction with Sukuna is one that you don’t particularly want to face now that you’ve mostly gotten over it.

“Okay, I’ll head over now.”

“Fuck, I owe you.”

“I don’t mind,” you insist. “You’re sure Choso will let me in?”

“He’s a smart kid,” Sukuna shrugs, though you can’t see it. “I gotta go. This is the shop’s number, call if ya need anything.”

“Right,” you barely manage to get out, chewing on your lip as the line disconnects.

“What just happened?” Shoko asks in disbelief, four pairs of eyes glued to you as they wait for an answer.

You glance between Shoko and Nanami. You can’t tell the truth, given that you’d promised Sukuna you wouldn’t tell anyone he was the sole caretaker of his little brothers and Kento didn’t know, so you make your reply as simple as possible.

“I’m just doing him a favor.”

“You just got over him and you’re gonna make me hear about him again? You have such a soft spot for him.” Shoko complains, as if this is about her.

“There was nothing to get over,” you groan, zipping up your coat and getting to your feet. You fumble with your keys in your pockets.

“Be careful,” Kento hums, aware he’s missing several pieces of the puzzle that is your relation to Sukuna, but still caring in the way only Nanami knows how.

You shoot him a grateful smile before making your way to your car.

The drive to Sukuna’s place has grown somewhat familiar as you pull into a guest spot at his apartment. Walking up to the buzzer, you hit the unmarked button for Sukuna’s apartment. It clicks as someone picks up, Choso’s voice sounding tired as he answers your buzz with a ‘hello?’

“Hey Cho, it’s me!” You reply, thankful he lets you in when the door buzzes. You make your way up to the apartment and twist the doorknob, which Choso has already unlocked for you.

The sound of distant muffled crying has you wincing as Choso peers up at you with a grateful expression, immediately clinging to your waist as he hugs you.

“Oh-!” You let out a small noise in surprise as he squeezes you tight.

“I dunno what to do…” He mumbles against you, pointing towards his shared bedroom with his little brother.

“That’s okay, I’ve got you,” you assure him with a gentle hug before making your way into his room with Choso latched to your leg. Yuji’s bawling at the foot of his bed, arms wrapped around his knees as he wipes away his tears.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you coo, gently stroking his hair. “Can you tell me what hurts?”

Tears trail down Yuji’s cheeks as he stops wailing at the sight of you, sniffling and wiping at his face. “Where’s Kuna?”

“Your brother’s at work, honey,” you tell him softly, kneeling down to his level to get a better look at him. You press the back of your hand to his forehead and sigh. The poor kid’s running a high fever and you doubt he can keep anything down. His breathing is uneven as the news of Sukuna being at work goes over less than ideally and he starts sobbing again. “Shh, it’s okay,” you coo with a gentle smile. “Can you tell me what hurts?” You repeat.

He quiets down for another moment, hiccuping as he points to his stomach.

You nod in understanding. “Were you sick?”

He nods, sniffling.

“That’s okay, why don’t we get you in bed?”

Yuji complies immediately, letting you pick him up and tuck him into his bed.

“Choso, do you guys have any medicine?”

The older of the two boys nods from where he’s still stuck to your leg, pointing towards the washroom. He lets go of your leg finally to lead the way, opening the cabinet beneath the sink. There’s a very messy variety of different medications and hygiene products for you to sift through until you come across children’s tylenol. That should work, right?

Returning to Yuji, you pour some tylenol into the measuring cup it comes with and hold it up for him to drink. He makes a face, though over the amount of tears and snot dripping down his face, it hardly comes across as anything but sadness.

Your heart pangs as he takes the tylenol before burrowing beneath the covers and sniffling again. Sitting on the edge of his bed, you gently rub his back. “Are you hungry at all?”

He shakes his head no. “Cold.”

“Do you have blankets, Cho?”

Choso blinks at you with a devastatingly sad look of concern before padding out of the room. The sound of a thump has you wincing and you get up to peek out of the room in time to see a walking pile of blankets. With a lopsided smile, you pick up the top blanket and find the young boy’s hair standing straight from static. Pulling the blankets from his short arms, you glance back at the pile of remaining sheets, blankets, towels, and other linens.

“Can you go put the rest of that back? I’ve got this.” Choso nods, turning away. “Thank you!” You call after him, making your way back to Yuji. With a flick of your wrists, you spread a couple of blankets over Yuji’s bed, tucking them in around him before setting the last one at the foot of the bed. “How’s that, honey?” You ask with a sympathetic smile.

Yuji manages a sickly groan, huddling further under the blankets. You glance around the room, finding a large tiger plush and handing it to him. Like an eel awaiting its prey, he reaches for it and pulls it into his pile of blankets, burying his face into it. You smile at him before shutting off the lights and backing away to the door.

“Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be in the living room with your brother,” you let the young boy know softly before shutting the door.

Choso shifts on his feet outside the door, clinging to your side again.

“Hey Cho, did you have lunch?” You ask, gently rubbing his back.

You can feel him nod against you, clinging to you tighter as you attempt to make your way to the living room, dragging your leg and the boy along with you.

“What did you wanna do?” You ask as you finally manage to drag him to the couch, relieved when he finally lets go of you to plop down on the couch beside you.

“Did you bring your GameCube?”

“No, I’m sorry sweetie,” you frown, “your brother called me while I was at school.”

“That’s okay. Can we watch a movie?”

“Sure! What did you wanna watch?” You beam at him, getting to your feet to head over to the shelf of movies. Scanning the spines of the films, there’s a few that stand out as very obviously Sukuna’s, while the rest seem to be for the boys. That being said, you also notice they’re all older, from the same era as when you were their age and you wonder if they were once Sukuna’s as well.

“Can we watch the Land Before Time?”

Ohhh he wants you to cry. “Of course!” You grin, mentally preparing yourself to watch it. You fumble under the TV for the DVD player until the movie begins before settling down to watch it, thankful to see that Choso seems to relax once it’s on, no longer occupied with worrying about his little brother.

The rest of the evening goes by without a hitch as you make pasta for Choso and soup for Yuji, who manages at least a couple of bites before going back to sleep. The older of the two boys continues to cling to you, insisting on a movie marathon. It’s getting late, but the poor boy’s clearly still concerned and you don’t have the heart to tell him to get some sleep.

With The Nightmare Before Christmas playing in the background and the clock ticking closer and closer to ten, your mind wanders to how your conversation with Sukuna could possibly go. It doesn’t feel as though there’s a world where it goes over well, so all you can truly do is sit and boil in your own thoughts, waiting for the click of the door as Choso slowly drifts off to sleep clinging to your arm.

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❦ a/n ; poor yuji :(( i hope you enjoyed!! chapter 3 will take a bit longer as i'm going to a work conference all week so i won't have much time to work on it. as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are super appreciated <33

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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

[na0koz]

what eoulf u think of toxic jinx being jealous :3 IF YOU 3ANNA DO WRITE OF COURSE!!!!!@ (no pressure gang)

ofc i wanna write my glorious queen jinx. but i don’t rly like this i’m sorry i hope u do :(

toxic!jinx masterlist

jinx definitely doesn’t know what to do with herself when she gets jealous. it’s a foreign feeling to her, and she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to act or if you even meant to make her feel like that. if she’s supposed to be jealous.

she knows she’s obsessive. it’s all she’s ever been, that’s what love is to her. she desperately does not want to scare you and she cannot lose you.

jinx will deal with the other person in her own time, she knows what to do on that front. but she is unsure how to act towards you. is she supposed to say something? act like it didn’t happen? yell at you? jinx doesn’t know.

-

the two of you had arranged to meet after your last class of the day, and of course jinx was early to the gates of your campus. just to be safe. plus, she was too excited to see her baby! she just had to come early.

she’s been watching through the gate for about 10 minutes now, and finally caught a glimpse of you coming out of your building. but, who is that you’re with?? jinx can’t properly see their face but she will soon enough, she can see you coming closer as you chat to whoever that rat who you’re with is.

the first thing jinx does when you reach her, your friend still by your side, is take note of their name. she sees it hanging around their neck printed onto their student ID and commits it to memory. she’ll deal with them later, in her own way. for now she’ll stay silent, opting to grip your hands in hers, making sure your friend sees you automatically interlace your fingers with hers. her first response to this strange jealousy she’s feeling is to prove you belong to her. to prove that you want to belong to her.

once your friend notices the hold jinx has on you - she’s snaked her other arm around yours, leaning her head towards yours now - they awkwardly say goodbye and shuffle off. jinx lets out a dramatic sigh, groaning and bending over before she starts to complain. “who the heck was that?!”

“just my friend from class,” you respond calmly. you know she’s obsessive. you like it in all honesty, but you don’t like the idea of making her mad.

“hm. well i didn’t like the look of ‘em.” jinx says curtly as she starts to pull you in the direction of your apartment, harsh pout on her lips. you scoff at her remark (and the childish tone in her voice) and keep walking.

once you arrive home, jinx literally does not take her hands off you; it was as if she still had to prove herself, even in the secrecy of your home. holding your hand or the back of your jacket as you complete a couple of chores before getting comfortable on the couch, finally climbing over you to lay her head on your stomach and grip your waist.

the pair of you stayed quiet for a bit, your hand rested on jinx’s head as you swipe your fingers over her blue hair every now and then. it’s pulled into her typical braids that she always wears, the ones you love.

“don’t think you should talk to that friend of yours anymore.” she says out of the blue. she doesn’t move to look at you and keeps staring down at your lap from her spot on your tummy.

when you ask why, she simply says “don’t think they’d be the type to stick around for the long run, that’s all. don’t want you to waste your time.”

she was going to make sure that they wouldn’t be there for the long run if it was the last thing she does. keep in mind though, jinx wasn’t going to do anything drastic like kill them or whatever. just scare them enough to keep them away from you. she’ll do what she can, and you will never find out that it was all her when that ‘friend’ of yours avoids you like the plague a couple of weeks later.

you call jinx, almost on the verge of tears as you explain to her how that idiot you thought was your friend acts like you don’t exist. jinx prays to god you can’t hear the grin on her face in her voice. “aw what a dick. poor baby, why don’t i come over and make you feel better?”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

hihi!! i wanted to know your opinion on what the students at nrc do for meals beside lunch. we see lunch be served in the cafeteria, but i don't recal breakfast and dinner being served to the students at all.

in epel's ceremonial robes vignette, we see the students eating their food at a dining table as part of the welcoming party. do you think that's a regular thing? them just having their meals at a dining table. the same could be said for heartslaybul with the table they use for unbirthday parties. does each dorm have a dining table for students? a designate are for them to eat without spilling their food? i can't imagine riddle letting his students eat in their dorm rooms.

we know each dorm has a kitchen, so its not impossible for the students to make their own meals, but what's getting stocked in the kitchen? how many times are people putting out grease fires and taking out the trash? does the housewarden get to decide what kind of food is allowed in the dorm? who is in charge of cleaning out the fridge and pantry for anything that's expired? this would also mean that the mc would only have one free meal each day, they wouldn't have the money to be buying snacks and ingredients to make food. anyways, hope you have a good day/night:D

I’m actually not sure if the food in the NRC cafeteria is entirely free? Meals may be free for public school students, but NRC is a private boarding school which, irl, often charge for meals as part of the tuition or have some kind of paid meal plan. (Exceptions are made for students with financial concerns, but generally food is paid for.) Edit: the light novel confirms that lunches at NRC are free.

At least some items have to be paid for before you’re allowed to walk out with it. For example, both Ace and Deuce have various voice lines where they promise to buy Yuu “something from the cafeteria later”. There is also a bakery that visits NRC once a month to sell sandwiches. Maybe these are just add-on items or snacks that carry their own out-of-pocket fees, but it’s still worth noting here. So the students all get a free lunch every day, with extra items being paid for.

I don’t believe we have enough information to determine one way or another how the other meals are covered, if at all. If NRC is anything like a college campus though, the cafeteria probably operates for breakfast and dinner services as well as lunch. (It, like many things, may not be mentioned because those meals are not as relevant to one’s school life.) This probably extends to weekends too, since I don’t think NRC would provide no food at all on weekends; that’d be counterproductive to academic productivity. Other options seem to be getting permission to go into the local town and eat there or to prepare food in your own dorm’s kitchen. I’m not totally sure if the groceries would be paid for by the individual students or from a predetermined pantry. We’ve seen students like Ruggie and Trey find or grow their own ingredients, but we’ve also seen situations where group meals or events (Port Fest, Halloween, birthdays, etc.) are held and would obviously have to pull money from a budget or some kind of pooled source. I’d assume that kitchen safety and cleaning is a shared responsibility by anyone who uses it; there may also be a rotating schedule for who cleans up (scrubs the tables, takes out the trash, etc.) for the week. Washing your dishes and cutlery after use and tossing out your own bad food, by contrast, feel like individual chores.

I don’t think students typically have mandated “sit down and eat a meal with your dorm” times. Firstly, NRC just doesn’t have that kind of a fuzzy, “let’s be friends” community. It would also just be difficult to coordinate a time that works for all members of the dorm, since they also have to account for times when students would be busy with homework, jobs, or club activities. Secondly, the group meals we do see, such as unbirthday parties, the Halloween dinner, and the Pomefiore welcome meal are all associated with timely events; they are not the everyday. More likely these group meals are formalities reserved for special occasions or holidays. I think students are probably free to figure out their own meals outside of the school-provided lunch in the middle of the typical academic hours. For example, we see that Floyd hoards snacks in his bedroom and Idia implies he eats in his room too, and especially while gaming. Ace has said that there’s a burger joint in the town he likes to go to. Jamil is known to prepare banquets seemingly on the regular for his dorm and the parties Kalim holds. Each dorm is also shown to have a lounge or common room area, so I’d imagine that can seat students who want a place to sit down and eat. The design of these lounges also better reflects NRC’s general attitude towards forming friendships; the tables and chairs/sofas are comparatively small or can only seat a few at the same table.

As for what gets stocked in every dorm’s kitchen, I don’t think dorm leaders would get to hand pick those items. This is mainly for pragmatic reasons, since I can easily see characters like Leona misusing the privilege to like... have all meat and no veggies on hand 😂 More likely there’s a budget they need to stick to and some essentials in every kitchen. This would then be supplemented by whatever else they produce on the dorm grounds (we’ve gone to all 7 dorms to collect various ingredients for Master Chef/Culinary Crucibles) or whatever they purchase on top of the pantry (stares at Kalim). I’d also like to point out that NRC has many locations on campus where you can grab additional ingredients, such as the Botanical Garden, an actual ranch, a windmill, the forest behind the school (where we gathered chestnuts!), the Mystery Shop, etc. Some of what’s in the pantry is probably based on ease of access, such as Octavinelle having easy access to seafood and fish. Back to the dorm leaders, I feel like they set a precedent for the rest of the dorm rather than actually strictly determining what foods are and aren’t allowed in them. For example, Vil has very strict expectations about table manners and eating healthily, while Riddle wants his dorm members to adhere to rules (inclusive of food-related ones) and Azul tries to promote a “gentleman’s club” energy at his own in-dorm eating establishment. The Mostro Lounge, however, likely runs on its own budget and acquires its own ingredients as business expenses.

Yuu is attending NRC under special circumstances, so I assume they’ve worked something out with Crowley to ensure they can be fed 3 square meals a day. It’d be pretty unfair to demand full payment from someone who has zero of this world’s money or even ID to work. That alone would probably make 5em eligible for financial support, at least when it comes to food. I don’t think Yuu would get a ton of flexibility for snacks, ingredients, and other bells and whistles; Crowley’s not running a complete charity here. He’d probably allow for the basic 3 meals plus maybe (a very strong maybe) a little bit extra for indulging every now and again on a cookie or something.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

With your steady hand

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 3

Series Masterlist         Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: Matt and Foggy go head to head in a prank war, much to your dismay.

warnings: Swearing, fluff, descriptions of homesickness

a/n: Did I mean to make everyone cry in this chapter? No. But here we are. (Honestly, from what I can remember, crying was a popular pastime my first semester of college.) We get a little Foggy vulnerability as a side dish for the Matt and Reader vulnerability. I had a great time with this chapter so I hope everyone enjoys!

w/c: 5.6k

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you pushed the food around your plate indifferently. Your stomach balked at the idea of eating, but you were aware that you needed to. The only thing you’d eaten in the past 48 hours was dry cereal, and that had to be bad, right? 

“You ok?” The quiet, concerned voice of Matt from beside you made you jump. In your groggy haze, you’d completely forgotten he was next to you, and, honestly, that you were out in public at all. 

“Yup. Fine. Just not hungry.” Was the bland response you gave. It didn’t appease either of your friends, both of them frowning with worry. You’d been acting…off for over a week now. The cheerful, silly personality that Matt had unwittingly fallen for retreating into a worn out husk of a law student. Though he couldn’t see, Matt would bet dollars to donuts that the bags under your eyes were prominent given how sluggish you’d been recently. Not to mention that you hadn’t spoken up in any class the past few days, which was extremely out of character. 

Though Matt was too afraid to admit that he could tell, he knew your blood sugar was extremely low right now. Oddly enough, you weren’t lying when you said you weren’t hungry.

“Are you sure you’re feeling ok?” Foggy prompted, seemingly following the same train of thought that Matt was currently on. “You didn’t eat much. Did you catch that flu that���s been going around?” 

You shook your head, giving a thin smile. “Nah, just not hungry. I’m ok, guys, promise.” 

But neither guy was convinced by your lackluster argument. After studying quietly in their room, and neglecting a plate of takeout, you muttered something about having chores to do and headed home—much to the dismay of your friends. 

“Ok, what the hell is up with her?” Foggy scoffed, feigning annoyance despite the obvious worry in his tone. 

“I wish I knew.” Matt affirmed, falling backwards on his bed and throwing his arms over his face. 

“She said she wasn’t sick. Did something happen?” Foggy questioned. 

“She might be stressed, midterms will do crazy things to people.”

“Yah, but when she gets stressed about school she is usually all…ramble-y and stuff. Not like this. It’s like she’s not even here.” The air in the room swished as Foggy gestured wildly, his passionate concern aggravating his already violent hand movements. 

“I know, Fog.” 

“You should try talking to her. She’s more likely to tell you.” Foggy accused, rolling his eyes. 

Matt just snorted in disbelief. 

“You laugh, but we both know it’s true. You have a ‘special connection.’” The blond’s voice swayed on the last two words, as if he were a middle schooler pointing out Matt’s crush. 

“Bullshit.” Matt snarked. 

“You wound me, Murdock. You think the heart eyes you two are always making at each other can escape my powers of observation?” What?

“How on earth does a blind man make ‘heart eyes’ at someone?” Matt chuckled, trying to cover up the way his chest was pounding at the thought of his feelings for you being returned. 

“Uh, you tell me, dude! It’s goddamn unbearable. Not only are 90% of the women on this campus ogling you at all times, but you’re too infatuated with our mutual friend to even notice, and you refuse to date her. How am I even supposed to flap my wingman wings?!” 

“I told you, Foggy, she deserves better than I can treat her.” Matt groaned at his roommate’s insistence. 

“Yah, yah, lie to me all you want, Murdock, I’m taking notes for my best man speech at your wedding.” Foggy shook his finger at Matt who smirked. “Seriously, though. If anyone is going to get to the bottom of whatever’s going on with her, it’s you.”

“Hmm, I know she works tonight, I’ll see if she’ll talk to me about it during her shift.” Matt plotted aloud. 

“Keep me updated, man. I worry about that little jitterbug. She’s too sweet for this cruel world.” Foggy sighed, running a hand through his long hair. 

“Unfortunately, I think you’re right about that.” 

Breathing shakily, you ripped the elastic out of your hair and began massaging your temples, to no avail. The pounding ache that had settled over your skull remained, increasing the likelihood that you’d burst into tears from ‘pretty likely’ to ‘it’s a miracle the breakdown hasn’t started yet’. Feeling a lump build in your esophagus, you turned to Jen, who was working at the bookstore with you as you slowly fell apart. 

“You ok, babes?” Your roommate prompted, attentive gaze not missing your glassy eyes and choked inhales. 

Not trusting your voice, you shook your head, looking at her pleadingly as your lip quivered. 

“Aw, love!” Jen pulled you into a hug, siphoning tears from your eyes almost immediately. “What’s wrong? Still missing your mom?” 

“Mmm hmm.” You choked out around a sob. Squeezing you tightly, she hummed in understanding. 

“Why don’t you go sit in the back for a little bit? I’ll be fine holding down the fort.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive, babes. Go watch a movie or something. I’ll yell if I need ya.” 

Nodding dolefully, you rubbed at your damp eyes and padded to the closet-sized employee break room in the corner of the bookshop. 

Twisting his cane in his sweaty hands, Matt blew out a breath before entering the quiet store. His walk over from campus had been tumultuous despite the short distance. It had quickly occurred to him that cornering you at work might not be the best plan of action, unless alienating you whilst ruining the beautiful trust you currently held for him was the goal. 

Against his better judgment, he shoved open the door, trying not to wince as the bell chimed to signal his arrival. Hesitating for a moment, Matt realized it wasn't you at the counter, but your roommate. 

“Hi Matt!” Jen greeted him. “Nice to see you again.”

“You too, Jen,” Matt smiled, though the knot of nervousness in his stomach was expanding after hearing your soft cries coming from the break room. “Is, uh, is she working tonight?”

The older girl hummed knowingly, “Yah, she's in the back.” Matt thanked her but she called after him before he could find you. “Just, be gentle with her, ok? She's having a tough week.”

Nodding in understanding, Matt gave what he hoped was a comforting 'I promise not to spook our mutual friend' thumbs up, setting off to keep you company. 

Knocking on the open door lightly, Matt heard you sniffle and scrub at your face in an attempt to look put together before responding. “I'll be right out, Jen—”

“Not Jen.” He answered simply. “Just a friend who thought you might want some company.”

Your muffled footsteps wandered towards him, pulling the door ajar when you reached it. 

Matt's confidence stumbled, your salty tears and wavering breaths immediately setting him on edge. “Tell me to fuck off and I'll leave. I just thought—” His words were interrupted by a grunt of surprise as you fell solidly against him, arms winding around his waist. 

“Hey,” His hands slid up to anchor you, one sprawled over your shoulders while the other stroked your hair to offer succor when you began to tremble with renewed sobs. “Hey, you're alright, I gotcha. I gotcha.”

Wiping your face with one hand, you stood up, removing your arms from around him.  “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cry all over your shirt. Shit, I'm so sorry, Matty.”

“Don't worry about that, sweetheart.” Matt's hand drifted to your clammy cheek, swiping a stray tear away when it fell. “That's why I'm here. You…” He paused, choosing his next words carefully. “You seemed like midterms were weighing on you, and I thought you could use some extra support. Let's go sit, yah?” Tenderly taking your hand, he let you guide him to the musty couch, closing the door behind you. 

As Matt collapsed into the ancient cushions, he could feel the plumes of dust rising from the impact. Scrunching his nose against the resulting tickle, he eagerly enveloped you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your head when you settled against his chest. “Did you want to talk about what's going on? You had Foggy and I quite worried when you ran out on us this afternoon.”

Exhaling shakily, you unconsciously arched into his touch, his hands rubbing slow circles into your lower back. “I don't know, Matty. I...it's a long story, I'm sure you don't want–” 

Feeling you tense up beneath him, Matt could practically hear your thoughts as you distanced him from the root of your vulnerability. “Don’t shut me out, sweetheart, please. Anything you want to share I will gladly listen to.” 

“It’s stupid. You’re going to think I’m a baby.” You murmured, tracing the buttons on his shirt. 

“I would never, bubs, you know that. You’re the strongest girl I know, that’s why I’m so worried about you.” 

“You don’t have to worry about me, Matty.” 

“Well, tell me what’s up with you and maybe I’ll stop.” He smirked at you and you groaned, though your lips twitched marginally.

You muttered something under your breath and, though he could hear you just fine, he scrunched his brow dramatically. “You’re going to need to speak up, dear, I didn’t catch that.” He cupped a hand around one ear, grinning when you rolled your eyes and shoved him. 

“I said…I really miss my mom.” You admitted feebly. 

“Aw, sweetheart, that’s not stupid at all!” Matt’s expressive face pinched in sympathy as he waited for you to continue. 

“I’ve been talking to her over the phone pretty frequently but it’s not the same. She’s all I had growing up, I’m not used to her not being…here. God, that’s so childish!” 

“No, it’s not. I may not be homesick for the orphanage, but I haven’t had the easiest time adjusting either.” 

“Really?” 

“Yah, bubs, really. There are things about this new freedom that I enjoy, of course, but I do miss the familiarity of my old routine. It’s not childish, I promise.” Running his hands over your arms, he smirked. “You know what is childish?”

“What?” 

Bending at the waist, Matt drew his cane from the floor and turned it to display the two plastic circles that had been haphazardly slapped on the black foam handle. Taking the cane from him, you traced a finger over the new decorations and giggled. 

“What the fuck?” Disbelief and humor slowly halting your tears, you looked eagerly to Matt for an explanation. Two standard googly eyes, placed at a lopsided angle, wiggled at you as you passed him back the item in question. 

“My thoughts exactly.” Matt chuckled. “Foggy bought a bag of googly eyes at the dollar store and has been sticking them to everything in our room. I had to pull a pair off of my glasses before coming over here.” 

“You should’ve left them on. Let everyone know what a serious law student you are.” You snickered, snuggling against Matt’s chest again. “Why, exactly, did he choose to do this?”

Matt chuckled, “I think it was his idea of a prank. Pretty minor offense, though. He’s told me horror stories about the things he and his brother used to do.” Shuddering, he bit his lip to keep from purring as you began rubbing his back. “It’s kind of…sweet though? I think it’s his way of showing me I’m like family.” 

His throat clenched as he spoke that realization. You smiled, squeezing him tightly. “That is sweet, Matty. I hope you realize how much we care for you.” 

“We?” The dark haired boy can barely contain his tease as he gave you the most innocent glance he can muster. 

“Shut up, trouble. You know I care about you. Even if I’m not putting googly eyes on all your stuff. To be fair, though, I don’t think I’ve ever pranked anyone.” 

“Really?” Chuckling incredulously, Matt was surprised that you’d never played a practical joke, given your adorable goofiness and slight pettiness. 

“Not that I can recall. Is that weird?” Your mind was quick to plummet back into anxiety, worrying that Matt would be alarmed by your lack of a normal childhood. 

“Of course not, bubs. It just seems like something you’d find funny, is all.” 

“Aren’t they…mean?” The hesitation in your voice didn’t surprise him, his heart suddenly swelling with an intense desire to shelter you from anything harmful. 

“Sometimes, but not the ones I’m planning.” He assured you. 

“What did you have planned?” 

“Well…” Matt eagerly divulged his schemes, egged on by your renewed giggles and steady heart. If pranking Foggy would make you happy, he’d gladly involve you in it. 

A few days later, you were practically glowing with excitement as you “studied” beside Matt. Echoing footsteps in the hallway outside the door sparked a gasp and you spun towards Matt eagerly. 

“Is that him? Is he here?” You nearly squealed. 

Chuckling at your darling, albeit very caffeinated, display of giddiness about a terrible prank, Matt shushed you. “That’s not him, sweetheart, but you have to keep your game face on.” 

Raising your arm in a mock salute, you jested. “Sir, yes sir.” 

Dutifully returning to the book on your lap, you took a few inadequate notes on the chapter before the door unlatched, Matt threw you a grin. “Act natural.” 

Foggy traipsed into the room, immediately picking up on the unusual vibes in the air. 

“Hey…” Looking between you and Matt skeptically, he dropped his book bag to the floor unceremoniously before crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn’t know we had a study group meeting today.”

“Oh we don’t, I was just bored so I called Matt to see if the two of you wanted to hang out.” You shrugged nonchalantly, turning a page in your Civil Procedure book. 

Matt was absolutely floored when the lie slipped between your sweet lips with sincerity. Given all the energy you’d exhibited before, he’d assumed you’d reveal the prank far too early. Trying not to look at you with the surprise that overtook his mind, he added, “I told her that I was studying for CivPro and invited her over. Is that a problem?” 

Foggy narrowed his eyes at the pair of you, clearly not convinced something fishy wasn’t afoot. But his disbelief didn’t save him. Vaulting himself onto his semi-lofted bed, an inglorious noise shattered the tense silence in the room. 

As you burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, Matt was forced to continue to prank on his own. “Oh my god, Foggy, we have company.” 

Turning beet red, the blond spluttered in response, “That wasn’t—I mean, I…SHUT UP!” Ripping back the covers, Foggy found the culprit instantly and hurled it towards Matt. 

With a smug grin, Matt tilted his head towards the scrap of thin rubber. “What is this, Fog?”

“You know damn well what it is, you ass!” Foggy scowled, hopping off his mattress to point at Matt accusingly. “A Whoopie Cushion?? What are we, five??”

Still in stitches, you were leaning against Matt who was holding you up with a single arm. Foggy was unamused. “You know, I expect this childishness from Murdock, but you?” The long-haired law student bit out your last name as if he were a teacher scolding you for distracting the other students. “I expected better of you. Fuck this, I’m leaving.” 

That broke you out of your state of humor. Launching yourself off of Matt’s bed, you stumbled towards your sulking friend with less grace than intended. Your over caffeination and extended time sitting had quickly drained the blood from your head. “Foggy, wait—Woah…” You swayed on your feet. Thankfully, Foggy caught you before you could hit the carpeted cement with your entire body weight. 

“Christ, jitterbug, you don’t have to pass out on me to keep me here.” He sighed, handing you gratefully back to Matt who pulled you into a seated position at his side once again. 

“Sorry,” You apologized sheepishly, “Got light headed. But please don’t leave! Matt was just teaching me how to prank someone.” 

“She’d never pranked anyone before.” Matt explained further. 

“Never?” Foggy whistled. “Fuck. Guess you’re forgiven then. Murdock, you’re still on my shit list.” 

“For a Whoopie cushion? I’m sorry, are you not the roommate who covered a blind man’s stuff in googly eyes?” 

“Et tu, brute!” Laying a hand across his chest in mock offense, Foggy’s eyes glimmered as he continued to play up his innocence. “I’ve already told you. That was our mischievous ghost roommate, Steve.” 

“Ah, right. Then I guess we can blame him for the Whoopie cushion too.” Matt raised an eyebrow, silently challenging his roommate. 

The blond mirrored him, accepting the challenge with an even tone. “I guess we can.” 

Looking between the two of them, you felt a lick of apprehension roll up your spine. This was far from the end, that much was clear. 

Dashing up the musty staircase, Matt fumbled with his keys. Slamming open the door, he ran his hands along the spines of books beside his bed, snatching the correct one. The book was tossed haphazardly onto the bed as Matt stripped out of his rain-drenched shirt. 

Last night had quickly gotten away from him. Originally planning to stay up late and study for his final midterm, he’d parked himself in the library with a thermos of coffee and his American History textbook. Given your tendency to unwittingly distract him, and his roommate’s constant foghorn-like snoring, alone in the library was the most appealing option if he wanted to pass this exam. However, his sex drive was not as devoted to his academic success. A bubbly girl from his history class had greeted him, offering to help him cram for the looming test. He’d gratefully accepted, but they’d only made it through a single chapter before she’d invited him back to her room. 

Exhausted from his strenuous activities and the resulting lack of sleep, he’d inevitably overslept. His internal clock was apparently not as effective as the blaring alarm that he normally used. Sprinting home through the deluge of rain, he had mere minutes to change and get to Legal Methods.

So here he was, relinquishing his soaked through button up to the floor as he plucked the first shirt from his dresser. Flinging on the shirt–which had short sleeves for some reason–and his raincoat, he flew out the door and towards his class. 

He was barely late, but you still looked at him smugly when he finally plopped down beside you, eliciting a few laughs from other students in the classroom. 

“About time you showed up, trouble. How was your night?” You murmured, trying not to draw any more attention to the two of you. 

He didn’t need sight to know you were dramatically wiggling your eyebrows at him. “You heard about that, huh?” He asked, blushing furiously. While he was depressingly still hung up on you, the raw animalistic desires that composed his Id could only be suppressed for so long. 

“Oh Foggy spared no detail when we got coffee this morning.” 

Trying his damndest not to feel miffed that you’d had coffee with only his roommate, he aimed for a nonchalant tone. “Coffee with Fog, huh?” 

“Well, it could have been both of you if you’d answered your phone.” You chuckled softly, shaking your head at the subtle pout on Matt’s face. “Don’t worry, trouble, you’re still my best guy.” 

For a moment, all Matt could feel was the stutter of his heart. “Oh–uh, that’s,” He stammered, face glowing with a crimson blush. You giggled at his response.

“So is the raincoat a permanent fixture or did you just forget to take it off?” 

Matt rolled his eyes, “Well, someone started talking to me and I got distracted.” Unzipping the vinyl jacket, he began to pry it off when a choking sound from you halted his movements.

“What?” He muttered, with feigned exasperation. 

“Is that a new shirt?” You bit your lip to keep from laughing, already speculating just who had purchased that garment. The button down looked nothing like the simple ones Matt usually donned, and he usually dressed more conservatively in longer sleeved garments–there was no way he had purchased this fabric of his own free will. 

Unlike the dark sweaters and monochrome shirts that made up the rest of his wardrobe, this shirt was…colorful, to say the least. The pattern was a horrendous combination of flames and hawaiian style flowers. A ring of scarlet cartoon hibiscus blossoms sat atop Matt’s waistline, composing a base for the flames, which looked like they’d been pulled off of a racist’s motorcycle. 

Matt ran a hand along the hem, tilting his head in confusion. “This isn’t my shirt, is it?”

Stifling another round of giggles, you shook your head. “I don’t believe so, no.”

“You’re laughing. Fuck, what does it look like?” 

“Um, it’s got flowers and…fire on it? Definitely not your style.” 

“Shit!” Matt hissed, zipping up his coat as quietly as he could. “Foggy must’ve put it in my dresser.” 

You bit back a smile, turning your attention to the professor who had begun looking for students to pick on. 

After a few hours of legal jargon flowing in one ear and out the other, Matt could barely sit still—his mind already planning the trip home to inspect the rest of his clothes, which he assumed had also been replaced. Though he’d been willing to beg for your assistance, he’d only needed to ask for you to come with once before you agreed sincerely, clearly pitying him and his ugly shirt. 

Sure enough, when they’d returned to his dorm and examined the contents of his dresser, it was filled with clothes that were most certainly not his. The textures were all wrong and you confirmed that they were all garishly patterned. 

With a low growl, Matt slammed the drawer of his dresser shut, making you jump. 

“Hey, it’s ok, we can just ask Foggy to put your stuff back!” You reasoned, placatingly. 

Shaking his head with a snarl, he clenched his fists. “Oh no. This means war.” 

You gulped, not finding an ounce of sarcasm in his words. If you were Foggy, you’d be begging for forgiveness about now. 

The next couple weeks passed in an agonizing blur of lengthy readings and lonely work shifts. Matt and Foggy had doubled down on their efforts to out-prank each other, and it was beginning to take its toll on their relationship.  

As the weather turned chilly and fallen leaves began to carpet the ground, you were finding it difficult to be in the same room with the two of them. After the wardrobe incident, Matt had sulked for two days, refusing to hang out with Foggy until he'd had his revenge. Armed with a box of hot pink hair dye and a few permanent markers, Matt was sure he'd be able to make Foggy look as ridiculous as those shirts made him feel.  If your shocked reaction was any measurement, he'd say the effort succeeded. 

Of course, Foggy rewarded this behavior with a prank of his own. Finding and removing his formerly pristine school supplies from mounds of loose Jello had been a horrendous sensory experience that Matt NEVER wanted to repeat. That was approximately 4 days ago and Matt was STILL finding dried bits of lime jello in his pen caps. 

The two continued to trade practical jokes, currently locked in a battle of removing each other’s furniture. He was still working on his most recent prank at your next study group session. With the help of a floormate, Matt had been able to move Foggy's desk, chair, and mattress to the roof of the dorm. Sweating profusely while he heaved the plastic covered mattress up the last flight of stairs, he didn't hear you approaching. 

“Whatcha doin'?“ You asked cautiously, taking in the manic determination on full display. 

”Pranking...Foggy.” He managed. Fuck he needed to hit a gym. 

“Well, that was a given. Do we think that this is still within the realm of friendly teasing? Or...” 

“He can sleep on a bed...when my stuff...stops smelling like it's made of fucking fruit.”

“Hmmm. Ok. I'll be in your room then.” You replied, your words tinged with a disappointment that Matt wasn't anticipating. It irked him, pulling at his stressed consciousness uncomfortably. How come you hadn’t shown the same reaction when Foggy had moved his things across the hall a week ago? Shrugging off the guilt he felt, he mustered up the strength to shove the mattress up to its destination.

Huffing breaths as he shuffled down the stairs to you, he couldn't shake the lingering irritation that your tone had implanted in his psyche. You were sitting on folded legs in his bed, textbook open in your lap. 

“Ready to study?” You questioned, not glancing up from the text. 

“Depends, am I going to get a lecture?” 

“On intentional torts? I'm not an expert, but I can definitely try--” Your innocent tone did nothing to soothe his growing frustration. 

“That's not what I meant and we both know that.” He bit out, “If you have a problem with it, you can just say so, I'm not made of glass.”

“There's no problem, Matty.” Your heart stuttered and his anger sparked. 

“Bullshit.” He scoffed, pacing in front of you. 

“I don't know what's up with you and Fog, that's your business, this just seems...extreme, Matt.”

“He took my clothes, that wasn't 'extreme' to you?”

“I didn't say that! I'm just saying this isn't an effective way to communicate that you weren't comfortable with him touching your stuff.” 

Rolling his eyes, Matt yanked the door open. “On second thought, I think I'm good with this chapter of torts. I'll see you in class next week.”

“Matt,” He couldn't bear to focus on you, your rapidly crumpling body language, the lump of emotion in your throat. 

“Please. I don't want to lose another friend.” He pleaded.

Sighing in defeat, you closed the book and left without a word. 

Matt breathed shallowly, matching his inhales to the pattern of your retreating steps as he cursed himself for turning you away. Setting his jaw, he swiped away a drop of moisture from his cheek and set off for the stairs. 

It was hours before Foggy got home, out with a group of students from his Modern Dance class. Walking carefully into the dark room, he flipped on the lights and hunkered down on his bed, stripping off his dirty socks before opening his Property textbook. 

“Hey Matt, have you started on the Property essay yet?” He asked the stiff lump of a man who lay in his own bed facing the wall.

“No.” Came the gruff response of his surly roommate.

“Shit, I was hoping you'd have started with our jitterbug so I could mooch some tips off you two geniuses.” 

Matt didn't so much as snort in response to the bad joke. Instead, he abruptly rolled over and snatched his cane from its place beside the door. 

“I'm going for a walk.” Matt remarked, icily.

“Oh, uh, ok did you want—” 

“No.” Shutting the door firmly on his way out, Foggy blinked at his shadow as it disappeared. 

“Goodnight to you too, I guess” He scoffed, turning back to his assignment with a roll of his eyes. 

Setting your jaw, you blew out a breath and knocked on the door. When you received silence in return, you rolled your eyes and knocked with more vigor. “Matthew, Franklin, I know you’re in there!” 

A very apprehensive Foggy appeared as the door slid open. Shoving past him and into the room, you gave a furtive smile. “Hello, how are you, I'm also well, thanks for asking.” You rattled off, collapsing into Matt's creaky desk chair. 

Foggy was still hovering nervously by the door, avoiding your stern gaze, while Matt courageously pretended not to notice your presence--fingers running over lines of braille in a thick book. Folding your hands together, you plastered on a sardonic grin. “Now that we've got the pleasantries out of the way, I would like to kindly request that you two get your shit together.”

Your blunt words and brash tone ignited defensiveness in them both. Foggy spluttered and Matt turned to face you with a look of indignation. 

“What are you–” “We weren't–” 

“Cut the crap.” You interrupted the pair, leaning against the frame of the chair and crossing your arms. “You want to fight with each other? Let a stupid prank war drive our group apart? Fine. But the least you can fucking do is grow some balls and tell me that yourselves. I'm tired of the sulking. So, what'll it be? Are we done?” 

Both boys sat sheepishly in their own silence. Foggy kicked his feet as if he were a toddler on a swing, Matt looked like a kicked puppy—crimson blush glowing on his cheeks as he pushed up his glasses. 

After several moments of hesitant silence, Matt spoke up. “We aren’t done.” 

Nodding in relief, you jerked your chin at Foggy, “Fog, you agree?”

“Course I do! There’s no way I’ll graduate without the two of you. It’s in my best interests to keep you happy.” It was clearly meant to seem like a joke, but the way Foggy’s voice trailed off at the end made you tilt your head.

“Hey, you know that’s not true right? You’re plenty capable of doing this on your own!” Frowning, you watched as Foggy’s face crumpled before your legs were moving of their own accord, carrying you to his side as he turned his glossy eyes to his bedspread. “Hey, Fog, I’m serious!” 

Running a hand along his shoulder, your heart split in two as fat tears slipped down his face. 

“Fog, buddy, you’re so smart!” Matt chimed in, crossing the divide between the two beds and settling on the blond’s over side. Tugging Foggy to rest against your shoulder, Matt’s head stacked against yours atop Foggy’s blond hair–the three of you melding together into a stressed heap as the heightened emotions of the past week culminated. 

“It’s true, don’t deny it.” Foggy lamented from his place on your shoulder, strands of his thick hair sticking to the glistening trails that ran across his blotchy cheeks. “I have no idea what I’m doing, I shouldn’t be here! Maybe my parents are right and I should drop out to work in the family store instead.” 

“The hell you should! You’re just as capable of this shit as we are.” You assured him, rubbing a hand up and down his sweatshirt clad arm. “And you’re not the only one worried about passing. I freak out about that every day!”

“Yah, but you’re not the one who failed the Civil Procedure midterm.” The long haired boy sobbed. 

You froze, second-hand anxiety rippling through you like a stiff breeze. Matt’s head lifted from yours and cocked towards his roommate. “Oh Fog, why didn’t you tell us?” 

“You were mad at me and we weren’t hanging out anymore and–and–” The poor kid was bawling, fists clenching around the worn fabric of his pajama pants as feelings of terror and embarrassment welled up in his chest. 

“It’s ok, bud, just breathe.” You soothed shakily, trying to model steady breaths for him. Sensing your intentions, Matt smiled encouragingly. 

“That’s it, dude. You got it.” When the blond’s breathing evened, Matt nudged his shoulder gently. “I’m really sorry that I pushed you away. I was acting like a fucking middle schooler instead of being honest with you. Just know, you can always always come to me, even if we’re fighting.”

“Same here.” You added, studying Matt’s blank eyes for a moment, “That goes for both of you.”

“Can we go back to being best friends now?” Foggy sniffled, pulling back to look between you and Matt warily. 

“We never stopped being best friends, silly,” Pulling Foggy into a tight hug, you huffed a chuckle as he sighed in relief. 

“Well, ya could’ve fooled me.” The words were muffled as Foggy continued to press his face into your cardigan. 

The bed stirred underneath you as Matt shifted uncomfortably. Clearing his throat, you could see him building up the courage to confess, “I’ve never, uh, I’ve never really had…friends before.” Matt’s words were calculated, trying not to reveal too much anguish as he spoke. “I had a mentor for a bit, at the orphanage, but that was it. So, I’ll admit, I’m not the most…practiced at this.” 

“That’s ok, Matty. We can teach you. Right, Fog?” Taking the raven-haired boy’s hand, you waited for the other’s assent.

He nodded viciously, swiping a hand over his damp face. “Of course.”

Squeezing Matt’s hand, you giggled. “You’re stuck with us now, Matty.”

With a satisfied grin, Matt threw an arm over Foggy’s shoulders. “Thank god. Who else will put googly eyes on all my stuff?”

Foggy smiled as you giggled, but his face quickly fell as you brought up studying again. “As for that test Fog, we can go through it together. There’s plenty of time until the end of the semester and we have two other exams. You can do this.” 

“You think so?” Biting his lip, Foggy glanced between you and Matt. 

“We know so, bud.” Matt promised. “We’re in this together. Right, jitterbug?” 

“Ok, where is this ‘jitterbug’ nonsense coming from.” You scoffed, biting back a smile at Matt’s hearty laugh. 

“Don’t ask me, Foggy started it!” Matt chuckled.

“Sure, pass the blame to the crying kid!” Rolling his eyes, Foggy elbowed Matt in the chest.

“You’re not even crying anymore!”

“You’re both deflecting!” You butted in, earning new excuses from both boys. 

As the three of you argued, you remained a knot of limbs–shadows and pink rays of light dancing across your smiles as the sun set.

Bonus Content: the shirt referenced in Foggy's second prank!!

Taglist: @eugene-emt-roe @abbyhaslongshorts @mrs-bellingham @abucketofweird @yeonalie @jadeunstablexx @spider-murdock @0ctober-writes @danzer8705

[xzaddyzanakinx]

GURL i neeed to ask advice. ive talked to my friends about this and i feel as though who better to ask than my favorite tumblr account.

ok, so i’ve never had a boyfriend and i had been on a dating app for maybe a year or so and i didn’t really use it, i talked to a few people but it never went further than that and i would eventually stop talking to them because i would get overwhelmed.

and back in august for school i had training for my on campus job and this boy was also doing the same job as me. when i would be working the shift after him he’d always talk to me for a few minutes and i got the vibe he liked me, but it never went further than that (and i was lowkey grateful for that).

and now about a week ago, he liked me on the dating app and i thought it was insane so i called my friend and told her and she said oh so we’re gonna message him! and at first i didn’t want to because i wasn’t really sure if i liked him. but after some convincing i replied to him.

we started talking and he’s really sweet, he genuinely wants to get to know me. and at first i was a little excited about it, but then i just feel like texting him is a chore, and when i would be with my friends they’d help me on what to say to him and it was kind of enjoyable.

and he had asked if i wanted to go to the library with him and study, and i said yes. the day we were supposed to do it i had woken up feeling really sick and also kind of like i was having an anxiety attack. so i asked if we could reschedule and he said yes. so we met today, and it was alright. we didn’t talk much because we were at the library. i just didn’t really feel a connection and i know it wasn’t a real first date or anything but im feeling so stuck on what to do because he asked if i would want to go to the movies with him and i had said yes.

also before meeting him at the library i had seen him where he works and i had said hello, and hoped to talk to him before our first time hanging out and im not sure if he even recognized me (but that seemed impossible because you need to tap in and my name and photos pops up on the computer) and i stood there for a few seconds like umm are you gonna recognize me???? and then the night before we hung out i had a friend come in while he was working and he did the SAME THING and it was so awkward! and it just was odd to me when we actually did hangout because he was so talkative on text but in person it was just weird.

i just don’t want to lead him on, and i don’t want to force myself to do something i don’t think i’m ready for. i thought i was ready to do this type of them but i really don’t think i am and i feel like im in too deep because he texts me all the time and he replies so fast and sometimes i take a few hours to reply because im just not in the mood. and i realize that’s kind of a red flag for me, but im really stuck.

this was so long but i appreciate you if you do end up reading this! 😙😙

lowkey wish i just had stalker!ani to do all the work 😔

Ah man dude. Sounds like one of those ‘idea is better than reality’ scenarios. I hate that it’s not working out for you but you’re totally right, that’s weird as hell.

If he were really interested in pursuing you, seeing you randomly out in public would be like the highlight of his day. Acting as if he doesn’t know you screams suspicious to me.

If you feel like texting him is a chore, your heart is not in it. I think you should just politely ask that the relationship stays platonic, tell him that you had a nice time and you’re thankful for the time spent with him (even if it’s not true bc men are fragile and need their ego stroked). It sounds like things will end relatively easily considering that he seems kind of uninterested in pursuing you.

You’re def not in too deep tho. You should never ever feel that way. You are allowed to end any relationship, any conversation at any time you feel like it. Your comfort and happiness comes before anything else.

[indefinite-space]

After Hours

Triggers: Toxic Family, Gross Sobbing

Summary: Impact High School has its ups and its downs, but janitor Xiao has never comforted a crying teacher before. Seems there’s a first time for everything.

There’s nothing more painful or exhausting than receiving a call from someone in your family. Unlike most of the people that work in Impact High, you’ve never had a good relationship with your parents - let alone any of your siblings - but maybe, just maybe it hurts when your mother only calls to antagonize you. She comes up with a new routine every time too, and your fresh material for the day is how much of a disappointment you are. If only she had done better as a mother, maybe you wouldn’t have turned into an academic failure and the laughing stock of the family.

“Thanks, Mom,” Is all you manage to say before you hang up the phone. You don’t think you can last another second listening to her prattle about her disgust for you. It’s becoming quite the chore and you’re not sure that you want to continue it.

Then somewhere in your fragile -- too loving -- heart, the weight of your toxic family becomes too heavy for you to keep a farce up. Maybe it’s not your best moment to have a mental breakdown in the break room during school hours, but you do. You cry fat, ugly tears and your nose becomes full of snot. Luckily, you think as you reach for a napkin to blow it, nobody walks in to witness your severe depressive spell.

And it seems that divinity mocks you, because only seconds later Xiao -- the janitor -- walks through the doors and freezes at your teary-eyed expression, and the way you clench to the napkin in your hands like you’d much rather disappear. You were so sure that you were the only one still on campus, but of course you weren’t. Way to go.

“...I’ll leave,” He starts awkwardly, but you shake your head. You’re not about to scare him out of the break room when he’s clearly in need of, well, a break. You can see the sweat that lines his brow from all of his hard work and motion for him to come in, then blow your nose again and get rid of the offending tissue in the closest bin.

“You��re fine,” You say out of habit. “I was just... testing the capabilities of a napkin.”

“...”

“Obviously the napkin is a rough choice, if you want to blow your nose,” You continue as awkwardly as he stands there, and the room fills with a suddenly tense energy that you inwardly flinch at. Why are you so... you? Maybe your mother was right.

No, no. Don’t go there, or you’ll cry--

Before you can stop yourself, more tears well up in your eyes and leak down your rosy cheeks. Xiao looks genuinely shocked, and a bit concerned as he observes your shuddering body and the sudden onslaught of ugly sobs that echo into his ears. You try to apologize to him for the inconvenience of it all, but the only thing you think he hears is how sorry you are. His mouth presses into a thin line and he looks ready to scold you, but you’re taken aback when he reluctantly lifts a hand and brings it to your shoulder, patting you gently.

“Don’t apologize,” Is all he says at first.

You nod, your cries dying down into soft sniffles. Xiao’s eyes narrow in piercing thought, then he awkwardly shuffles from foot to foot.

“If you... need someone, I’m here.”

Your eyes widen, but you’re nodding before you can stop yourself. Even though you won’t burden him with your current predicament, just knowing someone is willing to lend an ear is enough to bring you happiness. You’re a little less sad when you go to retrieve a napkin, blowing your nose, then throw that one away too.

“Thank you, Xiao. I appreciate it,” You say, and you can’t be quite sure in the lighting of the room, but you think you may see him blush.

“Welcome,” He replies gruffly. “Now I’m going to eat. You can either join me or leave,” He says, reverting back to the usual grumpy demeanor you usually see from him. You can’t help how you smile as you say you’ll join him and sit down.

You don’t say that you already ate, and he doesn’t ask. He just lets you speak, and it slowly turns from one of the worst days you’ve had at Impact High to one of the best.

AN: I had this in my drafts for a literal year. Oops.

[whentherewerebicycles]

ruthie slowly realizing I have the front camera turned on 😂 this dog hates being photographed!

we were up for a bit at 5 but it was too early and I was sleeepy so ended up dozing for another hour or two. rainy morning here. I’m trying to really savor the cozy snuggly days as life is about to get so hectic for me:

I’m in pittsburgh friday morning through monday night (YAYYY) attending two weekend games and hanging out with bec!!!

I have tuesday to run errands and do laundry before my mom arrives wednesday

we leave early thursday morning for 14 days in japan and korea, during which we are hitting tokyo, osaka, kyoto, nara, mt koya, hiroshima, miyajima island, fukuoka, busan, daegu, and /seoul… I’m soooo psyched but also 🫠 it’s gonna be a whirlwind and I still have to do quite a bit of prep to be ready

we get home on a wed, I have thurs to recover from jetlag slash finalize my job talk, and then friday is the all-day campus visit

THEN I leave sat morning for houston and get back late monday night

it’s gonna be a lot!!! so very okay to be slothful this weekend and for as much of next week as I can manage I think. I am building up my reserves of rest and solitude lol.

mmkay. tonight I am having dinner + watching tár with mary later (and maybe seeing my sister at some point in the afternoon tbd) but the morning is my own! no pressure to get anything done in particular but here are some options:

could do more campus visit research for fun! my first gen programming book is arriving sometime today so I could read that and take notes, or I could spend some more time working through these articles I pulled up on designing programming for transfer students. I was also thinking it might be fun to create some one-page idea/vision/notes docs by hand on various topics—I feel like writing by hand will reinforce my memory of key details, and then making decisions about how I want to visually organize/arrange content will be a good exercise in synthesizing what I’ve learned. lol even as I’m typing this out I’m like ‘OOOOH that sounds like fun!!!!’ so I guess I’ll probably do that.

my former student is calling me at some point today to talk about transfer students’ experiences. he’s around my age (went back to undergrad after serving in the military for a long time) and is fun to talk to because he’s super smart and just like… more of a fully formed person and professional than the college-age kids. so that will be fun and should give me some useful threads to follow in my research. 

pick up my CVS prescription

hmm maybe I’ll put my laundry in right now? I also want to change linens/towels. I cleaned most of the house yesterday so don’t have much else to do in the way of chores… and I have a bunch of leftovers to finish before I’m allowed to make anything else so no cooking to do today either.

if it clears up I’ll go for a shorter long walk (the hourlong loop?) unless it’s really nice and I feel like doing the 90+ min trek again. not gonna let myself run today though—I can tell I pushed it a bit yesterday with the long fast walk + running two days in a row at a quicker clip than usual. just a little bit of achiness!

I finished a novel yesterday and want to start the next one today so I don’t break stride, but that can wait till before bed unless I’m moved to read earlier.

mmkay I think that’s it! take it easy and do fun relaxing stuff today.

[endofapaige]

Losing My Mojo, 2023, and Money is Ruining My Life

Hey… it’s been a little while. The new year has arrived, Christmas has been and gone. It’s been the first New Year I hadn’t spent with my family, which was weird, it did feel a little bit like I’d replaced my family with my boyfriend’s, but it was nice, nonetheless.

I’ve decided 2023 is going to be a good year. I can’t tell that for certain yet, but right now it already feels a bit better than 2022, but simultaneously it feels so much worse. Losing my mojo is one way to put it, I think. Feeling like everything I like isn’t so fun anymore, nothing’s satisfying, the days are merging into an endless cycle of sleeping and sitting and sleeping and sitting. I’m not doing much in those sitting phases, because nothing’s really taking my fancy anymore. Writing feels like a chore, there’s nothing good on TV, the words in my books feel like they’re 10x longer than they actually are. Mojo gone. Motivation lost. I wouldn’t call it a depression, not yet, it’s a bit empty in here but it’s not terrible.

I’ll catch you up on what I mean by that. Last time you checked I was at university. Not anymore. Me trying to convince myself the crying will get better just ended up with me crying a bit more. Add in the realisation I can’t afford to live second year and the job crisis of young kids nowadays where you need experience to get a job, but you can’t get experience if they don’t give you a job. Didn’t seem worth it, I hated my course anyway, and I realised I am far more introverted than I make out in my head. I dropped out. I don’t regret it, not really, I was miserable there and I like being home with Mum and Dad and having my bed and my boyfriend close and my best friend closer. I wasn’t prepared for the slump though. I’ve been out of Uni since the end of November, middle of? I’m not sure anymore. I’ve been looking for a job since then, and money runs low quicker than I expected. I’m still unemployed and I can barely fund my caffeine addiction with the money left in my bank account now.

There’re things I miss about Uni, going to the bar every now and again, living on my own schedule, being able to walk into the middle of campus and grab some food and coffee and not feel bad because I actually really don’t have any alternatives in my kitchen cupboards. I think I forgot that everyone at home have lives too. I missed home and the people, and then I got home and everyone was busy and their lives didn’t just stop because mine had. That’s been the worst bit, the boredom. Boredom mixed with not much money. That and having no one to go do things with even if I did have money. I mean Jack’s here, Jack is always here, and I appreciate that, that he’s always here when I’m bored. But even with company, which has become just normal now, that he’s always here and it doesn’t feel like he is anymore. Does that make sense? It sounds bad but I like it, it’s comfortable and he’s just here. Anyway, even with company I still get antsy to get out. And there’s nothing to do, not where we live and not with not much money. Cost of living crisis man, ruining my sense of adventure.

I’ve decided 2023 is going to be good though. I’m going to get a job, very soon hopefully, then the money crisis won’t be so bad. Life really is determined by money, isn’t it? I don’t believe money can buy happiness, I mean you can’t buy your severe depression away, but it helps, doesn’t it? My happiness comes from exploring new cities, from meals out, from friends and the outside. Not hiking, I’m not an exercise person, but I like to be outside rather than sat inside in my room, I’d just rather be walking down a Highstreet than up a mountain.

There’s a lot going on this year really. Seeing my favourite band in concert, seeing my favourite comedian live, getting my first tattoo. Another couple of concerts, playing to my inner emo side that was my entire personality at 14. I want to travel this year, drag Jack to London because we’ve talked about moving there one day but he’s never been. The family holiday in June after my brother finishes his GCSEs, a week I reckon will be full of humble bragging on his behalf. Hopefully a trip to Paris with Georgia because we’ve always wanted to go, and to Barcelona with Jack just because we can. Looking at it from the start of the year, I have a good year ahead of me. I’m just hoping I can fill the boring parts in between.

I turn 20 this year, which makes me feel a bit ill to think about. It’s like all of a sudden, I can’t get away with being a kid anymore. I have to get a full-time adult job, pay rent, my parents are going on holiday without me now. I’m being trusted to run the house by myself for more than a couple of hours at a time. One of my friends is getting fucking married this year. My best friend is moving to Leeds. I think that’s why I’m so determined to make 2023 good, because in some ways it feels like my last year of semi-childhood. 20 seems so different to 19. I am so sure it won’t feel like that when I get to it. But right now, it's like time is running out. I think it felt the same last year because it was ‘the last year before we all moved on’. It is different now to what it was, but I think it doesn’t feel so drastic because I was still in school and it felt just the same. Yes, half my friends are now scattered around, but really none of the important ones have gone that far. And I’ve ended up right back where I started.

I’ve fallen out of love with writing. I’ve had an iffy relationship with it for a while. It used to be a big part of my life, more Wattpad than anything really, and that happened because one of my best friends was in it too. It was like we’d do it together and because she was doing it, I wanted to do it too. I haven’t spoken to her in a while, life moves on, people move on. But inspiration lacks. I realised a long time ago that fiction writing wasn’t my calling, it’s fun every now and again but not something I could ever dedicate my life to. That’s when I started the non-fiction, the reviews, the life writing, the blogging. That was fun for a while. It’s still what I prefer. I like to talk about myself, because myself is the only thing I really know. But then nothing was happening, and reviews weren’t fun anymore because school has always taught me to counter my argument and I start to wonder if I actually have an opinion at all. It only happens in writing, when I’m trying to sophisticatedly prove my point, I start countering. And then I counter too well, and I ruin whatever I’m reviewing for myself because do I really like it if I can find so much wrong with it? It’s weird when I can angrily rant about how much I love or hate something in a text conversation to a friend, and I can debate the fuck out of my opinion and stick to it. But writing a review I start to forget what an opinion really is.

I don’t know if part of the problem was coming out of a creative writing degree. I like writing to prompts, university didn’t give you that, but you were all still writing the same. You start to compare your ability, of course you do, you sit in that seminar and let other people interrogate you and rip your writing to pieces and little parts of you die inside. But that’s the creative process. My sensitive little heart isn’t cut out for that, I question if I’m any good at this as it is. Then the lectures just take the process and make it technical. Then it’s boring, and you have to think about things you just do naturally, and then writing becomes a job not something fun. You lose your mojo. I want it back, I want it to be fun again. So often it just feels like I have nothing to really talk about, not when these rambly pieces about my life and state of mind are the only things I like writing anymore. I want to be able to use this style on other things, blog properly, about things that matter to me. But what matters to me? I’m not too sure, still films? Celebrity culture? But how do I make that sound like it matters? I suppose when I figure that out and I can put that into words my mojo will come back.

It’s hard when I realise, I’ve neglected my only actual hobby. We think because I have nothing going on with my day, I’m starting to use what I once found fun as time fillers now, so they’re not really fun anymore. Because that’s all I’m doing and it’s not just leisure anymore, it just is. I think maybe when I get a life back, get a job, get a real distraction, these things will become leisure again. I’ll start writing again and enjoying it, I’ll start reading and the words will finally start to look real. I’ll get back to that this year, because 2023 is going to be a good year. I will will it so.

[mommyg2013]

Surviving the Holidays - 2024 Edition

Yesterday, he who shall not be named, turned the house upside down looking for batteries.

Batteries that were ordered on Amazon

Batteries that were boxed together with some other stuff

Batteries that were delivered two weeks ago

And you’re looking for it today? And showing us your cell phone with the ‘proof of delivery’ from Amazon. I have no doubt that those batteries were delivered. My doubt is that you’ll ever find them.

THOSE BATTERIES ARE GONE

Somewhere in the flurry of boxes and packages and shit of the last 3 weeks, those batteries have GONE.

First of all, why does one have to order batteries online? Or hair gel? Or multivitamins? Regular grocery store stuff. And then we get yelled at

“Don’t open my boxes”

“If you see my name on it, don’t open it”

 PFFFTTTTTT

If I see your name on it, I will MOST ESPECIALLY be opening it. It gives me great delight to see your generic random brand hair gel.

We’ve survived the holidays. There has been some yelling.

There’s this pattern in our house. When I yell at the Other Adult, within the next five minutes, he’s yelling at the kids. And then you’ll see Saanya doing one of the chores that he was assigned to do. Never Soha. Soha has this rare ability to evaporate when there’s work to be done. Like a genie from a lamp. Never to be found again.

Soha’s second talent is DEFLECTION

I was here minding my own business, you yelled at me and now my feelings are hurt. I can’t help you with your chores because I’m so upset. In fact I’m so upset that I need to go to my room and be alone.

DEFLECTION

And so 15 minutes after I’ve yelled I’ll see poor Saanya sweeping out the garage, with a broomstick twice her size.

At a recent gathering, we were going around the room sharing 2025 goals/resolutions. The kids spoke about various goals – blackbelt in karate, Honors class in something, climb Mount Everest, scale the Great Wall of China and I’m standing at the perimeter wondering what my kids are going to share.

And finally it was their turn.

Said one “I want to be good about brushing my teeth twice a day”

All that blood and sweat and working my tail off so my kids brush their teeth twice a day.

In all the cleaning and tidying, I discovered that the Other Adult has a BULB BIN. A bin where dead bulbs go to rest. And we’re saving these dead bulbs just in case the tungsten filament comes back to life and the bulbs start working again.

We also collect Home Depot RECEIPTS (of dead bulbs)

Speaking of RECEIPTS, Middle school has brought us all sorts of new adventures. One such adventure is that Soha can now use the campus bookstore to buy stuff. Stuff that gets charged to a student account. I only get to see the RECEIPT at the end of the month.

The first few months were fairly banal.

Oreos

Goldfish

More Goldfish

Then last month

FLASHCARDS and POST ITS

What!!! Why are you spending good money, my money, on POST ITS. That’s what the office supply closet is for. Everybody knows that the office supply closet at work is for home supplies – especially POST ITS. But my kid thought it’s okay to pay four times the price for something I have always got for FREE.

Gah!

I decided to not make a big deal out of it, though it really pained me to be paying for post-its.

Back to the Holidays, Santa is a little upset with me because I returned one of his gifts.

It was a beautiful, pure wool, designer brand PONCHO.

Except that I don’t do ponchos.

I look like a tent as is, I really don’t need to be wearing one. Folks be thinking the circus is in town.

It came with a matching beanie. Super cute, if you’re skinny. Or 25. Or both.

Now Santa is busy listing all the gifts from events past that I haven’t used or have returned. “I’ve never seen you wear the tennis bracelet”. The one from 2011?

One of these days I’m going to wear all my gifts, from the last 16 years, all at once and take a picture. The circus will really be in town.

It's the new year and we're aiming high this year.

Lose some weight

Don't lose Amazon packages

Brush twice a day

Maybe floss.....

Happy New Year!

[blaebeast]

Character Bio: Yulon

Name: Yulon, GM (Enforcer Tag)

Age: 29

Sex: Trans DTM (He/Him)

Weapon: ???

Faction: Unison

Occupation: Enforcement (Admin)

Relationship Status: Married to Charae

Close Friends: Charae, Fucshia, Lock, Cram, Hrugar, Tulri, Zyke, Anthar

Friends: Salome

Knows of: Yuim

Family: Father???

Goals and Motivations:

- I love my wife!!! #1 Wife lover!!!!!

- I’m trans. I don’t go constantly telling others about it, but it’s not like a total secret, either. I pass pretty well, and I’m happy about it. All my friends know, but I’m pretty sure they forget sometimes. I don’t have my uterus or ovaries anymore, just my testes.

- Tulri’s the one of very few who know me pre-transition. I helped mentor her in early schooling and helped her figure out her gender identity and that she had a crush on Salome. And then I got pulled to be homeschooled, lol.

- My sweet, lovely, glorious wife and I are trying for a baby. I can work easily from home and take care of the baby and the chores, since Charae is pretty insistent on returning to work once she’s able. However, try as we might, conceiving has been just out of reach. Charae blames herself, as if she’s broken, but I am happy and eager to keep trying for as long as it takes. I love her and I wanna give her a baby!

- So I am very good with technology and IT stuff. Always have been, even since I was pretty little. I do all the cool techie electronics stuff for Enforcement. Outside of work, I help Yuim in Admin with some back-door-security stuff since I may or may not have gotten into places that were supposed to be more secure. Whoopsie.

Personality and Interests:

- I am the group dad. I am always around when people need advice or an extra hand. I feel blessed to be appointed such a position of knowing slightly more things than anyone else in my friend group. Charae tries very hard to be group mom, but my lovely sweetheart is just not cut out for it. Con mom, maybe, but group mom, no. That’s either Zyke, for when you need someone to cry to, or Anthar, for when you need a bandaid or a boo-boo kiss.

- I love to play MMORPGs with my friends. I’ve been playing the same one since its release and have pretty much roped Tulri, and subsequently, all of her friends into playing it. Since I’ve been playing it for so long and so continuously, I’ve got admin privileges there, too. Definitely NOT because I hacked them to myself and the mods decided to let me keep it because I figured it out. We’re friends now.

- Everyone constantly asks me: “Yu, how’d you land such a bangin’ wife? She’s totally out of your league!” Yeah buddy I don’t fucking have a clue either. I met her online when I was a streamer. No face cam or anything. She didn’t even know what I looked like until she moved onto campus as an Enforcer. I was never secretive about being a fat fuck though.

- Lock and Cram are kinda like my boys. They’re just so dumb and helpless that I can’t help but feel the urge to take care of them. Cram’s smart, just super unconfident and self-depreciating. Meanwhile Lock is just a walking bag of rocks.

- I enjoy live-streaming when I have the free time. Content creation is pretty fun.

Artwork:

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

538 of 2023

I would never want to read a book electronically. I enjoy going to Blockbusters, etc. I would rather rent my DVDs there than from my TV at home. ^ I’m sad to hear that Blockbuster claimed bankruptcy. I ate some sort of sandwich today. My love life has been more complicated than usual lately. My friends and I keep updated on each other’s lives by recording video posts while we’re away at school. I have recently pulled an all-nighter. My favorite Italian ice flavor is mango. I do not mind filling up gas for my car. I have the Kim Possible ring tone. I wear sunglasses almost every day. I have been craving a certain type of food for a while. I do not play computer games. I play a small amount of video games. I have been discovering a lot of new music recently. If I attended Hogwarts, I would not like to be sorted into Gryffindor. My favorite movie is a musical, or one of them is. I would rather rent a movie with friends on a Friday night than go to a party. I am open to trying new foods. I have not/will not gain the freshmen fifteen. When carving pumpkins, I usually make some sort of silly or themed face. I like to drive around and look at Christmas lights in December. I have certain traditions when decorating the Christmas tree. I refuse to use a fake Christmas tree. It has to be real. I am okay with the prospect of commuting in college. I have tried a long-distance relationship before. ^ I did not work out. I was a 90’s kid. I recently had chocolate. I enjoy rereading books and rewatching movies. I feel bad when downloading music. But $1.29!? I did not get my nails or hair done professionally for any proms I attended. I do not have my car on campus. ^ which means I don’t drive much anymore :( I like bad radio music. I also like underground music. I also like musicals. I am typing on a macbook pro. I would rather someone else drive when going out with friends. I ate at Sbarro’s recently. Someday, I hope to go to Europe. (lol) I do not update my facebook status daily. It was near seventy degrees today. I have never been on a road trip. I have been to Disney World three or more times. I haven’t tried that many sexual positions. I am dressing up for the last Harry Potter movie. It makes me furious that Breaking Dawn is being split into two parts. Generally, I do not like parody movies. I did not like The Princess and the Frog very much. I have been to at least twenty of the U.S. States I have taken someone’s first kiss. I can’t sleep in long sleeves. I am ALWAYS at least a little bit tired. I do not bite my nails. I think Inception was overrated. My current favorite band is not from the U.S. I do not have a tumblr. I follow some tumblrs though. I love junior mints. I do not use an electric toothbrush. I share a shower with more than one other person. I don’t mind chores. ^ But I hate cleaning bathrooms. I’ve dated a saxophone player. Guitar player. Cello player. Trumpet player. Baritone player. Piano player. Someone who was bisexual. Someone who hated the music I liked.

[bleakviolet]

dormitory imp (version 1)

Author's note: I wrote this one shortly after turning 21, and at the time, I was lonely, dangerously malnourished, and experiencing severe symptoms of what I presume might be classified as "mania". My writing here is clunky and unnatural; I'm well aware. For the sake of preservation, I don't have plans to revise it.

Context: I’m twenty. I’m a student. I bus tables for my campus cafeteria.

I pace the cafeteria with my head drooped as I scrub tables and fill napkin containers and restock silverware and trash empty salt and pepper shakers to make space for fresh ones and promptly forget that I accomplish any of the former tasks, and while shuffling between booths with my drippy towel in hand, I look up and find that an unkempt and vacant booth in need of cleaning is not, in fact, vacant, and that there is somebody still there, whose eyes meet mine only momentarily, just long enough that I catch their pupils contract before averting at the same time as the person exhales a short and embarrassed breath of relief—not so much, I suppose, the sort of breath one expels upon feeling relief but the sort of breath one expels in order to feel relief, though the exact qualities of sound and expression which contribute to one impression over the other I cannot place. An instinct, I suppose. In frank terms, I am unfocused, and I know I am unfocused because I assure myself of such; I warn me that I need to be careful of my physical surroundings to avoid startling another person while my boss or a coworker or someone willing to report me to either happens to be in the room and can get me fired, and I remind me of the reason for my being distracted in the first place, which is that I hate my name. And thinking about my name, or—as I learn in the next brief period of awareness due after several more fleeting chores elapse—thinking about how I need to stop thinking about my name, gets me thinking about how my roommate pronounces it (the correct way, albeit, but except for him saying it, it is easy to forget):

“keR-”: There is no letter in the English alphabet more masculine than the R. Robert. Roger. Red. GolfeR. CigaRette. EntRepReneuR. And there is no sound more masculine than keR. The first step to uttering my name is to spread the lips vertically, just as if to enunciate that R sound, only wider and while maintaining nearly clenched teeth. To pronounce a ‘keR’, one must bare their teeth like a snarling dog or a soldier slamming the side of his right hand against his forehead and barking “SiR, yes, siR”.

“-iSs-”: Next, the lower lip has to descend a little further, to make room for an I, and hold position—slimy yellow teeth still exposed—while the tongue pulls backward and a hiss blows over it, flinging all the mouth’s saliva behind the upper incisors.

“-chin”: Finally, the whole motion repeats, this time faster, but upon completion, the tongue slaps into the pool of spit gathered in speaking the prior syllable. 

Gwen, Emily, Kyle, Tom, Kobe—I speak names silently to the floor. I conclude as I march around the cafeteria that mine is not only subjectively shitty, but objectively, demonstrably so. I try perhaps two dozen names—all the ones that come to mind over the course of however many minutes are in one circuit of the room—and not one of them precludes me from kind-of smiling except my own. KeRiSschin. A name that can never be spoken sweetly, a purely professional name. KeRiSchin. I envision my roommate’s fat pink lips undulating before his corn-tinted teeth, two pulses in every utterance. KeRiSchin. It’s disgusting, try it. Disgusting and—I decide as I pace the cafeteria with my head drooped etc.—degrading; seeing and listening to this guy addressing me over and over and degrading the both of us: he, who snarls and laps up his mouth’s saliva to converse with me, and I, whom he can freely beckon to watch him do it. “Hi, keRiSchin!” “How’s your day going, keRiSchin?” “Are you doing alright, keRiSchin?” He speaks my name with the casual frequency afforded to a pronoun, like it belongs not particularly to me, nor to anyone, like the password to my attention is public property. Him and I have not even been acquainted; I had first arrived in the room I would be staying in for nine months when here had been this man, already situated, greeting me and my parents and talking about his degree and—by the time the room had vacated to just the two of us—continuing to ask vapid questions to which I would barely respond: just “fine”s and “sure”s and the kinds of nasal exhalations that emulated what it would be like to chuckle without opening my mouth. The impression I had tried to give was that I wanted never to see him nor to hear his voice, that I wanted to pretend to live alone, and, in return, I would keep my side of the room and the bathroom and the appliances tidy, just as if it were my sole responsibility to do so, on account of the fact that nobody else resided in my space. Of course, I had never voiced my wishes. I had needed him to understand without being told. We had been nowhere near to acquainted enough that he should have been allowed to know so much about me, and I had had no desire to shorten that distance between us, because here had been a man—tall, modestly overweight, and ginger-bearded, wearing plaid button-ups and blue jeans and whose only interests had seemed to be his very blonde, very traditionally pretty girlfriend and the Avengers movies—who had regarded me with the sort of faux-enthusiasm that meant ‘this is awkward; we have nothing in common, but I don’t know what I’ll do if there is even one person on this planet with whom I can’t be friends’. He is valueless to me, and because he is free to call me by my name whenever he wants without feeling guilt, without even knowing what he should be guilty for, I can be no more than his equal-in-standing. I.e.: because this person I do not respect acknowledges no amount of the disrespect he repeatedly commits in calling me by name, I too am valueless, delimited by he.

At five until 1:00, I return my rag to a bucket of grimy soap and leave the cafeteria. I show up five-to-seven minutes late to my last class of the day, as per usual, but due to my good standing with the instructor and a prior email pleading with him that because my shift officially ends at the very minute his class is to begin on its biweekly basis, could he please excuse my tardiness and leave the door to his classroom open until my arrival, to which he obliged, and so anyway nothing comes of my being late, and at 2:45 or thereabouts, class ends without trouble, and shortly thereafter, I arrive at the door to my dorm room. Rooting myself adjacent to the door’s hinged side, I hunch over and plant my ear against the wood. Nothing. In most cases, it is impossible to hear my roommate, but if he happens to be in the midst of a call with his girlfriend, listening to his Calming Scandanavian Music Mix, flushing the toilet, microwaving lunch, sleeping, or exercising, I can flee preemptively and spare myself from having to return a greeting. I straighten, then turn the door handle; but for what will likely be a barely perceptible moment for anyone potentially watching, yet which is, nonetheless, a deliberate pause, I do not enter. Hearing still nothing, I then press the door open perhaps twenty or thirty degrees without moving my feet, maintaining full cover from the pair of eyes I suppose linger above the desk chair beside the opposite wall from the entryway. Nothing. I stride into the room and lock the door.

First thing: I walk through my half of the room into his, passing between his one-by-four-by-one (measured in cubic slots, each of which is probably two feet to a side) modular plastic shelf standing against the right-side wall on the room’s median, whose (the shelf’s) every space is occupied by dozens of packaged foodstuffs semi-neatly arranged, and our two wardrobes align like a barricade parallel to each of our beds and perpendicular to the left-side wall, one wardrobe facing each of the room’s halves. On either side of the shelf are our desks, his far from the door and right of the window and mine nearer the entrance so that every time he enters or exits, I will have to sit up straight and wheel my little maroon swivel chair forward to provide him ample space to maneuver between me and the corner of my bed. His side of the room—contrary to mine, which, save for my desk carrying two monitors, a coffee machine, a rice cooker, and several nigh-empty notebooks, is unadorned and monochromatic—has been inconsistently decorated: several pairs of shoes and patternless rugs of mismatched colors occupy the floor before his bed. His wardrobe stays open to display a collection of plaid outerwear and two or three sweatshirts emblazoned with brands or colleges hanging below numerous supplement bottles on the high shelf, all above a modest pile of books, including Pet Sematary, which he seems to shift frequently to/from its place here and his pillow, yet which he never seems to get any closer to finishing, and likewise a copy of The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck that I know he had been reading but that remains perpetually bookmarked. His walls look for the most part like the hall of a theatre that only plays Marvel films, except by the left side of his desk where he hangs a corkboard of motivational quotes and minor academic accolades, among them something of a people’s choice award for pleasant and productive dorm residents. Upon the desk itself, a coffee brewer he uses only for hot chocolate, as well as an instant pot, a laptop, a spare monitor, and always a psychology textbook or an associated notebook, sit. His side stinks because of the food he leaves around some days in his pot, occasionally so long as from morning until evening, braising in the near sunlight.

I take one of his mugs from its place beside the brewer and fill it with tap water from the bathroom (left of the foyer; my side of the room). When I return to where I had been, I set the mug on his desk, unplug his laptop, then submerge the snout of its charging cable. I remove my hands like extracting a Jenga block, and—satisfied that the cable will not slip out of position—flee to my own chair and shake my mouse until my screens reignite. On the left display I can keep track of my online friends while on the right I watch video somethings. I don headphones but leave my right ear uncovered. As I put something on and listen impartially, I leap my feet to the forward edge of my seat and hug my shins, resting my chin between my kneecaps.

My room is so close to an outside entrance that I will hear anyone entering or exiting the hall, and because said entrance happens to be airlocked, I can differentiate entering from exiting based on the order of closing sounds, as the nearer of two doors always makes a bigger noise than the farther on account of being impeded by fewer walls. Therefore, the first door in-sequence slamming louder than the second denotes someone’s exit, and the second slamming louder than the first, someone’s entering. I can disregard leavers; what matters is that I prepared for him arriving. Given the sparse number of residences closer to this entryway than any of the building’s others, few people come through these doors, and few of those who do are without nagging friends or extensive daily occupations to keep them elsewhere constantly. Probably roughly half of all entering persons are my roommate.

crash-click. Crash-Click.

By the second click I have already punched pause on whatever it is that I had been listening to and risen from my seat—a singular motion: legs craned down propelling the chair backward, my body upward—both—such that without so much as an extra step, I can reach my roommate’s drowning charger cord and pluck it from the mug, which (the mug) I take and hide into one of my desk drawers upon realizing how obvious it might otherwise have been that I am the only one who could have filled his mug while he was away. I then push my chair into its slot under the desk and flee to cover behind the wall separating the bathroom from my bed. I open the Fellowship of the Ring—which had been planted on my pillow in advance—and pretend to have been reading it.

Creak—thump-thump: A neighbor opens and closes their door two rooms down.

I flip Fellowship onto its open pages and return to the cord. I shake the plug in the air and then rub the head with a finger and a thumb until it feels cool and dry. After plugging his laptop back in, I redraw his mug, dump its contents in the sink, plunge it with one of his hand towels I find hanging by the bathtub until the mug looks as though it had not been full of anything since morning, and return both to where they had been before I came in. I try really reading after that, but find myself distracted by the repercussions I might face for ruining his laptop. I figure that it will be impossible for him to deduce personally that I had done it, but suppose he gets it checked by a professional, might they establish water damage as the cause? If so, how else except by someone’s tampering can the cable have come into contact with so much water for so long? And the timing!—owner leaves his perfectly functional laptop in plain view of a stranger for just one entire day and, coincidentally, it happens to sustain water damage? Perhaps I can spin it that my roommate keeps all his appliances within inches of this laptop, that a leak or a spill may easily have spread over the exposed cable to cause the rusting. But only the cable? The rest of the computer is untouched. Will they check the laptop itself against my story? Whatever the case, a charger cable on its own is not too big an expenditure; I can handle that—ah, but I may be expelled from the dorm for bad conduct. Not to mention, living here with a man of indifferent opinion toward myself is too much to bear already; I am not prepared to progress to a relationship of mutual hatred. My computer sits unguarded in its place under my desk with hundreds of little air holes exposed, through which a retaliatory water-based attack can be made against my motherboard, processor, and what had been, just a couple years prior, a state-of-the-art graphics card. I cannot afford a replacement PC—especially not a more modern model, which it will have to be, because games’ ever-improving graphical fidelity threatens obsolescence for my current card as it is.

crash-click. Crash-Click.

I whisper a flurry of screaming into Middle Earth: “You fucking son of a bitch asshole worthless piece of shitty useless flesh! Go the fuck away! Stay outta my fucking room!”

A key clatters at my room’s door handle for several seconds.

To read on my bed I sit with my legs as right angles, knees in the carpet, abdomen pressing into the side of my mattress, book upon the covers, my eyes an inch from the pages, and I think—or maybe hope, rather—that this posture impresses of great concentration, so that when my roommate’s fat hairy fingers finally remember how to finagle that key into the lock, he will open the door, walk into my side of the room, see me (barely at the edge of his field of view, preferably), and decide I seem too engrossed to disturb. But really, when he does get that key to fit and the door handle squeals from turning and his heavy footfalls come slowly into the room and the door bangs closed and strikes its little metal tooth into the securing niche and he keeps walking into my half of the space carrying a sorry iceberg salad in a black plastic bowl with his right hand and forearm—which I guess is why the door had been so hard to open—what he does is in fact quite the exact contrary to what I think or hope: he turns to me with a smile on his face and speaks: “How’s it goin’, keRiSchin?”

Too late to ignore him; I have already obviously pivoted enough that he is full into my left eye’s ambit. “Fine~,” I say.

He stands there a second before disappearing behind the wardrobes. The rubber pads underneath his laptop roar as he pushes the computer across his desk to the wall, presumably making space for his meal, though I am not looking. He sets the salad onto the desk—presumably where the laptop had been—with a high plastic thud and drops his backpack at the foot of his bed somewhat delicately. He sits down, his seat creaking, and he slurps on the salad, for minutes. I know he must have seen the book in front of me.

Between the time he starts eating and the time he finishes, two or three pages have elapsed, but I remember not a phrase thereof. The swish of a shopping bag signals my roommate’s tossing an empty salad bowl into the garbage, after which point he scoots his laptop back into position—again, this is not actually seen, but rather implied by the horn-like cry of rubber friction—and, most quietly, he opens the machine and begins clacking keys. The budding hairs on my arms stand. He types on; meanwhile, I get through probably fifteen pages, the whole time overwriting Tolkien’s fantasy with my conceiving a means of leaving the room unsuspiciously. To that end I conclude that I will keep reading for a few more minutes before packing my satchel as loudly as possible to let my roommate know I have places to be in a hurry and that my subsequent leaving has nothing to do with him being in the room—because (from his perspective:), ‘see? He tolerated my being around for so long that I even finished my salad; it couldn’t have been me that made him want to leave. And look! Such haste! He must have just remembered something pertinent. I shouldn’t bother him.’

“Hey, keRiSchin? Can we talk for a second?” He says abruptly. A creak from the floor as he stands from his chair and a creak from his wardrobe as he leans upon it. Text bleeds into itself and congeals on the pages before me.

At length, I respond: “Sure,” a soft, elongated syllable terminating with a lilt to connote innocence and ignorance of whatever crime was committed that I must be innocent of.

“Are you doing alright?” He pauses. I say nothing, offer him the air. He is patient.

“I’m fine,” I say. A beat passes. “Why do you ask?” I flip my book onto its face and turn, staring, though, at where the wheels of his chair meet the floor.

“Just checking; when I came in it almost looked like you were crying.” I was not. He begins his chickeny chuckle but cuts it after the first cluck.

“Nope. I’m fine.”

“Alright,” he says, before returning to his seat.

The text has become illegible. There is now no feasible way for me to leave this room inconspicuously. Whether I exit now or in another twenty minutes, he will suspect that I had just lied to him, even in spite of my having told him the truth.

Idea: I shut Fellowship over a folded page corner. I reach under the bed’s skirt to where several shelves open up in the bedframe and draw from one such alcove various Dungeons & Dragons manuals. I thump them (noisily) onto the covers, ruffle the satchel I keep by my bedside and unzip it (noisily), then one by one deposit (noisily) each of the manuals into the largest of the satchel’s compartments. I sling the now rather heavy bag over one shoulder and hurry to the door.

My second foot is on its way out when my roommate says his “Ope! Seeya later, keRiSchin.” I let the room door fall shut and shove through the airlock. Outside, the sky gradates upward from yellow to blood orange to periwinkle and blues darker from then on, culminating to an ultramarine cosmos periodically obscured by fiery cloudbanks. The sun lays arms between campus buildings in an otherwise saturated and lightless suburban desert. My dormitory stands across a road from the back-east corner of campus, perpendicular to the sun’s rays, merely half the height of the towers on the horizon: the psychology ward, like a slice of concrete penitentiary; the newly constructed freshman hall, all glass and artsy geometry; and along the distant frontward face of campus, the old “normal school” towers, which, so far away— with their vaulted roofs and cyclical windows—make clock tower silhouettes. I exhale the entire capacity of my lungs and without urgency don a pair of aviators, drenching all of everything in bronze film.

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

This is a good question!

For me, a lot of my frustration with lack of support comes from school and the workplace. It took me 2 years to get school accommodations that I really needed, such as the right to wear ear protection and access my AAC in lab settings. (For context, I am a part-time AAC user; I’m usually fully speaking, but I lose speech when I’m overwhelmed or stressed. In an emergency in the lab, I might not be able to talk safely or communicate that I need help.) Even with those accommodations, sometimes professors ignore them, or don’t understand them, or don’t let me use them unless I push the issue.

I also don’t have a lot of role models to look towards. The field I want to go into (clinical psychology) is known for very ableist towards autistic people, from what I’ve heard from current graduate students in the program. I would have to cope with a lot of extra stressors just to appear less autistic, instead of using that energy to do actual classwork or research. As a result, I don’t know what accommodations are even reasonable to ask for, and I don’t know who to ask for help if I need it later. There’s nobody I can really ask. Certainly no support systems reaching out to help me succeed. I’m lucky there’s grad students in the autism club, even if they’re not in clinical psychology anymore, so I at least have some help with school applications and such.

I also struggle to do a lot of the “adulting” skills. I needed help to register to vote the first time, even though it was an easy process. I’ve never been to a car wash because I don’t know how to go in one and I’ve never done it before. A fire alarm went off at my friend’s house and I collapsed on the floor and couldn’t move until the sound was gone. If I don’t have clear and detailed instructions on how to do something new, like working on my capstone project or going to a new doctor’s office for an appointment, I often just won’t do it even if I need to, because I get overwhelmed. It’s a lot of small things that aren’t immediately obvious, but when you’re on your own or entering a new environment, it makes living independently much harder.

If I were looking for support for LSN autistic adults, I’d want help doing a lot of the new tasks I need to do, without shame or being treated badly because I don’t know how already. Someone to help me navigate insurance policies when I turn 26, or teach me interview skills, or help me write my school applications. I’d also love a support group including autistic adults who are older than me and have already navigated these things, so I can ask questions and have someone walk me through it, who might better understand why I get stuck or confused.

In academic settings, I’d want professors who are better educated on what LSN autistic students might need. So many of my professors have no idea why I need ear protection, or what an AAC is, or why I get so nervous doing class presentations. A lot of academia just… isn’t built for people like me. I get marked down on presentations for having low connection with the audience or poor eye contact. Several professors have marked me down on papers because I overexplain my work, giving “extraneous information” without explaining what is/isn’t important.

Even just with existing on campus, students are expected to balance a full course load, clubs, research projects, volunteer work, and grad applications, as well as pay bills and hold a job (or take out loans) to pay for the costs of staying alive. That doesn’t even mention the chores of just caring for yourself: grocery shopping, cooking, eating/drinking, showers, getting dressed, laundry… I usually end every school year intensely burnt out, because in order to keep up with my classmates, I do far too much. But if I didn’t do as many classes or research or volunteer work, I’d lose my scholarship, and wouldn’t be able to afford going to class at all. I’d love more financial support, or extra help with the ADLs I struggle to do, but that’s not really viable for me.

A lot of it boils down to education and compassion. I want to have people I can turn to and ask for help, even if it’s “really easy” or something I “should be able to do already”. I want a more flexible class structure and jobs with more flexible/shorter hours and better pay, so I’m not constantly exhausted and getting sick every 6-8 weeks. I want professors who don’t approach accommodations with the mindset of “keeping students from getting unfair advantages”, and instead approach accommodations as “helping students get the help they need no matter what”. And I’d really love people who were patient and understanding with me when I’m disabled in an inconvenient way, instead of treating me as either “incapable of functioning at all and shouldn’t have this much independence” or “isn’t disabled at all and should keep up with neurotypical peers”. Some of my friends are really good at this! Professors, my parents, and my bosses… not so much.

I hope this answers your question? This is a wall of text, sorry 😅.

low support need late diagnose autistic people, when you say “there no support for autistic adults (who LSN)”, or at least no support professional diagnosis gets you, what support you think about?

not trick question is genuine because am higher support needs need need basic daily life support basic communication support so pretty different not many reference point

[diodellet]

what can i do for you? (jamil viper x gn!reader*)

i am not ok after seeing jamil's clubwear SSR. when he dropped, i ended up dropping an extra 2k words for this chapter. sige na nga, ill give u more fluff and bliss ser viper🤧 content warnings: -anachronistic (it is set during the main story of twst, but no references to overblots) -g/n reader described as having thick, long, not-straight hair -mix of jp and en terms -gratuitous headcanoning of how nrc classes work -light references to nightmares and bullying word count: 7.1k words chapter 1: just let me do this for you

chapter 2: take my hand like you mean it

You were a capable set of extra hands, to Jamil's surprise. Well, as long as you weren't put in front of a stove. Chores that were usually tedious, like mopping and waxing the floors of certain hallways in the dorm, feeding the animals and cleaning their enclosures—in this case, removing the curtains and draperies that decorated the lounge area for laundry—took more or less have the usual time it required.

"Can you reach it?"

"I don't think so... I'm going to jump—"

"Don't jump!" His hold on the stepladder tightened as you stood up on your tiptoes.

You grunted, stretching your arm out to unhook the cloth. "But I'll be able to reach it that way..."

"Just let me do it—" A section of the scarlet cloth fell on top of him. He pulled it away to see your sheepish expression. "Never mind, get down from there."

You carefully climbed down, immediately going to pick up the other hand of the curtain and helping him fold it. Then, the both of you moved to repeat the process for the rest of the draperies in the lounge.

The golden rays of the afternoon sun streamed into the room, now unhindered from the lack of curtains. You paused to stare out into the surroundings, not one bit bothered by the heat. In fact, you seemed to soak up the warmth. The serene expression that washed over your features was quickly replaced with mild discomfort.

“If you’re tired, you can leave the rest of it to me,” Jamil said, snapping you out of your reverie.

You shook your head, folding the curtain in half and stepping closer to pass your end to him. “I’m good, I’m good. I just…” Your fingers carded through the ends of your ponytail. “Does it ever rain here? I know rain in the desert is a thing, but if the dorms are like a sort of pocket dimension, then does it follow regular weather?”

Sometimes, Kalim liked to make it rain. Whenever he saw the plants in the gardens wilting, whenever they trekked out to a dried-up oasis, whenever he heard his fellow dormmates complaining about the dry heat of Scarabia. Jamil didn’t have any strong feelings for rain, but a part of him—the part that was stubbornly curious about you, felt as if the question wasn’t one from random inquiry. 

“It does, occasionally. The weather is independent from the main campus though, if that’s what you’re asking.” He started walking towards the laundry area, carrying the folded-up curtains.

“...Huh, cool.” You trailed behind him, your arms were swallowed up by the sheer volume of fabric. “I think I prefer sunny weather though. Reminds me of home.”

What was your hometown like in your original world? Did you come from a place that was always bright with sunlight? Or were you more used to the persistent scent of petrichor, to cloudy gray skies? Though if he asked, he knew that you wouldn’t be able to give much of an answer.

“That’s nice. Watch your step.” As soon as he said that, you stumbled, foot catching on the trailing ends of the curtain. He shifted what he was carrying to one hand and caught you by the back of your uniform’s jacket. 

You quickly righted yourself and apologized, “sorry, um. Thank you.” You ran your gaze along the part of the fabric you stepped on as you gathered it into your arms once again.

“It’s going to be washed anyway.” Jamil let go of your blazer. The use of the upperclassman honorific in place of his name slowly became more frequent with each visit, he noted.

Ironic, seeing as how you were completely at ease with him during your first meeting.

In the laundry area, hampers containing his and Kalim’s used clothes were already sitting there. He figured he could kill two birds with one stone, and do it at the same time. 

The curtains were vacuumed every week, but it had been a while since they were properly cleaned. And in a place as sandy as the Scarabia dorm, they were pretty much due for a washing. While the fabric didn’t contain designs as elaborate as the ones that decorated the Asim estate, it was still provided by said family. Tailored, not manufactured, for the renovated dorm and worth more than what he would ever amount to. He sorted through the fabrics, which ones were good to throw into the laundry machine and which ones had to be strictly washed by hand.

He nodded towards the latter. “I’ll handle these.” 

“Is this too much detergent?” 

“You could use a little more.” 

Another thing he noticed about you, was that you were, for lack of a better word, quiet. Rarely did you ever ask questions about how to do or where to find things, only needing a glance around the room. He initially attributed it to the fact that you spent a large chunk of your first days here fixing up your dorm to be at least livable, to make the most of your meager belongings. But behind the awkwardly polite demeanor you wore, there was an experienced and practiced characteristic to how you carried out your work. The kind that was ingrained into muscle memory after years. 

When you were alone, did your shoulders sag with bone-deep exhaustion? Did you ache from constant daily exertion? And if he were to hold your hand, would he feel the remnants of calluses and blisters?

“Did…did I do something wrong?” you asked, before closing the machine and letting it run its cycle.

“No, you didn’t.” He brought out a small stool for you to sit on.

Jamil could feel the weight of your gaze prickling the back of his neck. You spoke up after a few seconds of silence,  “do you need help with that?”

“No, I can manage this.” In fact, he could make quick work of it. There weren’t any stains that he needed to remove, for once. He filled an empty basin with water and let the fabric soak in the detergent.

“Alright…” you acquiesced, leaning your elbows on your thighs and resting your chin on your palms.

The rumble of the machines, combined with the slosh of water filled the room. Not that he was the most interesting conversationalist to be with, but he was grateful for the ambient noise.

“It’d be nice… if we had our own washing machine for Ramshackle,” you blurted out.

Jamil supposed that the once-abandoned dorm was equipped with all the necessary amenities during its time of use. But if you and Grim were the newest and only living residents, then— “Did Headmaster Crowley not replace the dorm’s appliances?” He rolled up his sleeves before rinsing out the draperies. If he wasn’t careful, he could tear the delicate cloth.

At your silence, he turned to glance at you, meeting your gaze. You gave a slow shake of your head before turning back to watch the machine in front of you. “I had to do it by hand at first—which is fine! Completely fine with me, actually—but everything in that dorm was on the verge of collapse. I kinda feel scared to touch it.”

“If you’re looking for a place to do your laundry…” This wasn’t the place to do it. He was up to his neck in responsibilities, spontaneous and planned. He gave the contents one last rinse then deemed it clean enough to be dried, emptying the basin and wringing out the fabrics.

“Hm? Oh, no, I mean, the ghosts showed me how to use it.” You pondered on your next words, standing up to take the freshly laundered fabrics out. “I just…think that getting a new one would end up erasing what they taught me.”

“The ghosts have been around for a long time. They’re more than used to seeing people come and go.” He flicked the water off his hands.  “what more for a broken machine?”

Your head tilted to the side. “...I guess so. ”

The room fell into silence once more as he hung the finished laundry on a metal drying rack.

“We still need to hang these outside.” He tossed a set of clothespins into a basket before passing it to you. The both of you left the laundry area, stepping outside. The clear, sunny weather showed no signs of diminishing and there was a pleasant breeze. With the area he chose, he wouldn’t have to worry about sand and dust getting kicked up by the wind.

“Henchmaaan!”

Your head searched for Grim spotting him bounding towards you on all fours. You threw the curtain over the clothesline before catching him in your arms. “What’s wrong? Where’s Kalim?”

“I dunno and I don’t care, let’s go back home!" Jamil guessed that even Grim had his limits.

At those words, he could hear the dorm leader’s voice calling out for Grim.

"Gyah, you gotta hide me!" He burrowed into your jacket, pitchfork-shaped tail jutting out.

You shared a look with Jamil, confusion furrowing your brow. “Did…something bad happen—ow, Grim your nails!”

“Probably not.” Jamil said as he clipped another curtain onto the line. The fabric billowed in the wind, the finely-spun thread catching the rays of sunlight. He stole a glance at you, standing on the opposite side of the clothesline. Grim was balancing on your shoulders as you talked to him.

“If you made him angry—” Kalim and the word ‘angry’ in the same sentence? That would have been something to see, Jamil thought to himself. “—you’re going to have to apologize to him,” you said as you straightened out another piece of fabric before hanging it.

“He’s…he’s not mad!” Grim protested, tail flicking back and forth. “But he kept taking me everywhere and pinching my tail, and I had enough!”

That sounded like something Kalim would do. His ears then picked up the sound of his footsteps, combined with the sounds of his accessories and jewelry clinking and chiming.

“There you are, Grim!” There goes Jamil’s two hours of solace and quiet.

Grim wailed, hiding behind your legs and putting you squarely in between him and Kalim. “I don’t wanna go with you!”

“Um…if you don’t mind me asking,” There it was again, the use of that honorific in place of Kalim’s name. “What happened a while ago?” Your hands picked at your fingers.

The dorm leader explained that the fire-monster got bored of studying, so Kalim suggested a few fun things they could do around the dorm. It started out with a few board games, followed by a visit to the animals, and then just before he could take Grim on a spontaneous flying carpet ride, the fire-monster ran away to find you. That meant Jamil had to do some extra cleanup after he finished putting away the laundry. Great.

“Oh, I see...” Your confusion didn’t let up but you continued without losing a beat, “so, while I—we appreciate your kind intentions, I think that’s my cue to help Grim study… Maybe you could take him flying next time?” 

Kalim nodded in understanding. “Next time then. Oh! By the way, I’m throwing a party this weekend, we could do it then! Would you like to come?”

Your fidgeting paused. “It sounds fun, I just… I wouldn’t know anyone there?” It was clear you didn’t want to go.

“But you know me, and you know Jamil. And Grim can come along too!”

“...Um…I don’t—I guess I do, but…” Your gaze momentarily flicked to Jamil then back to Kalim.

He took your hands in his, eyes shining with undeterred excitement. “The food’ll be good! And, and, I could introduce you to my other friends too! It’ll be fun, I promise!” Guess Jamil had to step in.

“Kalim. They’re probably going to be busy on the weekend.” Or, from what he gathered, you just didn’t seem very extraverted. Surprisingly, he still had an iota of patience that he could inject into his tone. “Just invite them another time, when their schedule’s freed up.”

Thankfully, the dorm leader let go of your hands and didn’t push any further. “Just tell me when, and I’ll make sure to plan something for you, alright?”

You only gave him a stiff smile in acknowledgement. 

Truth be told, Jamil didn’t plan on letting you continue to visit. At first, you would always get lost in the dorm, somehow ending up in a room on the complete opposite end of where you were trying to get to. And since Grim would always accompany you, the more the fire monster grew comfortable to his new after school hangout spot, the more of a menace he became. Your time went into chasing Grim around Scarabia, keeping him away from the kitchens while Jamil was cooking. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if you reached the point of having to babysit Kalim as well. 

He could go on and on with his nitpicking, but none of it could take away from the fact that you were efficient. Somehow, you managed to take away a portion of the work that burdened him everyday.

[...]

Apparently, he wasn’t completely right about your ability to efficiently manage your studies.

His class was in the library, doing some preliminary research for a paper to be submitted later in the semester. He sat on one of the outer seats of the table his group was using. They were situated in a relatively quiet section of the library. Most of the noise came from the tables near the entrance and the sections with the resources that were most appropriate for the paper’s subject matter. 

Said noise and chatter would only grow louder with the arrival of a first-year class. Jamil could hear the librarian already admonishing them. What Jamil would give to be able to throw on his headphones. He flipped the page of the book he was reading. A few passages proved to be somewhat promising, he took note of the important points, condensing them for easy reference—

“Grim! That’s not the right map!”

Something clattered noisily on the table. “Whaat? I was doing it exactly like you told me.” 

“No…no, it’s wrong, it’s—we have to redo it, all of it.” The frantic flutter of papers combined with Grim’s drawn-out whine.

“Actually, I think you guys forgot about the time zone, it’s not on Sage Island remember?” Ace cut in.

“Argh, I forgot about that—” A thud against the table surface interrupted your words. Any louder, and Jamil supposed that the librarian would materialize right at your side.

“Guys, the librarian’s looking at us…” Deuce’s voice wasn’t that much quieter than yours, but at least he wasn’t completely ignoring his surroundings.

Your voice lowered to a non-discreet whisper. “What does your solution look like?”

“I got this for my answer.” Your group fell silent, reading over his work.

Ace then spoke up, “...ohh. It looks correct—hey, don’t start crying on the paper!”

“I’m gonna—we’re gonna fail, I don’t get it, I don’t get any of it—” 

“Why do we need to manually calculate this? Can’t we just use that fancy crystal ball like the teacher does?” Grim complained.

Ah, first-year Astrology. Now your group’s reaction made sense.

“Hey, those freshmen are starting to be pretty annoying. Should I tell them off?” Jamil’s gaze moved from the book to his classmate. He noticed that he was the only person who had an open book, everyone else was either on their phones or leaning closer to continue in hushed voices.

“Ugh, I was waiting for someone to say something about them.” 

“If you don’t do it, I’m gonna complain to the librarian. See how they like gettin’ thrown out into the hall…”

Without making a sound, Jamil pushed his chair back and left the table. Moved two—no, four shelves down to be away from the confrontation when it happened. Not that the distance did anything to lessen the fact that he could still hear the short screech of the chairs being pushed back, whispers slowly growing into an argument, Grim hissing as a warning—

That didn’t concern you. He pushed it out of his mind, put all his focus into scanning the titles along the shelf. A memoir from an author who was prominent in the connected field of study, a collection of similar studies published under NRC, his group could use these. He tucked the books under his arm and went to the front desk. “Excuse me, I would like to borrow these,” he said, setting them down on the wooden surface and filling out the cards at the back.

The irate expression on the librarian’s face didn’t let up. The force of him stamping the cards was strong enough to make the desk shake. But judging from the bits of quiet angry muttering that Jamil could hear, the librarian didn’t seem to have any plans of approaching the area where your group was located. He passed the books back to Jamil and waved him off.

The commotion didn’t seem to have escalated too badly by the time he returned. His groupmates were now just talking about their afterschool plans, counting the minutes until they were dismissed. One of his classmates’ tie was crooked, the collar of his shirt wrinkled possibly from being grabbed. Another was cradling a fresh scratch mark along his wrist. Jamil glanced over to your group’s table—Deuce was going over a worksheet with you. You were absentmindedly scratching the base of Grim’s ear. And Ace was leaning back in his chair. The look in his irises didn’t match his relaxed demeanor—their eyes met and Jamil only gave a small nod in greeting before he busied himself with arranging his belongings.

The rest of Jamil’s day went on without much issue. As soon as afternoon training concluded, he was surprised to see Kalim waiting for him so they could walk back to Scarabia together. The conversation was light, nothing noteworthy. Kalim knew how to speak for two people, he could make a conversation out of anything and carry it for seemingly forever. The problem only started when he would get caught up in his excitement, and since Jamil was talking about Kalim, this happened on a regular basis. Complaining about it wouldn’t amount to anything.

As he changed into his dorm uniform, his phone buzzed. You tended to message right before going through the mirror. The gesture of…courtesy started to make less sense the more your visits became a regular thing. It was still convenient, don’t get him wrong. Though… maybe it was just a bit weird, the more he thought about it. 

He read over his reply twice and sent it before going to meet you at the dorm’s entrance.

[...]

“Henchman, y’have to try this!” Grim hopped off the kitchen’s tabletop and trotted over to you.

“Grim, we have to head back before six so I can tea—” Your sentence was cut off by the fire-monster pushing his half-eaten pita wrap into your face. You took a bite and made a pleased sound before going, “wait Grim it’s too spicy—!”

Jamil handed you a glass of water. He saw Grim pour an obscene amount of sauce over his serving. Not that you would know, having just returned from replacing the vacuum cleaner. He would’ve insisted that he should be the one to do it, but Kalim and Grim started bugging him for something to eat. And Grim, unbridled menace that he was, wouldn’t shut up unless his demands were met. 

Kalim chimed into the conversation, “are you going back that soon?”

“Yeah?” You knocked a fist against your chest, stifling another coughing fit. “Well, I—we don’t wanna impose… so we’ll leave early.” You took another drink of water then wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Aww, but I don’t wanna study Astrology…”

“But I’m the one who has to teach you, you rascal.” Your hand ruffled the top of his head.

Grim backed away from you to leap up onto the table. Not that it added much to his height. “Myargh, don’ call me that! Y’don’t even understand it either!” When you pointed an exasperated stare at the fire-monster, he continued to protest, “but it’s Friday! Studying during the weekends should be illegal!”

“I’m sorry, we’ll start getting out of your hair in a bit…” You turned to the both of them, sheepish and apologetic.

“No, no it’s okay.” Kalim waved off your words cheerfully. “You were saying something about Astrology…? Are you having trouble with that class?” He took the last serving of pita wrap and passed it to you.

Jamil took the empty plate and brought it to the sink. 

Accepting the snack, you winced. “Well… u-um, every class has its challenges, you know?”

“Liar! Y’were cryin’ snot all over our worksheet!”

Embarrassment filled your voice. “Grim!” 

“Well, if it’s Astrology that’s giving you trouble, then you’re in the right place!” Kalim gestured with a wide sweep of his arms. “Did you know that you can see the stars really easily here? You could stay over for dinner and—” he paused, then his smile widened even more.

Jamil knew what that expression meant, that meant the dorm leader was going to suggest something outlandish.

“—we could take the flying carpet! I did that with Jamil when I was also having a hard time with that class in my first year. It’ll be fun, don’t you think?”

Jamil kept his head down, focused on the plates in front of him, the faint smell of dish soap, the cool running water against his hands. But he couldn’t tear his ears away from the conversation.

“Um… but curfew…” 

“You could sleep over for the night!”

“Sweet~! We really lucked ou—ack!” Grim’s cheer was cut off by you, continuing to decline on his part.

“No, it’s really fine, Grim ‘nd me’ll start leaving right now—”

“Don’t worry about that! We have plenty of spare rooms, don’t we?” He looked to Jamil for confirmation. The unbridled excitement in Kalim’s irises sent a wave of irritation through him.

A strained laugh left your throat. “Um, I appreciate the invitation, but respectfully, I must turn it down…” you paused, considering what to say, “...seeing as how none of us have brought overnight clothes…”

“Why’re you suddenly talking like that? You don’t need to be formal with us. I insist!”

“I really don’t think it’s okay for us to overstay—” You tried protesting for the third time.

“Lots of people sleep over at Scarabia, it’s no big deal!” Yes, Jamil could remember the times where he found Silver slumped over in a pile of pillows from the lounge, the several instances where Floyd invited himself to stay over “for funsies,” and of course, he couldn’t leave out the bi-monthly Light Music Club sleepovers with Lilia and Cater.

“Um…” 

“Stop scruffin’ me, henchman! Kalim’s got a point, doesn’t he?”

Kalim’s voice softened. “Look, you’re practically one of us at this point. It’s fine, really.”

That. That unwavering honesty in his words and how it easily spilled from him. It was careless how freely and earnestly he spoke. But above all, it was enviable. Only a young rich heir could find the capacity to be that open and kind and generous and Jamil could feel a headache pinching at his temple. He placed the cleaned dishes on the drying rack. It took every ounce of his self-control not to set them aside with a clatter.

You didn’t seem to have any rebuttals prepared. 

Jamil discarded his irritation, easily plastering on the neutral expression he always carried. “Do you have your books and notes?”

You nodded. 

“Make sure to bring it with you after dinner. I’ll tutor you both.” The sensation of having everyone’s eyes on him was uncomfortable against his skin. 

“...alright.” Maybe the same could be said for you. “C’mon Grim.”

Now that the kitchen was mostly cleaned up, he needed to prepare a room for you and Grim, find a spare dorm uniform in good condition, then go back to the kitchen to prepare dinner. His internal list of responsibilities to work through shifted to make space for this extra work.

The moment of discomfort didn’t last for long though, Jamil refused to let it linger. Because if it lingered, then that meant he would have to figure out why his irritation was being overtaken with uneasiness. And if he thought about it more then he’d have to…

He stole a glance at you, keeping up with his pace. For once you weren’t trailing behind him like you usually did when you visited Scarabia. You looked like you were half-listening to whatever Grim and Kalim were talking about.

Articulate as he was, he couldn’t name the expression you were wearing. Whatever it was, there was a deeper emotion to it and Jamil found it hard to look at.

[...]

“Look, look I’m matching with you guys now.” You rested a hand on your hip. After a few beats, your expression faltered. “I didn’t wear anything backwards, did I?”

“You didn’t.” Save for the golden accessories that every student from Scarabia wore, the uniform seemed to fit you well. Not too loose or uncomfortably tight, the hem of the vest and undershirt were neatly smoothed out. Just like how you presented yourself in the NRC uniform. “It looks good,” he said.

“Really? It feels super comfy. Well…” you paused, looking down at yourself. “I guess the belt is just a bit long…” 

“You can shorten it by doing this.” He stepped closer to you, taking hold of the trailing end and fixing it so that it wouldn’t trail down to your ankles. But in adjusting the belt, part of the undershirt had risen up. The habit of fixing Kalim’s clothes kicked in before he could catch himself.

Jamil’s hands brushed against your hips as he gently tugged the hem of the undershirt back down. He double-checked the belt and smoothed it out once more. At the sudden contact, you tensed up, breath hitching quietly. Several sheets of your epherimedes slipped from your notes as your arms came up by reflex, placing a sort of makeshift barrier between him and you.

Thankfully, instead of mentioning the proximity—the breach of personal space—you asked, "where's Kalim? I thought he said he was going with us." 

Jamil picked up the fallen sheets of paper, passing them to you. "He turned in for the night." Well, Kalim was intent on staying up late, but Jamil had already tried waking him up once. To which the dorm leader responded by burrowing deeper into his blankets. Jamil motioned for you to follow him.

“So did Grim. I told him that we were still going to study but…” You sighed, shoulders slumping forward a bit. “...I guess I’ll just make sure to tutor him tomorrow morning.”

It was late in the evening now. The moon hung high in the sky, an upside-down bowl. The sound of your footsteps echoed through the empty hallways. Filling in the silence as Jamil weighed his words. “You’re very diligent.”

You laughed. But the sound was derisive, directed—stabbing—at yourself. “Diligence doesn’t mean much when you earn poor results.”

He thought back to what he overheard in the library. “Don’t be hard on yourself.” To his surprise, his words didn’t feel the same as the empty platitudes he would regurgitate for Kalim. “This isn’t my first time tutoring Astrology.”

And it would reflect badly on his dorm if he couldn’t recall what he learned in the first year, the afterthought needed to be there. To remind him of his responsibility. Because now his mind was catching up to the fact that it was only going to be you and him, and that thought wasn’t supposed to be so… bothersome.

"Are you really okay with it?” He knew that you were talking about having to be an impromptu tutor, your words held a hint of guilt and concern. And even if a part of him was aware that it came from a genuine place, it only made him feel small.

The automatic response came out, albeit a bit more curt and clipped than he intended. “I’m used to it.”

You didn’t say anything more, only muttering a quiet ‘oh, I see.’

The walk to the treasury was quiet, and your silence spoke volumes. It was as if he could hear the gears in your head turning. Despite your reserved nature, you were a mediator through and through, just like Kalim was.

If he said that he wasn’t okay with being volunteered to tutor others, that wouldn’t exempt him from being made to do so either way. He didn’t have a choice in the first place. The least you could do was make the ordeal less painstaking than it already was for him.

Jamil’s hand rested on the doorknob of the room. “Look, the sooner we go, the sooner we can get this done. You can manage that, can’t you?” 

The guilt on your features gave way to a determined nod. “Okay, I won’t waste your time,” you promised.

He thought back to the pinky promise you first made. And he pushed the door to the treasury open. “Don’t expect me to hold your hand through the subject though.”

“I know that!” Your voice was pitched high from embarrassment. “You won’t have to start right from the beginning!”

At least you were standing behind him, you wouldn’t have to see the startings of a grin cracking across his face.

“You aren’t afraid of heights, are you?” Jamil asked as he searched around for the flying carpet. The magical artifact greeted you both with a wave of its tassels. It followed the both of you out of the treasury, curling and twisting in mid-air. 

You stared. “...oh…we’re gonna fly…”

“Yes—wait, what did you think we were going to do?” Now that you were all outside the main building, the carpet laid itself flat on the ground. The cool night air was a complete reversal of the day’s heat.

“I don’t know! I-I thought Scarabia had some special observatory I wasn’t aware of!”

He gave you an exasperated look. “Are you sure you’re okay with flying?”

“Yes, I’m…I’m not scared of heights… only falling and breaking my bones…” You took a seat next to him. Your hold on your notes was tight enough to crease the edges of paper that jutted out.

Jamil supposed that you were saying that to convince yourself. Judging by the way that your eyes were squeezed shut, his suspicions were only further confirmed. He guided the carpet to slowly ascend, flying high enough so that your view of the sky wouldn’t be obscured by Scarabia’s buildings.

Your trepidation melted away as you took in the night sky. "Woah, the star maps don't do this view any justice…" you breathed.

"Don't get sidetracked now." 

"Right, right. Sorry, um…" You opened the textbook and started rattling off what part of the lesson you were at. You showed him the graded worksheets and your notes.

As Jamil listened to you, he read over your handwriting. Somewhat messy, but still readable. Granted, while there were some missing segments in your solutions, you seemed to make sure to include the final answer. Was it a way to challenge yourself instead of copying another classmate’s solution? Or were you intent on figuring it out all by yourself? He guessed it was the latter. 

The both of you pored over the material. Redoing the problems you got wrong, filling in the parts of the discussion that you missed. Jamil noticed however that you had trouble comparing the actual night sky with the maps you brought along. 

“Wait, which star?” Your brow furrowed as you tried to follow the direction he was pointing at.

He tipped your chin up, keeping his other arm parallel to your gaze. “It’s a dim constellation, so you have to look at the surroundings to be able to spot it. ”

 A short, frustrated exhale escaped you. “I still can’t find it.”

“Keep trying.” From his perspective, the end of the star pattern rested just barely atop his fingertip.

He could feel the short baby hairs framing the side of your face brush up against his arm as you continued to search for the constellation. Eventually your confusion dissipated and your eyes lit up with recognition “Oh, I see it now! So then that means…” You looked back down at your notes, flipped through the pages, then started hastily writing down a few messy calculations. All the while indifferent to the fact that his hand was still resting on your shoulder. 

“Is this correct?” You tilted your notes towards him.

He scanned what you wrote. “...you used the wrong time zone.” 

You swore. “Ugh, I keep forgetting about that.” Your eraser scratched at the specific part of the mistake, making the needed corrections. “Are the advanced classes just as math-filled?” you asked as you redid the solution. “I feel like we’re almost doing rocket science.”

“No, they’re more reliant on magical ability. Scrying, cartomancy, even astrology, when done right can be powerful tools to guide a magician.” So far, so good. He noted as he skimmed your handwriting. “The better you are, the more vivid your visions. Or so they say.” 

“Do you believe in that? Things like seeing the future and all that?”

Of course not, he held back a scoff. His entire fate was neatly laid out in front of him by his parents and their ancestors. His destiny rested in the palm of a naive heir full of ignorance and misplaced kindness. His home, his own family, and the prestige they carried was a flimsily-disguised birdcage. Why, he wanted nothing more than to carve out his own path with his bare hands, to just up and leave everything behind. Fate, chance, and destiny be damned. 

Instead he settled on this for a short answer. “I think it’s foolish to hinge everything on fate.”

“I thought you’d say something like that,” you laughed. “Rational, practical, down-to-earth Jamil.” Not one bit of the sound felt demeaning, and there’s a note of something…fond in the way you said his name.

Too close. “Don’t tell me you believe otherwise.” He pulled away from you and leaned back on his palms. The magic that powered the carpet thrummed underneath his fingertips, steady as the ebb and flow of the ocean’s waves. He pointed his gaze towards the half-moon floating in a sea of stars, adamantly turning away from your crescent-eyed smile. His stomach felt uneasy, it was as if he was helplessly suspended in between two moons.

“It’s not that I completely believe in it or the other way around, but I came from a magicless world so I gotta…” You hummed thoughtfully as you flipped through your ephemerides. “...think of it as something real now.”

The two of you lapsed into silence, accompanied by the sound of the wind and the flutter of the carpet. Was it supposed to feel this comfortable, being in another person’s space and having them in his own? With this stillness, the both of you were no different from the celestial objects painting the night sky. You were deeply engrossed in your work, oblivious to what your words were stirring.

The scratch of your pencil against paper stopped before his thoughts spiraled out of control. “Okay… is this right?” He thinks he’s composed himself enough to be able to spare a glance.

“Mm, it’s right.” His hand toyed with the edge of his hood. The triumphant gleam in your eyes was blinding. 

“So, it’s good?” 

He flipped through the textbook then tapped at another sample problem. “Do this one next, then we’ll see.”

“What? That wasn’t discussed in class!” 

“It’s like the last problem, you’ll figure it out.” 

Despite your initial complaints, the rest of the tutoring went by relatively well. You weren’t merely echoing what he was saying. Save for some minor mistakes, you seemed less daunted by the subject compared to before. As long as you took your time working through the problems, Jamil was sure that you would do well enough. But just before you descended back to the dorm’s main building, he had you write down the lesson’s main points. Just to be sure. You were still going to be responsible for teaching Grim in the morning, after all.

“Solid ground, thank God! I was about to freeze up there.” A shiver passed through your body despite your light-hearted laugh. As you were about to walk past him, Jamil grabbed your wrist.

The tips of your fingers were cold. “Why didn’t you say anything?” The tone he used must’ve come out sharper than intended, you flinched before answering.

“Well, because we were already there and you said…the sooner we went, the sooner we’d finish…” you reasoned weakly.

He sighed. “Give me your other hand.”

“I’m fine, really! Just give me a sec—” Your protests fell silent as he shushed you and cupped your hands in his.

Warmth spread from his palms to yours, a simple heating charm. Your hands relaxed in his hold. A stubborn part of him chalked it up to the needed change in temperature.

“Better?” His own cheeks felt warm. It’s the residual magic, he rationalized, the fact that he didn’t use his pen to cast it.

You gave a small nod in response. Your gaze continued to stare at your linked hands.

The edge of your palms were rough, hardened from work. If he shifted his hold, he could feel the bump of a callus on the side of your favored hand.

He let go. “I still need to put the carpet back in the treasury.”

"...no." The word was uttered so quietly that he strained to hear it.

"What?"

Your head snapped up. The moment you made eye contact with each other, Jamil noticed your eyes were blown wide. As if you were a deer caught in the headlights—you reached forwards and yanked his hood over his head. His vision went dark, tearing a surprised noise from his throat. He heard the sound of the drawstrings being pulled taut, followed by the sensation of you pushing him and turning to run away. He stumbled backwards.

Fumbling for the drawstrings of his uniform’s hood, he bit back a curse.

The strings were double-knotted.

[...]

Like every other person, Jamil had dreams. Of reliving certain childhood memories, of being chased and feeling like he was running through water, of having his teeth fall out. Once upon a time, he dreamt of being able to travel around the world once he grew up.

He doesn’t immediately recognize this as a dream. For all he knew, this was one of his usual days at Night Raven College. Robotically going through the motions, running to and fro at Kalim’s behest, reigning in his emotions, staying average and mediocre.

The sound of his class lectures sounded faraway, as if the professors were speaking through water. But as the day continued, he could also hear bits and pieces of your voice. One-sided scraps of conversations, you calling out for your friends, the sound of your laughter ringing in his ears, they all stood out against the muffled voices and hazy figures populating the school. Every time he searched, he would only catch a glimpse of your back as you entered a different classroom or the end of your ponytail as you would round a corner. And just before he catch up to you, he would only find a red feather lying on the ground.

It was as if you were a ghost.

He had other things to focus on. He made his way to Scarabia’s mirror and stepped through the glass, arriving at his old room in the servant’s quarters.

Why was he here? Everything was where he left it, untouched and undisturbed. But that did little to tamp down on his rising unease. He turned back to the door and found it locked. The windows were also locked, he was trapped—

The walls fell away to reveal an intricate and ornate birdcage, constructed out of gold, tall enough to reach the ceiling. No longer was he standing on solid ground, he was a little bird standing on a small perch now. No better than the numerous ornaments that decorated the Asim estate. 

The door to the room opened revealing you. Dressed in the fine robes of his hometown, golden accessories decorated your wrists, neck, and ears. Your hair was adorned with a single, red macaw’s feather. You looked no different from a noble. A vision to behold. You unlocked the cage and carried him out. He was small enough to fit in your palms.

You gave him a soft smile and smoothed down his feathers. His wings were pinned to his sides but you were careful not to press too hard against the fragile bones. “You weren’t meant to be caged, little one,” you said, walking towards the open window.

No, he couldn’t fly, he couldn’t soar. He couldn’t do anything except flail about helplessly in your hold. Useless birdsong spilled from his throat. Each step you took brought him closer and closer to that endless blue sky. He didn’t dare look down.

He could feel the wind now. A light gust that would’ve felt refreshing now sent a spike of adrenaline through his veins. The only thing separating him from the ground was your gentle hold. His breathing quickened, don’t let me go, please don’t let me go—

You were speaking but he couldn’t make out any of the words. Your cupped palms dipped once before throwing him into the blue sky.

And then he was falling down, down, down.

Flapping his clipped wings.

Wind rushing against him.

Blood roaring in his ears.

Screaming mutely until his throat felt raw.

He was going to hit the ground and break all his bones and die why was it taking so long—

Jamil’s eyes cracked open. The first thing he saw was the darkened ceiling of his bedroom. He was still in Scarabia. He sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face. A glance at his phone screen told him he woke up two hours before his alarm was set to ring.

Might as well get started for the day.

The dream would be quickly forgotten. He would go through the latter classes of the day with a building headache. Even Kalim would notice his discomfort, but his attempts at concern would be waved off. 

It was just a dream. And he knew better than to dream.

chapter 3: you're afraid to believe it A/N: first i'd like to thank @jessamine-rose for beta-ing this fic, your fresh eyes were very helpful in convincing me i wasn't going completely crazy😭😭 For my dear readers, i think now would be a good time to mention that I am primarily an angst and hurt/comfort writer so... part 3 will take a bit of a while since i have to resolve all Those Feelings ahhhh.... anyways! i hope you enjoyed reading this, don't be afraid to rb and holler in the tags, i treasure each and every comment💕💕

[yandere-genji]

Omfg you’re bully!Gabriel had me weak in the knees!!! Please make a second part! I’d very much appreciate it!!!

hnng after writing these college au prompts i am actually convinced this is peak content//fem!reader in this one homies

The semester had started just a few weeks ago but you dove headfirst into your studies like a madman. Carefully studying your textbook and making notes for chapters well in advance, this was the part of your studies that invigorated you the most. You truly enjoyed the material and what would seem like a chore to anyone else was an odd thrill to you. Not only that, but studying was enriching and you hoped your future would benefit from your dedication to your field. Still, you missed socializing with your friends.

In fact, since your encounter with Gabe, you had become a recluse. The last thing you wanted was to chance another run-in with him. It must’ve gotten him off knowing he had such an effect on you, but you didn’t care to indulge him any further than that. So, you continued your studies but never stayed on campus long enough to fraternize with anyone. After class, you went straight to the comfort of your dorm, where you were sure to be safe.

Your dorm mate, Angela, was your only source of interaction. The two of you got along well, both hardworking students. You understood each other, it had been a blessing that she was assigned as your roommate. And she was happy to be your shoulder to lean on while you were keeping to yourself, allowing you to rant about your courses and professors as you pleased. But to your dismay, Angela had grown concerned for you. Obviously you had undergone a change of some kind, one that was affecting you for the worse.

“You know,” she chided, “I can’t be your only source of comfort. I love you, honey, but what’s going on with you?”

You sighed, not wanted to go through the stress of explaining anything to her, “I just…I don’t know. College, I guess.”

“My God, you’re a terrible liar,” she scoffed, “Am I going to have to mother you like this the whole semester?”

“I mean…” you rolled onto your back, looking up at her from your mattress, “am I so needy that I’m becoming a nuisance?”

Angela giggled and sat against your mattress on the floor, meeting your eyes with her icy blues, “I’m just worried. We should go out sometime together. You know, somewhere that’s not here.”

You shrugged, “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. But I have some exams coming up that I have to study for…”

She cut you off, “You’ve been studying for those exams for weeks. Come on, it’s Halloween season, you know. Ana is hosting a costume party and I’m just dying to go, I have the cutest angel outfit, wanna see?”

“Jesus, it’s almost November, and then December. Angela, before we know it, the semester’s over!” you propped yourself up on your elbows, “Ugh. Whatever. I kinda wanna see your costume, though. What’re you going for, like a Victoria’s Secret vibe or like Catholic school stage play angel?”

“That’s the best part,” she jumped up, headed for the closet, “it’s both!”

Seeing her so excited made you match her energy. It had been some time since you dressed up for Halloween. And you’d never been to a costume party before, let alone a college party. It sounded like great fun.

Angela emerged from the closet, glowing brightly from the sequins of her white dress. She looked radiant, the corset of the dress fit snuggly around her waist and the short skirt puffed around her hips. It seemed like the dress had been made for her. She flashed you a beaming smile, “What do you think? Isn’t it cute? Oh, you have to come to the party. We should have matching costumes!”

You were never as giddy as when you were with Angela. She brought out the girly side of you that laid dorment whenever you were enveloped in your coursework. You stood up and fiddled with the wings attached to her back, “It’s so cute on you, Angie, but I couldn’t pull something like that off. Plus, it suits you better.”

She pushed your hand away and began to take the wings off of her, “Try it, at least. See if you like it.”

The pajamas you had on would certainly look silly with the wings, you thought, but she insisted. The elastic bands pulled at your shoulders and chaffed your skin. You examined yourself in the mirror, clearly uncomfortable.

“Seriously, Angie, you’re much more the angel type,” you started, already taking off the wings, “I don’t know. I think I’d like to go to the party, but I have no idea what I’d go as.”

She hummed inquisitively, examining you like the fairy godmother of your dreams, “They have those Halloween stores this time of year. Why don’t we shop around today, get you ready for the party. It’s not until the weekend anyways, plenty of time to get you dolled up.”

You agreed, no longer hesitant and finally ready to leave your books and pajamas behind. The two of you set off to a large strip mall just outside campus that had been decorated to theme. Purple and orange garlands framed the stores and pumpkins littered the ground with the vibrant fall leaves. Angela led you by the hand to a large department store full of costumes. Witches, clowns, a bloody nurse, a zombie maid, and a very tempting banana suit. But none of them seemed to appeal to you.

“Oh my gosh, this is perfect for you!” Angela almost squealed in excitement.

“What is it?” you asked, discarding a pirate wench’s corset dress.

She lifted up a plaid, pleated skirt shorter than your own underwear, “Slutty schoolgirl, what do you think? I mean, it’s basically what you wear everyday. Just slut-ified.”

“Great…” you groaned, turning away from her and averting your attention to a werewolf mask on the make up shelf next to you.

It had masks and palettes with artificial blood. Strange to think people willingly put that stuff on their face. Lord knows what was in those things. The palettes were cheap and certainly weren’t made from the highest quality face products. You could already feel your skin breaking out just by being in proximity to them.

“Oh,” you heard Angela raise her voice behind you, “what’s this?”

She picked up some sort of pencil, it looked like an eyebrow pencil but the tip was a much darker black than what you had seen. She looked at the pencil, then at you, then the pencil again. Her brain was brewing up an idea that you weren’t sure you were going to like.

“You know, there is a universal Halloween costume that I know you will like,” she began, “something so basic but so cute that you can’t possibly say no to it!”

You were not sure where she was getting this newfound confidence from, but she had your attention by the way she was selling her idea. “And that is?” you asked.

“A black cat!” she opened her mouth in feigned shock, “My goodness, what an idea! And I could be a witch! Oh, that’d be so adorable! Oh, let’s do it!”

“What about your angel costume?” you asked.

“Oh, well. I mean, I just had to buy the wings, I already had that dress from my sweet sixteen. Or was it prom? Can’t remember,” she shrugged, “Come on, let’s pick out a witch costume and see what else they have for you, my kitty.”

Angela was already getting into character, there was certainly no swaying her now. Besides, going as a cat wasn’t so bad. She was right, it would be cute couple’s costume. You sighed, “Alright, let’s go.”

You felt like an actual pet being led by Angela as she scoured the aisles looking for accessories for the both of you. In the end, she decided on some fluffy cat ears that tied around your own, a thin choker attached to a leash and a flattering black skin suit fitted with a fuzzy tail. For herself, she found a short witch’s dress with matching gloves, a hat, and a wooden broom, of course. Both of you went into the fitting rooms to try on your outfits. Your suit hugged your curves and complimented the shape of your body. The leash, in your humble opinion, was a little much for you, but Angela insisted upon it. You were surprised with the quality of the costume and were content to wear it for the party. Angela was too, happily praising her own styling intuition. It was beginning to darken outside and the two of you headed back to your dorm after a successful day of shopping.

——

Your days were starting to look brighter. There was something to look forward to and because of the busy fall season, you were able to keep to yourself. Angela wasn’t pestering you about leaving the dorm and your anxieties about Gabe were getting weaker by the day. If this was becoming your new norm, it wasn’t so bad.

The party came sooner than expected and you were nervous as ever the day of. To you knowledge, only Angela and a couple of people you knew would be in attendance. Ana was an acquaintance, you had seen her at the library cafe from time to time and waved to her, but the two of you had completely different majors. She was close to Angela, but you didn’t know much else about her.

Angela said there would be boys too, much to your dismay. There were two suitors of hers she was anticipating to meet. One of which was Genji. You shared your comp sci class with him and he was a good guy as far as you were concerned. He was cute and seemed like a good fit for her. Then there was Jack. You’d seen him with Gabe, and that was as much information as you needed to know about him. He seemed cocky, probably only wanted Angela for her looks, something to show off at parties. You told her you much preferred Genji, and she agreed.

“But men have to earn you,” she said, “or else it’s too easy for them. It’s like playing tug of war with a puppy. You know you’re going to win, but it’s no fun for them that way.”

“Um,” you started reluctantly, “I don’t know if that’s true at all.”

“Oh, what do you know about boys, you’re still a virgin!” she giggled at herself and your cheeks burned red.

“Whatever…” you replied, “how big is this party going to be? I might have to cling to you.”

“Oh, you’ll definitely have to cling to me. Why do you think I insisted on matching?” she said, patting her face with blush.

“You’re okay with me being so clingy?” you asked.

“I’m well used to it by now,” she smiled at you, brushing her hair.

“I’m not usually like this, you know,” you started, “it’s just been so weird lately.”

“Dont worry about it. If you need me, I’ll be here. Let’s just enjoy our time tonight, yea?” her words soothed you and the two of you agreed to ride whatever wave of emotion you were on until it subsided. You weren’t sure where you would be without Angela holding your hand through this. Her words about you being a virgin reminded you again of Gabe and you wondered if he would show his face at the party. Jack was going, sure, but probably only to met Angela there. Gabe definitely didn’t seem the type to go to a costume party and you doubted he even knew Ana or Angela very well if at all. You deserved some time away from all the drama and stress of college, you thought. This was the perfect opportunity to decompress and allow yourself some fun.

Once the two of you were dressed and made up, you eagerly drove out to Ana’s house in the suburbs. It was festive, the lawn was decorated with skeletons, bones, tombstones, and a blown-up haunted house gated the entrance. Ana was waiting outside, dressed like a pirate with a fake parrot over her shoulder. Her smile was inviting and she welcomed you with open arms.

“Argh mateys,” she mustered her best pirate voice, though it wasn’t very convincing, “are ye ready to party?”

“What is wrong with you?” Angela scoffed, “That voice is painful.”

“Fine, but you can’t tell me this isn’t the best pirate costume you have ever seen,” Ana retorted. It really was, you had to admit. The neutral leathers of her belt complimented her white blouse and flowing pants.

“The boots are a nice touch, with the heels and all,” you complimented her with a smile.

“Don’t entertain her,” Angela chided, “it’ll go right to her head.”

“Not as fast as the rum will,” Ana opened the door to her house and gestures for the two of you to come inside.

The interior was just as festive. It was illuminated by purple string lights and tv screens playing old horror movies you didn’t recognize. Bottles of liquor and fruit juice lined the kitchen along with bowls of snacks and candy. You were tempted to drift away from Angela that instant, but she pulled you by the hand to a crowd of people on the couch.

There was Genji. Dressed as a flashing neon green power ranger, smiling from ear to ear and looking directly at Angela. He was like a fool in love, it was sweet to witness. With him was another man who looked a couple years older than him, same black hair but longer and tied back. He wore a beautiful black suit, Men in Black, maybe? There was no obvious indication of what his costume was. Across the boys were two girls, one with a high ponytail in a graceful ballet dress and another with a striking duo-toned black and white updo that flattered her pained green skin. Bride of Frankenstein, easily the best costume you’d seen yet. You didn’t recognize any of them, but Angela was quick to introduce you.

“Scoot over, Genji. Make some room for us,” Angela patted the spot next to her and you sat, “Have you met Hanzo before? He’s Genji’s brother.”

Hanzo gave you a curt nod, said something to Genji, and returned his attention to his drink. You met the attention of the girl in the ponytail across from him.

“Hi,” you extended a hand, “I don’t think we’ve met, what’s your-“

“Amelie,” she replied before you finished, her tongue was sweet and smooth as silk, “This is my friend, Olivia.”

“Friends, are we?” she laughed, looked at you, “nice to meet you, heard a lot about you.”

“Me?” you asked puzzled.

“Uh-huh,” she rose from her seat, “excuse me, there’s someone I have to met.”

Something about her tone left you feeling uneasy, like there was some nefarious plan you weren’t left privy to. But Angela kept you from thinking any further into it, offering you a bottle of beer.

“No thanks,” you said, “I don’t know if we should be drinking tonight.”

Her and Genji laughed, “You’re at a party, honey,” she wrapped your fingers around the bottle, “live a little, yea?”

And you did. Although Hanzo seemed stone cold, he loosened up with a few drinks and was eager to chat with you and the group. He told you stories of his childhood with Genji in Japan. There was a lot to learn from him and Genji often interrupted his brother before he was about to say something extremely embarrassing. You and Amelie bonded over a few drinks, both of you being impartial to beer, she offered you mixed fruit drinks instead. She had you giggling like a school girl as she played with your costume.

“I wanted to be cat woman,” she explain, “but didn’t have the time to prepare a proper costume. You look exquisite.”

It made you blush, though it was hardly noticeable through your drunken red face, “I think you would’ve made a great cat woman. You’re a beautiful ballerina.”

She cackled, very amused at your joke. You didn’t quite understand what was so funny, but you gave a light chuckle to entertain her, “Look at you, you’re laughing and yet you have no idea why.”

You weren’t sure if she was mocking you or genuinely thought you were endearing, “Sorry, maybe it’s the alcohol.”

“Well, you two are really enjoying each other’s company!” Angela remarked, “Wanna go outside for a bit? I have to touch up my makeup, the heat in here is unbearable.”

“Sure,” you replied, you weren’t sure what she had in mind, but she came to the party with a plan and you intended to help her, “Amelie? Want to join us?”

The three of you took your leave and left the two brothers behind. You followed Angela to the back of the house with Amelie in tow. It was much quieter and intimate, a nice relief from the crowded party.

“Ugh, I’m starting to drink too much,” Angela bemoaned, taking a breath of the fresh air, “if Jack doesn’t come soon I might just fall asleep in Genji’s arms.”

“Jesus, Angela,” you reprimanded her, “why even bother with Jack? You’re playing those two boys.”

“I admire you, Angela,” Amelie said and turned to you, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder, “those two boys need something to play with or they tire quickly. You’re too innocent, dear. These are just the ways of a masterful seductress.”

The two girls laughed among themselves. You sighed, “Not you too, Amelie. This is just cruel. Genji is so sweet, he really brings out the best in you. And Jack…he’s so upity.”

“Why don’t you just take Genji for yourself, then,” Amelie suggested.

“What? No way, he’s not even into me. I’m not into him, either. But him and Angela really make a cute couple,” you said, looking to Angela. She seemed to be eating up the conversation with a satisfied grin.

“Oh? What are you into, then? Not the nerdy type…maybe the jocks? Oh, don’t tell me, you’re into Jack, aren’t you?” Amelie was being obviously playful, but you weren’t sober enough to detect it.

“No! You know there are more boy on this planet than Genji and Jack, right? Ugh, never,” you leaned against the wall, arms folded.

“Okay, let’s see. What about Hanzo? He’s handsome,” she remarked.

“I don’t know, I don’t really like to think about boys like that. I’m way too busy with school,” you said, fiddling with the leash that dangled onto your chest.

“I think you’re getting somewhere Amelie!” Angela was engrossed, hanging on the every word.

“Maybe not Hanzo. Then who else can I think of. Oh, of course! You go to the same school as Gabriel Reyes, don’t you?,” she spoke intently, closely examining your face.

At the sound of his name you couldn’t help the way your body responded. You froze, almost shuddered, and you legs involuntarily squeezed together. The heat in your face was almost unbearable, “What? Why would you even bring him up?”

Amelie chuckled and coiled a finger around the ends of her ponytail, “Just curious. He’s the biggest name at your university besides Jack, thought you might know him.”

“I don’t,” you practically snapped, like a cornered dog, “I’m sorry.”

Your own reaction stunned you once you directed the rude reply at Amelie. You had only met her just a bit ago and were projecting whatever conflicting feelings you had about Gabriel Reyes onto her. It was embarrassing. You didn’t dare look at either of the girls as you excused yourself back into the party.

It had grown louder since you first arrived. Something had changed the mood, everyone was jumping energetically to the music with alcohol in hand. You tried to make your way to something familiar, but you were lost in the sea of people. Navigating through the house seemed impossible, but you managed to stumble your way into the kitchen, holding an empty red cup close to your chest.

“Hey,” you heard a familiar voice faintly next to you. Turning your head, you noticed Olivia trying to get your attention, “You’re Angela’s friend, right?”

You nodded. She smiled, “You’re not with her?”

You just shook your head. Olivia offered you her hand, “Wanna chill?”

The two of you made you way through the crowd and up the stairs. Most of the party was below you now and Olivia took you into what you presumed to be an office of some sort. There was a computer desk across from a leather couch, occupied by a rugged man dressed as a cowboy and none other than Jack Morrison dressed as…himself, presumably.

“What in hell took you so long?” the cowboy spoke with a deep southern accent, “I was nearly about to blow my damn brains out.”

“Shut it, hillbilly,” Jack retorted, “don’t you see Olivia brought a guest.”

The sound of his voice was jarring but you followed Olivia into the room and sat among the men.

“Certainly, and what a lovely lady you are,” the cowboy extended his hand and you placed one on top of his. To your surprised, he rose your hand to his lips and gave a gentle kiss, “Name’s Cassidy.”

You blushed, unsure what to make of the man or the situation unfolding before you, “Nice to meet you.”

The door crashed open, Ana stood in the frame and raised a six-pack of beer, “Hello, old friends,” she smiled at you, “and a plus one! Perfect, a beer for each of us!”

You counted five people, including yourself. Ana handed you a beer and you held it against your chest, unsure of when or where your red cup had been discarded.

“Where the man of the hour?” Jack asked, opening his beer.

“He’ll be here shortly,” Ana turned to you, “do you need help opening that?”

“Oh, sure,” you shyly replied, not really wanting anymore to drink but perhaps if you just wet your lips…

“Don’t tell me your drinking without me,” you heard a voice speak from the open door. You froze.

“Well, shit,” Cassidy chuckled, “get yer ass in here, Reyes, I’m workin’ up a thirst sittin’ next to this jackass.”

Fuck. You wanted to jump up and run away into Angela’s arms. But something kept you in place, staring down at the beer in your hand. Your costume was beginning to feel all too revealing in front of the man you had been trying to avoid for weeks.

“Here, you can have my seat,” Olivia spoke, sitting up from next to you.

“What a doll,” with all of his weight, he plopped down next to you, making you jump.

You looked away, thumb playing with the lip of the beer bottle and eyes fixed at the hallway outside. Even when you weren’t looking at him, you could feel him staring into you.

“Yo,” he snapped a finger at you and you turned towards the sound. You couldn’t believe your eyes at first. He had really outdone himself, face painting like that of a skeleton. The hollows of his cheeks were black, same for the rest of the areas not painted white. You stared at him like a deer in headlights, “what the hell is a prude like you doing here?”

You blushed and took a breath. Before you could reply, Cassidy spoke up for you, “Shit, if she’s a prude wearing that little number, I’d like to see what the less modest ladies are wearing.”

He and Gabriel shared a hearty laugh and Ana rolled her eyes, “Now that you’re here, Gabe,” she started, “let’s have a little toast.”

Jack rose up, holding his beer out in the air, “To good company,” he looked down as Cassidy, who was beginning to light a smoke, “on second thought, to debauchery.”

Gabe laughed, shaking the couch, “That’s something I can drink to.”

And with that, everyone took a drink from their beer. You took a small sip while Gabe downed half of his in one go. It felt wrong, sitting next to him here and enjoying a beer as if nothing had happened between the two of you. And Cassidy’s comments weren’t helping you feel any more comfortable with the situation.

“Thank you for letting me drink with you guys,” you spoke shyly, “but I should really get back to Angela and see if she’s okay.”

Before you could move, Gabe put his arm around your shoulders and kept you in place with a strong grip. Your eyes met his and you couldn’t hide your anxiety any longer. He could undoubtably see what he was doing to you, a smile growing on his face, “Don’t be rude. Finish your drink.”

“Wait a minute, Gabe,” Jack interrupted, “you said you were going to find Angela?”

You nodded. Jack might be your saving grace yet.

“Let’s go. I’ve been meaning to find her all night,” Jack said, lifting himself from his seat.

“Fine,” Gabe relented, “I’ll go with you.”

“Looks like it’s just the three of us, ladies,” Cassidy sent Ana a sultry smile, to which she responded with a slap to the back of his head.

Jack began out the door, motioning with his hand for you to join, you and Gabe followed him to the party downstairs. The party was still going hard, it seemed, as the floor shook with the feet of the dancing partygoers. You searched for any sight of Angela’s blonde hair or her witch hat. It didn’t seem like she had returned to the party.

“Where did you leave her?” Jack asked, almost screaming to cut through the noise of music and guests.

“We were outside,” you explain, matching his volume, “come on, I’ll show you.”

“Fine,” he said, lowering his voice. You made your way through the party guests and opened a sliding glass door that led to the backyard. Sure enough, there was Amelie leaning against the wall and scrolling through her phone.

Before you could ask her where Angela went, Gabe greeted her, “Wow, Amelie, you’re really enjoying this party, huh?”

She put her phone in a clutch bag and turned her attention to your company, “Well, I was wondering when you would show up. Looks like you found yourself a little pet, too.”

You blushed when she smiled at you, you were really regretting going along with this costume. You cleared your throat, trying to get back on topic, “Do you know where Angela went?”

Gabe tugged lightly at the leash dangling from your collar and you looked up at him, “Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt adults when they’re speaking?”

Amelie laughed and you slapped his hand. Jack was growing ever impatient and spoke, “I didn’t come to this party to watch your fucking foreplay. Where’s Angela?”

“Her and Genji went to the basement,” Amelie replied, “with his brother or something. Probably playing pool. Might be caught up in some other things, though…”

When her voice trailed off, Jack made a bee line into the house and disappeared into the party. You started to follow him before Gabe pulled you back.

“What’re you doing?” you asked, frustration obvious in your voice and he seemed all too amused to hear it.

“You’ve been drinking like a damn sailor,” he said, “I can smell it when you talk.”

“Oh, please, Gabe,” Amelie chimed in, “cut her a break. Heaven knows the last time you’ve had this much fun, right?”

You weren’t sure if she was referring to you or Gabe but whatever fun you had at the start of the evening was beginning to fade fast.

“I just want to find Angela and go home,” you confessed, “it’s getting late.”

“You know she’s been waiting for Jack all night, there’s no way she intends to go home just yet,” Amelie reminded you, walking towards you and Gabe. She put a hand on your shoulder and said, “I suggest you make the most of your time here.”

“I’m just going to follow Jack, then,” you said, hoping they would let you go, but you should’ve known better.

“She really is rude, you know,” Amelie said, patting your shoulder before making her leave. When she opened the door, she turned to chide you again before leaving, “Be a good girl, now.”

You looked up at Gabe, that same feeling in your stomach you felt in the locker room came back again and you were suddenly reminded of what you had been hoping to avoid. How could you feel so alone and vulnerable in a house full of people? It didn’t make much sense, but your heart raced and you hushed the urge to cry. His face was concealed through the paint, even the line of his lips was difficult to make out. Still, he stared down at you with his hand still holding your arm. Your face burned hot again knowing how tight your costume was against your body, it was suffocating when his eyes trailed downward.

“Cassidy was right,” he began, “for a prude, you’re really dressed like a slut.”

You tried to wiggled you arm away from him, but he tightened his grip. Annoyed and anxious, you spoke, “Stop it, Gabe. I don’t want anything to do with you, and if you don’t like me so much then maybe we should just leave each other alone.”

His eyes met yours, rich ebony that bended against the outline of his pupils. They kept you frozen in place, like the stilling darkness of a bottomless abyss. No light reflected through them.

“And yet here you are,” he said after a brief pause, “Little miss perfect, drunk, at a party, dressed like she’s looking for a good fuck that’ll leave her senseless. What a sight you are.”

“Shut up!” your voice cracked and your words couldn’t reach the volume you had hope, “I didn’t even want to dress up like this, Angela picked it out for me. We’re matching! She’s a fucking witch and I’m her cat familiar, asshole!”

“Jesus Christ,” he rubbed his temples, “you’re such a fucking dork, you know that? Can’t believe I-“

He paused suddenly and looked down at you again, eyes trailing down your body. His stare perverse and he licked his lips in sick anticipation like a hungry wolf, “What am I saying…look at you. If only you’d shut that pretty mouth of yours, you might be the finest piece of ass I’ve ever seen. Hell, you even give some good head.”

“What the hell?!” you spoke up in an attempt to stop any discussion of what had happened in the locker room, “You’re sick, for real. There’s something actually wrong with you!”

He chuckled, “Come on, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself. Poor thing, you never did get off. Maybe we should finish what we started…”

You crossed your arms in defiance and tightened your jaw in an effort to conceal your frustration. Truthfully, you wanted to slap him in the face for being such an insulting, patronizing, annoying creep. But you didn’t want the confrontation. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of ruining your night.

“You’re nothing but trouble, Gabe,” you huffed, “maybe you should stop following me around like a puppy and just pretend like nothing ever happened because I am not at all interested in playing your sick little games.”

He clenched his jaw and turned away from you, a sly smile growing on his face. The muscles in his arms flexed through his hoodie, clearly what you had said cut through him. You didn’t regret it, what you said was true. He’s bad news.

Gabe turned to catch a glimpse of you. In that moment, you thought you could see right through him, piercing through whatever barrier that concealed his true nature from everyone that know him but you. He liked to play with your emotions, to dwindle down your strength and take control of the situation. But now the tables had been turned in your favor. It had stunned you, to think you could disarm him like this. And the atmosphere was tense, silent and still for a while.

It wasn’t long after that he regain his composure, straightening his posture and bridging the gap between the two of you, “What do you want, huh? Want some desperate boy to feed your fucking ego? Always talking about how I don’t like you, like you want me kiss your ass and tell you whatever bullshit you want to hear, is that it?”

He laughed and his chest rose heavily. Staring up at him, you remained aloof, “I thought we were friends once, Gabe. Then you changed your tone quick. You’re mean, actually, you’re cruel.”

His arms suddenly gripped onto yours and he forced you to back up against the wall with nothing more than a squeal of defiance from you. He moved a hand from your arm to hold your face, smearing whatever black makeup that it touched. You felt that same paralyzing fear you had felt before. He crashed his lips against yours and you denied him any sort of entrance to your tongue. This didn’t satisfy him, his hand went to grip your throat and the tight squeeze caused you to open your mouth in an attempt to breath. He took the opportunity to lace his tongue between yours, and a tear rolled down your cheek. It was sickeningly intimate, like the reunion of two passionate lovers. And you were anything but.

Your hands wrapped around his wrist, pulling and tugging to release their grip but it was futile. He didn’t move a muscle as he continued to assault your tongue with his own, both your lips wetting with each other’s saliva. It disgusted you. But why did you hips stutter when he sucked on your tongue and why did your fingers squeeze around his wrist in reaction to the burning feeling in your core? Why did he have to be so perverse, so debauched in his thoughts of you yet still lure you in with his hoarse voice and beautiful visage. It was as if he were the devil himself and you a victim of temptation.

When he pulled away from you, it was sudden. A string of spit connected the two of you for a moment, breaking once Gabe stood at full height. He towered over you, a shadow of a man eclipsing the moon. You wiped your mouth, surely smudging your makeup and drawn whiskers while doing so.

“What a waste of time,” Gabe spoke, “trying to talk sense into is like talking to a wall. Just as dull, too.”

“You’re vulgar,” you spat through heavy breaths.

“You’re in denial,” he scoffed, wiping his lips with a swipe of his thumb.

“You ruined my makeup,” you almost shouted.

“Yeah?” he chuckled, “Wouldn’t mind ruining the rest of you while we’re at it.”

“Gabe,” you felt him staring intently at you like a bloodhound, “let’s just go back to the party.”

He looked up at you from whatever part of your body caught his attention, “Fine, you caught me in a good mood tonight. Just know I’m not finished with you yet, princesa.”

He brought a tender hand to you cheek and rubbed it endearingly, sending you a wink as he walked towards the sliding glass doors that lead inside. His sudden gentleness reddened your cheeks and you walked beside him into the party, trying to find some sort of sanctuary in the arms of Angela or perhaps an unoccupied bathroom. Whatever presented itself to you first. Before you could bid farewell to Gabe, he had already left you, somewhere among the crowded house. A part of you was relieved but another unsure what to make of his sudden disappearance. It was a tendency of his to come and go as he pleased and take whatever it was he desired from you while doing so. You felt vulnerable, even when you sent curses his way it barely seemed to make any difference. He was going to take what he wanted from you and you were powerless in your efforts to stop him.

[opossum-rights]

Eyes on the Back of your Head

Rook Hunt x GnReader      2.3k Words

You feel like you’ve been going crazy lately, you can never shake off the feeling that you’re being watched. Little do you know it’s not just a feeling.

Warning: Pure cringe from several months ago that I dug up

Being a magic-less student in an institute designed to educate the best sorcerers in the land caused you to build quite a name for yourself. Those who didn't already know of you as the black sheep of NRC thought of you as the go-to remedy for the overblot crisis. Even now as things seemed relatively calm, you held somewhat of a celebrity status.  

Wherever you went there was always someone's eyes on you; during lunch you could feel them on the back of your head as you half listened to whatever Epel and Jack were chatting about, walking through campus to your next class you tried to ignore them by busying yourself with mediating some little argument Ace and Deuce were having, even when visiting your friends in their dorms you would insist on moving to their rooms, not being rid of them until the door clicked shut.

It was beginning to get tiring; you never got this much attention back in your own world.

Even if Ramshackle was a poor excuse for a living situation, with walls that did nothing to keep the cold out at night and floorboards that would creek if so much as a mouse ran across, you found yourself releasing all the tension from the day as soon as you caught sight of it. That was, until a couple nights ago.

Homework done, chores taken care of, you felt like you could finally breathe. That's when you felt the familiar feeling of being watched. Looking over a shoulder, Grim was snoring away on the old couch as he always did when you brought out schoolwork.

It could've been the ghosts, but they haven't been around lately.  It was pretty late, perhaps it's just Malleus waiting outside for you or one of the first years stopping by. Although, both of those occurrences follow up a text or warning of some kind. If it was one of them, though, you figured they wouldn't want to be held waiting.

You let out sigh and make your way to the main doors, creaking open no matter how careful you try to be with them for the sake of Grim's nape time. There's no one around. Not in the vast yard or down the path leading to the rest of campus.

"Weird, guess I’m starting to get used to how weird this place is," You mutter, thinking that if there was someone outside that they would take the hint of you going back in and show themselves.

But you stood outside for a couple minutes, thinking how weird it is that the feeling seems to be coming from inside.

The feeling eventually faded away and you were able to get to sleep at a reasonable time.

•••

The next night wasn't free from any strange occurrences either. Like the last, you got the intense feeling of being watched inside your home. Grim must notice it this time as well, being quieter than usual with his fur standing on end.

He got the more expensive brand of tuna that night to try and lighten the mood, and like usual, food proved to be the most reliable tool you had to deal with him. With Grim chatting away with his mouth full in the common room, you take the empty packages back to the kitchen to dispose of them.

Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, you lean on the counter and watch as the trees disappear in the night, starting from the back and slowly making its way towards you until you see nothing but the thin crack in the window. 

That's strange, you could have sworn that wasn't there before. The window was right above the sink, so you spent a lot of time gazing out of it as you mindlessly washed the dishes.

It was a pretty long one to, not something you could easily overlook. You lean closer and gently scratch the glass to see if which side of the window it's on, only for it to catch onto your finger.

Oh, you think to yourself, that's not a crack, silly, it's a strand of hair. You immediately cringe back and shack your hand to get it off. You could tell it wasn't Grim's, and it surely wasn't yours.

The blond strand falls to the ground and lands in the space under the cupboard full of dust. You grab the water and quickly make your way back to the common room, taking the empty bowl from Grim who's too busy falling into a food coma after his meal to notice the look of unease on your face.

Not wanting to get close to the window, or the kitchen in general, you place the bowl on an end table in the entrance of the room, scoop your cat up, and speed walk upstairs and into your room.

You deposit Grim on the bed, go over to the windows, and pull the curtains close with such force that you almost think they won't be able to handle it.

Making your way to the door you lock it and rattle the knob for a while to make sure it's working, then unlock it to do it again.

Even after the feeling fades and you're settled under the covers, Grim close to your side, you can't relax enough to sleep.

•••

The next day Epel mentions your shabby appearance at lunch, saying that Vil would throw a fit if he showed up to class looking like that. It makes sense, you stumbled through putting on your uniform this morning and the bags under your eyes don't help.

"I've just been a bit stressed lately. Haven't been getting much sleep cause of it, you know?" You try your best to send him a nonchalant smile.

"If you want something to help with that, I'm sure we could find something back in my dorm room. Vil's always giving me these creams to try, and I haven't even opened half of them," You accept his offer, wanting an excuse not to go back to Ramshackle when the day ends.

•••

You manage to avoid running into Vil as you made your way through Pomefiore, thankfully as he's started to take you under his wing in the same vein as Epel since his overblot. Feeling the calmest you've had in a while, you take a seat on his bed with Grim sitting in your arms as Epel rummages around in a drawer.

"Here's some stress relief stuff for your skin, not know how helpful it's gonna be with what you're dealing with, but it smells nice at least," He hands you a good-sized bottle of lotion which you gratefully accept.

"I'm sure it'll work fine. I'm already feeling better being able to hang out with you," A small blush spreads across his face as you rub a dollop of the lotion into your arm, taking a sniff. It's nice, has a sort of pine smell.

You chat for a while about Epel's upcoming magift game; he beams when you promise to be there, not mentioning that Leona would give you a hard time if you didn't. When Grim starts complaining that he's hungry, Epel offers to walk you back to the mirror. You're having a nice time, despite how weird things have been lately.

•••

All good things must come to an end, you suppose.

As the three of you pass a tree in the courtyard, something, or someone, jumps from a branch and lands right Infront of your path. You let out a little yell and stumble backwards, losing your footing and about to fall flat on your back, but the person from the tree quickly surges forward and grabs your arm to pull you back up.

"My my, caught you off guard, did I? To be expected from a hunter such as moi!" Rook apologizes for startling you, not letting his grip on your arm up even after you regain your balance.

Epel taps on your shoulder and hand you back the lotion, which must have been dropped during your scare. Rook moves his hand from your arm to his chin, giving you a once over as a questioning look shows on his face.

"Forgive me for saying, but has something been bothering you mon ami?" He glances at the bottle in your hand and messy uniform before moving back to your face.

"They've just been tired lately, gave them some stuff for it. I'm actually taking them back to the mirror right now," Epel states as he shifts back to your side, which you're thankful for, a bit too tired to deal with the eccentric blonde.

"Ah, Is that so? Well, then I wish you both a good evening, au revoir!" Rook steps aside as you and Epel pass. You can feel him staring as your back, a familiar feeling that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand.

•••

That night all you grab for dinner is a bag of chips, finding you're not that hungry and preferring to spend as little time as possible in the kitchen. As usual, the feeling of eyes sitting somewhere you can't see returns.

Earlier than usual you take Grim to bed, following your routine from the previous night. You stand Infront of the mirror in the bedroom and rub in some of Epel's lotion on the tensest parts of your face. You close your eyes, breath in and out, until you feel as relaxed as you can.

It was a nice day earlier, but now you can hear the wind howl past, pushing against the walls making a creaking sound that's a little too similar to the floor makes. As a result, you are too scared to sleep.

You feel crazy.

There hasn't been any concrete proof that anything strange is happening. Sure, there was the hair, but it's an old house, and it might've blown in from somewhere. The feeling, you're just not used to the attention and decidedly do not like it.

The creaking, from the wind outside. The wind that's apparently targeting the lower floor. It sounds like it's right under you. That shouldn't be possible, the way the dorm is built you should be right above the middle of the common room, not even close enough to the side walls.

Focusing more on the creaking under you, it comes to mind that it's louder than the noises coming from the walls. Despite the cold you can feel yourself sweat. The creaking moves, your eyes widen. It's on the stairs now, there's no denying that it's the floorboards now.

Each stair creaks under the weight of whoever's in your home, now settling on the second floor.

You try to keep your breath steady. It moves closer, they are in no rush.

You feel your body tremble. It stops outside your door.

You feel tears fall down your face.

There is no more creaking that night

•••

In the morning you try to go about things as usual to not upset Grim. You put off leaving the room until he falls after jumping to reach the knob, complaining about being hungry as usual. You hold your breath as you move downstairs, constantly checking over your shoulder.

Nothing is there. Despite your heart stopping every time you glimpse your own shadow, you desperately want to leave. You grab Grim, who grumbles that it's too early to leave yet. You don't look back as you close the doors behind you.

•••

"Are you sure you're okay, you look worse than yesterday," Epel looks concerned. The bags under your eyes are worse now, the area having a puffy look from your crying. You completely forgot some parts of your usual uniform, and you've been jumping at the slightest sound.

You feel bad for making him worry, confessing that you think someone broke into your dorm last night. He jumps up, immediately checking to see if you're visibly hurt. You look too shaken up to be joking.

"Come on, we need to get Crewel, or Crowly, or someone!" He starts to set off, but you quickly grab his hand, begging him to sit back down. You're not even a hundred percent sure that there was someone in the first place. You tell him that with exams coming up you don't want to bother the staff. He looks into your eyes, tearing up and despite, and sits back down.

He's not letting it go completely though, declaring that you're spending the night in his dorm, you're not going back to Ramshackle until him and some of the others check it out. You slump in your seat and nod.

•••

With exams many of the Pomefiore students are in the library or in their rooms studying, leaving you and Epel alone in the kitchen. You didn't stop at Ramshackle after classes, so all you have with you is your school bag, with your gym uniform as something to sleep in.

Grim was shipped off with Ace and Deuce, Epel saying that Vil banned any type of animal that sheds and that you two needed to study for a class you only had with him. They reluctantly agreed, you feel bad for Riddle already.

The air is tense, neither of you wanting to start the talk that needs to be had. Instead, you make uncomfortable small talk about how you're going to explain your sleepover to Vil. The conversation dies out, with Epel excusing himself to the restroom.

You're left alone. What are you doing?

You're getting Epel all worried for no reason and taking his attention away from studying. You feel shame rise in your chest, but feel a chill rise up your back. You look behind you, but there's no one there. The longer you sit here the worse the feeling gets.

You figure Epel wouldn't mind if you just went to wait for him in his room and quickly stand and grab your bag without pushing back your chair. As you move towards the dorm rooms, you hear the sound of a chair being set back into place and hitting a table. You speed up.

You look behind you, but nothing's there. You start to panic. The picture-perfect hallways make you confused, not knowing if you're by the first-year rooms or somewhere else. You swore Epel's room was this way, you can't afford to get it wrong.

Finally, you find his door. Wasting no time in rushing in, you turn and slam it shut. You try to control your breathing as you wait. You feel the blood leave your face as you turn and see bows and arrows hung on the wall. You know exactly who's room this is.

A pair of arms circles around your waist, keeping your from moving as if you could find the courage to in the first place. You feel his breath on the back of your neck.

"Mon ami, you gave a great chase! Truly reminiscent of a panicked little rabbit," Rook buries his face in your hair, smelling it as he rubs his thumbs on your stomach.

You feel sick.

"How sorry I am for your current state. That rotting building you call home didn't make it easy for me, but that matters not, as we're finally together!" He rocks you back and forth.

You feel his mouth by your ear, a tongue moving around the shell.

"Now that you’re here, we can discuss our happily ever after."