#baby undergrad ‘research’ paper | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fushitoru · 2 months ago

Text

infect me with your love

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you have always existed in gojo satoru’s shadow. he is a physics prodigy, a person that everyone endlessly admires for his intelligence and charisma, and you hate him for taking the spotlight that you deserve to share with him. but it all changes one day at 5:07AM at your starbucks job when gojo barges in, ordering ridiculously sweet drinks and posing existential questions. is there more to gojo that meets the eye, and is it linked to the vigilante swinging around New York City?

warnings ⸺ college au, academic rivals to lovers, SMUT, tooth rotting fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, basically the holy trinity, reader works at Starbucks (BOYCOTT tho), set in NYC, both reader and gojo are physics majors, mentions of SA, attempt at SA on reader but nothing too graphic, some violence, gojo swings reader across NYC so might trigger fear of heights?. SPIDER-MAN KISS SPIDERMAN KISS, injury and mentions of blood, mentions of gun, inappropriate use of webs LOL, fingering, oral, p in v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

a/n thank you for @avaults my POOKIE for beta reading this. this has been a journey and my first longfic and i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did writing it it's my baby:')

if u don’t wanna read the smut just skip the part after they make up, it’s not necessary to the story and is the ending scene. but just to be clear, minors dni.

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist

fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.

of course, that depends on your local hours and where you live, but in the campus starbucks you worked at, your manager fortunately didn’t really care if you showed up to your opening shift a bit late. after all, no professor or undergrad is waking up at the ass crack of dawn to get a fuckin coffee; if they really needed a pick me up, they’d go to get the free alcohol at one of the frats that was still partying.

matter of fact, your manager didn’t really give a fuck what you did as long as you didn’t get the shop blown up or the matcha spilled (it was expensive). this meant you could leisurely wake up at 4:45am and set up the display muffins and cake pops when you arrived in the shop at 5:20am. really, the manager ought to reduce the hours because all you do is finish your readings for your gen ed history classes on the canvas app on your phone. so, really you get paid for doing your homework on your shifts—not that you’re complaining or anything.

that is, until gojo satoru.

first, let’s get the record straight about who gojo is. gojo is a physics second-year—same as you–who is the bane of your existence. up until a few months ago, you never saw gojo satoru outside of classes (where he was dozing off) unless you happened to show up at a frat party, which was only a few occurrences when you got peer pressured by your friends. clearly, he was a “work hard, party hard” type person because he frequents the frats more than the library while having the grades to make up for it because he’s a prodigy. he’s charismatic and smart as fuck; right out of middle school he was studying manifolds and abstract algebra while the rest of the high school freshmen were learning the quadratic equation and the concept of variables. he probably learned what gravity was at age of two and was doing research in quantum field theory by the time he got into college.

take the last time you saw him outside of class, at office hours with professor yaga.

the air in professor yaga’s office is thick with the scent of old textbooks, the hum of the overhead lights adding to the familiar quiet. you’ve been waiting all week for this chance, and you’re armed with a question that’s supposed to signal i’ve done my homework. you lean forward, trying to project confidence as you ask, “i read in your last paper that you’re working on optimizing error correction in quantum computing systems. is there a reason you prioritized stabilizer codes over surface codes?”

professor yaga’s brow lifts, impressed, and you can feel the warmth of his approval starting to settle around you. “ah,” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised, “you’ve actually read it. that’s... a complicated question.” he leans back, launching into an explanation, and for a second, you think this might actually be it—the moment he notices you for your dedication, your depth of knowledge.

but then, the door creaks open behind you.

you tense, a sinking feeling pooling in your stomach even before you turn around. of course, it’s gojo satoru, strolling in like he owns the place. his bag is slung over one shoulder, and he’s flashing that easy grin that never seems to falter. he spares you the briefest glance before zeroing in on professor yaga.

professor yaga’s face shifts instantly, a mixture of annoyance and resignation flashing in his eyes as he sighs, “gojo. nice of you to join us.”

“hey, i was just passing by,” gojo says casually, though he’s clearly anything but. he doesn’t pass by anywhere without making an entrance. “thought i’d check in on how everyone’s doing.”

the glint in yaga’s eyes sharpens, and he fixes gojo with a look. “when’s that last problem set coming in, satoru? i’ve had enough late assignments from you for one semester.”

at this, another professor at a nearby desk chuckles, casting an amused glance at gojo. “don’t push him too hard, yaga,” he says as if gojo’s delinquency is something charming, a shared inside joke. “kid’s already got the department’s highest scores without trying.”

oh, for god’s fucking sake. you force yourself not to roll your eyes, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag as you sink back in your chair. of course, all it takes is for him to show up and somehow you’re rendered invisible. just minutes ago, professor yaga was engaging with you, treating you as if you might actually belong in this room with your carefully constructed question. now, he’s utterly distracted, entirely absorbed by whatever pseudo-flattering insults he’s throwing at gojo. and, for the record, that stupid, balding professor is wrong. you have the same fucking scores as gojo, so you’re equals.

you’re not even sure gojo realizes he’s doing it—that he has this magnetic, obnoxious effect on everyone in a room. but that’s exactly what grates on you the most. he pulls all eyes to him, like he’s some cosmic force everyone’s compelled to admire. and you? you’re just… there. not that it’s any different than the usual experiences you’ve had as a woman in stem, always feeling like you have to prove yourself five times over. but somehow, gojo makes it worse.

and he does it all effortlessly, like physics is some sort of playground where he can breeze through research and exams, sprinkling charisma wherever he goes. he’s probably off writing his own theories on manifolds while everyone else is struggling to keep up with quantum mechanics. meanwhile, here you are, clawing for every shred of recognition, only to watch it fizzle as soon as he steps into the room.

he flashes a grin at professor yaga. “i’ll get it in,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “i’m just, you know, prioritizing. some of us have… extracurriculars.” he doesn’t wink, but he might as well.

you resist the urge to scoff, sinking deeper into your seat as the frustration bubbles up, sharp and hot. it’s not like you’re jealous. you’d rather endure anything than admit that. but watching gojo waltz in and immediately siphon off any attention you’d managed to earn feels like a slap. if he could just stop showing up, or better yet, stop pretending to be so casually brilliant, maybe—just maybe—you’d have a chance at something other than this routine invisibility.

you let out a huff, pretending to check the time, imagining you had somewhere better to be. you have brilliant, observant blue eyes following you out the door, but you’re too busy trying to keep yourself together until you reach your dorm, where you ugly cry it out.

which, of course, brings you to mornings like this one, where you actually do have to be somewhere. namely, behind the counter at the campus starbucks, opening up shop while most of the world is still asleep. you catch sight of the green mermaid logo ahead, just visible through the dim haze of a 5:07 a.m. chill.

and right beneath it, there’s a familiar head of silver hair.

your eyes have to double take on the man who seems to be looking a bit slouched, tired and leaning against the light pole while tapping his foot. the muscular yet tall stature and white hair are unmistakable; it’s the same ones you’ve dreamed about throttling. but you’re so confused as to why he’s there that you just decide to wordlessly walk towards the store and open up, ignoring his presence until his voice cuts through the morning silence.

“doesn’t this store open up at 5?” his voice sounds tired and groggy, you notice.

“uh, yea,” you answer tentatively, shrugging. “but, um, no one comes until 7 so i show up late.”

his eyes narrow and somewhat playfully (well, as playful as he can sound at the ass crack of dawn anyways), he asks, “don’t you know time is of the essence? seems pretty irresponsible to me that you’re not showing up on time.”

you just stare at him for a bit because, after all, this is the guy you’ve been having the murderous equivalent of wet dreams about for the past year talking to you in a friendly, joking, familiar way. needless to say, you’re at a loss of words in your slightly flustered state, so all that comes out is a short “sorry” before you’re walking in, getting ready to put on your apron and setting the oven on to heat up the croissants.

gojo follows in after you, choosing to sit at the table closest to the counter. he sets the backpack he had on his back down, rummaging through and whipping out his laptop and plugging it in. it’s a heavy old thing, and gojo’s biceps strain as he pulls it out and you almost snort when looking at it in its entirety. a gaming laptop.

but you don’t do that, because laughing at someone who’s a stranger to you would be mean, no matter how much you hate him, so you resort to setting up the counter and getting some powders out. bending over, you get the newly shipped box of cake pops, deigning to put them out on display until you’re interrupted with a cough.

you turn, looking inquisitively at gojo until he points down to the counter, indicating that he wants to order. you mumble, “just a second!” before you continue hauling the box to put it on the top counter where you can easily unpack it and brush your hands, walking up to gojo and getting the system ready to take his order.

and your fingers are poised on the buttons until you realize that no order is coming out of his mouth. you blink, and he blinks, keeping a stoic face that nevertheless poorly conceals an amused expression.

“…what can i get you?”

at that, he pouts. “no good morning? no chirpy hello?”

you just stare at him for a good second. what the fuck?

“what?” gojo frowns. “shouldn’t you do that to every customer?” you realize belatedly you’ve said it out loud in your shock, but shake it off nonetheless.

the silence lingers after gojo’s teasing comment, making you acutely aware of the odd situation: you’re standing there in your work apron, face-to-face with the man you’ve imagined taking down in your head a thousand times, and yet here he is, tired but playfully trying to chat you up. you should hate this—he’s getting under your skin, but for some reason, you just feel unsettled, disturbed that he’s so human.

you don’t trust your voice to not crack while making eye contact with him, so, instead, you focus on your screen. you settle on a simple, flat, “morning,” without a hint of cheerfulness, staring down at the register like it’s your lifeline.

gojo’s eyebrow quirks at your half-hearted greeting, but he says nothing, opting instead to study you with an amused glint. you can feel his gaze, like a weight on your skin, and it almost makes you shiver. he leans forward a little, propping his elbows on the counter, his posture loose but expectant. his playful energy is barely masking something beneath it, something harder.

gojo's grin is wide, almost boyish, and it makes your stomach churn more than it should.

“see? was that so hard?” he says, leaning forward on his elbows like he’s settling in for a chat. his tone is too friendly for someone who’s never exchanged more than a glance with you in class—someone you’ve been actively avoiding whenever possible.

you scowl, moving to the register to finally punch in his order. “what would you like?”

“hmm...” he taps his chin, dragging out the silence. he’s enjoying this, that much is obvious. “surprise me.”

you blink, fingers still poised over the buttons. “surprise you?”

“yeah,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “you work here. you know what’s good.”

you want to throttle him. really, truly throttle him. there’s no way this is real—no way the gojo satoru is sitting in front of you at 5:07 in the morning, asking you to surprise him with a starbucks order like he’s some quirky regular.

and yet, here you are.

“fine,” you mutter, punching in the order for the sweetest, most ridiculous concoction you can think of. caramel drizzle, extra whipped cream, a pump of every syrup in the back room—you’re not going easy on him. “that’ll be eight dollars.”

he doesn’t blink at the ridiculous price. of course, he doesn’t.

pulling out his phone, he taps it against the card reader and flashes you another grin. “thanks, i’m sure it’ll be great.”

you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “uh-huh.”

as you move to make the drink, the silence between you stretches uncomfortably. you’ve spent so much time thinking about gojo, despising him, that now that he’s here, right in front of you, you don’t know how to act. and the worst part? he seems perfectly at ease, completely unfazed by the fact that you’ve spent the better part of a year dreaming of his downfall. he’s back to looking at his stupid heavy ahh gaming laptop, and as you move over to put in copious amounts of caramel pumps, you notice that he’s on cool math games playing fireboy and watergirl and almost snort out loud. he’s locked in on his game, his legs moving up and down anxiously, reminiscent of an ipad kid.

after a few minutes of assembling his monstrosity of a drink, you slide it across the counter. “here,” you say, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.

gojo raises an eyebrow at the drink, the sheer volume of whipped cream threatening to spill over the lid. “wow,” he says, sounding genuinely impressed. “you really went all out.”

“you said to surprise you.”

“i did,” he admits, grabbing the cup and taking a slow, deliberate sip. his eyes widen slightly at the overly sweet taste, and for a brief moment, you think you’ve won.

but then he smiles again, that same irritatingly carefree smile, and you know you haven’t.

“so,” gojo begins, leaning back in his chair like he’s settling in for a long conversation. “what’s a genius like you doing working the early shift at starbucks?”

your hands freeze mid-clean, and you glance at him sharply. genius?

you can’t tell if he’s being sincere or mocking you—probably the latter, considering who he is—but the word still lingers in the air between you, unsettling.

you scoff, trying to brush it off. “gotta pay the bills somehow,” you mutter, going back to wiping down the counter. but gojo’s gaze is heavy on you, and you can tell he’s not letting it go.

you glance up at him. “look, i like having time to think in the mornings. it’s quiet. besides, no one’s lining up for coffee before 7, so it’s not like i’m missing anything.”

gojo chuckles softly, but there’s something off about it. “thinking time, huh?” he repeats your words, but there’s a strange edge to them, like he’s mulling them over. in fact, you think you just realize that he’s been acting oddly this entire morning, restlessness evident in his figure. he taps his fingers on the table, his eyes flickering to the window, watching the gray morning light spill into the shop.

“doesn’t it ever feel like…” he trails off, brow furrowing slightly. “i don’t know… like you should be doing something else? like… something more?”

his question hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken, but you get the feeling he’s not talking about you. there’s something in his voice, something that sounds like he’s grappling with his own thoughts, with his own place in the world.

for a moment, you’re tempted to brush him off. to tell him he’s overthinking things, that he’s gojo satoru and he already has everything laid out for him. but something stops you. maybe it’s the way he looks—his usual confidence slightly cracked at the edges, his playful tone masking something else. something deeper.

you shrug, turning back to the counter. “i mean… it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”

there’s a pause, and you can feel the weight of your words sinking in. gojo goes quiet, really quiet, and when you glance back at him, his usual smirk is gone. he’s just… staring at you, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s trying to figure you out.

“just… showing up, huh?” he repeats softly, almost like he’s testing the words. his fingers stop tapping, and he leans back in his chair, his gaze unfocused, like he’s somewhere else entirely. somewhere in his own head.

you don’t say anything else. you’ve said your piece, and somehow, you know it hit deeper than either of you expected. there’s a strange silence between you now, not uncomfortable, but heavy with understanding.

gojo stands up after a long pause, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. he looks at you, his usual grin slipping back into place, but it’s softer now. less cocky. more real.

“maybe you’re right,” he says, and this time there’s no teasing in his voice. “sometimes it’s enough just to show up.”

and with that, he gives you a small nod, turning and heading out into the cold morning. the door swings shut behind him, and for a second, you just stand there, staring after him.

something’s shifted. you don’t know what it is, but it feels like the start of something. something bigger than just a rivalry.

you shake your head, turning back to the counter. it’s too early for this shit.

…

“you know, i didn’t get your name.”

gojo’s voice cuts through the low hum of the espresso machine as he leans against the counter, that same insufferable grin plastered across his face. he’s here again, of course, only this time it’s during your closing shift. the place is quiet, almost deserted except for the occasional customer who swings by for a quick coffee before heading back out into the cold.

you look up from the equipment you were cleaning, already annoyed. “i’m pretty sure we’ve shared at least one class every semester.”

you weren’t trying to hide the pettiness. gojo, for all his academic genius, clearly couldn’t be bothered to remember you—a recurring face in his orbit. it’s not like you were expecting him to remember you, especially among the sea of faces in lecture halls, but something about the way he strolled in, acting like this was just some cute, quirky meet-cute, got under your skin.

gojo quirks an eyebrow in confusion, his gaze drifting up toward the ceiling as if searching the recesses of his mind for your name—only to come up empty. “are you a grad student?”

you flash him an exasperated look. “just for that, i’m not telling you.”

grabbing a towel to wipe your hands, you step out from behind the barista counter, heading towards the trash can just behind him to restock the straws. as you make your way to the supply room, you can feel his eyes following your every move. to your surprise, gojo starts walking toward you, his presence looming as you dump the straws into the container.

it isn’t until you turn around that you realize he’s standing right next to you, bent comically at the waist and squinting at something on your chest. heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks as you realize his proximity and move to take a step back.

he wasn’t ogling you (thank god), but instead, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron.

"ah," he says, straightening up with a triumphant grin. “there it is. y/n, huh?” the way his mouth rolls over your name slowly makes you feel a bit weird, because after all, this is the guy you’ve shit talked about in your diary finally acknowledging you existed, but before you can reflect on the feeling, you bristle again in annoyance.

“really? you had to get that close just to read my name?”

gojo doesn’t seem fazed by your annoyance, in fact, it only seems to amuse him further. “hey, i was just trying to be thorough. gotta make sure i get it right, you know?” his grin widens, and you swear he’s enjoying this way too much.

“thorough. sure.” you turn away, trying to busy yourself with the straws again, but the heat still lingers on your face. his proximity had been… unexpected. and a little too close for comfort.

when you’re done with the straws, you steel the courage to turn your body so you’re facing him, making an indication with your hands for him to move out of your way. instead of him giving you space to leave the cramped corner, he leans against the counter now like he practically owns the place. in doing so, he effectively pins you against the corner of the coffee shop, leaving you no option but to fiddle with the straws while pointedly avoiding his gaze, but not before you see the pout on his face. “you’re not going to ask me for my name?”

“i know it. it’s gojo.” you immediately curse yourself for letting your lips loose.

fuck. he squints his eyes in what you perceive as suspicion. “how do you know my name?”

“i saw it on your credit card information.” you couldn’t exactly tell him how you’ve stalked him (as well as how inefficient you found a function in his 6th grade robotics code), so that would be a plausible enough reason.

but gojo, of course, doesn’t let up. “so, y/n,” he starts. “you going to the party next week? you know, for halloweekend?”

ah, halloweekend. the ultimate weekend for getting excuses to dress slutilly, excessively drink, and get laid. at your college, it was an even bigger deal, with people partying for all three days of the week’s end as well as the weekend before and after halloween. you shook your head. “i don’t think so.” that phys 321 assignment was not going to finish itself, nor were parties really your scene.

“what?” he immediately crosses his arms across his chest, frowning and leaning closer to you to squint at you. “why?”

you sigh inwardly, awkward at the prospect of him bugging you further about your life. “i’m bu—”

you’re interrupted by the sound of the door opening and instinctively move to get behind the counter to take the new customer’s order; at first, you thank the heavens that you got a distraction from gojo, that you’re not alone anymore, but seeing who the customer was, the hope extinguishes like a candle face with wind.

you both see a man swagger in, the same guy you’ve noticed hanging around far too often lately. his eyes immediately lock onto you, and a slow, sleazy grin spreads across his face.

“hey, look who’s still here,” the man says, sauntering over to the counter like he owns the place. “my favorite barista.”

you tense, forcing a smile. “what can i get you?”

he doesn’t answer right away, his gaze sliding down your body in a way that makes your skin crawl. “i was thinking…” he drawls, leaning in closer than necessary, “you and i should hang out. you’re always here, and i’m always here, so it’s like fate or something, right?”

your stomach churns, and you take a small step back, maintaining your composure. “i’m good, thanks.”

but he doesn’t let up, leaning further across the counter. “come on, don’t be like that. just one drink. you deserve it after a long day.”

“i really can’t—”

“don’t be shy,” he interrupts, a grin spreading wider. “i’m a nice guy, i promise.”

before you can think of another polite rejection, gojo steps forward, his body language shifting entirely. the playful air around him evaporates, replaced by something colder, more dangerous. he positions himself squarely between you and the guy, effectively cutting off the man’s view of you.

“she said no,” gojo says, his voice firm, low. “so why don’t you fuck off?”

the sleazy guy blinks, clearly not expecting the sudden shift. his smile fades, and he glares at gojo, sizing him up like he’s considering pushing back. but one glance at gojo’s unwavering stare, and the guy decides it’s not worth it. with a muttered curse, he turns and leaves, the door swinging shut behind him.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. the guy’s been bothering you routinely; part of you thinks that he’s still not going to leave you alone, but the rest of you visibly relaxes, the weight of this guy’s harassment lifting off your shoulders under gojo’s protection.

gojo turns back to you, the usual teasing smirk creeping back onto his face, though his eyes are still sharp. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you manage, though your voice is quieter than you’d like. “thanks for that.”

“don’t mention it.” he shrugs it off like it was nothing, but there’s something different in the way he’s looking at you now—something protective. “i know you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, but i figured i’d speed things up a bit.”

you roll your eyes, trying to shake off the tension. “you’re such a hero, gojo.”

“always,” he replies with a wink. and just like that, the moment’s lightened again, the balance between you restored, though there’s a subtle shift in the air. something unspoken between the two of you—an understanding, maybe.

you don’t acknowledge it out loud, but as you go back to restocking, you find yourself glancing at him more than before. and for the first time in… well, ever, you don’t completely mind his presence.

…

fast forward a few hours, and after a bit of conversation, gojo finally leaves the fine institution that is your campus starbucks. right now, you’re alone and finishing cleaning up. you lock up, the starbucks finally closed, finishing your last task for the night. it’s quiet—too quiet, actually, with the usual streetlights casting strange shadows across the empty sidewalk. the air feels heavy, like something unseen is lingering just out of reach, watching from the dark. you shake it off, telling yourself you’re just tired and letting your nerves get to you.

as you start your walk back to your dorm, the feeling only grows. the street’s nearly empty, and with each step, the silence presses in closer. it’s fine, you tell yourself, picking up your pace. but then you hear it: the echo of footsteps, faint but unmistakable. heart pounding, you speed up, every instinct telling you to just get back. almost there. you just have to cross the alley—

“hey there,” a voice drawls, and your stomach sinks. a hand moves to grab at your shoulder, making you turn quickly. what meets your vision is the same guy from earlier, his grin widening in a way that makes your skin crawl.

you try to move out of his grip, but he grabs you harder, cutting off any escape. “aw, don’t be like that. i just wanted some company.”

your throat’s dry, but you manage, “i said no.”

he doesn’t even pretend to listen, his gaze trailing over you with that same leering interest. “no need to be so uptight. i could make this fun for you.”

your back hits the wall of the alley. trapped. he leans in, his breath warm and sour against your face, one hand reaching out as he says something sleazy that you can barely hear over the pounding in your ears—

and then a voice cuts in from above, all easy humor. “y’know, i always thought this city’s trash problem was bad, but this is something else.”

your heart leaps in your chest at the small flicker of hope, that someone has the balls to try to rescue you. but as you—and this creep—turn, you find no evidence of another party present, only his mysterious presence.

“who’s there?” the guy snarls, his grip tightening so much that you wince. “why don’t you get lost if you know what’s good for you—”

“dude, don’t you have any rizz?” the mysterious boy retorts.the stranger has a youthful voice, someone of your age. “the way you have to resort to sexual harassment is just sad. you guys are always sooo predictable, you’re so gonna tell me to scram or something.”

the man scowls, hand leaving your arm in an effort to search for the stranger in the dark. “why don’t you mind your own business, punk—”

and he’s interrupted, because a shiny, silver something flings out in the darkness and lands on his face, sending his arms in a frenzy to uncover what it is. the man rips the sticky, silver webbing off his face with a growl, looking around wildly, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. his eyes dart through the dark alley, searching for the source of that cocky voice, but there’s nothing—just shadows and the faint flicker of a streetlamp somewhere down the block.

“who the hell are you?” he snaps, twisting his neck as if he could scare whoever’s hiding out there into the open. “show yourself, you bastard!”

a chuckle echoes from the darkness, bouncing off the brick walls. “wow, real tough guy, huh? but you should work on those anger issues. they’re, uh…a bit unbecoming.”

the man spins around, and another burst of webbing flies out from somewhere unseen, sticking to his shoulder this time. he yanks it off with a frustrated grunt, his head whipping from side to side as he tries to locate the stranger.

“you think this is funny?” he spits, voice raised in a mix of fear and fury.

“depends. do you?” the voice is closer now, almost like the stranger is right above you, yet no one’s there. “or is this just a big overreaction? all i did was suggest you rethink your approach. go to therapy or sum’.”

the man snarls, fists clenched, starting to look downright unhinged. “get down here and say that to my face, punk!”

“as you wish.”

with a soft thump, a figure drops from above, landing directly in front of the guy in a low crouch. in the dim light, all you see at first are the blue and black accents on the otherwise white suit, his head tilting up, illuminated just enough that his white, wide eyes glow with a certain playful menace. and then, your eyes widen as you gasp to yourself.

you’ve seen him before.

okay, pause.

you’re a busy college student, one who stays entrenched in the bubble of upcoming exams, assignments, and problem sets that you don’t check the news often. in the off chance you do turn from your usual consumption of social media during your breaks to the news, you only have time to read the big headlines.

so you did read somewhere that in your university’s city of new york city, there was a masked menan—vigilante that had beat up a few guys near a shawarma joint or prevented some shootings at a nightclub. new york city was full of incompetent cops that were on the lookout for him (a/n acabbbbbb) since this guy was a vigilante, some kind of superhero slinging around on webs. some name—spiderman.

but before you could read more into the article, your soul almost left your body when you got a canvas notification saying your midterm was graded, so that was the end of that.

alright, pause over. back to now.

“hi!” spiderman chirps, giving him a friendly wave before ducking just as the man throws a punch. the swing goes wide, and spiderman straightens up with a disappointed sigh. “see, this is why i’m the one with the web powers. you’d hurt yourself with these moves.”

without warning, the man charges again, swinging in rapid succession, but each one misses as spiderman easily sidesteps, practically dancing around him. “oof, dude, how did you make it this far in life with reflexes like that?” he ducks another blow, slipping behind the guy to give him a light tap on the shoulder as he passes.

the man stumbles, eyes flashing with frustration, and lets out a roar, reaching down to pick up a loose brick from the alley floor. he raises it above his head, face twisted in a snarl.

“oh, so we’re improvising now?” spiderman quips, and before the man can bring the brick down, a strand of webbing shoots out, sticking to the brick and yanking it from his grasp. it flies off somewhere into the alley, landing with a dull clatter.

the guy stumbles forward, off balance, and spiderman takes the opportunity to web his feet to the ground, immobilizing him in place. the man struggles, pulling his legs, but he’s stuck fast.

“ever heard of boundaries?” spiderman asks, tilting his head with mock innocence. “or, like, self-restraint? you should look into it.”

the man glares, seething, still struggling against the webs. “you think you’re some kinda hero?” he sneers.

spiderman shrugs, glancing over at you, catching your gaze in a way that makes you feel both strangely comforted and seen. “nah, hero’s a big word. i’m just your friendly neighborhood guy with slightly above-average reflexes.”

with a frustrated yell, the man finally wrenches one arm free and makes a desperate lunge, his fist connecting with spiderman’s side. spiderman lets out a small grunt but only wobbles slightly before grinning. “okay, buddy, playtime’s over.”

before the man can even react, spiderman sends out another web, this time at his wrist, effectively pinning him to the alley wall. he struggles, face twisted in anger, but spiderman just raises a gloved hand to his lips as if hushing a child. then, in the lull that follows, you remember the thick quantum mechanics textbook in your bag. without thinking, you yank it out and, in a burst of adrenaline, swing it at the man’s head. the book lands with a solid thud, and he slumps, finally, into silence.

spiderman looks at the unconscious man, then at the textbook in your hand. he lets out a low whistle. “you know, i’ve always thought textbooks were a weapon of choice, but that’s next-level dedication.” that’s when you realize just how tall he is compared to you, and you can’t help your excitement when you realize that he’s here in the flesh.

“nice hit, by the wa—”

“it’s you!” you exclaim.

“what?” he sputters, white eyes widening almost comically. “me? oh,” then he straightens up, “yea, yea. just your friendly neighborhood spiderman. rescuing pretty girls from creeps, kinda my thing. ” he shrugs.

you continue, excitedly, “right, you’re the one on the news—” you move your hand to point at him but quickly wince, the pain of the man’s grip catching up to you.

he doesn’t miss the movement, eyes squinting at you. “hey, we’ll have to get you home. do you trust me?”

you look at him, clutching your arm in pain, and really take a moment to check him out. he’s saved you, he’s probably six feet tall, and his ass looks fantastic in his suit. at this point, you’re looking at him with heart eyes. but you can’t exactly tell him you want him to propose, so all you utter out is a “y-yeah. my dorm’s randall.”

he doesn't waste any time. with a quick nod, he hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you close as he aims a webline up toward the buildings. “hold on tight, randall’s just a swing away,” he murmurs, his voice light but steady. his hand settles on your hip, and you can't stop the way your stomach flips at the contact.

before you can even process what’s happening, he launches the two of you into the air, the city blurring beneath your feet as you cling to him, fingers gripping the fabric of his suit for dear life. his arm stays solid around you, his grip somehow both gentle and strong. he lands lightly on the roof of your dorm, setting you down carefully like you’re something fragile. and he steps back, dusting his hands off in the most nonchalant way possible, like he didn’t just take you on the most exhilarating ride of your life.

“this is your stop,” he says, that signature, almost cocky smile playing in his voice.

“uh… yeah. thanks. for the rescue,” you manage, your voice a little shakier than you’d like. you don’t know if “thank you” is enough—it doesn’t even come close to covering what you feel.

but he just shrugs, taking a step back. “all in a day’s work,” he says. “or night’s work, i guess.” he pauses, giving you a quick once-over. “get some sleep, yeah?”

and just like that, he gives you a small, almost playful salute and vanishes, swinging off into the night as easily as he’d appeared, leaving you standing on the rooftop with your heart still racing.

back in your dorm room, you drop onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling as tonight’s events replay in your head: the alley, his voice cutting through the dark, that cocky smirk, the way he felt holding onto you as you soared over the city lights. a tiny part of you wonders if you imagined the whole thing—if maybe you’re just the victim of some wild, sleep-deprived hallucination.

but no, your arm still aches from where the creep grabbed you, and you can still feel the ghost of his hand on your waist, steady and reassuring. you bite your lip, a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself.

just before sleep finally claims you, you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. “the city’s vigilante, huh?” you murmur, as if he’s somehow still listening.

the thought is wild, a bit surreal—and strangely comforting.

…

“one caffe americano!” you call out, reading the label on the cup before handing it over with a small nod. the customer takes it with a quick thanks, and you return to the counter, barely holding back a yawn. the events of last night flicker through your mind—a web-slinging hero, an alley, the lingering ache in your arm—and you shake it off. there’s no room for distractions. life as a college student means the grind never stops, especially on a morning shift right before class.

when your coworker finally arrives, you let out a quiet sigh of relief, grab your bag, and step out into the brisk morning air. the chill helps wake you up as you make your way across campus, hoping to catch up with your friends before the lecture starts. just outside the building, you spot utahime, sitting on a bench, waiting with her usual tired smile.

“hey, finally off the clock?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, barely,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “i’m still running on fumes from last night. you guys save me a seat?”

“of course. nanami’s already inside,” she says, gesturing toward the building.

you sigh. “you won’t believe the things that happened last night.”

she gives you a look, in the traditional utahime protective-mother-hen type way. “what happened?”

you give her the rundown of what happened, the guy (who she bristles at, gives you a slap at your hand to tell you that you should’ve told her earlier, kento would’ve been able to beat his ass if she hadn’t gotten to it first) and how spiderman saved you. “i would give him what he’s missing,” you sigh, dreamily.

utahime looks at you in a judgmental way. “and that’s all you got from this? for fucks sake, he’s a vigilante, you don’t know if he’s started to tail you or not. pooks, he could literally be dangerous. try to convince your boss to let someone else get your night shift.” as soon as you open your mouth to protest, she cuts you off immediately. “and no, i don’t give a fuck about your people pleaser tendenci—”

“we’ll revisit this conversation later.” you give her a sweet smile as you start to speed walk, door of the lecture hall of the 9am section of phys401: intro to quantum algorithms, falling in with the usual stream of students after you hear an irritated “yea, cause i’m gonna kill you otherwise.” the familiar chatter and echo of footsteps make the day feel almost normal, grounding you as you weave through the hall.

inside, you quickly spot kento’s shining, disney prince-like blonde hair, who has saved seats for the three of you near the middle of the hall, away from the ugly, smelly grad students who always crowd the front. he gives you a quick nod as you settle down beside him, flipping open your notebook. the reliable calm on his face helps ease the lingering jitters you hadn’t realized you were carrying.

“long night?” he asks, glancing at the dark circles under your eyes.

“you could say that,” you mumble, not quite ready to get into details. instead, you wave it off. “just work assignments, and getting jumped, the usual.”

nanami breaks into a series of shocked coughs, and you hurry to pat his back as he undeniably burns his tongue on the coffee he was taking a sip of. “what?”

his rather loud exclamation sets off stares from people sitting closer to you both, so you give utahime, who lets out a quiet groan as she’s settling into her seat beside you, a knowing look. “it’s a long story, i’ll tell it to you later.”

he reluctantly settles in after that, not because he has a choice but because yaga is starting to address the class by asking about the weekend and getting his usual blank stares in return until a voice you recognize as suguru geto’s is saying something to undeniably piss him off, but you don’t register quite what it is exactly because the door opens and any attention on geto is directed to the boy with white hair and blue eyes tiredly walking into class.

he’s about ten minutes late to the lecture, which is already weird because he’s usually about 27 seconds late, not that you keep count. but also, normally gojo is the picture of confidence and cockyness, making some of the female grad students whisper things about him that you don’t think they should be for the five year gap between them and gojo.

but today, he looks different—messy, unkempt, with shadows under his eyes and a weird angle to his torso, the way he walks, and the way his opposite hand is subconsciously hovering around his side.

your brows knit together as he heads to an empty seat rows behind you next to geto, ignoring the stares of half the room. it’s so out of character for him that you can’t help but wonder what’s going on. you shoot utahime a knowing look, and she stifles a laugh, barely managing to keep a straight face as she watches gojo slink to his seat. nanami’s usually impassive face exchanges a look with you as well before he turns his attention back to professor yaga’s opening remarks. gojo slides into the row behind you without a word, avoiding everyone’s gaze—or so you think, until you feel it.

as you attempt to listen to professor yaga, you can’t shake the sensation of eyes boring into the back of your head. you resist the urge to turn, telling yourself it’s probably nothing… except the feeling lingers, so strong that your pulse ticks up a notch.

“okay, now that we’re all here,” yaga says in a dry tone, barely able to hide his irritation as he glances pointedly in gojo’s direction, “let’s begin with today’s lecture on grover’s.”

professor yaga taps the board, and the projector switches to a set of slides titled quantum speed-up and the grover search algorithm. he launches into his explanation, voice clipped. “grover’s algorithm provides a quadratic speed-up for unstructured search problems, a notable advantage in quantum computing. but can anyone tell me why this isn’t considered an exponential improvement?”

you raise your hand, as does nanami. a subtle shift of movement in your peripheral vision draws your eye to gojo, who’s leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. yaga’s attention lands on nanami first, and he gives a succinct answer about how grover’s algorithm yields only a quadratic speed-up in terms of computational complexity. as he answers, you swear you catch gojo watching you, again, through the corner of your eye.

determined not to let him get under your skin, you lean over to whisper to nanami. “what’s with him today?”

nanami, still watching yaga, raises a brow. “maybe he finally realized that he can’t get by without skipping class today.”

utahime snickers quietly. “doubtful. more like he thinks it’s funny to waltz in whenever he likes and still ace every test.”

“exactly.” you sigh, drumming your pen against your notebook. gojo’s rare absences don’t even seem to faze most professors. and despite his unpredictable attendance, he’s always managed to stay miles ahead. today, though, something’s… different about him. like he’s made a life changing decision in the past 48 hours.

“moving on,” yaga says, pointing to the board where the next slide materializes. “the heart of grover’s algorithm lies in its use of an amplitude amplification technique, where we iterate a search oracle along with an inversion process. pay attention—this concept of iterative improvement will become key when we start covering variational quantum algorithms.”

as yaga delves deeper into amplitude amplification, you manage to focus, jotting down notes on the necessary steps in grover’s search. yet each time you settle into the lecture, you feel gojo’s gaze pricking at you. the first time you turn around, there’s nothing there—just him slouched, seemingly absorbed in whatever he’s staring at on the ceiling. but then, you sense it again and, on your second glance, you catch his blue eyes meeting yours, and he quickly looks away.

what’s his problem? you give him a questioning look, but he’s adamantly not looking at you, trying to look nonchalant as he’s pulling out his laptop. he might look like a student taking latexing notes of what yaga’s yapping about, but the way he’s using his mouse more than he is his keyboard tells you that he’s probably on papa’s freezeria instead.

you decide that you’re going to waste your time wondering how gojo’s brain functioned, so you instead focus back on the lecture. after all, you didn’t understand any of the lecture notes you took notes on before and what it said about the diffuser in the circuit.

“now,” yaga’s voice sharpens, pulling you back into the room, “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of being late.” his eyes slide back to gojo, who remains oblivious, leaning back with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as the sound of his name brings him back to the lecture.

gojo doesn’t even look phased. instead, he raises a hand casually, like he’s about to ask a simple question. you can feel the anticipation ripple through the room—half the students are waiting to see if he’ll fumble, and the other half already know better.

“professor yaga,” he drawls, “don’t you think amplitude amplification is a bit of an oversimplification? the way it’s typically presented, you’d think grover’s algorithm was just… guessing with style.” he flashes an infuriatingly smug smile, drawing out the pause before continuing. “but we both know it’s more about quantum phase inversion, right? the oracle reflects about the mean state, iterating with a precision that isn’t just luck. or maybe that’s all too technical?” he leans back, feigning innocence.

the smugness in his tone makes something flare up in you, and before you can stop yourself, your hand shoots up.

“actually, gojo,” you interject, your voice louder than you intended, “calling it “guessing with style” is a very gross oversimplification. grover’s algorithm isn’t about intuition or luck. it’s about optimization. it’s not just about spotlighting a target like a rando guess, it’s more like rotating the probability in a controlled manner—with iterations—to amplify the correct solution. not just some quantum trick or guess.” you cross your arms, leaning back in your chair as you stare him down. “it’s not even that bad, compared to what we have classically.”

as soon as you spoke, it seems that the fight and mischievous look in gojo’s eyes fades, replacing it with something that shockingly looks like him being flustered as he averts your gaze, looks to the ceiling, and murmurs something like “yea, that’s basically most of quantum computing, desperately trying to prove we’re not just wasting our time” but yaga interrupts him, clearly a bit annoyed at the two know-it-alls that you and gojo were acting like.

“now,” yaga says, shifting back to the lecture as if nothing happened (probably because he wasn’t paid enough to deal with this shit), “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of missing lectures.”

you’re just left confused as to why the conversation didn’t escalate like the typical academic rivals in movies, because you’ve definitely seen gojo bully some people who didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about instead of just blushing like some schoolgirl. regardless, you can’t help but notice the thrill that you felt, having finally argued with him, having been seen as someone worth arguing. you try to temper it as yaga continues onto the rest of the lecture.

…

“i can’t believe you’re making me go.” you tug at the hem of your white corset, paired with a matching skirt, still incredulous at how utahime managed to talk you into attending one of the infamous halloween frat parties. the night air is crisp against your exposed shoulders, and despite your complaints, you shiver more at the thought of wasting the next few hours among sweaty strangers than the actual cold.

utahime, walking beside you in a devil-red version of your outfit—complete with horns perched precariously on her head—looks far too satisfied with herself. she adjusts the horns with one hand, giving you a sidelong glance that practically drips with smugness.

“stop pouting,” she chides. “i’m not going to let you waste another night holed up in your room, buried in manhwa or quantum physics. i’m pretty sure there are cobwebs growing in your—”

“utahime,” you hiss, cutting her off with a mortified glance around.

“pussy,” she finishes, completely unbothered. “i’m going to find you a guy to hook up with. i’m not saying you have to go all the way, but flirting? kissing? maybe something more? very healthy. highly encouraged.”

your mouth falls open in protest, but before you can get a word in, she fixes you with a sharp glare, her dark eyes flashing with all the authority of a disappointed parent. “don’t even think about arguing with me. i swear, if you don’t at least try to enjoy this, i’ll make it my personal mission to find someone for you.”

“i can’t believe this,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “you’re supposed to be my friend, not my pimp.”

“oh, i’m your friend. that’s why i’m doing this. you’ll thank me when you’re sixty and not crying about how boring your college life was.”

“i’m not boring,” you counter. “i’m selective.”

“sure,” utahime drawls, clearly unconvinced. “and whatever weird sexual tension you’ve got going on with gojo doesn’t count.”

you scoff, stopping in your tracks to stare at her. “what tension? we’ve literally talked once this week. and that was the first time we had a conversation.”

she doesn’t respond, already scanning the scene ahead. the street of frat houses looms just ahead, glowing with gaudy orange lights strung up across balconies. the bass from the nearest party reverberates through the pavement underfoot. it’s already crowded, hordes of people shuffling in and out, laughing, shouting, and showcasing their half-baked halloween costumes.

you follow utahime’s gaze to the nearest house, packed with enough people to make the windows fog up. just the thought of squeezing into that humidity makes your stomach churn.

“looks crowded,” you mumble. “maybe we should—”

before you can suggest retreating, utahime grabs your wrist and practically drags you toward the house. “nope. you’re coming in. no backing out now.”

the moment you step inside, the smell hits you. sweat, stale beer, and an undercurrent of what you can only describe as frat-house musk. your nose wrinkles, and you instinctively recoil, pulling your arm free from utahime’s grasp.

“god, it smells like a gym locker in here,” you say, covering your nose.

utahime doesn’t seem fazed. she’s already scanning the room, her eyes landing on a beer pong table set up in the corner, surrounded by cheering students. “this is perfect!” she says, beaming.

“for what? contracting a fungal infection?” you mutter.

but she’s no longer listening, her focus shifting as a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a makeshift cowboy hat approaches her and then stops in front of both of you, his stare fully enthralled by utahime. “hey,” he says, a bit suavely, in the way that makes you inwardly roll your eyes because you know she’s going to eat it up. she likes it when they’re a little ugly, and this guy fits the bill.

“hey,” and she giggles, making you have to physically fight the urge to puke, “what’s up?”

they exchange a few words, and before you know it, she’s smiling in that way that tells you she’s found her entertainment for the night.

“go ahead,” you say dryly, waving her off. “i’ll just fend for myself.”

utahime starts to protest, but you’re already beelining for the kitchen, trying to get a drink that’s not too crazy to survive the night. it’s surprisingly less chaotic in the kitchen, though the counters are cluttered with half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and some questionable punch that looks radioactive. you scan the room, your eyes landing on a cupboard that might hold something simple—like water. a series of ding! ding! ding!’s go off in your mind as you find the pack of plastic water bottles.

standing on your toes, you reach for the handle, but it’s just out of your grasp. you huff in frustration, shifting to get better leverage when a hand way bigger than yours suddenly appears above yours, effortlessly grabbing the item you were reaching for.

“let me get that for you.”

you turn to thank the person, the words dying on your lips when you see who it is.

gojo.

he’s standing impossibly close, his signature smirk firmly in place, but there’s something almost casual in the way he looks at you, as if this is the most normal interaction in the world. you swear you’re so close that you can see like the two open pores on his otherwise flawless skin, as his eyes inevitably drag themselves downwards to scan your outfit for the night—a shitty angel without wings and halo (you couldn’t be paid two shits to put in the effort; both of the top and skirt were utahime’s, anyways.) then, his eyes meet yours again, a bit of playfulness in them.

“well, well,” he drawls, handing you the water bottle. “never thought i’d see you here.”

you take the bottle, trying to ignore the brush of his fingers against yours. “didn’t have much of a choice. utahime dragged me.”

his grin widens. “classic. let me guess—she’s off trying to find her soulmate at the beer pong table?”

“something like that,” you mumble, not wanting to give him the entire story. twisting the cap off the bottle, you take a sip, hoping he’ll just leave you alone, but instead, he leans against the counter, looking entirely too comfortable.

“so,” he says, tilting his head, “i heard through the grapevine that you had a run-in with that spider-man guy this week.”

that makes you pause mid-gulp of water, instead coughing a bit as you try to swallow it down without basically drowning in kirkland signature natural spring water. you’ve only told like, three people outside of kento and iori, so you’re confused why he knows this information, but you continue on regardless. the memory of spider-man swinging in to save you flashes through your mind, and you can’t help but smile softly to yourself. “it was amazing. he’s—he’s incredible, honestly. the way he just swooped in and handled everything? so fast, so precise. he’s like a real-life superhero.”

you’re basically gushing to him, and you realize that a bit too late as you look at his face to gauge his reaction. he’s looking at you with a newfound interest, albeit a bit too conflicted to fully tease you about it when he says, “sounds like you’re smitten.”

“maybe i am,” you admit, laughing. “i mean, who wouldn’t be? he’s brave, he’s kind, and he doesn’t even stick around for the credit. it’s like he’s this selfless, untouchable figure.” you also kind of want to give him a sloppy toppy for saving you like that, but you spare gojo the details.

“untouchable, huh?” gojo echoes, his tone turning a bit wry and…jealous? “sounds like someone’s got a crush.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted, and you think gojo can tell with the way you’re heating up and bashfully looking at the ground. “don’t be ridiculous.”

“i’m just saying,” he continues, leaning closer, “if that’s your type, you might want to raise your standards. superheroes are overrated.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and what, you’re not?”

he grins, that infuriatingly charming grin that makes you want to simultaneously punch him and laugh. “i’m better. i’m real.” he then puts his hands on the counter behind you, caging you between them until your knees are lightly brushing, and suddenly his face is so close that small little breaths from his nose are fanning across your face. “i can prove that to you.”

and you hate your body for being so…reactive and enthusiastic to his smooth-talking, face flushing. despite that, you try to put on an air of nonchalance. “god, you’re insufferable.”

“really?” he teases. his hand leaves the marble counter to hover at your hip, his hand subconsciously tracing your curves an inch above your skin. the motion, firm but tentative as if he’s waiting for you to give him the green light, makes you shiver as you subconsciously move your hips to finally have the skin-to-skin contact. and your skin sings in happiness as he draws circles into the area right below your skirt, even momentarily dipping just below, to which you realize that he’s treading very close to your panties, since your skirt’s really short.

"yea," you basically sigh, hating yourself for how breathy your voice sounds.

it seems to have an effect on gojo because his eyes darken as he murmurs, "wastin' your time on that spiderman guy."

maybe it's the fact that it's late (you've been getting sub four hours of sleep this past week) or the lights in this humid frat bring a heady air, but all academic-rivalry-overshadowed-woman-in-stem history between you and gojo disappears in your brain as you rake your eyes up and down his torso and then look at him through your lashes. "who should i spend my time on instead?"

he gives you a little smile as he stares down at you, eyes raking over your face, catching at your lips and then going back up again to meet yours. “i don’t know, someone who’s as smart as you,” he murmurs.

“yea?” you laugh out breathlessly. your faces are so close that in normal circumstances, you would worry about how you both looked so close together, one hand on your thigh and the other splayed on your waist. “and how would you know how smart i am?”

satoru starts, lips coming closer and closer. “because i—”

but he’s interrupted, because you both hear a “satoru” and pull apart, breathing heavily as you both turn to look at the offender standing in the entrance of the kitchen: suguru geto, gojo’s best friend, looking more tired than anything as his eyes catch on you, then going to gojo with a pointed look. it’s not hard to figure out what was going on based on how disheveled you both look, your skirt crooked and his shirt crumbled, and your cheeks heat. before you can say anything, however, suguru sighs and says to gojo, “there’s a burglary happening nearby.” then, he turns but not before giving you a nod. “make sure to stay safe.”

he promptly leaves, leaving you confused standing there. was this such an emergency worth noting that he interrupted his best friend?

you try to seek the answer in gojo’s face, but he has this conflicted, annoyed countenance and you suddenly feel kinda of insecure because he’s raking his hand through his hair, staring painfully at the ceiling then at you. at the same time you utter out a “uh–” he says “i have to go.”

“oh.” you blink. a why brews on top of your tongue, but you temper it, reminding yourself that you’re not close to gojo like that. needless to say, you feel a little embarrassed as you watch him jog out of the kitchen with a little wave to you. you want to overanalyze gojo’s last look to you, the one that looked a bit like disappointment and yearning, but you shake it off, staring at the 16.9 oz plastic water bottle in your hand that you forgot about.

taking a sip, you cringe as you become more aware of your surroundings and the state you’re left in because of gojo. that your panties are a bit more sticky—you reach under your skirt to adjust them so they don’t stick to your crotch so much—and you’re hot all over.

then reality comes crashing back. what the hell did you and gojo just do right now?

you groan out loud, banging your head against the fridge, but as you reel back, in your peripheral you see someone there. your head shoots to see the guy who’s now looking at you with a weird expression as he undeniably waits for whatever freaking out you were doing to gain access to the fridge.

“sorry,” you blurt out, and gather yourself to beeline for the exit. god, you needed to find utahime.

…

the soft hum of a tv in the corner of satoru’s apartment provided the only sound, save for the faint rustle of suguru flipping through a textbook. the remnants of takeout—boxes of half-eaten pad thai and a pile of discarded chopsticks—littered the coffee table between them. satoru leaned back on the couch, legs stretched out, staring at the ceiling like it held answers he hadn’t thought to ask yet. he held a small foam ball, tossing it up and catching it over and over. his mind, however, wasn’t focused on the ball but on you.

it was starting to feel like an obsession. he’d always been able to compartmentalize things—his studies, his friends, his other responsibilities. but you? you’d broken through the usual barriers in his head, wedging yourself firmly into every free thought he had.

“do you think she likes me?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

suguru glanced up from his book, his expression unreadable. “who, starbucks girl?”

satoru scoffed. “she’s not starbucks girl. she’s…” he trailed off, tapping his fingers against his knee. your name lingered on his tongue, oddly weighty in a way that felt almost unfamiliar.

suguru smirked. “oh, she’s got a name now? progress.”

“shut up.”

but he couldn’t shut his mind off, not when you kept taking up space in it. it wasn’t just that he’d noticed you now—really noticed you, for the first time. it was more than that.

satoru had always known who you were. you weren’t exactly easy to miss. in a program full of ugly guys who didn’t shower and loud personalities, you had carved out your niche by being the cold, unreachable one. the one who didn’t bother with group projects unless she had to, who barely engaged in conversations beyond what was strictly necessary. other guys in the program talked about you, of course. they always did.

“frigid,” they called you. “too serious. probably thinks she’s better than us.”

they weren’t entirely wrong. you were better than most of them, but not for the reasons they assumed. satoru had read your work—papers that brimmed with insights that most of their half-baked theories could only dream of. he could tell you put in the effort in your classes and research, while all the guys left shit-talking had to rely on their grad student mentors to be able to write a legible paper. for fucks sake, he doesn’t even thing anyone could code in qiskit or cirq like you could; he had skimmed your notes once, left them behind after a lecture, and found them meticulous and sharp before he turned them into the professor to return to you.

and yet, despite the brilliance you carried with you, you had never given him a second glance.

that day at starbucks, though.

satoru rolled his head to the side, gaze drifting toward the window. he hadn’t expected to see anyone at five in the morning, let alone you. he’d been desperate for answers then—he had spent his night staring at his hands, which had seemed to keep ejecting spider-like webs after he’d been horribly sick. he knew he shouldn’t have gone fooling around in new york’s subway tunnels at 3am with suguru and shoko, but after a seemingly-harmless spider had bit him, he had been reeling from the discovery of his newfound powers and grappling with the weight of what they meant ever since.

and there you were, unlocking the starbucks, bleary-eyed but no less composed.

you’d handed him his coffee, not interested in him the entire time, and he remembered blurting something out—something ridiculous about fate or responsibility, his usual bravado faltering in the quiet of the moment. he had been spiraling, unsure of who he was anymore, and you’d said something.

what was it again?

“it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”

the words had stayed with him, carved deep into the corners of his mind. you didn’t know it, but they had pulled him back from the edge that day. since then, he’d started noticing you in ways he hadn’t before.

the way you brushed your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. the furrow of your brow when you argued as respectfully as you could with a professor (gojo knew you were holding back, though, and the thought always made him smile to himself because if he wasn’t an idgafer he would be incensed like you at the idiotic teacher). the smile—rare, fleeting, but utterly disarming—that occasionally lit up your face when you talked to utahime or that guy you were too friendly around, nanami.

“you’re doing that thing again,” suguru said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“what thing?” satoru asked, sitting up straighter.

“brooding. you’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

“no.”

suguru arched an eyebrow. “you’re a terrible liar.”

satoru sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “fine. maybe i am. but it’s complicated.”

“how is it complicated?”

“she doesn’t like me,” satoru said, shrugging. “at least, not as me. she likes spider-man.”

suguru blinked, clearly unimpressed. “you’re being stupid bro.”

“i’m not being stupid,” satoru argued. “she thinks spider-man’s this amazing, selfless hero. she doesn’t know i’m just some guy who can’t even figure out how to flirt with her without making an ass of himself.”

suguru leaned back in his chair, regarding satoru with an almost pitying look. “so let me get this straight. you’re worried that she only likes spider-man, even though spider-man is you. like it’s some kind of split personality thing?”

“well, when you put it like that—”

“it sounds dumb,” suguru finished. “because it is dumb.”

satoru glared at him, but suguru only shrugged. but how could he not think about you? even now, the memory of your voice—calm, steady, and unexpectedly warm—echoed in his head. you had this way of looking at him, like you were peeling back layers he didn’t even know he had. and that smile... he groaned inwardly. he wasn’t supposed to be so drawn to you, wasn’t supposed to imagine what it’d feel like to have you smile at him like that all the time.

“look,” suguru continued, “if you like her, shoot your shot. you’re already overthinking this, and you haven’t even done anything yet. what’s the worst that could happen? she says no?”

“or she laughs in my face,” satoru muttered.

“which would be deserved, honestly,” suguru said, smirking. “but seriously, you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.”

satoru didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the takeout boxes on the table. he wanted to believe suguru was right, but there was a small, stubborn part of him that wasn’t so sure.

because it wasn’t just about rejection, or even whether you liked him as satoru or spider-man. it was about what came after. if he let you in and something happened to you—if his double life brought danger to your doorstep—he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself.

but then there was suguru’s voice in his head, steady and persistent: you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.

…

amidst a week of endless projects upon projects and other miscellaneous assignments from your research group partners (since the grad students loved to pile their work on top of you, the helpless undergrad), you find yourself nursing a hot chocolate while on top of your dormitory building’s roof.

you find sanctuary, coming on here for time to yourself whenever you find yourself stuck in a busy week. quiet, solitary, with a view of the city lights flickering like scattered fireflies. you hugged your cardigan tighter around your shoulders as you stepped onto the roof, your laptop tucked under one arm, a mug of tea precariously balanced in the other hand. the air was crisp, biting just enough to sting your cheeks.

setting your mug down on the ledge, you perched beside it, pulling up your knees and balancing the laptop precariously as you typed. the words on the screen blurred after a while, blending into the chaos in your mind. frustrated, you closed it with a snap and leaned your head back to gaze at the stars.

“rough night?”

you startled, spinning your head around so fast your tea nearly toppled. but you can’t find anyone, just the sound of soft footsteps landing somewhere not visible to you.

“you scared the hell out of me,” you sighed, clutching your chest.

“sorry,” he said, though his tone didn’t sound all that apologetic. “didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“then maybe don’t sneak up on people like that,” you muttered, still trying to calm your racing heart.

he chuckled, and the sound was warmer than you’d expected. “noted. so, what’s got you out here at three in the morning? don’t tell me you’re pulling an all-nighter.”

you sighed, the initial shock fading into a dull thrum of shyness. “it’s not an all-nighter if the night isn’t over yet.” then, you squint at a random spot, pretending it’s him. “besides, why are you here? shouldn’t you be out stopping robberies or saving cats from trees?”

“done and done,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the ledge. “now i’m just enjoying the view.”

you turned your gaze back to the skyline, hoping the darkness hid the faint heat creeping up your neck. “so, what’s a guy like you doing on a random rooftop at three in the morning?”

“could ask you the same thing,” he countered.

you hesitated. for some reason, admitting the truth to him felt easier than admitting it to anyone else. “just…needed a break.”

“from?”

“everything,” you said, exhaling slowly. “classes. expectations. people.” you paused, then added with a faint smile, “not you, though. you’re an exception.”

“oh?” his voice lightened, carrying a hint of playful intrigue. “should i feel honored?”

“maybe,” you said. “it’s not every day you get to meet a real hero.” then, “okay, but why do you always hide in the dark?”

his voice is smug, meant to be playful. “it adds to the mystique?”

you pout. “what if i call the police?”

“it’s not like the cops can catch me anyways, baby. their shitty coffee and donut filled asses aren’t enough to keep up with me.”

you really try not to flush when he calls you that pet name. “is success getting to you?”

“what success? most i hear is everyone debating whether or not i should be experimented on.”

“really?” you teased. “that’s not what i saw on my for you page last time. there are girls out there who want you to sign their tits after you rescued that baby.”

then, you hear the soft thud of nimble feet dropping onto the ceiling and turn your head to see him in all his glory. he has a muscular figure highlighted in his white suit, blue and black lines traveling their way across his body. casually, he stretches and then drops down to the floor, sitting cross legged from across from you as if joining you in a regular gossip sesh. he puts his elbow on his knee and rests his head on his hand. “are you one of those girls?”

you laugh sheepishly, turning away as heat creeps up your face again and your heart hammers, because you can’t exactly tell him that, yes you’re absolutely enamored with him after he saved you that day and yes, you do indeed want him to sign your tits.

“you should do that more,” he said.

“what?” you look back at him, wide eyed in confusion.

“laugh.”

the way he said it, low and almost reverent, made your cheeks heat. you busy yourself with toying with your cardigan, scooting yourself away from the edge and closer to him. “and you should stop being such a flirt,” you said, though there was no bite in your voice.

“can’t help it,” he said, leaning closer. “it’s kind of my thing.”

“is that right?”

“mm-hmm.” he paused, then added, “you know, there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“what?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“take my mask off.”

the words hit you like a gut punch, dissolving the playfulness that had filled the air seconds ago. you blinked up at him, searching his face—or at least what you could see of it—for any sign that this was some elaborate joke. but there was no hint of humor, no smirk tugging at his lips. he meant it.

your fingers hovered at your sides, hesitant. “are you sure?” the question came out soft, barely audible, but it felt like it echoed in the quiet night.

“never been more sure of anything,” he murmured, voice low and steady.

you swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. slowly, almost against your better judgment, you reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of his mask. the fabric felt smooth, warm under your touch, but your nerves were anything but.

with a deep breath, you peeled it back. bit by bit, his face came into view—a shock of white hair, impossibly sharp features, and finally, those eyes. those unmistakable, infuriatingly familiar blue eyes. your breath caught, and for a moment, the world tilted sideways.

“gojo?”

the name fell from your lips before you could stop it, unsteady and disbelieving. your mind raced, trying to piece together the impossible puzzle that had just landed in front of you.

he grinned—that grin, the one that always made you want to slap it off his face and yet somehow managed to disarm you every single time. “hey.”

“hey?” your voice cracked as you took a step back. “that’s all you have to say? hey?”

“would you prefer, ‘surprise’?” he quipped, his grin widening as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

you laughed, the sound a little hysterical but real, like you couldn’t contain the storm of emotions rushing through you. “surprised? you’ve been… you’ve been spider-man this whole time?” the words felt foreign on your tongue, like they didn’t belong in the same sentence as gojo satoru—the one you’d argued with in class, the one who had no problem making you want to tear your hair out. and yet here he was, standing in front of you, the last person you ever would have suspected to be the city’s most infamous masked hero.

gojo gave you that crooked grin, the same one he wore when he thought he had won—when he thought he had it all figured out. “i know. it’s a lot to take in.”

you stared at him, trying to make sense of it, but no amount of logic could bridge the gap between the gojo you knew—the guy who drove you up the wall in class and always had a cocky comeback—and the masked hero who had saved you and the one you had a crush on.

you didn’t know whether to scream, laugh, or cry.

you take a shaky breath in, still trying to process everything. “you... you saved me, gojo. you’ve been right there, all these times, and i had no idea it was you.”

“guess i’m just that good at keeping secrets,” he said, his tone playful, but there was something more there, something softer, that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. his eyes held a flicker of something—maybe vulnerability, maybe uncertainty.

the weight of the moment hung thick in the air between you, and for a long second, you didn’t know what to say. this revelation was like the ground beneath you had cracked wide open, and you were left staring into an abyss that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

finally, you shook your head, letting out a short breath. “this is insane.”

he didn’t seem bothered by your reaction, though his eyes darkened just slightly, the smirk still there, but with something a little more honest creeping into his expression. “yeah. but you’re handling it better than i thought. kinda thought you would faint, or something.”

the world had shifted, but somehow, with gojo now sitting in front of you like this, with the mask off and the man behind the myth revealed, it felt like the pieces were finally starting to fall into place. even if they didn’t make perfect sense yet.

and yet, something about his presence—his undeniable realness—felt oddly grounding. he wasn’t the invincible spider-man anymore. he was just gojo. the gojo who had somehow become more than just your academic rival, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit more than that.

something in gojo’s facial expression shifted to something a bit more hesitant, a little nervous as he stands and extend his arm out to you. softly, he asks, “do you trust me?”

“yes.” you took his hand, standing up as he flashes you a charming, yet mischievous grin, one so shit eating that you regret saying that. “why?”

“i’m taking you for a ride. consider it an apology for freaking you out earlier.”

you hesitated, looking between his outstretched hand and the city skyline just beyond your college campus. “i don’t think this is a good idea—”

“you trust me, don’t you?”

and somehow, against all logic, you realized that you did.

“fine,” you said, stepping closer to him to cling onto him.

he pulls you closer, and as he does so, he cranes his neck down to meet your eyes, smiling giddy. “anywhere you wanna go?”

you think for a moment, but know immediately the place where you’d like to visit that’s open at this ungodly hour. “do you know that one shawarma joint—-”

before you can even finish, the wind whips around you as gojo slips his mask back on, pulls you closer to him, and uses his free hand—that is, the one that’s not clinging onto your firmly—to shoot a glistening web, one that you saw when he used it on the man who harassed you in the ally. it clings onto a nearby building, and then you’re off the ground, soaring through the air.

you let out a scream of terror against gojo’s chest, tightening your arms around him. you can feel a laugh rumble in his chest, a boyish chuckle as he peers down at you and shouts, “are you having fun?”

“gojo,” you whine, burying your head into his chest further. despite your initial fear, exhilaration creeps its way into you as you the city blur, skyline jumping and dipping as gojo effortlessly swung you both around.

when he finally stopped, landing gracefully on a secluded rooftop, you were breathless—not just from the ride but from the way he was looking at you.

“you good?” he laughed, panting from the exertion and tenderly using his hand to rake his hand through your hair, which, you note out of embarrassment, must’ve been messed up from the wind passing through it.

“i hate that you made me dizzy, but yea, i’m good,” you mumble, pulling out your phone to open your camera, fixing your hair.

when you’re done, gojo looks at you with the manic buzz you can only have at 3am. “ready to get some shawarma?”

…

the streets were eerily quiet, the kind of silence only a city at 3am could have. just the two of you, your footsteps echoing against the pavement, the occasional glow of a streetlamp painting your path.

“okay, that shawarma was like, mid at best,” gojo walks alongside you. he’s thrown on a sweatshirt and gray sweatpants over his suit, walking alongside you on the street. your stomachs are full, and you suggested a walk to be able to digest the bigass bowl you both ate.

“nothing tastes better than something you’re eating when you’re supposed to be studying, instead,” you shot back, hiding your little smile as you cross your arms while strolling. the shift between you and gojo was so jarring that you’re still reeling at it, but what is 3am if not for big life changes?

“yea, that’s fair,” he sighs, crossing his hands behind his head as he continues strolling beside you. “so,” he continues, “now that i’ve officially blown your mind with my secret identity and fed you some incredibly mid shawarma, what’s next? should i fly you to paris, or is that too cliché?”

you roll your eyes, but deep inside, you’re really biting back a grin. “relax, bugboy. maybe first let me recover from being swung like a human pendulum.”

gojo stopped walking, turning to face you with a playful glint in his eye. “you’re still thinking about that, huh? admit it—you loved it.”

you raised an eyebrow. “i screamed into your chest for a solid ten seconds. does that sound like love to you?”

he tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “i dunno. there’s a fine line between terror and thrill. and judging by how tightly you were holding onto me…”

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered, but your voice lacked bite.

“and yet, you’re still here.”

his words hung in the air, the playful edge softening into something quieter, more sincere. your steps faltered, and you looked up at him, the absurdity of the night fading into the background as your gaze held his.

“guess i’m curious,” you admitted.

“curious, huh?” he said, taking a step closer. “careful. curiosity killed the cat.”

without thinking, you blurted, “at least i’ve got a fifty-fifty shot, right?” the words barely left your mouth before the regret hit, your inner voice screaming at you for making a lame quantum mechanics joke at a time like this. schrödinger would be proud, you thought bitterly.

but then gojo laughed—not the teasing, obnoxious kind of laugh or the weird look you’d expect, but a genuine, boyish chuckle that reached his eyes. he smiled at you, soft and unguarded, and suddenly, the space between you seemed to shrink.

the flickering streetlamp cast a warm, uneven glow over the two of you. in that moment, the sprawling city felt impossibly small, narrowed down to just him and the pounding of your heart in your ears.

gojo reached up, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “you know,” he murmured, his voice low, “i’ve been wanting to do this for a while now.”

your breath hitched, heart thundering in your chest. “do what?”

“this.”

before you could respond, he closed the space between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was somehow both soft, yet electrifying. for a moment, time seemed to stop, the city around you fading into nothing as the warmth of his touch anchored you in the moment.

when he finally pulled back, his grin was back in full force. “so, was that better or worse than shawarma?”

you blinked at him, still trying to find your footing in the aftermath of what just happened. an immediate feeling of bashfulness crept over you because not only did you just kiss spiderman, you just kissed gojo. there are girls who would kill to be in your position, and that makes you flustered as you turn your head away from him so you don’t have to make eye contact. “i hate you,” you mumble half heartedly, cheeks burning.

gojo doesn’t let you off so easily. his thumb brushes gently along your chin, coaxing your face back toward his. his touch is warm, deliberate, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“oh my god,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “are you embarrassed? you’re so cute.”

when the warmth of his hand leaves your chin, you open your eyes, shocked as you find out that he’s nowhere to be seen. you call out a tentative, “gojo?”

somewhere behind you, to the left, comes out a muffled shout. “i’m here!” you whip around, your brows furrowing as you follow the direction of his voice. it’s coming from an alley just off the street, dark and bathed in shadows.

“seriously?” you mutter under your breath, your annoyance half-hearted, making your way toward the sound. you find yourself at the mouth of the alley, the dim glow of a distant lamp barely illuminating his silhouette.

gojo’s perched on the side of the wall like it’s the most natural thing in the world, one leg propped up, his mask pulled halfway up to reveal that damn smirk. “you’re slow,” he teases, his tone light and infuriatingly smug.

“what are you doing?” you ask, crossing your arms.

he gestures toward himself. “you came looking for me, didn’t you?”

you roll your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. “what, did you think i’d just leave you lurking in some alley like a creepy insect?”

“well,” he says, shooting a web to stick on the bottom of some stairs of one of the buildings to hang upside down, “you could’ve left, but i had a feeling you wouldn’t.”

before you could retort, he shoots his web closer to something on top of you, now dangling upside down yet again but his proximity even closer, stealing the air from your lungs. his fingers brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering just long enough to make your knees feel unsteady.

“so,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “are we doing this again, or are you gonna keep pretending you hate me?”

your heart stutters, but before you can overthink it, you pull his mask down even further to uncover more of his lips, and you join them together—this time, softer, slower, as if savoring the moment. you grab at his chin to pull him closer to you, you both sighing into the kiss, and then smiling giddily each time you pull back, only to come back in.

and just like that, you start to fall into…something with not only the vigilante that’s swinging around new york, but also gojo satoru, your long-time rival.

…

when satoru swings by your dorm next, he doesn’t expect his heart to lurch so much at the view of you so cozy.

it’s undeniable; you and satoru have been dancing around each other. you’re not exactly a hook-up to each other—you two haven’t had sex—but you’re not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. and it’s not something casual, either. he doesn’t reveal that he’s spiderman just to get into girls’ pants.

you’ve both developed a sort of rapport, he supposes. it’s been stolen glances during phys401 and late nights spent talking or, occasionally, making out. you’ve even started to nurse his wounds, if he ever shows up with bruises and blood matting his suit. one of the perks of you having a single.

he’s even fallen asleep overnight, especially on friday nights when he doesn’t have lecture in the morning. some of his things, like some spare equipment and suits, have even found their way into your closet.

you’re both on a dangerous roller coaster, and satoru is closing his eyes on the fall down.

but right now, he’s perched outside your window like a creep. you’re sitting on your bed, cross-legged and squinting at something on your laptop, and satoru smiles to himself as he sees your tank top and shorts and just how homey you look. you probably know satoru is coming, but you’re so comfortable around him that it makes his heart ache. he shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t stop.

satoru lightly taps on your window, his knuckle brushing against the glass softly, not wanting to startle you. you glance up, catching sight of him, and there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips.

you get up, and satoru follows the movement of your bare legs with his eyes as you slide the window open. “you know, most people knock on doors like normal humans,” you say.

“i like to keep things interesting,” he shoots back, climbing in effortlessly. the faint chill from the night clings to him, and his hair is slightly disheveled from the wind.

he glances around your room, catching sight of your scattered notes and the distinct look of frustration etched across your face. “what’s got you looking so miserable?”

“phys401,” you reply with a resigned sigh, flopping back onto your bed. “this problem set is impossible.”

satoru smirks, peeling off his gloves and mask and plopping down beside you. “let me see.”

acquiescing, you hand over your notebook, watching as he scans your work with intent, eyebrows scrunching as he tries to understand the statement to prove. he makes a few thoughtful noises, before grabbing a pen and scribbling something down. “here,” he says after a moment, “you’re overcomplicating this step. instead of doing the tensor product you did, you could just make this zero by taking an inner product, since they’re orthogonal states. the rest will fall into place.”

you squint at his messy, rushed handwriting, and sure enough, the proof seems to come together. “how are you so good at this?”

“physics prodigy, remember?” he teases, leaning back on his hands as he lays down on your bed.

“thanks for the help,” you say softly, your eyes lingering on him a beat too long. he’s kind of dreamy, you think. the moonlight filters across your window, giving his platinum hair a sheen as his cerulean eyes look into yours with kindness.

his smirk fades, replaced by something softer, something unspoken. “anytime.” he then makes a show of stretching out his limbs, purposely bumping into you with one eye open smugly to observe your reaction, to which you glare at him. he spots your notebook, picks it up, and flips through it. “you know, for someone who complains so much about phys401, you’re not half bad at it,” he teases, scribbling something in the margin of your notes by grabbing a stray pen next to him.

you roll your eyes, shifting so you’re cross-legged on the bed, facing him. “not all of us are physics prodigies, satoru. some of us actually have to work hard.”

he chuckles, handing the notebook back to you. “hard work is overrated when you can just charm your way through everything.”

you snort and joke, “if charm was all it took, i’d have aced the midterm.”

there’s a beat of silence as you glance down at his notes. he’s corrected a mistake you hadn’t even noticed, and his scrawled proof flows so effortlessly it makes you a little envious. “how do you do that?” you ask, more to yourself than him.

“do what?”

“make it look so… easy,” you say, frowning slightly. “everything. physics, life, swinging through the city.”

satoru leans back on his palms, his smirk softening. “trust me, it’s not as easy as it looks.”

you glance up at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. “what do you mean?”

he shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in the way his gaze flickers away from yours. “i mean, everyone sees the guy with the jokes and the perfect test scores, but no one sees the late nights or the bruises.” he gestures vaguely to his chest, where you know the bruises from his spider-man escapades hide. “guess i’m just good at pretending.”

you sit with his words, the weight of them settling between you. “you don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” you say softly.

his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the mask—the real one—drops. “i know,” he says, just as softly.

the air between you feels heavier, like the world has shrunk to just the two of you. you’re hyper-aware of how close he is, the faint smell of the night clinging to him, the way his knee brushes against yours.

“thanks,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “for letting me be here. for…” he trails off, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up.

your breath catches. “satoru…”

“yeah?” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice lower now.

“i…” you trail off, not even sure what you were going to say.

he leans closer, and it feels like everything around you stills. his hand finds its way to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “can i?” he asks, his voice barely audible.

you nod, and then his lips are on yours.

the kiss starts tentative, almost shy, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. it deepens, his hand sliding to your waist as you pull him closer. the tension that had been building for weeks—months, maybe—finally snaps, leaving nothing but heat and want in its wake.

his weight presses you back into the bed, and you can feel his heart racing against yours as he pins you to the bed, now on top of you. his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and as his thumb traces shapes into your circle and closer to more sensitive areas, a sigh escapes you.

that’s when he freezes.

he pulls back, his breathing uneven, his eyes wide and filled with something like fear. “we can’t,” he says, his voice hoarse.

your heart drops into your chest.

“why not?” you ask, trying to catch your breath.

“because,” he says, sitting up and running a hand through his hair and he’s heaving. “because i’m spider-man, and you—” he breaks off, looking anywhere but at you. “you deserve better than this. better than me.”

you sit up, pulling your shirt back into place and looking at him, hurt. “that’s not your call to make, satoru.”

“i’m trying to protect you!” he says, his voice rising in agitation. he sits back onto his heels, raking a hand through his hair as he looks at the ceiling, as if in pain.

you can’t believe him. his self-righteousness irritates you to no end, especially after you’ve bared your soul, and now your body to him, something you considered intimate. you feel conflicted—whatever you had, it didn’t have a label. but that didn’t mean that you didn’t want that to be true. badly.

“and who asked you to?” you snap back. “i’m not some damsel in distress who needs saving.”

“i know that,” he says, his tone softening. “but if something happened to you because of me…” he shakes his head. “i couldn’t live with that.”

the anger bubbling in your chest boils over, and you snap. “so what? you’re just going to walk away? after everything?”

he stands, his expression pained. “i’m sorry,” he says, heading for the window.

“don’t you dare apologize,” you say, your voice trembling as you stand by the foot of your bed, hating how your eyes brim with tears. “if you leave, don’t bother coming back.”

he pauses, his hand on the window frame, before glancing back at you. “i’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time, before slipping out into the night.

the window clicks shut behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence, the ache in your chest threatening to swallow you whole.

…

the whir of the espresso machine and the gentle hum of background music fill the mostly empty starbucks, the occasional customer wandering in like clockwork. it’s a quiet shift, the kind you’d usually relish—except today, the quiet only makes the knot in your chest tighten.

you’re stationed behind the counter, staring blankly at the milk steamer as it hisses, lost in your thoughts. that is, until utahime’s voice breaks through.

“alright, spill,” she says, leaning her elbows on the counter beside you.

you glance at her, eyebrows raised. “spill what?”

utahime rolls her eyes, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “oh, please. you look like someone stole your favorite pen and broke it in half. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you lie, turning back to the steamer. “i’m fine.”

utahime’s skeptical gaze bores into you. “you’re a terrible liar. nanami, back me up.”

from his spot at a nearby table, nanami looks up from his book, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto you. “it’s boy trouble,” he says flatly, like he’s solving an equation.

your head snaps toward him, a glare already forming. “excuse me?”

“it’s obvious,” he says, setting his book down and regarding you with his usual piercing gaze. “you’re distracted, you look upset—it’s boy trouble.”

utahime perks up, leaning closer. “wait, is he right? is this about a guy?”

you let out a groan, leaning your elbows on the counter. “can you two not gang up on me right now?”

“so it is a guy,” utahime says, her tone turning smug.

“i didn’t say that,” you retort, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

nanami raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. “you might as well just tell us. it’s not like we’re going to let it go.”

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “fine. it’s… someone i liked. someone i thought liked me too. but he freaked out and said it was too…dangerous to keep going.”

utahime frowns, her curiosity replaced by concern while kento snorts. “dangerous? what does that even mean?”

“that’s what i’d like to know,” you say bitterly, the frustration bubbling up as you speak. “he acts like he cares, but the second things get serious, he bolts. like i’m some fragile thing that can’t handle it.”

nanami leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “he might not be scared of you. he could be scared of what it means for him. of responsibility and commitment. some people run when they feel too much.”

utahime nods, her hand resting gently on your arm. “whatever his problem is, it’s not fair to you. if he can’t get it together, that’s on him, not you.”

you glance between them, the weight of their words settling in your chest. “i know that,” you say quietly. “it just… sucks.”

“of course it does,” utahime says, her voice soft but firm. “but you’re not the problem here. don’t let him make you think you are.”

nanami picks up his book again but pauses before opening it. “and don’t let him live rent-free in your head. if he can’t see what he’s giving up, that’s his loss.”

their support feels grounding, like a steady hand in the middle of a storm. you manage a small smile, nodding. “thanks, guys.”

“anytime,” utahime says, flashing you a reassuring grin. nanami simply nods, returning to his book but keeping an eye on you like always. for the first time all week since gojo left your room, the heaviness in your chest feels a little lighter.

…

the knock at your window is faint, almost timid, but it jolts you out of your daze. you sit up in bed, your heart pounding as your eyes dart toward the window. it’s late—so late it’s early—and for a moment, you think you imagined it. you hate to admit it, but because of your boy troubles you haven’t been able to sleep all week. you’re also no stranger to imagining ants crawling up your body or phantom noises, so you adjust in your bed, trying to go back to sleep.

then it comes again, a little louder this time.

you throw off the blanket and pad over, the chill of the floor biting at your bare feet. when you pull the curtain aside, your breath catches.

satoru.

he’s crouched outside, his suit torn in places and soaked with blood. his head lolls slightly, like he’s barely holding himself up, and when he lifts his gaze to meet yours, it’s tired and pleading.

you don’t think—there’s no time for that. you unlatch the window and shove it open, reaching out to help him inside. “satoru, oh my god,” you breathe, your voice shaking.

“hey,” he mutters, his grin weak but still so unmistakably him. “sorry for the mess.”

“shut up,” you snap, guiding him onto your bed and setting him down with gentle hands, ones that contrast your tone with him. “what the hell happened?”

“nothing i couldn’t handle,” he says, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter and flashes you a sheepish smile. “you should see the other guy.”

“you’re bleeding everywhere, satoru. you clearly didn’t handle it.” you grab your first aid kit from under the bed and yank it open, your hands trembling.

“i’ve had worse,” he murmurs, but his bravado is thin, cracking at the edges.

“stop talking,” you say, your voice trembling and cracking. “just—just stop.”

for once, you thank the gods that he listens.

you work quickly, cutting away the shredded fabric of his suit and cleaning the worst of the wounds. it’s not pretty—his torso is littered with bruises and gashes, the kind that make your stomach turn—but you keep your focus.

when you press a disinfectant-soaked pad to a particularly deep cut, he hisses, his hand flying to grab your wrist.

“sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him with a tender look in your eyes. his expression matches yours, and your faces are so close to each other that you can’t bear it anymore, going back to your work.

his fingers loosen but don’t let go, his grip warm and grounding. “you’re good at this,” he says softly, his voice rough.

“yeah, well,” you mutter, ducking your head to avoid his gaze. “you’ve given me plenty of practice.”

the silence stretches as you finish bandaging him up. when you’re done, you sit back, your hands still trembling as you place them in your lap. “you’re an idiot,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

he laughs, soft and hoarse. “yeah. i get that a lot from this girl i know.”

you look up at him, and the weight of everything—his injuries, his secret, the distance he tried to put between you—crashes over you. “you can’t keep doing this, satoru. you can’t keep pushing me away just to show up like this.”

his smile fades, replaced by something raw and unguarded. “i know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i know, but…”

“but what?” you demand, your voice cracking. “you’re spider-man? you think that’s an excuse to keep shutting me out?”

“it’s not an excuse,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair, matted with even more blood. his or someone else’s, you’re not sure. “it’s a reason. i don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“you think i’m not already hurting?” you snap, the anger bubbling to the surface yet again. “you think it doesn’t kill me to see you like this and know i can’t do anything to stop it?”

his eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like a little boy, lost and unsure. it is then that it hits you that he’s just twenty. a college student, not someone who’s wanted by the cia or someone who’s battled terrorists. for fucks sake, he can’t even legally drink.

and your heart can’t help but melt as he says, “i just… i don’t want to lose you.”

“then stop trying to,” you say, your voice softer now. “stop pretending like you’re protecting me by keeping me at arm’s length. let me in, satoru.”

he stares at you, his breath hitching like he’s holding back a thousand words. then, in a rush, he closes the distance between you, his hands cradling your face as he presses his forehead to yours.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry.”

you exhale shakily, your hands finding their way to his wrists. “just stop being an idiot, okay? stop trying to do this alone.”

he nods, his grip tightening like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “i promise,” he says, and for the first time, you believe him.

…

a cramp gripping satoru’s entire leg is what wakes him up.

he winces in memory of the injury; one of those stupid terrorists had too good of an aim, grazing his leg while he was mid-air. it hurts like a bitch now, and he moves to lay on his back, until something stops him. roses.

he looks, bleary eyed, to you. the floral scent coming from you, making him dizzy. his body cocooning yours.

you both unconsciously moved in your sleep so that you were spooning, your fragrant hair, soft from shampooing, tickling his throat with your ass in his crotch.

nestled right against his morning wood.

good fucking lord, he groans to himself, then starts to panic because if you wake up and realize he had a raging hard-on while you were sleeping, you would definitely think he was a creep. he’s already on thin fucking ice. so naturally, he starts to recite the star spangled banner while trying to will his boner away.

oh, say can you see—

to no avail, because you huff softly in your sleep, soft and warm body unconsciously leaning back to grind your ass against his lap, turning his dick to steel.

“oh, fuck,” he curses out loud, using his hand to cover the lower half of his face and clench his eyes shut. you feel so sweet, innocently adjusting while he can’t even control his lust for you.

but once the grind seems to continue for a bit too long, more than what can be chalked up as adjusting in your sleep, he peers down at you. you’re awake.

and because satoru’s selfish, his hands creep up your tank top, settling on your bare stomach, where he knew you were ticklish. as a result, you wiggle, and he uses this opportunity to pull you even closer to him, right up against him.

“baby,” he says, making his voice all deep and sighs on purpose, just to be unfair to you. “is this okay?”

you whine, and he settles his face in your hair, the strands of it tickling his skin as he inhales in the scent of you. “i thought it was a dream.”

he smiles into your hair. you make him feel like sunshine incarnate, and the rush he’s getting right now is akin to the one he gets jumping off the empire state building. “no, this is very real.”

“hm,” and you continue to drag your ass into him, murmuring in a soft voice that makes him want to take you right there and then, “it still feels like a dream. like you’re not real, right now.”

oh, what he would do to make you say his name in that same voice; he wants to whisper all the things he wants to do to you right now. “i know, baby. you feel like a dream.” his hands continue to slide up and up your torso, groaning at your sharp intake as he gently fondles the softness of your breasts.

you overwhelm his senses, teasing him, and when you let out a whine of his name, satoru snaps.

“i’m going to make you feel good right now. tell me if it’s a fucking dream,” he grits out, ignoring whatever cramps that were screaming at him to get on top of you.

you gasp out a “satoru,” wriggling in his grasp, and he can’t take it anymore. he brings up one of his hands. shoots a web that lands right on your left hand. then your right hand.

satoru just tied you up using his webs.

you look at him in whatever version of shock you can muster in your tired state. “satoru, what the—” but you’re muffled, because he’s kissing you, hard, roving his hands up and down your body and grabbing whatever he can as if he’s devouring you while making out with you.

“do you know,” and his eyes flash dangerously while looking down at yours, “how you’ve teased me with these shorts?” his hands trails down to the waistband of the offending piece of clothing, pulling it to make it snap against your skin. you jump, looking at satoru desperately, who’s left you bare at his mercy, subject to his super human strength as he grabs your shorts with both his hands again. “every fucking time i’ve sneaked up in to your room, it’s been so hard to not fuck you senseless in these flimsy things. it’s only fair you pay the price, right baby?”

it’s not like you have anything to answer him with, having lost all brain cells being fucked out like this. he pulls them down, and if he had laser vision, he would have stared through your panties long ago, eyes fixated on the crotch that was nearly translucent with the amount of slick going through it. burying his face right in between your thighs, he noses at your cunt before groaning. then, he uses his teeth to grab onto the middle and pull. until your pussy is bare to him.

“oh, fuck you’re so pretty,” he curses, lapping at your sweetness. his tongue roves up and down your folds, and if your hands could, they would be pulling at his hair solely because you were so sensitive. but you were trapped, thighs gripped in his strong hands and your arms trapped by his ultra-strong webs. “my good girl.”

then, you feel pressure at your opening. “sato—” you squeal but are immediately interrupted by your own moan as he curls his long, thick fingers, eyes observing your every movement as you squirm, electric shocks running up and down your body as he hits your spot dead-on.

and he notices, because the motherfucker chuckles. “oh, so that’s the spot, huh?” he purrs, visibly pleased as he memorizes it and abuses it, hitting it with every stroke. you barely notice him add one finger, add two fingers as he starts to suck on your clit. overwhelmed with pleasure, you’re only brought back to reality when he rips all contact away from you.

“what—” you mumble mindlessly, until you see what he’s doing. he pulls his sweatpants down. and he’s not wearing boxers, so you drool when his cock springs out, leaking copiously and hard. without taking his eyes off you, he pumps it to its fullest length, and you’re just staring in awe at its sheer length.

“what’re you looking at, baby?” he teases, using his hand to wiggle his cock in front of your face to mock you. “want it so bad, isn’t that right?”

you glare at him half-heartedly, but whine regardless. “just put it in, gojo.”

“oh,” and he flashes you a smile that makes a big danger sign in red flash across your mind. “it’s gojo, now is it?”

“satoru,” there are tears brimming in the corner of your eyes, the ones that make satoru even more aroused at your want, “please. i need it.”

a boyish grin and a forehead kiss that has you reeling at his duality. “anything for my woman in stem.” with that, he pushes in, both of your eyes rolling back as his cock is engulfed by your gummy walls. soon after, he starts thrusting, desperation fueling both of you as you cross your legs behind gojo’s back, the deeper angle making his thighs shake while fucking into you.

he grabs your face, gives you a tender kiss. “fuck, i love this pussy. so sweet for me.”

you give him a wanton moan in return as he continues to thrust deep, tender strokes into you. “satoru, ‘m not gonna last long.” with the amount of foreplay he’s done alongside how sensitive you are, you’re steadily reaching your orgasm already, and with the way satoru’s now tightly gripping the sheets beside you while thrusting inside you, he is too.

wet squelching noises echoes across the room, and you know the neighbors can hear the obscene plap! plap! plap! coming from skin meeting skin, your hips against his. he buries his face into your neck, panting at your ear until he uses his hand to wrench your face towards his.

“i love you,” he groans, forcing your eyes to meet his. “i love you forever and will do so. so you can’t break my heart,” and he’s desperately thrusting again, “and you can’t leave me. please.”

at his confession, you break, back arching as you also squeal out a iloveyou while gasping loudly, hips rolling to rise against his as he fucks you through your orgasm. quickly, his thrusts veer into overstimulation and you whine. “toru.” he takes one look at your state—face impossibly flushed, hands tied, and pussy absolutely engulfing his cock, and his orgasm hits him like a truck, making him gasp and bend and break as he goes to heaven and back with the aftershocks of your orgasm making your pussy clench around him so beautifully. his cum enters you in hot spurts, making you exhale sharply at the feeling as he comes down from his orgasm, collapsing next to you.

for a few minutes, heavy breathing fills the room, both of you catching your breaths. until satoru breaks the silence. “so, what’s it like to fuck a superhero?”

you take one look at him—all smug and propped up on his elbow—and spidey sense be damned as you try grab a pillow. key word is try because you’re then wrenched back with a reminder that you’re still bound. “satoru,” and you give him a sickly sweet smile, the one that he knows means he’s in trouble, “when are these going to dissolve?”

and satoru pretends to be deep in thought, but you can see him trying to inch off the bed slowly, as if to escape your wrath after his answer. “uhm…maybe five hours?”

if it weren’t for the damn spidey sense that he had, he wouldn’t have been able to escape the swing of your legs as you looked at him murderously. “satoru gojo you will unhand me from these webs this instant—-“

“i don’t know,” he shrugs, shit eating grin in his face. “you look kinda sexy in bed like this. mad at me.” but when your eyes flash with anger, he hiccups nervously, telltale of the fact he won’t mess with you.

“i hate you,” you groan out, pouting like a petulant child while you glare at the ceiling.

satoru comes close to you to bend at his waist and give you a forehead kiss. “no, you don’t.”

you give him a pointed glare, telling him not to be testy. “clean me up. now.”

at your expression, his eyes widen in fear and he salutes. “anything for you, ma’am.”

at his retreating form, you giggle and sigh to yourself. you never would’ve known that spider-man would be the one fetching a clean up rag for you after fucking the shit out of you, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

when satoru comes back, he cleans you up, tenderly, as if he is afraid that you will break. you’re a little drowsy when he returns to you, but he doesn’t dare try to wake you up when he hears little breaths from your nose indicating you’ve fallen asleep. after he finishes his job, he admires your features.

satoru lingers for a moment, his gaze softening as he watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest. the weight of his responsibilities presses on him, as it always does, but tonight, it feels heavier—like a tether pulling him between the life he’s chosen and the life he craves.

you, so peaceful in sleep, represent something fragile, something precious. and that terrifies him. because what if he fails? what if the cost of being spider-man is losing the one thing that feels real?

still, he knows he can’t walk away—not from this city, not from you. with a deep breath, he leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead, a silent promise lingering in his chest.

“i’ll keep you safe,” he murmurs, barely audible. “no matter what.”

instead of leaving, satoru settles down beside you, careful not to disturb your rest. the city can wait, just for a little while. for now, he wraps an arm around you, grounding himself in the warmth of your presence. as your breathing evens out against him, he lets his own eyes drift shut, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifting. today, he chooses to stay.

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist

a/n ok if you're ever curious what being fucked in the ass with a wooden dildo no lube is like, just try to write this fic or any longfic. it's 4am, this a/n is short and unintelligble just like most of this fic but it's been a journey, im very sentimental because of this fic and i hope you guys like it. ok im going to pass out so pls ignore all typos xoxo but please flood my inbox im excited to see yalls reactions when i wake up

plspls pls comment and reblog!!!

TAGLIST

@sugoroo @ryutotsukai0824 @sharkubi @lisvanrouge @mxlktae

@samisfunky @achbbys000 @xd3pr3ss3dx @jottositto @cheescakebroom

@r0ckst4rjk @callmeagardengnome @rottmntrulesall @blankwashed @sindulgent666

@honeynanamin @obsessgurlll @starrnai @herefor-tojis-tits @ramonathinks

@creamflix

#aashi writes #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru

12K notes · View notes

donnabenevientosimpingzone · 11 months ago

Text

Professor Benevientos notes cuz I spent way too much time thinking about this AU

Donna

- sticks mostly with @shortstrawberry’s AU which originally inspired this

- Botanist and Toxicologist professor, teaches both undergrads and grads

- Still a doll maker that does it as a hobby, takes commissions at her own leisure online for extra cash

- In charge of the greenhouses, she designs the labs in there too

- She’s also conducting her own research in there for her PhD

- Is usually very on-top of students, she’ll reach out to students she notices not doing well in the class and do her best to assist in their success

- Surprisingly prefers teaching toxicology, but that’s mostly because she gets to work with Claudia for those lessons

- Workaholic, she’ll drown herself in grading papers or reading research papers and needs constant reminders to eat

- Most students are intimidated by her lol

Claudia

- Trauma surgeon and a licensed family doctor, she works these during weekends and holidays

- She teaches Anatomy and Physiology, as well as Biochemistry every other year

- Also an instructor in the organic chemistry labs if she can fit it in her schedule

- In charge of the cadaver labs

- Mostly teaches undergrads

- A pretty laid back professor, she definitely has the belief of “you’re paying for this, you’re choosing to be here, and you choose to do well or not”

- That doesn’t mean she’s an unfair professor. She is constantly reworking and reorganizing lessons and exams to make them as fair and educational as they can be

- Tells the best stories if class finishes early. She has the most students that remember her and bond with her out of the sisters

- Sews in her free time, loves making outfits when she can find the time

- Loves bothering the fuck out of her younger sister in staff rooms and meetings (Donna secretly loves it)

Bernadette

- Psychology and Neurology professor, works as a licensed therapist

- Helps with Donna in the greenhouses

- Mostly teaches grad students

- In charge of the Anatomy and Physiology labs

- Has a fair approach with students, she’ll reach out to those who are struggling but doesn’t pursue them

- Use to be on the board but has stepped down since then to make more time for her family

- She will take runs on campus between classes, sometimes Claudia joins her

- The heaviest tea drinker between the sisters, almost always seen with a bottle or flask

- Donna often weaves flowers into her hair and she’s not taking them out for the rest of the day, she’ll rather spread dirt and petals and insects around campus than throw out a flower her baby sis gave her

Angie

- human in this one! Claudia’s daughter

- She’s studying music at the campus, hoping to make it big like movie scores or video game soundtracks

- The building the classes she takes are close enough to the buildings her mom and aunties teach in so she often stops by to visit them

- Definitely privileged- she gets access to back offices and free stuff- especially when Donna is around

- Knows the guitar from her mom, got taught the piano by Bernadette, and both her and Donna learned the violin together. She’s self teaching herself the drums.

- Knows the loopholes around campus rules and abuses the shit out of them

- If there’s a new rule that’s added to campus, it’s because of her

- Doesn’t dorm, she lives with her family- it’s free food, rent, transport, and she doesn’t have to do chores most of the time- why wouldn’t she? (The real reason is that she loves them too much to leave but you won’t hear it from her)

- But she does have a group of friends who are all musicians and all dorm together so when she’s not home she’s with them

#resident evil village #resident evil #donna beneviento #bernadette beneviento #claudia beneviento #professor au #professor donna #angie the doll #angie beneviento #headcannons

64 notes · View notes

blog-name-idk · 2 years ago

Text

Mold a Pretty Lie | 07

Pairing: professor!Jin x Fem undergrad!Reader

Genre: College!AU, Unhealthy relationships, toxic relationships, virgin reader, eventual yandere, eventual smut

Summary: They say love is like a garden that requires regular care and attention. Kim Seokjin, your kind and handsome professor, is more than happy to cultivate the vines that bind his heart to yours.

Word Count: 4139

Rating: 18+

~~~~~

"Heyyy! Lookin' good [Y/n]!" called Ashley, waving as she made her way past rows of other students with their posters. You perked up at the sight of someone new. The judging professors had long since come by and asked you questions about your research, and you were now just twiddling your thumbs and wondering how long you were supposed to stay at your station.

"Me or my poster?" you asked with a laugh when she was close, dodging when she tried to ruffle your hair.

"Both! But I already knew your poster was going to be good."

You beamed at the upperclassman's praise. Ashley was one of those people who seemed both effortlessly cool and brilliant, whose casual confidence was something you hoped to achieve one day.

You opened your mouth to respond, only to be distracted by three familiar faces.

"Sierra? Tae? Jimin?" you asked in surprise, not having expected any other visitors. "What are you doing here?"

"You've worked so hard on this all semester, of course we wouldn't miss it!"

Your roommate rolled her eyes as if offended you even had to ask, and you felt warmth bloom in your chest. She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was a given, and you were overcome with appreciation for your friends.

You could count on one hand the number of times anyone had shown up for your achievements. When you had landed the leading role as Sandy in your middle school production of Grease – which, why had that even been a thing when they had to remove all references to "inappropriate" topics – your dad had to work the whole weekend while your mother drove your older sister's high school volleyball team to regionals. When you placed first in your high school science fair, the only one there to cheer you on was Phoebe - mostly because everyone in your grade had been forced to participate.

You were the second child, the one whose good grades were unremarkable because your older sister got them first. Your issues were overlooked or forgotten because you weren't as loud and dramatic as your younger sister.

You knew your parents loved you, but it still hurt to feel like an afterthought when all you ever wanted was for them to at least acknowledge your successes even half as much as they did when baby Brooke got a B on her final English paper. Yes, she had worked hard when her grades had been in the gutter, but hadn't you worked just as hard the entire year?

The fact that your three new friends had taken time out of their day to come to some weird academic showcase you hadn't even officially invited them to – well, it was affecting you much more than you would have thought.

"Whoa, hey, are you okay?"

Taehyung was suddenly in front of you, his hand on your arm and you realized your eyes were suddenly burning with tears.

"Um," you hiccuped, taking a deep breath to keep your emotions at bay. "I'm just - thanks for coming, it really means a lot."

"Awww you're so cute," cooed Ashley, wrapping her arms around you from behind and shaking you obnoxiously from side-to-side.

"Oh my god, get off," you wheezed with a laugh, secretly grateful for the distraction from your inconvenient influx of feelings. "Guys, this is Ashley. She's my TA and works with Dr. Kim too."

"Nice to meet you all," she said with a grin, freeing you from her grip to wave cheerfully at the newcomers. "Glad to see [Y/n] has such good friends, mine wouldn't come even if I begged."

"Well we love [Y/n]!" piped Sierra, so enthusiastically you blinked. "I mean, platonically. At least I do. I mean, we're good friends. Just friends."

You, Taehyung, and Jimin stared at the normally unflappable Sierra and her uncharacteristic babbling. Then you looked at Ashley, whose lips were twitching.

"What did you say your name was?" asked your TA, cocking her head and smiling. You were suddenly reminded that Ashley was very attractive and very much into women. It was just hard for you to notice other people when Dr. Kim was right there.

"I'm Sierra," your roommate replied a little breathlessly, though she seemed to have at least found an additional brain cell to keep her stable.

"Were you interested in any of the other projects?" asked Ashley nonchalantly. "I could walk you through them."

"I mean, if you don't mind," Sierra replied, trying - and failing - to appear just as nonchalant. With a cheery wave, Ashley took Sierra's hand and ushered her away before anyone else could get a word in.

"Wow," was all Jimin said as he watched them leave. He sounded so admiring that you found yourself giggling. "I want to be her when I grow up."

"Are you sure you don't want to go with them?" you teased, absolutely tickled that your roommate and your TA might be hitting it off. You had never seen Sierra so wide-eyed before, and it was incredibly endearing.

"We came to see you," Taehyung replied with his usual easy grin. You smiled back, feeling warm and fuzzy. Even after that uncomfortable exchange with Taehyung, he and Jimin had continued pestering you during and after lectures. They toned down the flirting, but otherwise still treated you the same way as before. The only reason you hung out less these days was because you were so busy with finals and this project.

It went a long way toward soothing the hurt and uncertainty you had felt at Dr. Kim's well-meaning - but likely unfounded - concern. You'd given no indication that your decision had changed, and yet they had even come to a boring science showcase to show their support.

So when you realized Taehyung's hand was still on your arm, you didn't move away.

"Well, do you want to hear about my incredibly exciting research on ocean temperatures?" you joked, only for the boys to nod.

"Please enlighten us, Professor [L/n]," said Jimin, a mischievous grin on his pouty lips. "What could possibly have been interesting enough to keep you working on this instead of hanging out with us?"

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, though you were unable to keep the smile off your face.

"Oh you know, mass extinction, the loss of ecosystems, and the eventual impact it'll have on human society," you replied, giving him an innocent smile.

"Okay, but do those ecosystems steal you late night pizza from the cafeteria?" asked Taehyung teasingly, making you laugh and shake your head.

"I guess you two have your uses," you teased. Jimin gasped in mock-affront, making you laugh again. You missed hanging out with these two.

"I'm glad some people are having fun today."

You jumped and turned to see Dr. Kim behind you. He was smiling, but his normally twinkling eyes looked a little sharper when they zeroed in on how close the boys were standing, and for a moment you felt like you were doing something wrong. Then you shook off the odd sensation.

It was probably just because as far as Dr. Kim knew, Taehyung had been toying with you while juggling other girls. Not to mention the ill-considered kiss you definitely did not lie awake at night kicking yourself over.

But Jimin had actually pulled you aside separately to explain to you exactly what happened during the conversation Dr. Kim had seen. He had been uncharacteristically serious, telling you he wasn't trying to change your mind, just that he wanted you to have all the information because Taehyung didn't want to seem like he was pushing you to forgive him. Jimin had also assured you that whatever you decided, they did still want to be friends, and he'd tone his behavior down.

Oddly enough, the conversation in which Jimin assured you that you were still important to him even if you didn't have feelings for him, was enough for you to start seeing him in a different light. You had always enjoyed his presence and his teasing attitude, but he seemed so flighty and flirty that it was hard to take him seriously. His obvious care and consideration - not just towards you, but to Taehyung - showed you he could be thoughtful when necessary.

The Kiss Incident - well, it was a one-off mistake, a blip in the otherwise normal trajectory of your college life. Dr. Kim himself had said it couldn't happen again. Even if he had enjoyed it. Well, more specifically said "it wasn't entirely unwelcome," but you would let your daydreams exist where they could.

And anyway, even if Dr. Kim was just concerned about Taehyung or Jimin messing with you, it was your business. He was your professor, not your father (not that either of your parents checked in very often anyway) or… or any other type of role that gave him the right to comment on your personal life.

So why, when he looked at you with those dark eyes, did you feel the urge to assure him that nothing was going on with the boys?

Was it because no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get the brief pressure of his lips as he reciprocated the kiss out of your mind? Or because sometimes when you caught his eye, his perfect lips curved into a smirk that made your mouth go dry?

Despite his words - of his kind, humiliating rejection and insistence that nothing of the sort could ever happen again - Dr. Kim's behavior still confused you. The sporadic touches when he was close, the little gifts he'd leave you, the way the occasional compliment slipped from his lips and left you stammering. It was enough that you couldn't shed your feelings, or keep him from your mind long enough to think about starting something with anyone else. Not that anything had even "started" with him.

You weren't immune to Taehyung and Jimin's charm and good looks. And getting to know their personalities just made you like them more. Taehyung's kisses made you weak, and Jimin's flirting could set your heart racing, but neither of them consumed your mind like Dr. Kim. He had somehow wormed his way into every crack and crevice of your brain, like the creeping ivy that grew atop the walls of your dorm.

"Aren't you supposed to be into this stuff, Professor?" asked Taehyung with a grin, not registering anything amiss with the intensity of Dr. Kim's gaze.

"Unfortunately judging several presentations isn't always the definition of a good time," the older man replied lightly, though the set of his mouth told you he wasn't in as good of a mood as he sounded. His eyes focused back onto you, and his smile became more genuine. "And I can't even evaluate the one I know will be good, because it would be a conflict of interest."

You really did not need to hear your professor say something about a conflict of interest while smiling at you like that. You had too many delusional fantasies blooming in your head already to allow another one to take root.

"Well Professor, in your unprofessional opinion, how do you think I rank?" you asked tentatively, peeking at his face and your heart flutter when he smiled back at you.

"Definitely first!" chirped Jimin, slinging his arm around you in a show of support you wished could have waited for a more opportune time. Still, it was an innocent enough gesture, and you were genuinely happy he had come.

"Thanks, Jimin," you said with a laugh.

"Well, I might be biased," Dr. Kim teased, so casual you wondered if you had imagined the way his eyes flashed. "But I do believe this is one of the best projects in the category."

"Really?" you breathed, his praise making you turn towards him like a flower to the sun. Jimin's arm around your shoulder reminded you not to make a complete fool out of yourself.

"Of course," your Professor replied. "We'll find out soon enough, in any case. Everyone has turned in their evaluations."

"Oh hey Prof! I thought you were evaluating the other room!"

Ashley announced her arrival with her typical aplomb, a smiling Sierra in tow. You raised an eyebrow at your roommate, grateful for the distraction, your friend winked.

"We finished, so I thought I'd come see how [Y/n] was doing," Dr. Kim replied. "Though it seems she has all the support she needs."

He said it lightly, like a joke. No one else seemed to notice anything amiss, not even Ashley, but the way his eyes met yours briefly made you uncertain.

"Of course, we're her personal cheer squad," Taehyung announced, draping his arm over your other shoulder and bringing you in for a one-armed hug. Jimin squawked when the action pulled you away from him, and tugged you back towards him in a playful tug-of-war.

Sierra and Ashley laughed at their antics as you struggled to get free, complaining you weren't a yo-yo.

"But you're so fun to play with," teased Jimin, the most suggestive thing he had said in weeks. You knew he didn't mean it that way – his tone was more playful than smooth – but you couldn't help but peek at Dr. Kim out of the corner of your eye.

He had been pulled aside by another professor, and you weren't sure whether you felt relieved or disappointed that he seemed to have missed the exchange. Then you forced yourself to pay attention to your friends, because you realized that once again you were being a selfish idiot.

When the results were announced, you were dogpiled by your friends while Ashley cheered by your side. For a moment you felt eyes burning into the back of your head, but when you turned, all you saw was Dr. Kim smiling and offering you congratulations.

~~~~~

The airport was bustling with holiday travel, and you felt a little overwhelmed by the crowd. You chewed your lip as you scanned the lines, hoping to see your broad-shouldered professor, to no avail. This was supposed to be the spot you, Dr. Kim, and the other student-professor pair met up at before going through security together, and yet no one was in sight.

For a moment panic filled you. Were you late? Was this the wrong airport? Oh no, what if it was the wrong day and you had already missed the flight?

"[Y/n], were you waiting long?"

A familiar voice cut through your anxiety and you let out a sigh of relief as you turned to greet your professor.

"I just got here," you assured him, resisting the urge to cling to his arm to make sure he wouldn't leave. "Where are Dr. Li and Jason?"

"They unfortunately both came down with the flu," said Dr. Kim ruefully. "I got the call this morning. One probably got it from the other."

You gulped. A weekend alone with your beautiful professor? Well, not alone alone, since most of the days would be taken up by the conference activities, but without the buffer of two strangers you were a little worried about how the state of your crush would be by the end.

"Oh," you squeaked, looking down at your carry-on. It was just a three-day trip, you could do this. It would be totally fine. You were breezy.

The mantra carried you through the security line, where you tried not to stare as your professor removed his jacket and shoes. It bolstered you through the walk to the gate, when he asked if you needed anything and bought you a water anyway. It lasted through boarding, when he smiled and asked if you wanted the window seat.

You buckled the funny-looking seatbelt, scolding yourself for being disappointed that Dr. Kim had left the middle seat empty between you. If he had, his warmth might have distracted you from the not-as-pleasant butterflies fighting to the death in your gut as you discovered that you might have a tiny fear of flying.

As the overly cheery safety and thank-you-for-flying-with-us video began to play, your traitorous brain decided to latch onto keywords like "if a water landing is needed" and "life jackets" and "oxygen masks". Was the plane getting warmer? You stole a surreptitious glance at the people sitting in the exit row seat and wondered if they could be trusted to assist in the event of an emergency.

Still, you had to pat yourself on the back. Despite the rising panic you felt inside, you were able to smile and laugh absentmindedly at Dr. Kim's jokes, even if his voice is starting to feel a little far away. Until the plane began to move and your hands latched onto your arm rests.

"Are you alright?"

Your professor was eyeing you in concern, and you tried to relax your white-knuckled grip. But – oh god the plane was speeding up and what if something went wrong or a wing fell off or the engine exploded or –

"[Y/n]."

Dr. Kim's voice was soft in your ear – when did he change seats? Your breaths were coming in short, frantic pants and for once it wasn't his proximity that was making your heart pound.

"Can you hear me?" he asked, hands on your shoulders and warm eyes fixed on yours. He was close enough that you could hear him over the rumble of the plane and the cotton static in your ears, and you clung to his voice like a lifeline. You opened your mouth to respond, which was when you felt the plane lift off the ground. You snapped your eyes and lips shut, wondering why, of all things, you were going to die of a heart attack at the tender age of eighteen.

A soft touch on your face startled you enough for you to open your eyes again, and you vaguely registered that Dr. Kim's hand was cupping your cheek.

"Try to breathe with me," he murmured, making a big show of puffing out his chest as he inhaled. You would have giggled had you not been on the edge of hyperventilating. Still, you did your best to obey your professor despite the tightness in your chest, and he didn't scold you when your breath hitched or you gasped or messed up the rhythm.

You weren't sure how long he stayed like that, breathing with you and stroking your cheek gently with his thumb, but eventually your breath evened out and you realized the plane was no longer shaking or rumbling so much. You winced as you tried to relax your hands from the vice-like grip you had on the armrests, flexing your fingers to try to relieve the stiff ache in your joints.

"There's my girl," whispered Dr. Kim softly, smiling at you. His hand was warm on your skin, and his words sank into you like a rock tossed into the ocean. One that was still falling to depths unknown.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked, making you swallow whatever had been at the tip of your tongue. Instead you nodded, feeling your lower lip drag between your teeth as you tried to think around the cotton-like fatigue weighing down on your head. Dr. Kim's eyes flickered to your mouth at the action, and for a moment something dark bloomed in his gaze.

"Sir, please fasten your seatbelt."

You both jumped at the pleasant, professional voice of the flight attendant, and Dr. Kim apologized as he settled into the seat and clicked the clasp into place. You were incredibly relieved he remained next to you. It wasn't even for your daydreams, at this point - his solid presence was comforting, and even if the flight had evened out you were still tense.

"T-thank you," you mumbled, suddenly embarrassed by your inability to do something as simple as sit in a chair. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Dr. Kim replied, smiling gently and patting your arm. It was a far cry from the way he had been so tenderly stroking your cheek, but you felt butterflies all the same. "I'm sorry, I didn't know flying was hard for you."

"I didn't either," you said with a self-conscious laugh. "This is my first time."

"Ah," your professor replied in understanding, hand still on your arm. "Well-"

A ding sounded over the speaker system, and a voice spoke.

"This is your captain speaking. We are about to enter into a patch of turbulent air, so please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."

"Oh," you said faintly, wondering if this was your karma for lusting after your professor. Perhaps you deserved this.

"Do you want-" Dr. Kim began, looking at you with concern, before the plane jolted and you let out a humiliating whimper, squeezing your eyes shut.

It was an even bigger shock when you felt a strong arm encircle your shoulder and pull you into a very firm, very broad, very wonderful-smelling chest.

"It'll be okay," your professor murmured into your ear as his other hand stroked your hair gently. You drew in a shuddering breath, enveloped by his warmth and his scent. Then the plane lurched again, and you wondered if it was possible to be simultaneously in heaven and hell.

"S-sorry," you managed to choke, trying to breathe the way Dr. Kim had earlier. Another lurch had you gripping your professor's shirt for dear life, and his arm tightened, pressing you more securely against him. "I know in my head it's fine, I just - "

"Shh, I understand," he said soothingly, his chest rumbling soothingly against your cheek. You hated your brain for deciding flying was a problem so you couldn't properly enjoy what was probably a one time pity thing. Then again, this wouldn't be happening otherwise.

"I'm here for you, okay?" Dr. Kim was a steady source of reassurance, full of encouraging words and soft touches. "Always."

~~~~~

You stirred against Seokjin's chest, and he shushed you gently. To his mixed relief and dismay, you snuggled closer with a cute little grumble, and he felt those vines constrict around his chest.

He had somehow managed to soothe you to sleep earlier, and he hoped you stayed like this for the remainder of the flight. For your own sake, not because your body nestled against his so perfectly.

He hadn't expected you to have a fear of flying - neither did you, apparently - and he hated seeing you so distressed. Though the way you obeyed him, the way you looked at him with total trust in your eyes did send a dark tendril of satisfaction purring through his veins.

He had almost lost himself in that moment. You were so beautiful, and he felt himself drawn like a bee to honey.

Seokjin's mind had been more troubled than usual of late, since the Honors showcase where you won second place and a junior won first. Since he had seen for himself that those two college whelps had wormed their way back into your good graces like the pests they were proving themselves to be.

It had been infuriating to watch the shameless way they flirted with you. Jagged thorns had pricked through his chest at the sheer nerve, and when they had pulled you between them like a prize to be won, the thorny briars had blossomed into something ugly and bitter.

It was clear you weren't used to being cared for or doted on, if the little hints and snippets he had gotten were anything to go by. You had been so shocked when he addressed the bullying at the beginning of the semester, as if you had never had anyone stick up for you.

You deserved - needed - better. Someone to take care of you, who appreciated just how special you were. Someone you could trust, who had your best interests at heart.

It irked Seokjin more than he wanted to admit, that he knew so little of you outside of academics. He wanted to read through every page of your life he hadn't had access to, wanted to see you through those still unwritten.

If he let you be, would the next person tend you the way you needed? Or would they take and take like a parasite until you wilted to nothing?

You shifted against him, soft and sweet, a perfect flower begging to be plucked. He found his hand tracing the curve of your cheek again.

Seokjin wondered just how much more you might consume his thoughts after a weekend together. The vines in his chest constricted at the thought of how you would have fared on this trip without him. The way you clung to him, the way you needed him.

It should have worried him. Yet all he felt was more fondness and concern for you sinking roots ever deeper into his veins.

~~~~~

Next | Masterlist

Tags: @moonleeai @random-and-out-of-context @amenjiminsan @innebulae @seoqity @lilacdreams-00 @chowb @shescharlie @mazmaz30 @definetlythinkimanalien @seokjins-luigi @lucci-girl @xicanacorpse @bighitbabie @8loominghell @jung-nika-hoseok @staradorned @zealouslightcookiebasketball @kissme-ornot @dyhrbls @nabiolive

#bts imagines #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts jin #bts x reader #bts x you #kim seokjin x reader #bts x y/n #bts smut #kim seokjin smut #jin x reader #bts yandere #yandere seokjin

157 notes · View notes

noodyl-blasstal · 2 years ago

Text

Blupjeans Week: Bet (day 2)

It's @blupjeansweek day 2. This follows on from yesterday's prompt. You can also read on Ao3

"It's going to be fine."

"Easy for you to say, you just casually revolutionised thermodynamics, you're gonna walk your viva." Barry could hear Lup rolling her eyes at that one, though he stayed resolutely focused on the raggedy copy of his thesis which was, at this point, 70% sticky notes. Could he read what any of them said because of how much they overlapped? Shut up.

"Natch, evocation is never going to be the same thanks to cha'girl's research, but that doesn't meant you're going to fail, Barold."

"No, they're just going to MPhil me out."

Lup sighed heavily. "Oh no, you worked hard and gained mastery in a subject, how terrible, what an embarrassment."

Barry did look up then, didn't she get it? He’d thought she’d get it. It was an embarrassment! She’d watched him put so much into this, the stupid well thumbed, badly bound paper stack represented four years of late nights, early mornings, cancelled plans, 3am anxiety… he thought she understood. She’d lived it with him, they were working for the key to the next level, if they gave him the wrong one what was even the point? "You think…?"

"I'm being flippant because that's not going to happen. Once again, I've read your work my guy, it's good, in fact, it’s great. In fact, right now, you’re arguing with established fact.” Barry grimaced as Lup spoke, but she ploughed on. “... you've already published three chapters of this thing in peer reviewed journals. 6/6 esteemed peer reviewers agree!"

"But they publish bad science all the tim…"

Lup cut him off. "Barry stop. You know you’ve done good science because a) I would have told you if you hadn’t, and b) peer reviewers might be lazy but you’re not. You know your submissions were solid, just look at the citations.”

“But…” She was right. But Barry still struggled, sure she hadn’t said anything incorrect, he knew he’d done solid work, but he also just knew that he’d fucked this up.

“...But what? But maybe they're idiots who can't recognise genius? They're gonna recognise it, Barry. It's impossible not to recognise how brilliant you are. That thesis is just you yelling “I’m Barry Bluejeans and I know what the fuck I’m talking about, pay me money about it.” Plus, publish a few more chapters and you can do PhD by publication without those losers to worry about anyway."

Barry didn’t even register the second part because Lup thought he was brilliant! Lup thought he was brilliant and she was telling him and he kept shutting her down instead of just being grateful about it. Maybe if he tried to accept the compliment. "Than…"

Lup started speaking at the same time. "In fact…" She paused to let him speak, but he shook his head and gestured to her, he could try being gracious another day. "... Okay, if you're sure." He nodded. "I think, Baraldo, that we should make a bet, you and I. I may as well profit from all this self doubt, so I bet you're gonna pass with no corrections."

Barry laughed bitterly. Whatever she was betting she'd be losing. "Lup, I'm going to fail."

Lup shoved his shoulder gently. "You're not and you know it. Be serious."

"Oh, like yours was serious?"

Lup's ears flicked back defensively. "Serious? Barry, c'mon. Obviously we all know cha’girl’s out here shaping the future of evocation, but you're doing magic within magic on all your spooktacular stuff. The chapter on spell wheels? I'd never considered it, and even if I had, I definitely would have taken at least 10 minutes longer than you to come up with something so elegant. You know what you're doing, I know what I'm doing, it's why we're such a great team."

They did make a great team. They’d met the first day of undergrad at orientation. Barry the lone mature student in a sea of babies, then Lup and Taako had appeared, and sure there was The Nerd Incident, but they cleared that pretty fast. They coincided in most classes, worked together in labs, and powered their way through a ridiculous amount of higher education together. There hadn’t been any question about it when the option of choosing housing came up, they lived together off campus and were joined by a rotating cast which had pretty much always featured Taako (well, until this year), but LupAndBarry, BarryAndLup? They were a constant, they worked. “We do work well together.”

“You can say that again.” Lup glared at him as he opened his mouth to repeat it. “...And you know exactly how smart I am, right?” Lup asked. Barry could taste the trap-ness of this question, she was an angler fish and the question was a beautiful little light, he was going to answer it honestly and wholly and she was going to chomp him down with her big clever teeth.

“You’re incredible Lup, your research is amazing and you’re passionate and eloquent and so smart…”

Lup’s teeth closed. “Then you know I know my shit well enough to know your shit’s good, so, what’s your bet?”

“I pass with major corrections?”

Lup raised an eyebrow. “Question, or an answer?”

“I pass with majors.”

“Fine. If you want to lose whatever you’re betting then be my guest, Bluejeans.”

“I don’t think I have anything you want.” Barry said, and he wasn’t sure, it was a ridiculous thought, but he could have sworn that Lup’s ears reddened at the tips. She coughed loudly, then almost shouted “Jeans.”

“What?”

Lup coughed again and spoke in a softer tone. “I get rights to your wardrobe. I know your jeans are comfier than mine.”

Barry hesitated. He’d already lost a good chunk of his shirts and sweaters to Lup. Not that he minded most of the time, he usually managed to steal his favourites back briefly on laundry day, but his jeans? He only had three pairs and they all served specific purposes in his life, he couldn't afford to sacrifice them, no matter how cute Lup would look in them. But, <;i>but</i>, there was no way he was actually going to pass without corrections, everyone at least got minors and Barry's supervisor definitely didn't think he'd even manage that. According to the available evidence, this seemed like a safe bet. "Deal!"

Lup grinned big and wide and dangerous . "GuyWhoJustLostHisJeansSaysWhat."

"What?" Barry asked.

Lup snickered. "Just asking what you wanted from me if your externals are somehow struck incapable of recognising brilliance?"

Oh... yeah, Barry had forgotten this part. Lup's brash overconfidence in his abilities had essentially signed her up to do whatever he wanted. He could stick her with dish duty for the next hundred years; make her actually use the dregs of her body wash before she moved onto the next one so the edge of the shower wasn't a terrifying pile of upside down barely balanced bottles; he could ask her to tell him whether there was an expiration date on their whole thing, whether the end of study meant different directions and fond memories, phone calls which dwindled as she remembered less and less… "You have to come home with me." He blurted out the thought before he could properly consider what he was asking. Was that too much? Oh it was probably too much. A trip home meant a road trip, motels, meeting his Mum. There was no way Marlena wouldn't pick up on exactly how he felt about Lup, not that she hadn’t already, but it was easier to lie on the phone. Plus, there was no way his Mum wouldn't love Lup too. How could anyone not? Then he’d only disappoint her when Lup moved on with her life and left him behind. Maybe he could back track, do the dishes thing instead…

"You have yourself a deal, Mr Bluejeans, may as well use that title one last time. Now, I have some outfits to plan, go eat the sandwich I made you, then I'll help with the last minute prep." Lup disappeared in the direction of Barry's room.

Barry resigned himself to losing another few shirts while Lup investigated his wardrobe and obediently shuffled his way to the kitchen. It was definitely time to eat, he wasn't entirely sure when he last did… probably the last time Lup shoved food at him. He definitely had to thank her when this was over.

"...And why did you decide on Necrostics?" Lup looked expectantly at Barry.

"It was the most logical methodological approach as it incorporates acknowledgement of the agency held by constructs and the undead while also acknowledging the influence of social and summoning factors. I modified the approach to ensure it was appropriately controlling for the new spells I developed."

Lup clapped her hands delightedly.

"It was that good an answer?" Barry asked.

"It's that good a wardrobe. I cannot wait to get my hands on it, Barold, you're gonna be living in your pants… although…" Lup narrowed her eyes.

"Absolutely not, no!"

Lup shrugged. "You can't watch your stuff all the time, Barry. Cha'girl needs some new sleep shorts."

Barry felt his face flame at the thought of Lup sleeping in his clothes, Lup wanting to. "I'd better go now!" He said, too fast and too loud. "Gotta go get it over with."

Lup jumped up. "Cool, I'll grab my book and and few other bits and come with. There's some comfy chairs in the corridor with my name on them."

Oh. Lup was going to come with him. Lup was going to wait for him. "You don't have t…"

"I want to."

–

"Good luck Barold, you've got this." Lup hugged him firmly, he squeezed back. If he didn't let go he didn't have to go into the scary room. Can't defend your thesis if you’re in the middle of a hug, that’s just science. Lup pulled back slightly, then dipped her head to kiss him on the cheek.

Barry didn't have time to react before Lup pulled away and planted herself across the corridor chairs, head buried in her book.

"Are you ready, Mr Bluejeans?" A voice asked from the door behind him. All Barry could do was touch a hand to his cheek, turn, and nod.

–

"Congratulations again, Dr Bluejeans, this may be the most enjoyable viva I have ever taken part in." Said Dr Combish, opening the door for him.

Barry was going to pass out. The adrenaline finally drained out of him, weeks, months of panic, gone. It was over. An outright pass? It was so rare, so ridiculously unlikely. He should be raring to celebrate, but mostly he just wanted to go home and sit very still in the dark. He stepped into the corridor, remembered to thank Dr Combish, and stared numbly at the door as it closed. What did he even do now? It was over. A whole chunk of his life was just… done. He had the keys to the next stage, had the fancy title, had everything he'd worked for and… and?

"Hey Bear?" Lup nudged his arm gently. "How'd it go?"

"I… I passed?" Said Barry. "Yeah. They. Well. I passed!" His voice broke momentarily, to say it was so surreal. "Lup! I passed!!!" He grabbed her into a hug. "I did it! We did it! Thank you, thank you thank you thank you!"

"Knew you could." Lup said thickly, hugging him back. They didn’t say anything for a while, just held on tight. “We… we should do something.” Said Lup, eventually. “Celebrate, you know.”

“We’ll celebrate together when you pass next week.” Barry didn’t even have to think about it. Whatever he could do, Lup could do better, there was no way she’d be correcting anything.

“Fine, but we’re getting pizza, from the good place.” Lup grabbed her backpack from the chairs.

Barry stared for a second. “You… you’re wearing my garden jeans. Lup!”

“And they look great on me. Told you I believed in you. Fair’s fair.” Lup winked, wiggled her butt, and grabbed his hand. “Now, let’s get you home, Baraldo. We need to ring Marlena and tell her, she’ll be having kittens.”

Barry couldn’t do anything but nod.

#blupjeansweek2023 #Barry you idiot; see how smart you are!#Lup grabbed those jeans so fast - she's been secretly wearing them for years but now she doesn't have to hide it anymore #Noodyl Writes #TAZ fic #The Adventure Zone #Blupjeans #Barry Bluejeans #Lup Tacco #Lup

82 notes · View notes

bethanydelleman · 1 year ago

Note

I hope you don't mind me asking, but what does being a cognitive neuroscientist involve? Do you research stuff? Do you have to major in neuroscience in your undergrad degree?

I have an undergraduate degree in psychology (double major in business but that's irrelevant here) and an M.A. in Cognitive Neuroscience. Here is my longer post about it.

What I had been doing was carrying out research for medical doctors. They have a project they want to do, but very little time because they have patients etc. A lot of them have PhDs and MDs by the way, which is amazing. Anyway, my job title has been Research Assistant. I do patient visits and testing; help write up ethics proposals, grants, and scientific papers; analyze data, the whole gambit.

This seems like a great time for an announcement: I'm going back to work next week! I closed my home daycare and I was just hired in a new lab where I'll be doing neurological research on babies. I'm going to be working with MDs again and I'm very excited.

We'll see how this blog goes without me being bored out of my skull, but my queue is insane so we're good for at least 2 months.

#question response #personal #going back to work #it's crazy #i've been doing home daycare for almost 4 years

40 notes · View notes

anethara · 4 months ago

Text

Books I read in August

since it's probably the last month I'll do any pleasure reading for the next two years.

Pageboy by Elliot Page Validating, cathartic, triggering, and absolutely fucking beautiful prose. Like, I want to read novels by this guy. His descriptions of internal and external landscapes are stunning and visceral. A great read especially if you're ftm because it's so familiar; especially if you're cis because it really unpacks and lays bare the intricacies of transness that are so difficult to communicate. It loses a bit of momentum in the eleventh hour, but it's a memoir so...you know, sometimes life is like that. Just read the thing.

Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion I read this book for the first time in seventh grade; for the second time in sophomore year of high school; for the third time at 21. Reading it at 32 is so much more rewarding than all previous readings (I suspect I will feel this way about reading it at 32 when I read it again sometime around 47). The horrors within it feel more profound; the stakes are much higher. There's a tangible sense of dread from that time that feels almost comforting in its familiarity, as if to say, "History rhymes; we have been here before; it's not too late to turn it around." Really interesting examination of political/cultural group think, and the ways in which opposing sides born of the same puritanical cesspool feed one another in perpetuity. And of course, Didion's style of prose is evergreen.

Real Americans by Rachel Khong I picked this up at a Target while on a trip to Idaho and enjoyed it immensely. The characters are compelling and for all my fellow aging millennials, the jokes will land because they are true and we have to laugh at our financial struggles or else we will have a collective nervous breakdown. My only complaint is that it feels like it should have been three separate books, and this is the only time I think I've ever felt that way. We're always complaining that a trilogy could have been condensed into a single work but for once, it would have been nice to get a richer, fuller story of each generation that the narrative follows.

Bullshit Jobs: A Theory by David Graeber This is one of those books where the premise feels like, "Yeah, no shit" to anyone who has worked in the service, hospitality, or manufacturing industries, but there's a lot of good here! It's one thing to know something for anecdotal fact, another to be able to articulate it with data and a cohesive argument. Graeber's system of taxonomy isn't perfect, and his grasp of feminism falls short of ideal (his arguments implicitly condemn sex work while tokenizing sex workers), but generally, the concept is there. This is a useful book to have around if you're an undergrad student who needs a library of citation material for research and persuasive papers. I also think this is an excellent 'baby's first critique of economy' read - a good gift for parents who are exiting their late-life Libertarian phase. The holidays are around the corner!

#original recipe #book review

3 notes · View notes

anartificialsatellite · 11 months ago

Text

ADHD thoughts incoming:

I used to be (still am, tbh) terrified of forgetting to cite something or citing incorrectly or somehow otherwise inadvertently plagiarizing.

The solution to this fear is to be very thorough and very organized when writing which is something I, as a lifelong sufferer of ADHD who made it through most of my pre-college academic career completely flying by the seat of my pants, Am Not Good At.

So to compensate for a skill that doesn't come naturally and which I deftly avoided learning as a kid, I had to figure something out. One approach that is often taught to people with ADHD is to break tasks up into chunks, and this can sometimes mean breaking them into pieces that feel absurdly small. It actually works pretty darn well!

But it does feel silly, sometimes.

I think there can be a tendency to feel like systems you set up to help you or structures you use to organize yourself as a person with ADHD (or even not!) are a crutch or somehow make what you're doing not as serious or legitimate as someone else, because it feels like other people (whoever they are) don't do that or don't need to.

This isn't true.

Like, aside from the fact that everyone follows some kind of organizational structure when approaching a task, the way in which you've chosen to approach your thing (whether it's a paper or a manual task or whatever) ultimately doesn't matter for the legitimacy of the final product so long as you have done your work ethically and the final result meets the parameters it's supposed to.

Does that make sense? For example, I was given a little worksheet by a professor in undergrad when he was teaching us from the very basics how to properly write a history paper. It breaks part of the process down into really basic elements, and it feels on some level like a very simple and handhold-y system to use, because it was devised to help students who'd never written a real history paper before.

I still use it! I still use it. It works! It's a real basic tool that maybe a lot of people wouldn't need to use, but it's not like it's taking the work out of it for me. I'm still doing it. It's my research, it's my writing, and if I have to chunk out my work like a baby historian to feel confident and satisfied with it, then so fucking be it.

Sometimes the tools other people use work for you and sometimes they don't. Sometimes things you "should" be able to do don't work, or things that are meant to save you time and make your life easier don't. Another example: I manually format all my citations because I'm too lazy to edit the metadata in a lot of my Zotero sources so that it generates them properly, and even when it does I worry that it didn't.

Is it a little weird that I'm "too lazy" to do something that could ultimately save me more time and effort? Yeah, but I've found something that works for me and which I feel confident about, and that is what ultimately matters the most. That doesn't mean you shouldn't try new things, but if they don't work for you, they don't, even if they "should."

There are people who do this shit on the fly and don't need the level of explicit breakdown of a particular task that I need to be successful. But I'm not those people, and maybe you aren't either.

#history stuff #i guess?

3 notes · View notes

thaylepo · 7 months ago

Text

The first time an artifact made me cry was when a tiny pinch pot popped out of an Early Iron Age level I was digging at a site in Jordan, when I was in my second year of undergrad. A "pinch pot" is a little clay bowl made from pinching clay together, exactly like you used to do as a kid with playdough or modelling clay. They're usually made on the spot by the person who uses them, instead of a by a potter or skilled craftsperson like most Bronze and Iron Age pottery, so they have no use in dating or contextualizing the site or its layers or identifying any outside trade connections with the contemporary world. Most of them get thrown out as a result, because once you've seen one you've seen a hundred.

Well the first thing I noticed when I cleaned this pinch pot off was a beautifully clear, distinct fingerprint in the clay. And I just knelt there, my little baby archaeologist heart overcome with emotion to the point of tears at finding such a real, tangible, familiar and nostalgic thing in a layer of dirt dating older than two and a half thousand years, and there was a fingerprint, a human fingerprint, and I was holding it with MY finger right next to it and it was SMALLER than mine--

I literally sat in the dirt holding this tiny pot and having a epiphanic crisis of temporal dissociation until my supervisor came over to see why I'd stopped digging.

(She was so moved by my emotional reaction to this lil pinch pot that she made sure it got catalogued and kept with that layer's diagnostic pottery, instead of being discarded. Bronze and Iron Age sites in the Levant have SO MUCH broken unidentifiable sherds of pottery that you'd need trucks and warehouses to move and store a single site's material if you kept it all, so the practice is to count and record all of it, but keep only fragments with diagnostic elements - rims, bases, decorative elements, painting, or pieces that can be partially fitted together for reconstruction, etc. - in the collection for further research and return the rest in a pile next to the site itself, just as with stones removed during excavation. Some sites' pottery piles are impressively HUGE.)

This was 20 years ago, and since then I've read research papers by archaeologists recording and cataloguing fingerprint impressions in ancient pottery, which hopefully means that some previously non-diagnostic pottery sherds like handles and pinch pots are now being kept in the collections for said research.

I don't even think I have a picture of that pinch pot, since my camera broke at some point on that trip near the end and that was definitely one of the last few days at the site. I will never forget it though. A human person needed a tiny pot for whatever reason so they pinched it together and fired it and used it, and more than two and a half millennia later another human person found it in the dirt and cried about it because it was so viscerally familiar to them.

I got to hold a 500,000 year old hand axe at the museum today.

It's right-handed

I am right-handed

There are grooves for the thumb and knuckle to grip that fit my hand perfectly

I have calluses there from holding my stylus and pencils and the gardening tools.

There are sharper and blunter parts of the edge, for different types of cutting, as well as a point for piercing.

I know exactly how to use this to butcher a carcass.

A homo erectus made it

Some ancestor of mine, three species ago, made a tool that fits my hand perfectly, and that I still know how to use.

Who were you

A man? A woman? Did you even use those words?

Did you craft alone or were you with friends? Did you sing while you worked?

Did you find this stone yourself, or did you trade for it? Was it a gift?

Did you make it for yourself, or someone else, or does the distinction of personal property not really apply here?

Who were you?

What would you think today, seeing your descendant hold your tool and sob because it fits her hands as well?

What about your other descendant, the docent and caretaker of your tool, holding her hands under it the way you hold your hands under your baby's head when a stranger holds them.

Is it bizarre to you, that your most utilitarian object is now revered as holy?

Or has it always been divine?

Or is the divine in how I am watching videos on how to knap stone made by your other descendants, learning by example the way you did?

Tomorrow morning I am going to the local riverbed in search of the appropriate stones, and I will follow your example.

The first blood spilled on it will almost certainly be my own, as I learn the textures and rhythm of how it's done.

Did you have cuss words back then? Gods to blaspheme when the rock slips and you almost take your thumbnail off instead? Or did you just scream?

I'm not religious.

But if spilling my own blood to connect with a stranger who shared it isn't partaking in the divine

I don't know what is.

#I've cried about other stuff since but that was the first thing that hit me in the gut like that #Humans were humans were always humans even before we were the humans we are now #Something something the shaping of clay or stone as an act of creation something something equals EMOTIONS #Archaeology

97K notes · View notes

leaderwon · 11 months ago

Note

i read the other reblog with marks thingy and yes i forgot to add but 12th marks really do go until college only that's so true,, as for being forced into commerce.. that's really new honestly like i was too but not this way it was my last option so as someone who wasn't allowed to study what i wanted i would say talk to your parents and convince them as much as you can because this is your future,, any choice made you're gonna have to live with it no one is going to live it out for you but you. so really give it your all to do what you want, do not leave things to regret. as for studying abroad, baby we're so similar i have wanted to too but im doing ca and it's the best in India so i opted not to go out but my bff is in london for undergrad and it did take a lot of research and everything to go out, not to mention the expenses are there but if you do paper reasearch and planning you may be able to tone it down a bit,, though part time is really common for international students. if you can maybe do undergrad here and then go abroad for masters if it's beneficial for the course you choose to pursue because in some courses if you dont start from undergrad abroad it gets complicated. overall before taking any decision do a lot of research and keep your mental health in mind while taking that decision.

yeahh they were like i wouldn't be able to handle it and all

they managed to convince me and i learnt to see this as a new perspective

MY DAD'S A CA TOOOOO I'll probably do smth related to that abroad hehe i have a few seniors

i won't really mind part time since I've kinda mentally prepared myself for it so yeahhh I'm in 10th rn so i have time to figure it out

lysm yeonie <3

#i love her so so so much #leaderwon #leaderwon answered! <3

0 notes

atlafan · 4 years ago

Text

And They Were Roommates - Part Two

a/n: I wasn’t quite done with these two, but now I am. I hope you like the second part just as much as the first! Feedback and reblogs are always helpful. (not proofread) part one

Warnings: fluff, smut, a little angst

Words: 8.9K

Harry was a great friend, but he was an even better boyfriend, which, you’re sad to admit, you were a bit surprised about. You wouldn’t classify him as a player when you were in school, but he certainly have a certain amount of girls on rotation. Maybe he had just grown up a bit since then. He was always a gentleman with you anyways, but he had gone into overdrive with it. Doors were being opened for you, he started cooking more, cleaning more, and he’d even started to offer to help with the laundry. He was doing everything and anything just to see you smile. It didn’t take much for him to make you smile before, but still. It was nice to see him putting in some effort.

You were putting in some effort too. It’s not that either of you needed things to feel different, in fact, a lot of things felt the same, but you wanted him to feel the way he was making you feel. So, you offered up more neck rubs, more cuddles on the couch, and you started going to the coffee shop more since he asked you to.

After a date, his favorite joke to make was, “Mine or yours”, since you were going back to the same place. You’d always giggle because it genuinely was funny to you. You’d roll your eyes at him, decide on his bedroom or yours to get cozy in. Usually if you had sex in one bed, you slept in the other. You and Harry weren’t exactly having vanilla sex, so the sheets would get hot from your sweat. It was kind of nice to be able to shuffle across the hall to sleep in a cool bed.

He had no idea sex with another person could feel so good. Having sex with someone he truly cared about, well, the thought alone was enough to make him hard. Harry liked being the one to decide on the positions, but god did he love it when you’d ride him. He loved watching your face as you’d move up and down his cock. He loved looking down between the two of you and seeing the muscles in your stomach clench, or how your thighs would shake around him. You worked so hard for him, not letting him thrust up into you sometimes, sweat dripping down your spine until you both would come. You wanted to be good for him, and he’d tell you that you didn’t need to work so hard because you’d be exhausted after, but in the back of your head there was this fear that he would get bored with you. Harry got bored with people easily, there were only a few friends in his life that he kept around, you being one of them. You were never worried about it before, but now that he knew you in this way you were a little scared.

Sometimes those fears were put to rest when he’d come through the door from work and get his lips on yours immediately. You knew Harry to be a clingy person with the people he liked. In every class you had together in undergrad he had to sit next to you, it was the same now in your graduate courses, of course. If you could have a meal at the dining hall at the same time, he was right next to you, and when you used to come over for a movie he had you sit on the end of the couch so only he could sit next to you. You supposed when you sat back and thought about some of these things he easily could have had feelings for you then. It made you think if you did. Maybe you did, but maybe you didn’t. It didn’t really matter now, though.

You were roughly two weeks into a relationship with someone you had known almost five years, and was your best friend in the world. Other than school, work, and dates, you hadn’t really left your flat. Harry was much more interested in getting to know the parts of you he hadn’t been privy to before. You had yet to tell your friends what was going on, and they were starting to wonder why the two of you were blowing off plans. You told them it was because of school, but you weren’t sure they believed you. Harry said he was picking up a lot of extra shifts at work and that he was too tired to go out. You both knew you’d have to come clean to all of them soon, but you were having too much fun.

“Are you sure we should just be rolling up on him like this?” Niall asks Louis as they make their way into yours and Harry’s complex.

“He’s been working himself to the bone, the lad needs some fun. What are you, nervous to see Y/N?” Louis smirks at him.

“Course not.” Niall shrugs. “That was just a one-time thing between friends.”

“So, if she offered to do it again, you wouldn’t?”

“Well, I-“

They both stop short at the door because they could have sworn they heard moaning. They did. What started out as a simple cuddle on the couch while you and Harry watched a little TV turned into having his head between your legs with his tongue fucking in and out of you.

“Fucking, Christ, Harry.” You groan, and it makes him moan into you. You tug on his hair as your back arches.

“Must be watching a movie.” Louis shrugs and knocks on the door. “Oi, oi! It’s us, mate!”

“Harry!” You gasp and yank his head up. “What are they doing here?!”

“I have no idea!” He licks his lips and wipes the rest off with the back of his hand. “Shit, and you were just about to come too.” He pouts.

“It’s fine…just…” You get up and pull your sweatpants up. “Figure out what they want.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to pee, is that alright?”

“All my hard work, down the toilet, literally.”

“You’re…such an idiot.” You roll your eyes and walk down the hall to the bathroom.

He groans and tucks himself as to not expose the raging hard on that he was just rutting against the couch. The guys knock again, and he sucks his teeth.

“I’m coming, chill out!” Harry opens the door in a huff. “I’ve neighbors, you know?”

“He lives!” Niall says with a chuckle as he and Louis enter the flat.

“I don’t believe I invited either of you in.” Harry says, crossing his arms.

“What are we, vampires?” Louis scoffs. “Where you been, mate? You need to have some fun, so we thought we’d bring it to you.”

“I’ve been…working a lot.” Harry rubs the back of his neck and looks in the direction of the bathroom, then back to the guys.

“We totally get that.” Niall says in defense. “But you have to make time for other things. Gotta have a balance.”

“Hi, guys.” You say shyly as you come back into the living room.

“Y/N! Hey, how are you?” Louis says.

“I’m good. Um, did you all have plans tonight?”

“No, I would have told you.” Harry says to you. He clears his throat and looks back at the guys. “Look, uh, we’re staying in tonight to work on this research paper. We were just taking a break.” He points with his thumb to the TV. “M’sorry you came all the way over here…I did say I was busy tonight, though.”

“What kind of research paper?” Niall asks.

“It’s for our social behavior class.” You say. “Lot of psychology involved, which neither of us really shine in, so we’re working on it together.”

“Y/N, are you feeling alright?” Louis asks and steps closer to you. “Your face is all flushed, love.” He says softly.

“I’m fine, thank you. Um, I’m gonna go back to my room. It was nice seeing you both, I’m sure we’ll be able to get together soon.” You smile and turn back down the hall to your room.

“You don’t think she feels awkward because of me, do you?” Niall whispers.

“I can assure you, mate, she’s not thought twice about your little bathroom adventure.” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “We really are busy, so, uh…if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Alright.” Louis sighs. “Well, make time for us soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods and watches them both leave. He lets out a puff of air, and then races down to your room. “Okay, where…what are you doing?”

You were sitting at your desk with some papers and highlighters out, along with your laptop.

“Um, we actually do have a research paper for social behavior so…”

“Come on, Y/N, you were so close and-“

“The moment has passed, I’m afraid.” You chuckle. “You can work with me in here if you like.”

“You…you seriously don’t wanna get back to it?”

“Maybe in a little bit. I’ve switched gears, Har.”

“I’ll go get my laptop.” He sighs, clearly annoyed. He returns shortly and plops down on your bed. “Gotta say, this isn’t great for my ego.” He grumbles.

“When have I ever given a fuck about your ego?” You smirk at him. “Think I’m the only girl in your life to not drop to the ground and kiss your feet.”

“You know, you don’t have a problem praising me when I’m deep inside your little cunt.”

“I could easily lay there and not make any noise, would you like that?”

“Are you saying it’s all an act?”

“No.” You shrug. “I’m just saying, I can easily look at you and not make noise if I really wanted to, so, shut up, and do some homework.”

“You’re mean.” He mutters.

“Shouldn’t be news to you, baby.” You say as you turn back to your notes. You didn’t see it, but Harry was smiling at you fondly.

He was the one to use more of the terms of endearment. They just rolled off his tongue better. He was still getting used to you using them, and he loved it.

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“These last couple of weeks have been really great, right?”

“Yes, Harry.” Your attention wasn’t fully on him.

“When…uh…when do you think we should tell our friends?” This catches your attention, so you turn to face him again. “I feel weird lying.”

“So do I.” You sigh. “I guess soon. I mean, what are we telling them exactly, that we’re fucking?”

“I hope not because it’s more than that, I mean you’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?”

Your eyebrows raise at that.

“I don’t know, am I?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Is this your way of asking?”

“I just figured it was a given.”

“Why would you figure that? A lot of people wait before putting a label on it.”

“Do you think we’re just fucking?”

“No, I’d say we’re dating.”

“But you don’t think you’re my girlfriend?”

“I never said that.” Your lips curve up in a smile. “Being in a relationship implies that both parties wouldn’t be seeing anyone else. Is that what you want?”

“Obviously.” He mumbles.

“So ask me, then.” You get up from your desk and move to straddle him.

“You’re really gonna make me?”

“Mhm.” You wrap your arms around his neck and grin.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

You giggle and nod as you kiss him. He kisses you back, smiling into it at first. His hands drift to your ass and he gives you a squeeze.

“Wow, Harry Styles with a girlfriend, angels must be crying.” You joke and swats at your bum.

“Be nicer to me.” He whines.

“I’m sitting on you, aren’t I?” You peck his lips again.

“It’s not where I’d like you to be sitting.” He mutters.

“And where would you like me to…no, Harry, I really wanna get some homework done.”

He makes an exasperated noise. He used to do the same thing in undergrad, finding anything to distract the two of you from getting your work done, but usually you could bribe him with coffee or a pastry to get him to focus. You had something much better to bribe him with now, though. You bring your lips to the shell of his ear.

“If you’re good and focus, I’ll ride your face for however long you want me to later.”

“Oh, so you’re done bribing me with cannolis then, I see how it is.” He smirks as you get off of him, and back to your desk chair.

“If that’s what you’d prefer to lick into, I’d be happy to buy one.” You wink and get back to your work.

He laughs, and starts doing his own work. You sit in a comfortable silence, the only sound in the room coming from the buzz of the TV down the hall for whatever show you hadn’t been watching. After an hour or so, you need a break. Your laptop screen was starting to bother your eyes.

“You know…” You say to him and he looks up from his own laptop. “If there’s a night you wanna go hang out with them, it’s perfectly fine. You don’t have to spend all your free time with me, Harry.”

“I know, I just happen to like spending all my free time with you.” He smiles. “I’ve always felt that way.”

You smile and close your laptop. He sets his own down and holds his arms out for you. You crawl on top of him and rest your head on his chest as you nuzzle in. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m really glad we get to do this like this.” He says and you look up at him. “No more having to be overly careful, you know?”

“Yeah.” You smile. “No awkwardness if we accidentally touch something we shouldn’t.”

“Not at all.”

You inch up his body a bit and press your lips to his. And just like that you were off again. He got you naked so fast you barely had time to blink. He had you sitting on his face, riding his tongue for nearly thirty minutes. You came twice, and your chest was heaving. You definitely understood why some of the girls he used to hook up would whine when he wasn’t available. He was really good at this. He’d say things to you while he was down there, but it was muffled. It made you moan still because of the vibrations going right up inside you.

“Jesus, ugh, Harry.” You throw your head back as you feel another orgasm bubbling up inside.

He squeezes your ass and moans into you. You cry out, gripping at your headboard and his hair as he works you through it. You slowly lift yourself off of him with wobbly legs, and lay on your back, out of breath. You look up at him and see he’s licking his lips and smiling.

“I’ve never been with a guy who liked doing that so much.” You say, voice a little hoarse.

“Love it.” He says as he looks at you. “Nothing better than making someone else feel good.”

You hum your response and slide your hand over his apparent bulge. You dip your hand into his sweatpants and palm him over his boxers. His breath hitches when you give him a little squeeze. You shuffle between his legs and pull his clothes off. He opens his legs wider for you, and bring your lips down to his tip. It was like you were suddenly addicted to each other. You weren’t sure if it was unhealthy or if you were just in a honeymoon phase of a new relationship. When you wrap your lips around him and suck you lose all will to care. You look up at him and see his head thrown back, and his hips buck up into your mouth. You choke on him for a moment, and he apologizes in a husky grunt.

“Do it again.” You say to him.

“Excuse me?” He sits up on his elbows.

“You can…like move yourself in and out of my mouth if you want.”

“Go put your hair up.” You nod and grab an elastic from your desk. You put it up in a messy bun, and he grips you by the back of the head. “Just slap my leg if it’s too much, and I’ll stop, okay?”

“Okay.”

Harry was big, but you were getting better at relaxing and letting your throat open up as much as possible for him. You open up wide for him, letting your tongue fall out, and he pushes you down on him. You close your eyes and breathe through your nose as his hips rock against you. He moves your head along with his thrusts. You gag for a moment, but you’re okay. You grip the blankets on either side of his hips, and he takes off. He was moving you fast, and hitting the back of your throat repeatedly. But you were okay. It didn’t hurt, he was still being gentle in a way.

“Christ, I’m gonna fucking come, I wish you could see yourself, Y/N.” He groans. “No one’s ever been as good as you, fuck, oh fuck, babe, I’m-“ He’s cut off by the moan he just couldn’t hold back anymore.

You look up at him, tears rimming your eyes, and slowly slide your mouth up his shift so you don’t make a mess. His mouth hangs open as he watches you swallow his come. You stick your tongue out after to show him it’s all gone, and he yanks you to him to kiss you.

This was how things were for a while. Even with your body so tired from him just using his tongue on you, you wanted more of him. You wanted all of him, and he wanted all of you.

A week or so later, Harry asked Niall and Louis to come to the coffee shop after their work day. Harry tells his supervisor he’s gonna take his fifteen, and sits down with them.

“Hey, thanks for meeting here.” Harry says as he sits down.

“Course.” Louis says. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything fine. Really great, actually. Um, I haven’t been entirely truthful about why I’ve been so busy lately.”

“No shit, let’s hear it.” Niall says.

“I’m…well, I have a girlfriend.” They both widen their eyes at him. “And it’s Y/N.”

“You’re fucking with us.” Louis says.

“No way you pulled the trigger.” Niall says.

“It’s true! Look.” He takes his phone out and shows them a picture of the two of you. You were laughing while he was kissing your cheek.

“Wow, a cheek kiss.” Louis says. “Big fucking deal.”

“You really don’t believe me?” They both shake their heads no. “How can I-“

You walked in right then, and he smiled. He smiled in a way the boys had never really seen before. You sit down with all of them.

“Hey.” You kiss his cheek. “You tell ‘em?”

“Yeah, but they don’t believe me.”

You turn to them and furrow your eyebrows.

“Why don’t you believe him? Does this help?” You were wearing a scarf, so you move it to the side to show the hickey he had left on your neck.

“He said you were his girlfriend, is that true?” Louis asks. “Like, it’s official?”

“Yup.” You say with a smile. “It happened a few weeks ago.” He puts his hand over yours.

“Well, I think it’s great.” Niall says. “I always thought you two would make a good couple.”

“Thanks.” Harry says and raises your hand to his lips. “I gotta get back to work. I’ll get you some decaf, baby.” He gets up and goes back behind the counter.

“Definitely official, called you baby instead of babe.” Louis smirks.

“He’d call me babydoll and stuff.” You shrug.

“How’s it been going so far? Like, how come you both were staying in so much?” Niall asks and you blush.

“Um…well…we were just sort of busy.” You clear your throat. Harry comes back with your coffee and kisses the top of your head.

“Don’t pester her with questions, yeah?”

“Oi, we weren’t.” Louis says. He looks down at the table as you pull your laptop out. “Seems like you have some work to do, and I had a long day myself, so we’ll head out. But we really are happy for you both.” He stands up and so does Niall.

“Yeah, seriously.” Niall smiles. “Have a good night.”

Harry gets back to work, and you set up shop with your books and laptop. It was nice getting work done for school while Harry was behind the counter. Every once in a while you’d glance at each other, or he’d come over to refill your decaf. The walk home later was cold, but you couldn’t find it in you to care since he had his arm around your shoulders.

You told Rachel over lunch one day, and she was absolutely thrilled. She held back from saying it was about time, but you could tell she wanted to say it. Now that all of your immediate friends knew, things wouldn’t be so awkward at Ashley and Kevin’s housewarming party. Okay, it wasn’t a “house” they had gotten a townhome, but still, it was a big step.

“Ugh, m’all bloated.” You groan as you zip up your black jeans.

“Why don’t you wear leggings?” Harry asks from his room as he finishes up getting dressed.

“Because I wanna look adult.” You pout.

“Just because they’re two years older than us doesn’t mean they’re any more mature.” He smirks as he stands in your doorway. “You look cute.”

“Thanks.” You sigh and grab your coat. “Let me just stock my purse up with some extra tampons, you can never be too careful.”

He nods and goes to wait by the front door. Harry was no stranger to your period. He was actually really cool about it from the second you moved in. Your pads and tampons were out on the sink counter in this cute jar he had gotten you because he wanted you to feel comfortable. You did, however, have a conversation with him recently that you didn’t like having sex on your period, and not because it was gross, you didn’t really care about that. The times you had done it you were too worried about making a mess to enjoy it, so you told him the store was closed for the week, and he respected that.

Once you were ready, he takes your hand and your fingers stay intertwined for the entire cab ride to Ashley and Kevin’s. There would be other friends at the party, of course, but the people that knew would be there and it would be fine. Even though Rachel was tickled pink about the two of you, she was sort of shocked to see how affectionate you both were being in front of everyone. Normally at parties you two would stand close to each other, maybe your shoulder would be pressed to his arm, but that was it. This time around his arm was around your shoulders, and he’s lean down to kiss your temple, or his hand would move to rub your back.

Ashley and Kevin were making their way around the room, mingling and saying hello. Ashley’s jaw just about drops when she sees you peck Harry’s lips while refilling your small plates with appetizers.

“Hold up.” She says as she comes over to you both. “What’s going on here?” She was smiling ear to ear. “You weren’t like this at my wedding. Did something that happen that night?!”

“No…but like a week later something happened.” You say, also smiling. “We’re together now.”

“Oh, that’s amazing!” She hugs you both. “I’m so happy for you. I need to hear this story. Kev! Get over here, you’re not gonna believe this. Harry and Y/N are dating!”

“No shit, good for you guys.”

“So, how’d it happen?” She asks again giddily.

“Um, well…” He looks at you. He couldn’t very well say you had taken photos for your Only Fans. “We were just chatting about something, and I sort of blurted out that I wouldn’t mind being more than friends, and um, she felt the same way. Not much more to it than that.” He shrugs.

“Well, did you kiss at least?” Ashley laughs.

“Yes.” You say, giggling. “We kissed, and then some.” You roll your eyes at yourself. “We barely left our flat for three weeks!” You all laugh. Everyone was a tad tipsy from the drinks Ashley and Kevin provided.

You had similar conversations with friends for most of the night. The only time you left Harry’s side was to use the bathroom. When you come back you see him chatting with Nadine, and you frown. They had hooked up back in the day, on several occasions. It didn’t bother you then, but it’s bothering you now. You take a deep breath, and walk confidentially back over to him. You hook your arm right around his waist, and he smiles down at you.

“Hey, Nadine.” You say.

“Hey, Y/N.”

She didn’t like you much either. You were the girl Harry always had to get to or go see. You were the reason he never spent the whole night, and you were the reason she never got to spend the night at his place. You annoyed her to no end.

“Did Harry give you the good news? We’re dating.” You grin.

“I was, um, just getting to that.” He blushes.

“You don’t say?” There was fake delight laced in her words. “Well, good for you two.”

“Yeah, it’s been great, fantastic really.” You take a sip of your drink. “What about you, seeing anyone special?”

“Not at the moment.” The eye contact between you two was intense, and Harry could feel the tension.

“Right, well, it’s getting late, don’t you think?” He says to you. “Might be good to start drinking some water and then head out.”

You nod at him as he slips away to go get some water.

“So, what made you finally decide to hop on his dick, hm? It’s big, isn’t it?” Nadine smirks at you.

“He told me he liked me, wanted to date me, and fuck me. He really made the first move, not me. It was sweet, actually. And yeah, it is big. How nice of you to remember.” You give her a fake smile and she scoffs.

“You think you’re so special, but you’re not. He’ll get bored with you, Y/N. Why do you think he had so many girls on rotation in school? He doesn’t like fucking the same person over and over.”

“Are you sure about that? Because he tells me all the time that he can’t get enough of me. He’s not douchebag anymore, he’s grown up a lot. I don’t need to defend him or myself to you, but just know you’re dead wrong.” She had said your biggest fear to your face, but as she said it you couldn’t help but feel like you wanted to laugh. He could never be bored of you.

“Here.” He says, handing you a water bottle. “It was nice seeing you Nadie. Y/N, come on, our cab’ll be here soon.”

“Nadie.” You scoff under your breath as he leads you out to say goodbye to your other friends.

“Are you mad that she and I were catching up?” He says to you in the back of the cab.

“No, why would I be?”

“Because you’re sitting there with your arms crossed. Think there’s actual steam coming out of you.” He places a finger on your shoulder. “Ow! Scalding hot.”

You look at him slowly, and you can’t help the chuckle that escapes you.

“Idiot.”

“Come on, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing! I just…I don’t know I suddenly remembered that I don’t like her very much, and she sure as shit doesn’t like me.”

“She doesn’t like you because she knows all she ever was to me was a quick fuck, and you were my best friend. She wanted more, I didn’t, case closed.”

“Well, she needs to get over it. There’s no need for her to be nasty towards me.”

“To be fair, you did sort of come over to us like you were claiming your territory.”

“I was.”

“Y/N.” Harry sighs.

“You’re the only one allowed to be jealous?”

“No.” He runs a hand through his hair. “You just…you know, you have nothing to worry about.”

You look at him wide eyed like a puppy. You nod and rest your head on his shoulder for the rest of the cab ride. Once you’re inside and changed, you both go to his room to sleep. He cuddled you nice and close all night, squeezing out any worry you may have had.

“It’s shit.” He says to you while working in the library.

“It’s not shit.”

“It is, though. I’m shit at lesson plans, and therefore it’s shit.”

“Harry, I actually really like what you’ve put together. It’s different, and you’re clearly using the multiple intelligences theory here, which is good.” Your eyes scan things over. Harry was hoping to be a year eight English teacher.

“It’s just so hard to keep their attention at that age, so I’m just trying to think of different things, you know?”

“I can see that.” You set the paper down. “This is really good. This is a great UbD.”

“The professor showed us different ways to set the courses up, but I like the UbD the best because I feel like I’m able to flesh out my ideas better.”

“I do the same exact thing, see.” You turn your laptop around to show him. “I’d be lost without it.”

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“You’re gonna be a great teacher, Harry, give yourself some credit.”

“I wish we could student teach again. I feel like I was getting the hang of it, and now we don’t get to do it again until after we graduate.” He sighs.

“I know, it’s frustrating. We’ll get there, though.” You reach across the table and take his hand in yours. “Maybe we’ll even end up in the same school district.”

“We could end up at the same school if someone didn’t need to teach at the high school level.”

“You’re the one choosing to work with twelve-year-old!” You scoff. “Disgusting. You’re gonna be talking to them more about B.O. than English.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll take that over some sarcastic too cool for school teens any day.” He smirks.

“Let’s just agree that we both have different strengths for dealing with different age groups of students.” You say.

“Deal.” He looks at you as you turn your laptop back to yourself. “Do you feel like going out for dinner tonight? We could get some curry.”

“I’d like that.” You smile. You watch as he scan over his lesson plan again, a smile creeping onto his face. He was gaga over you, and it felt nice.

After two months, you both decided to tell your families you were dating. Your parents thought you had lied about even being friends with Harry just so they’d be cool about you moving in with him, but you assured them that wasn’t case. Once they calmed down, they were actually really happy for you. They never had any issues with Harry. Harry’s family was overjoyed because they always liked you too. Everything was working out well…until Harry got mad at you.

You had fought plenty of times as friends. It happened when you were around the same person so much, but usually you could smooth it over by watching Dirty Dancing and having some drinks. You weren’t sure why that particular movie always cheered you both up and brought you back together, but it did. This time, however, he wasn’t having it. Even when you set up the living room all nice.

“You’re seriously still giving me the silent treatment?” You ask him as he walks right by the living room and into his bedroom. “Harry, I don’t even know what I did!”

“Exactly!” He finally shouts at you. “You can be so self-absorbed sometimes!”

“Me?! I’m self-absorbed?!”

“Yeah, you!” He huffs. “You really don’t know why I’m upset?”

“Obviously not!”

“Christ! Fine, you wanna know? Come with me.” He grabs your wrist and yanks you into the kitchen. “I worked three doubles in a row, barely have been here to use anything in this kitchen, however, the sink is full of dishes, the dishwasher needs to be run, and the trash is about ready to overflow. If you’re not at school, you’re home doing nothing! It pisses me off to walk through the door and see a mess like this! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be so messy in all the time I’ve known you, Y/N! And I shouldn’t have to take care of it, I didn’t make the mess!”

“So you just passive aggressively-“

“Don’t even start, I shouldn’t have to ask you to-“

“Don’t start?! Harry, I’m the one that scrubs down the bathroom, I’m the one that does laundry for the both of us, and-“

“Yeah, because you have the time to do it! You don’t have a real fucking job that leaves you feeling exhausted!” Your jaw drops at that. “Don’t look at me like that. What you do requires no real skill or talent. Anyone can take pictures and sell them on the internet, Y/N. You’re too fucking lazy to do anything else.”

“I…I can’t believe what’s coming out of your mouth right now.” You huff as you start to run the water for the sink.

“Oh, so now you’re cleaning up?!”

“Shut up, Harry!” You seethe as you start scrubbing the dishes. You throw a pod into the dishwasher and let it run. “I knew it bothered you that I had an Only Fans, it was only a matter of time before-“

“It doesn’t bother me that you have one, what bothers me is that you act like it’s back breaking labor when it’s not! You get paid thousands of dollars for what? A picture of you sucking on a lollypop? Big fucking deal!”

“Get away from me.” You say as you continue to wash the dishes and put them in the strainer aggressively.

“You’re gonna break the plates if you do it like that.” He grabs a towel to start drying them.

“Stop! Just stop! Go take a shower or something, I don’t wanna be around you right now. All I did was neglect a few dirty dishes, and you’re acting like it’s the end of the fucking world.” You shake your head. “I’m sorry you don’t think I have a real job. Should I make it real? Should I make it more labor intensive? Maybe I’ll start taking my clothes off and doing lives where I fuck myself, would you prefer that?”

He doesn’t say anything because he knows if he does he’ll be wrong. Maybe he was wrong for blowing up at you, and bringing what you do into this, but he was pissed. He felt disrespected. He busts his ass to live comfortably and to afford school, and there you are a photo here, a video there, and two grand later you’re good to go for a few weeks. Personally, he wouldn’t want you exposing yourself like that on the internet, and he knew you’d never do it, you were way too shy. But if it was something you really wanted to do to make more money, what could he say? He had to support you.

“Do what you want, just pick up after yourself.” He says and walks away.

You sigh heavily and clean up the rest of the kitchen. You did feel bad for neglecting things, you felt awful, actually. You hadn’t even realized how much of a mess you had made. It really wasn’t fair to him. He does a lot of other chores around the flat on top of everything else, you had no excuse. And maybe you didn’t ‘work’ everyday, but you understood his point. He said some things that really weren’t okay, but unfortunately that was Harry when he got to that point of overworked and tired. You just usually weren’t the one to get the brunt of it.

Once the kitchen is spotless, and you’ve taken the trash out, you creep down the hall and stand in front of his open door. He was laying in bed, on top of his covers, scrolling through his phone.

“Hey.” You say softly. “I cleaned everything up. I’ll…I’ll try to be better about not letting things pile up, I’m sorry.” He looks at you now.

“S’okay.”

“That being said…don’t yell at me like that again. You…you said some hurtful things, and I didn’t like it.”

“I did.” He nods. “And I feel terrible, I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

“No, I’m sorry.” You shake your head.

“No, I’m sorry.” He sits up. “What you do is a real job, I-“

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore if that’s alright.” Your bottom lip quivers. “Can I come in?”

“Of course, baby.”

You pad into his room and knee onto his bed. He lays back down so you can lay on top of him. He rubs your back as you nestle into his chest. You give him little kisses and he sighs. You look up at him and pout.

“I don’t like it when you’re upset with me, I never have.”

“That’s because it happens so rarely.” He smooths some hair away from your face. “Usually I’m the one to make you mad.” He smirks.

“Only because you’re such a brat.” You pout again. “But I guess this time around it was me being the brat.”

“I wouldn’t call you a brat, babe. I didn’t even think dirty dishes would bother me that much. I feel like I know how my mum felt coming home from work and getting mad when we didn’t pull the chicken out of the freezer.” He chuckles. “I really am sorry about what I said to you, I won’t talk to you like that again, no matter how angry I am.”

“How about you talk to me before you even reach that level of anger?”

“Deal.” He smiles and you lean in to kiss him. “You set the movie up, let’s go watch.”

“After.” You shake your head and kiss his neck.

He wraps his arms around you tighter as you mouth at his soft skin. He gets goosebumps from your hands running up and down his bare chest. He rolls the both of you over, and presses his lips to yours. His tongue slides along your bottom lip, and you open up for him. His tongue molds to yours, and he moves to bite and suck on your bottom lip. You moan softly as he does so, and he hooks his fingers into your sweatpants. You lift your hips to help him get them off. He brings your underwear with them, and slides his fingers teasingly through your folds. Your hand goes to the back of his neck to keep his lips on yours as he rubs around your slit. One of your hands dips down to slide inside his sweatpants, and you wrap your hand around his length. He grunts, and slips his middle finger inside you. You pump him slowly as he works his finger in and out of you.

“More, Harry.” You grit your teeth, and he does as you say, adding another finger inside you. He curls them up, and pets against your front wall. “Shit.” Your breath hitches, and he moves further down to get his tongue on your clit while he pumps his fingers in and out of you, thus letting go of his hard dick. “I wanna touch you too.” You whine.

His eyes flick up to yours and he smirks. You watch as he kitten licks your clit, not giving a shit about what you just said. He sucks on your clit harshly and you gasp, gripping at his blankets. He goes back to flicking his tongue back and forth on the small bundle while his fingers rub against your g-spot. You start squirming underneath him, but he holds you in place. Your breathing was getting heavier, and you could feel the beginning of your orgasm approaching already.

“H-Harry, oh my god, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, fuck!” All of the air leaves your lungs as you come to your release. He pumps his fingers inside you still, not letting up, prolonging things for you. “Jesus Christ.” You breathe once he pulls away. You watch as he gets his sweatpants off, and sits up against the headboard.

“C’mere.” He says softly.

“Want me on top, baby?”

“Yeah.” He smiles.

You get on top of him, give his cock a few pumps, and then sink down on him. You both sigh with relief, and sit there for a moment. He tugs your shirt off and kisses between your breasts as you move your hips in slow circles on him. His tongue swirls around one of your nipples and then he sucks on it. One of your hands grips his hair, and the other is on his shoulder. His hands move to your hips, and he starts moving you on him. You use your knees to help yourself move up and down as he thrusts up into you.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He moans and you lean down to kiss him. He feels like he could burst now, but he holds back. He expectantly moves you so you’re on your back once again.

“Thought you want me on top?”

“I did…but I don’t wanna come yet.” He pecks your lips and grabs both of your hands, resting them on the pillow on either side of your head. His fingers intertwining with yours. He pulls out almost all the way, and snaps his hips hard back into you.

“Oof!” You gasp and look at him. “Do that again.”

His lips move to your neck as he pounds into you over and over. It wasn’t difficult for him to make you come again, and with the way you were squeezing his hands, and with how you were clenching around his cock, it was a wonder he hung on for how long he did. He comes inside you, painting your walls and filling you up. He kisses your forehead and gives you three quick kisses to your lips before pulling out. He rests his head on your chest, and you play with his damp curls.

“Could we just watch the movie in your bed?” He breathes. “I think that’ll be cozier.”

“Great idea.” You kiss the top of his head. “So…we’re good?”

“Yeah, babe.” He looks up at you. “We’re good.”

After you’ve both cleaned up, you grab your laptop and get comfy in bed with Harry and Dirty Dancing. Like always, once Hungry Eyes starts playing, you both start singing. You giggle and feel even better once it’s over. You stay cuddled to him and he rubs your back soothingly. He tugs your leg up over waist and he sighs.

“Is this more comfortable?” You giggle.

“Mhm.” He hums as his eyes flutter closed. You lean up to kiss his cheek.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

First year of grad school down, only one more to go. It was finally summer, and you could relax for a little bit. With classes over it also meant you could do the spring cleaning you neglected to do. Usually you’d go through your clothes once a season to make room for new things, and to donate what you didn’t wear anymore.

“Who gave you the right to be so fucking sexy?” You hear Harry say from behind you in your doorway. You turn to look at him. You look down at yourself. You were wearing a pair of mesh shorts, a tee shirt that had grease stains on it, and your hair was up in a greasy bun.

“Um…sure you’re talking to me?” You chuckle.

“Mhm, when did you take this one?” He turns his phone around and you blush.

You had done a photoshoot recently when Harry worked a double shift. You wore a hot pink short-sleeve crop top and a pair of black lace panties. A lot of the shots were from above, licking a lollypop, to mimic you sucking a dick.

“Like…last week, I think.” Your face was beat red. “I posted them yesterday.”

“I can see that.”

“Harry…you paid fifty dollars for a photo I could have just easily shown you?”

“Wouldn’t be very fair, would it?”

“You give me free food and coffee from the coffee shop all the time.”

“True. Just think of it as me supporting a small local business, yeah? You really do look gorgeous in this.” You make a funny face at him. “I was just looking at your comments and I saw you posted new stuff, okay?”

“Do you ever leave comments?”

“No.” He mutters. “It be too obvious.” He comes in and sits on your bed. “What are you doing in here, anyways?”

“Going through my clothes to see what I can donate.” You watch him look around your space. “What?”

“Whose bed is comfier, mine or yours?”

“Mine.”

“Whose room is bigger?”

“Yours.” You furrow your brows. “What are you cooking up there?”

“I…well…we’ve been sleeping together almost every night now, and we’ve been together for, like, five months…do you wanna just consolidate?”

“Harry.” You grin and come over to straddle him. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“You’re an idiot.” He rolls his eyes and you laugh. “Doesn’t it make sense? We could leave this room as a guest room, or sell my bed and put both of our desks in here as like an office.”

“Could I keep using this closet as my own? We both have so much shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay!” You nearly squeal as you hug him. “Let’s do it!”

“Really, you’re into it?”

“We share every other space, why not the bedroom?”

After taking a couple of weeks to rearrange things, Harry’s bedroom soon became your shared bedroom. When you could, you took some long weekends with him to travel and go on small trips. You met up with Louis and Niall at the clubs when you could, and it was always fun. You felt bad sometimes because Harry could over do it with the PDA, especially if he was really sloshed, but the guys didn’t seem to mind. They’d usually get up from the booth to go meet people anyways. Not that Harry noticed because he was too busy keeping his tongue in your mouth. Like tonight.

“Mm, Harry!” You pant and push on his chest. “Let me breathe, yeah?”

“Sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Where’d they go?”

“Probably to go find someone to make out with so they wouldn’t feel so left out.”

“I can’t help it, you’re intoxicating, Y/N.” He noses your cheek and goes to your neck to suck on it. You groan and tug on his hair.

You cling to him as he sucks a fresh mark into your neck. He had one hand on the back of your head, and the other was squeezing your hip. He tugs you onto his lap as discretely as he can, and you roll your hips down onto him. You whimper when you feel his bulge.

“M’not fucking you in the bathroom.” You grunt.

“Wasn’t going to ask you to.” He says into your ear. He shifts you onto one of his thighs. “Don’t really need to go in there to get you off, do I?’ You feel him smirk against you.

“Jesus.” You say and rock back and forth on his thigh. “You better fully take care of me when I get home, this is just going to rile me up.”

“Wouldn’t dream of leaving you hanging, babydoll.”

You groan again at the term of endearment, and kiss him. He moves his leg up so there’s a little more pressure for you. You hide your face in his neck to muffle any noise you make, not that anyone could hear you over the blaring music. Harry looks around briefly to make sure no one was watching, and they weren’t. Everyone was in their own little world, thank god. He loved it when you’d get like this for him. He’d start out as the needy one, and then it would become you who was needy for him.

“Harry.” You gasp when you feel yourself just about there. “Shit.” You cry out into his neck as you come undone. He moves his thigh from side to side to really help you ride it out. You move to look at him and he giggles when he sees your smudged make up.

“Poor thing.” He uses his thumbs to wipe under your eyes.

“Does it look bad?”

“Nah, you’re fine.” He pecks your nose. “Wanna go home?”

“Yeah, I wanna get these jeans off.”

“Mm, me too.”

You suck your teeth and roll your eyes as you climb off of him. You find Niall and Louis to say goodbye, and out the door you go. Your leg was bouncing the entire cab ride back. You were excited to see what Harry had in store for you. Needless to say, he didn’t leave you hanging.

Another year of grad school down. It was a year filled with love, a few fights, and a lot of making up. Living together the way you were was still working out great. Both of your families were extremely proud of you on your commencement day. There was just a tough decision you each had to make. You couldn’t find jobs in the same school district at this time, and neither of you wanted to compromise on the year you were teaching.

You each got a couple of job offers in various places. Some closer to each other than others. You couldn’t stop yourself from daydreaming about working at the same place, though. All of the kids would know you and Harry were together, and it was just be the cutest thing ever.

“Hey, look at this. These two schools are only an hour from each other.” He says as you both look over the paperwork for offers. “We could find a flat at a halfway point to live in. We’d still be relatively close to where we are now, so we’d still see our friends. Probably make some new ones.”

“You hate making new friends.” You smirk and use your laptop to look up flats at a halfway point. “I suppose we could make this work…although, I’m really gonna miss this place. It’s like our little love nest.” You pout at him.

“Any place we live will be our love nest, babe, don’t worry.”

“So, now that you have a graduate degree you’re not gonna drop me for someone else?” You joke and he rolls his eyes.

“I should be worried about you doing that. Bet you’ll meet a nice guy at whatever school you’re working at and he’ll try to sweep you off your feet.”

“I don’t quite think so. I’ll probably end up gushing about my boyfriend too much.”

“Shame, if only there was something you could wear so everyone would automatically know you were taken.” He gets up from his seat as you continue to scroll on your laptop.

“Mhm, yeah, if only.”

“Y/N, turn the fuck around, would you?”

You huff and does he says. Your eyes widen when you see him down on one need with a velvet box in his hand.

“Are you serious?” Your eyes start to water.

“Been together nearly two years, known you for nearly seven. You’re my person, Y/N, I don’t wanna be with anyone else.”

“I…I don’t wanna be with anyone else either, Harry.”

“Alright, so…” He opens up the box and you smile at the cutest little ring.

“Once, uh, once I’ve been working a real job for a few years, and we have a wedding paid for, you know if you say yes, we can go to a jewelry store and gets a large diamond, you know, if you want.”

“Oh, Harry…it’s perfect.” You giggle and stick your left hand out.

“You’re really saying yes?!”

“Yes, you idiot, slide it on!”

He beams at you and slides the ring onto your finger. It’s a perfect fit. He stands up and pulls you into his arms. You kiss him over and over. You couldn’t believe it. You start laughing into his chest hysterically.

“What’s so funny, hm?”

“Nothing, it’s just…after we graduated from undergrad…Jenna had asked me to split a flat with her, and I had been mulling it over until you asked me to live with you, and…and if I had said yes to her and not you, I…well…who knows what we’d be right now.”

“Funny how things just work out the way they’re supposed to, huh?”

“Yeah, hilarious.” You throw your arms around his neck to hug him again. Harry was full of surprises, but this had to be the best one yet.

a/n: if you’re able, please consider buying me a coffee, love you all lots, thank you!!

#harry styles #and they were roommates #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles au #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #roommate!Harry #friends to lovers

906 notes · View notes

coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years ago

Text

A chatty writing update | novels, short fiction, etc!

Hi folks!

It’s been a while since I last wrote an update on this blog! I thought it’d be fun to go back to basics, and just talk about writing. This post chats about: new plans for Feeding Habits, my newest novel, my short story goals & growing collection, along with process reflections.

(image description: a photo of green leaves with the text “writing update” in a white font written on top. /end image description)

Post starts under the cut!

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed)

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting, @aetherwrites, @avakrahn, @maisulli

What have I been up to?

For starters, I finished my second year of my Writing undergrad last week and got two of my final grades back today (A+ baby)! For anyone who has taken online university, y’all already KNOW, but this year was so difficult. Would not recommend! Really proud of myself to have gotten through this absolute rollercoaster of a school term and am excited to get into some writing. That leads us to:

What have I been up to (writing edition)?

2021 started off so fast. By the time January hit, I was so consumed in my new semester that I did not have time to write Feeding Habits (my novel). In the first few days of the term, I managed to write between class, until I could no longer keep up! Essentially, I did not write any of that novel until exam season (last week), where I did manage to get in about 3k words in ~4 days.

Feeding Habits

I’m currently drafting what I believe will be the last chapter of this book (chapter 10: Swan Song). This chapter is so bizarre for a few reasons. It begins the book’s third part and also marks the shift back into Lonan’s head from Harrison’s. I originally thought this part would be much, much longer, with at least another five chapters to go, but quickly realized the book’s content was nearly completed. In my 4 day 3k palooza, I hit 50k in the book (the word count goal), and couldn’t see myself extending past 60k. Since then, I’ve made the loose decision to write this final chapter as a ~novella. Here are a few reasons why:

1. This chapter is structurally very strange.

I unashamedly shift from present to past to present to past past, and so much more every 12 words. I mapped out the timeline on a sheet of paper, and there were over 20 shifts in scenes (the chapter is only about 4400 words at the moment). The fictive past is incredibly important to this chapter, more important than the present, and I thought it would make more sense to not break randomly for a chapter so I could upkeep the consistent inconsistency of the chapter.

2. The chapter is very abstract

This stems from the structural changes, but there are paragraphs in this chapter of the fictive present that are loosely based in reality. They’re more poems than they are factual paragraphs, and keeping them all contained in one place (so a mega chapter/ novella) would reduce the most confusion!

3. There’s not much left to cover

Like I said above, Feeding Habits is on its last leg, lol! I know exactly where the book needs to end up, which is very, very soon from where I’m currently at on the timeline. Swan Song should cover what 2-4 chapters would cover in terms of arcs.

Feeding Habits and I have a really weird relationship, tbh! When I realized a few weeks ago that it’d been over a year since I started the book, I realized I just needed to finish it. Not that I want to rush (because I’ve taken longer than a year to write a book in the past), but that in order to move onto another project, I’d like to put this one behind first. This book has been the hardest thing I’ve ever written, and has reminded me there’s always a time to let go. This sort of scrounges up a conversation about letting this entire series go, which is certainly something I’ve been contemplating doing soon(ish). If this spinoff series gets a third book, that may or may not be the last Fostered book for a very long time (or ever)! There are many complex reasons to move on, but the main one is that I have other projects I’d like to focus on. This is not a definitive decision, but something I’ve certainly been thinking about!

Here are a few excerpts I wrote recently:

(TW: death, gore)

Dying feels like being a trout dangled out of water. Clinging to a hook. Mouth open. Scales iridescent in a final death cry. It’s like blood spurting up the knuckles, drowning out the flesh. It’s that moment on the long fall down when the clouds cup the body. Easy drifting. The sound a skull makes when it cracks is really just the afterthought.

(TW: death, gore)

Kill shot. Death blow. Coup de grace. Right in the heart. He feels it. The blood swelling, slicking his palms. He can do it. Reach into the cavity. Feel for the ribs. Part each bone. Then cup the humming heart. Stay there. Right. It’s never been easier.

Look at this PURE moment of Lonan holding a baby I CANNOT:

The grocery store was a fifteen-minute walk away. With Olivia clinging to his shoulder, Lonan was acutely aware that she could feel his heartbeat. Open valve. Close. Repeat. Hers pulsed right above his, a miniature drumming. The sky had bruised purple, misted with clouds. The evening air nipped his cheeks, so he made sure Olivia was securely fastened between him and his jacket. With wide eyes, she absorbed the drowsy suburbia, all its family cars pulling into driveways, all its couples heading back home after a sunset walk. When Lonan passed a young boy walking two golden retrievers, Olivia giggled, and didn’t stop, even after he’d spent fifty dollars on groceries and nearly the rest on a red Corolla marked with a MUST GO NOW sign outside a convenience store.

Let’s move on!

Mandy and Cora

I said I wouldn’t talk too much about this project, but I just love it so much?? I wanted to share my SUPER early thoughts on drafting a novel, especially one that is SO different from what I’ve been writing recently. I talked about this before in THIS post, but the summary about this project is that it’s a YA contemporary novel! Can’t believe I’m writing YA again, it’s been so long, but I also think it’s going so well. Everything I’ve learned as a literary fiction writer has been a fantastic primer for transferring back to the genre. Admittedly, I have not written much, but I’m having a lot of fun diving back into a lighter project. This is the summary:

Cora and Mandy are identical twins who’ve always done everything together. But when Mandy decides to go to university out of province after graduation and Cora doesn’t, Cora takes this as an opportunity to “test run” life apart from her sister for the first time by spending the summer at her aunt’s house across the country.

I have come up with a few ~things since I last talked about this project, mostly how I’d like to structure it. As of now, I’d like the book to be structured super loosely. I’m really pulling on a lot of inspo from “We Are Okay” by Nina LaCour (which is SO good), particularly how “nothing happens-y” that book is. This project (which I still need a title for!!) will be structured in short chapters that cover something Cora does on her own for the first time (without Mandy). For example, a few ideas are “Flight”, “Lunch”, and “Groceries”. “Flight” is the first “chapter” (they’re really kind of vignettes) where Cora flies to her aunt’s house. I still can’t determine if this book will take place in Canada. On one hand, I feel like there will be a wider audience if it takes place in the US (is that just an assumption??? maybe?? someone let me know!), but also: don’t really care too much about an audience at the moment! It could also take place in Canada (So Ontario and British Columbia). But if it does take place in the US, I think it may take place in NYC and San Francisco. The problem is: I really don’t like researching lol, and while I’ve been to NYC many times, I will definitely write it wrong! Does this really matter on a first draft?? absolutely not lol, but of course I am already overthinking!

But back to structure: I am looking forward to seeing what this looser structure will do. This is a story that is solely around one half of a set of twins learning to be her own person (and ultimately that she doesn’t have to completely forget her sister in order to do that), and as a twin who KNOWS this feeling, I think this structure of her doing things for the first time is SUPER relatable.

I was worried it might sound silly/worrying to others who are not twins that Cora hadn’t done things like “lunch” or “groceries” on her own, but I feel this so much as an identical twin myself! Not that she hasn’t done anything at all by herself, but as a twin, when you do something without your twin for the first few times, at least in my experience, you notice. If any twins are reading this--weigh in!

This story is the most personal thing I’ve ever written. It definitely is an OwnVoices book! Usually, I avoid details that are remotely similar to me because they make me uncomfortable haha, but with this book, it’s all me, lol! The characters are all Guyanese, which is SO fun because I’ve been planning what they eat (my fellow Caribbean peeps know: the FOOD!), which is so fun (yes they have pumpkin and shrimp, yes they have roti, yes they have pera, yes they have mithai). Every time I’ve gone to dabble at this book, or even think about it, I get incredibly emotional for this reason? I don’t exactly know why. I think this is a story I just so want to tell, with the culture I love SO much that I definitely struggled to love as a child. This is reclamation bitchessss!

Not going to lie tho: the prospect of writing ~a book~ is kind of freaky! I’m going to make the minimum word count for this book pretty short (50k) and see where it goes from there. I think I will focus on this project this summer! Originally I was going to write a literary novel this summer, but I think this one’s calling my name!

Here’s a pretty rough excerpt:

Try. I remind myself that’s what I’m doing after the flight attendant fills me a disposable cup of Coca Cola and all I can think of is Mandy and I shoving Mentos into a bottle of the stuff when we were twelve. Just me, wedged in the middle seat between an exchange student heading out for summer break and a middle-aged woman sipping a cocktail, thinking of Mandy and I bursting whole oranges in a blender when we were bored one Winter break as the plane dips through a wave of turbulence. Mandy and I dying our hair neon green with highlighters (didn’t work—our hair is too dark) as the plane lands on the tarmac. Mandy and I arguing so loud last month, we both lost our voices as I lug my carry-on out of the overhead compartment and shuffle off the plane and through the airport, searching for Aunt Vel.

Short Fiction

I’ve written so much short fiction this year! I have a goal to write a short story a month (they can range in length, as long as 1 is “complete”), so my short story brain has seriously been soaking it all up lately. Let’s chat my month to month breakdown so far:

January:

I wrote four stories in January! The first is a flash fiction piece called “Shark Swimming” that follows a young woman who attends a shark swimming class after breaking up with her girlfriend. I wrote this story for a “test” workshop for my fiction class, and it was based off the prompt “think about something you’re afraid to do and make the character do that thing”. I’m not particularly afraid of sharks, but had been wanting to use the title “Shark Swimming” for AGES (literally since 2018).

This story is one of my favourites. It’s only about 900 words, but I think there’s something profound in how mundanely specific it is. The entire story doesn’t even see the narrator swim with sharks once; it actually takes place fully in the sanctuary’s lobby. But I really love this narrator. This is the first story I’ve written in second person in a while, though I felt really connected to the unnamed narrator. She struggles with accepting that she truly is a “boring” person, and there’s something about the final image that really gets me!

I’ve been submitting this around, though it’s been rejected a handful of times. Hoping I can secure it at a magazine one day because I really love it!

The second story is “Joanne, I’ll Pray for You” which is actually a rewrite of one of my very first short stories (the first story I did not write for a class haha), “NYC in Your Apartment”. I LOVE this rewrite a lot, and also learned the original is not a very good short story! Revising this story taught me just how much I’ve learned in the 2 years I’ve been writing short fiction. Seeing the 2019 version versus the 2021 version side by side is fascinating because I essentially “gutted’ the 2019 version of its beginning and end until all that was left was the middle of the story (aka the actual story). AKA: this is the only story I’ve ever written with a hopeful ending and I cut out all the happy bits lol I am SO sorry (that arc is more for a novel or novella). That’s how this went from a 5k word story to an 1800 word story (my Submittable thanks me for this lol). A lot of details and scenes I included were more pertinent to a 3 act structure/novel, which of course short stories don’t often have because of their brevity. I love rambling about writing theory, and seeing that actually pay off is so fascinating!

(TW: trauma)

Like the original, this story follows Joanne, a woman in her early twenties, who spontaneously breaks up with her boyfriend. She claims the poltergeist haunting her drove her to this decision. The original draft focused a lot more on the traumatic events Joanne survives, but this draft really loosens them up. It focuses less so on the events themselves, and more on how Joanne’s life is affected. I found the details of these events were less important, and even sort of contradicted Joanne’s insistence she is being haunted. Instead, the poltergeist really takes more precedence in the new draft as a force Joanne doesn’t understand. That ambiguity, I think, is what the story truly needed.

I also centralized Joanne’s relationship with her boyfriend, Julian, here. Now don’t get me wrong, I really didn’t add anything to this draft. It was a matter of trimming the fat around it to leave the lean “meat” in the centre. But by removing that fat, I was able to emphasize what was most important here, and that was her relationship. Julian always played a really big role in the original draft, but I feel like his role as both a friend and partner to Joanne is much more emphasized since this draft literally is only two scenes now. Because there is less, there is more room for Joanne to reflect, which I’m happy about!

A final change I made was the setting and therefore the title. The original, which was “NYC in Your Apartment,” I couldn’t keep because I shifted the setting to Toronto (this is how I originally saw it, but in 2019 I just?? couldn’t?? write?? canlit??), and “Toronto in Your Apartment” sounded sort of gross LOL. The new title comes from a line in the story which I think is more relevant to the themes!

The next short story I wrote in January was “How to Spell Alpaca.” This one is super fun because I wrote it SO fast (in about 15 minutes or so). THIS is the writing update if you’re interested in learning more. I talked extensively about this one in that update, but some developments are that I dove into an edit a few weeks ago to really understand the core of the story. I’m still not quite there (this is just an intuitive feeling; I know not everything has “clicked), but I am really intrigued by the two mothers in the story, the narrator, and her newfound acquaintance, Violet. Both really struggle to understand their place as mothers (the narrator even declares she isn’t a mother anymore). The narrator, who is in her 50s, sees herself in Violet, who is much younger (~20s), and so she views Violet’s relationship with her daughter in a cautionary, yet mournful way, like she can see it will end up like her own relationship with her daughter, despite wanting the opposite. This is a really subtle story. I feel like if you blink, you’ll miss the message. But I think it’s compelling for that reason. It’s really a portrait of parenting and how to grapple with mistakes you may make that inevitably affect your children. Wow just unlocked the theme writing this lol.

The final story I wrote in January is “The Party,” which may be in my top 3 faves I’ve ever written. This story follows Aida, a recent divorcee in her ~40s. The day her divorce turns official, she moves into a new house and receives a party invitation addressed to the previous homeowner, yet RSVP’s anyway. At this party, she’s hoping to find some sense of noticeability, having struggled with being nondescript her whole life. Things seem quite normal at the party, until it gets bizarre.

I LOVE this story, y’all. Like “How to Spell Alpaca” it really delves into motherhood. Aida, our narrator, is incredibly hurt after her divorce. She now lives farther from her children she struggled to feel connected to in the first place, and doesn’t really know how to reignite her life. This party is a means to do that. This is the first story I’ve written that contains a “twist” which is strange because I really prefer stories that give us as much info as possible upfront, but yes, this one sort of twists.

February

I wrote one story in February, and that was “Protect the Young.” This title is SO changing when I think of a new one because it’s thematically incorrect, haha, but this story follows a woman in her late 40s whose daughter, Lindy, announces she is married the same day all their backyard chickens turn up dead. The discovery of dead chickens prompts our narrator to recall her ex-husband’s murder and the role her daughter may have played in his death.

I love this story so much! I think this would make a great closing for my short story collection. It just has that vibe! I wrote this for my second fiction workshop. I thought I had to hand in the story a week earlier than I had to, so I panicked and wrote this in one sitting! Little did I know, I did not need to do that lol but I’m very happy because this story is so fun. We get to learn more about Arnold (her ex), his relationship with Lindy, and how that translates to Lindy’s relationship with her new husband, Malcolm. I LOVE true crime (I listen to about 3-4 hours of case coverage daily), and this is my first “true crime” story. Because of that, I’m very sus of a few details that probably wouldn’t slide in actual investigatory work, so I’ll also be working on that in a revision. My professor also gave me a great suggestion that may alter the story’s structure a bit, though I look forward to toggling with it in the future.

March

In March, I was really on a Criminal Minds kick lol. I’ve been watching this show since I was seven (oops), and dove into a rewatch since it hit Disney+! This story, “Where to Run When the Lamb Roars,” is very clearly Rachel watching 5 episodes of CM a day. Oops! We follow 14-year-old Astrid as she and her older half brother kidnap a young girl to sacrifice for their yearly ritual.

I knew a few things going into this story, but the main thing was that I did NOT want to show any details of a potential murder (if one even occurs). I really wanted to keep all of those elements off the page because this story is not about those events, but about Astrid’s relationship with her brother. They are a murderous duo, with Astrid actually being the dominant partner. I wanted to explore that. I knew her brother, Fox, was more of a submissive partner in their team, even when he used to do this same thing with his father when he was much younger (chilling!), and so it was a task to explore how this young girl’s desire for violence works. The end actually comes right before the story starts, one could say, but I like it for this reason. It really made me contemplate the story by the time I finished it, and helped me examine what it really was about versus what it appeared to be about.

April

(TW: sexual content, non explicit)

I was so busy this month! Who knows if I’ll write a story last minute, but I did write one story this month called “Five Times Fast.” I wrote this during a “writing sprint” that was being hosted at a flash fiction workshop I recently took with one of my favourite writers ever, K-Ming Chang. I learned so much from this class, and am so happy I came out of it with a draft! This story is just over 300 words, so the shortest flash I’ve ever written, but I’m really happy with it. It was based off the prompt “describe the last time you or your character was naked.” In this case, the narrator has a “friends with benefits” relationship with Ricky who works at a laundromat. This story highlights a moment in this relationship (and also Ricky’s goofy personality lol). I really like it! Hopefully I’ll submit it to some magazines soon.

My short story collection

Very briefly I wanted to touch on my short story collection which I’ve titled “She is Also Dead.” I’ve been meaning to make a blog post on this, so look out for that in the coming months, but this collection is already at around 35k words (about 14 stories so far). The collection also surprisingly has a solid amount of flash fiction which is kind of fun! There’s definitely a range here, which is what I personally love in short story collections.

I feel very professional now that I have a ~collection chart. This is her:

(image description: A chart with the title “She is Also Dead.” It is broken into four columns: Story, Status, Word Count, and Published. Entry 1 - Story: Slaughter the Animal. Status: Revisions, Word Count, 3982, Published: N/A. Entry 2 - Story: Joanne, I’ll Pray for You, Status: Polished, Word Count: 1809, Published: N/A. Entry 3 - Story: Primary Organs, Status: Published, Word Count: 2342, Published: The Malahat Review. Entry 4 - Story: Faberge, Status, Polished, Word Count: 619, Published: N/A. Entry 5 - Story: The Wolf-Antelope Will Not Come for Us, Status, Polished, Word Count: 1556, Published: filling Station (forthcoming). Entry 6 - Story: How to Spell Alpaca, Status: revisions, Word Count: 1327, Published: N/A. Entry 7 - Story: Blink Twice for Final Judgement, Status: Polished, Word Count: 6572, Published: N/A. Entry 8 - Story: The Species is Dead, Status: Published, Word Count: 1208, Published: Minola Review. Entry 9 - Story: Shark Swimming, Status: Polished, Word Count: 907, Published: N/A. Entry 10 - Story: The Party, Status, Polished, Word Count 2339, Published: N/A. Entry 11 - Story: Fig, Status: Polished, Word Counter: 947, Published: N/A. Entry 12 - Story: Protect the Young, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4128, Published: N/A. Entry 13 - Story: Where to Run When the Lamb Roars, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 2174, Published: N/A. Entry 14 - Story: Phantom Limbs, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4844, Published: N/A.) /end image description.

This order is DEFINITELY not permanent (at this point whenever I write a story, I just fit it randomly into this chart lol), and some of the info is outdated (for example, Slaughter the Animal is now polished!!! thank god!!!). But just an idea of what I’m thinking of including.

This is the summary so far:

In SHE IS ALSO DEAD, characters are pushed to act on their gravest impulses. A small town turns murderous when their local invasive species, the Janices, begin dying. A child struggles to understand her mother’s suicide. A college dropout who insists she’s being haunted by a poltergeist unexpectedly breaks up with her boyfriend. A mother acknowledges her daughter’s murderous tendencies after her backyard chickens mysteriously die. A young girl caters the funeral of a girl rumored to be killed by a wolf-antelope. A newly-divorced mother RSVP’s to a bizarre party she was not invited to, and a murderous brother and sister upkeep their yearly tradition of abducting a young girl. These stories follow characters who navigate death, violent desires, womanhood, and loss, both self-imposed and otherwise.

This is also so subject to change as I may pull and add stories to the collection!

I think I’m going to leave this update here for now! I’ve written TONS of poetry too, but I honestly ~hate my poetry right now lol, so! Hope you enjoyed this chill rambly update. Hope writing has going well for you all! All the best!

--Rachel

#writing #writeblr #writerblr #amwriting #writingupdates

57 notes · View notes

hahanoiwont · 4 years ago

Note

Okay, hear me out: Sans gets a job as a physics professor on the surface.

I hear uni professors are super lazy.

okay tbh I think Sans would be like. a great and terrible professor. let us explore this idea let's play in this space

like his first year teaching. horrible. He's used to being a cryptic little gremlin and now he has to give away information? all of the time?? that's supposed to be a good thing??? no. He doesn't take it seriously and the students complain about how he's always late, his lectures are so obscure as to be meaningless, and he seems more interested in making fun of them than teaching.

Then I feel like maybe he gets a baby post-grad student who tracks him down from half a country away. They've read his extremely niche paper. It sneaks in clever but not mean-hearted academic mudslinging at the old stagnants in the field. It makes groundbreaking points from a unique perspective. It's positively made of jargon but the jargon is explained concisely and understandably. Baby postgrad has stars in their eyes--they had the exact same idea (it is not the exact same idea. but to their credit it is close and they would have gotten there if they knew more about magic) and he explained it so well. He's a genius, they say. Can they please sit in on one of his courses. any of his courses. They'll be a TA if he promises to read over this paper they've been writing, it's not done yet but they think it could really be something and he's the only person in the field to legitimize their theory...

Sans is not into this at all. He's a little weirded out, honestly. Or, he's trying to be. But also, he does remember being a baby physicist who wanted his physics idol to notice him...so sure, he'll throw them a bone. They can put in all of the work for organizing his classes and grading things and all, and he'll get coffee with them and talk theory once a week.

More fool him. Sans is microdosing on being a professor.

Baby grad student talks in their office hours about their "lecture hour" with prof sans and how he was actually just explaining something to do with... and to Sans's chagrin, people start actually attending his coffee hour. And then they start bringing their homework questions to coffee hour. And then x student has work but can y student record... and then Sans's lessons have just moved to a coffee shop. He is still teaching his class he's just not doing it when he's supposed to. There is an email chain going around with recordings for each lesson, and since Sans has never bothered with taking attendance, his coffee lessons quickly become his main curriculum, while his alleged lesson times are just times when his TA previews the material with the students and Sans makes jokes.

Reviews become mixed. About 6 students swear by his classes and will rearrange their schedules any which way to be in his class next semester. At least a dozen have dropped his class and refuse to take another from him. Baby grad student is actually getting somewhere with their research, which Sans absolutely did not expect. He starts actually using the lab time he was given to work with them on that, and since everyone knows prof sans doesn't care if you walk in or out of his classes, a couple of undergrads filter in to poke at diagrams and try to understand what's being said...boom. lab section of the course. It's not remotely covering the same information as, say, physics 101, but the students are getting experience and gaining confidence in a lab environment. And you're only allowed to skip lab safety if you have a provable ability to evade or survive multiple kinds of explosion and acid burns, so they learn lab safety, too.

I feel like at this point Sans's classes are less actual courses and more really informative interest clubs that students join for credit. You sign up, disregard the course information listed, and if you ask leading questions he might explain a particular theory or branch of pretty much any scientific discipline (since monsters have like 3 scientists, they try to cover everything). This works great until Sans gets annoyed with having to explain calc 2 a million times because someone has obviously failed in educating his undergrads. It's just in the name of efficiency and therefore laziness that Sans proposes a remedial study group.

So. Twice a week, prof Sans will teach physics 101, and once a week a rotating schedule of math, chemistry, or a handful of other subjects on request. If nothing is requested, he will do stand-up or magic tricks for 2 straight hours and then go home. (sometimes students organize and agree to not prompt him for anything so that they can see the show. it's pretty good stand-up and very good magic tricks). Twice a week, his undergrad duckling will cover mostly remedial calc and help with homework for whatever science/math class they can. Baby undergrad is finally hired by the school and no longer paid in food and research tips (some of which are cash but most of which are advice) from Sans. Sans is still allegedly teaching several courses, which he usually covers the material of; but only when cornered, bribed with coffee, or at the expense of one (1) joke. Most of his classes are just study groups under his or their own loose direction.

Strangely, this does seem to help students discover their own interest in the material, since it feels much more based in what they want to learn (because they have to put so much effort into getting their professor to actually teach them). Students take his courses for a laid-back semester, but actually end up learning a lot of diverse skills and shortcuts in a variety of fields. Sans is absolutely not preparing them for any kind of curriculum, but he is creating baby scientists in much the same way as he was taught--here is All of Science, what do you want to learn? We'll fill in the backlog of what you need to know as it comes up.

Magic allows for fascinating demonstrations, not only of how things work, but how it would look if it didn't work, or worked differently. Gravity is a universal favorite because Sans will sometimes let students jump from irresponsible heights and experience zero gravity for a while. Conservation of mass and energy has him summoning things out of thin air. When astronomy comes up, he'll take them out and let them use his own telescope to see exactly how this theory was first observed, or what it looks like when that theory comes into play in such and such a way. So Sans does not get fired for being a horrible professor. It's generally understood that any freshman who took Physics 101 with Professor sans M.S. may not have any idea what they were supposed to learn, but he turns out competent scientists who are willing to testify that he's the best thing that's ever happened to their science education.

Anyway I think Sans would end up as a wonderful professor--despite his best efforts.

#undertale #headcanon #i got carried away lol #i think sans has good stage presence and could be good at teaching #but i absolutely do not think he would stick to a curriculum unless it directly inconvenienced him that his students don't know things

28 notes · View notes

thoughtsaboutshows · 3 years ago

Note

“Let me kiss my baby”

FINALLY The next part in the fire drill AU.

Trigger warning there is some birth trauma in this.

The previous parts are here:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

gif by: @bettyjugheads

Nick had to admit the rocking chair was comfortable. Sabrina had been the one to register for it for the shower that her Auntie’s planned. He’d grumbled about the way it had barely fit in their car on the drive back from Greendale to Boston. But now as he rocked their baby girl he agreed it was both comfy and useful, as Diana Grace’s big brown eyes finally closed as she drifted off to sleep. He’d told his daughter the story of how he met her mom, and how brave she was when she’d given birth. The story seemed to soothe Nick just as much as Diana and he didn’t feel like putting her down just yet once she was asleep, instead he cradled her close and gazed at the little girl who reminded him so much of Sabrina. The girl he loved more than anything, and her mother who had been the center of his thoughts for years.

It was almost nine months exactly, Fall was just starting to stretch its legs, the new school year starting when it finally happened. Nick was usually buried in the papers of eager undergrads or his own research assignments, but he always found time for Sabrina. And every night since the one she’d told him she was pregnant she’d slept next to his side.

He had always been a devoted boyfriend, but he’d gotten even more so once she was carrying their child. He’d even gone and bought one of those body pillows, which Sabrina labeled as ridiculous. She’d tried it one time and promptly threw it away, perfectly content to continue using him as a pillow like she had been for years.

That night was no different. She was curled up to him, swollen belly and all, resting mostly on top of him when she felt the rush and pop between her legs. She’d had some cramping for the last few hours, but blamed it on the Mexican food she’d begged Nick to pick up. Now, she regretted the extra cheesy bean dip they ordered since it wasn’t indigestion, but their baby.

“Nick!” Sabrina whisper-yelled while sitting up and shoving her boyfriend's shoulder. He simply groaned in response and while Sabrina usually found his affinity for sleep adorable, the rising pain in her uterus made her annoyed. “For the love of God…”. She tried shoving him again to no avail before swiftly using her strength to roll him off the bed.

He fell off with a loud huff and Sabrina crawled through the mess on the bed to look down at an extremely disgruntled Nicholas Scratch in a heap on the floor wrapped in their blanket.

“What the Hell, Spellman?” Nick groaned, still unmoving. “I was sleeping.”

“So was I.” Sabrina retorted. “Quite soundly I might add. Until my water broke.”

“Until your what?” Nick grumbled wiping his face, but stopped mid rub and sat up abruptly. It made Sabrina giggle when he finally got with the program and looked at her wide-eyed like a deer in bright headlights. “The baby’s coming.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement and Nick was up on his feet immediately. He ran for the clothes she’d set aside to wear to the hospital and tossed them too her, before peeking out the window at the weather. He’d gone a bit overboard in preparation for their child, packing three separate suitcases all in case of various weather. If Boston was going to surprise them with an early snow storm, Nick would be ready. Thankfully there was no snow in sight and the weather was perfect for a middle of the night drive to the hospital. Nick held Sabrina’s hand as they made their way from the apartment to his car and in the hustle and bustle they hadn’t had a chance to express their excitement.

So that’s why they paused, Nick’s hand on her door handle, to look at each other in the eyes and laugh.

“Let’s go meet our daughter, Spellman.” Nick told her and leaned in to kiss her tenderly, placing his hand lovingly on her belly. Their kiss was interrupted by a contraction which kicked them back into gear and had Nick helping her into the car. Nick talked her ear off the whole way there, which Sabrina was grateful for, as it distracted her from the pain. Despite how much it hurt, she was still determined to follow through with her plan for as natural a childbirth as possible. She triple checked with Nick that he’d packed Hilda’s homemade natural remedies and that’s all she was determined to use.

They’d decided early on that they wanted to know the sex of the baby, partly because Sabrina couldn’t handle the guessing and waiting and partly because they’d decided to keep that a secret from their family. That meant she could hold it over Ambrose’s head for months that she knew something he didn’t. Her cousin had tried bribing Nick with imported bourbon and rare books but Nick was determined to keep it a secret too. It was fun for him to have something to tease the Spellmans with, and he knew he’d face the wrath of Sabrina if he spilled the beans. Zelda Spellman had tried to unleash her fury at being kept out of the loop. But Nick had long since learned that a pregnant Sabrina was far scarier than the Spellman Matriarch.

But Nicholas Scratch when his girlfriend is in labor is a scary sight too, and he ensured that every staff member in the labor and delivery unit knew that Sabrina Spellman needed their attention. They had their moments throughout the process though, because they wouldn’t be them if they didn’t push back stubbornly against each other. Nick insisted Sabrina consider an epidural for the pain, not so much because she couldn’t handle it but more so because he couldn't’ handle seeing her face contorted in a way that meant she was feeling anything but pleasure. And Sabrina, by hour six was getting far too annoyed by all the young ladies on the floor who just had to comment on how handsome Nick was. Whether it was the receptionist or the girl taking their food order or some random person in a hallway when she went for a walk they’d all glance at Nick and Sabrina’s bare ring fingers and ask Nick how his friend or sister was doing. He’d always swiftly correct them, informing the admirer that Sabrina was his girlfriend and the baby was theirs and they were oh so excited. But when the fourth person told Nick how good of a friend he was for helping his single-mother friend she’d had enough, yelling at them that she was carrying his child and they had very vigorous sex life. One that continued throughout pregnancy right up until the previous night when Nick had gone down on her following their Mexican take out. Sabrina had even congratulated Nick for helping labor along, confirming the theory that sex could jump-start it. The guilty party was some nursing aid from another floor who was just passing them in the hallway and Nick was sure Sabrina’s reaction would keep her far away from the labor and delivery unit for years to come. Sabrina smacked Nick in the arm when she realized he was laughing before crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

“What, I was not about to let one more person assume that I am some wronged woman and that you are available. I mean who does that? Hits on someone in a labor and delivery unit.” Sabrina held her chin in the air, perfectly fine with the strangers around them continuing to hear their conversation.

“We wouldn’t have this issue, Spellman, if we were married.” Nick leaned against the pop machine and bit his lip to keep from smirking at her. It was to no avail though, when Nick got cheeky there was no stopping his smirk from pushing through even the best disguises. “Or at least engaged.”

“Well, Nicholas, you’re the one who hasn’t asked me yet.” Sabrina somehow held her chin higher and stood closer to him.

“Well someone hasn’t given me the green light to be able to.” Nick snarked back and Sabrina narrowed her eyes, fighting a smirk of her own. Neither of them were serious. They were so unbelievably on the same page when it came to their marital status that they were sure they got on better than most couples who’d already tied the knot. It went without saying for both of them that they’d be married some day, just not today, and even when they had talked about it there was no compromise. Just simple agreement. Even so, they still liked poking at each other and Nick found it hilarious and downright adorable when Sabrina got territorial of him. He hadn’t expected to be hit on at the hospital either, but the jealous reaction it brought out of Sabrina made him love her even more. He had certainly had a jealous moment or two in their years together. Especially when he’d moved out of the dorms and she still lived in one, and he was no longer a floor away from her at a moments notice. But she’d only ever had eyes for him, and him for her, so really neither of them had anything to worry about in the first place.

“Fine, marry me.” Sabrina shrugged nonchalantly but her smile had turned wide. They’d gotten around to saying this lately, as a way to make their promise to each other but to relieve the pressure that they had to plan anything now.

“Fine.” Nick shrugged right back and kicked off the pop machine to close the distance with her. He kissed her once, hard and quick, and wrapped his arm around her and pulled her back towards their room. If his time was correct, because of course he was tracking, Sabrina was due for another contraction soon. And he wanted her to be comfy in bed with him around to rub her back when it came.

“Your Aunts and Ambrose are settled into their hotel.” Nick told her, glancing down at his phone for just a minute. “They’ll be back in the waiting room soon.”

“I don’t know why they don’t just wait at the hotel.” Sabrina shook her head. “It’s not like I’m letting them into this room until after she’s born.”

“They love you, Spellman.” Nick brushed a strand of hair out of her face. Her forehead was sweaty and she’d forgone her headband but Nick still thought she was stunning. “They wanna support them through this even if they can’t be by your side.”

“I can’t believe Zelda actually thought I’d let her in here.” Sabrina laughed. “There are some things that even aunties who raised me can’t see. Besides, I just want it to be me and you first.”

Nick smiled and kissed her gently. She sighed into it, allowing his gentle press of the lips to soothe her. God she loved this man. And when another contraction came he stopped kissing her and held her hand, not even caring that her grip was turning his fingers red.

It was all fine until it wasn’t. That’s how it usually was.

She was sleeping until the blaring fire drill sent her outside.

They were giggling over a bottle of wine until they were fighting over the future and broken up for a few days.

Things were moving smoothly until they weren’t. Until she wasn’t progressing and their daughter was in distress. Until the doctor’s voice took on a note of panic that Sabrina and Nick didn’t like to hear. The staff threw around words like abruption and too much blood and low heart rate.

All of this meant that before either could say otherwise they were wheeling her bed to an operating room, Nick struggling to keep up as they pulled her away, telling him there was no time for an epidural. They’d have to put her under, and they needed Nick out of the operating room. The doctors gave them a few moments though in pre-op, just a minute or two, just in case.

Nick didn’t know that love could hurt this much. He was perfectly aware of the pain associated with not being with the one you loved. It was a cut he’d felt back when he and Sabrina broke up temporarily. It took him a while for their reunion to feel whole and real, so he patched up his still fragile heart as best as he could by holding her tighter and tighter each night. But he couldn’t hold more than her hand right now. And soon, he wouldn’t even be able to do that.

“Save her.” Sabrina commanded in a quiet voice, still strong despite being hoarse. She looked right at Nick and then turned her gaze to the doctor nearby. “You have to save her.”

Sabrina’s desperate plea to do what they could to save their baby nearly ripped Nick right open. Part of him wanted to argue and disagree, command that they focus on her. But the larger part, the part whose heart beat alongside hers and loved her beyond reason, the part that loved that baby so damned much and would do anything to protect it, found himself nodding along with Sabrina.

To say he was terrified was an understatement, already envisioning a life without Sabrina, raising a daughter alone. He couldn’t picture quiet mornings with coffee and scrambled eggs without her contagious giggle. Fall would be unimaginable without her dragging him to this festival and that haunted house, once and a while pretending to be scared so he could hold her tighter.

The nurses readied her for the anesthesia, giving the couple one final moment before they’d escort him out.

“Nick…”. Sabrina breathed out in almost an inaudible way. He’d only see the crinkle of her brows furrow this way a few times. “I’m scared.”

Nick’s heart nearly stopped beating in his chest and swallowed thickly. He ran a hand through her hair and kissed her forehead, scrounging up all the strength he had. She was usually the one bolstering him and while he’d stood by her and held her hand all these years, there weren’t many times when his fearless girl would admit to being afraid of something.

“I’m here, babe.” Nick told her and kissed her hair again, cradling her hair like she was the most precious thing in the world. He was terrified too, the love of his life and their child hung in the balance, and it was all in the doctor's hands now. “I’m not going anywhere.” He kissed her nose and her cheeks in her lips before brushing her hair back so the doctors could work. “I’ll be right here when you wake up. I love you.”

Sabrina held onto that before her eyes shuttered closed, exhausted. The doctors moved Nick out of the way and wheeled her back. Nick collapsed onto the ground, allowing himself to give into his tears and fear. He’d face the waiting room where the Aunties and Ambrose were itching for news eventually, but he needed to collect himself first. At least as best as he could.

Nick ran and found Ambrose and the aunties as soon as he could, offering a fumbled update through tears before running back to where he was allowed to wait. It was tense, and it felt like years before the surgeon found him out in the hallway. He was on the ground, praying for the first and probably last time in his entire life, but stood up as soon as he saw the doctor. HIs face was unreadable, and all the people skills in the world wouldn’t help Nick figure out what he was going to say.

Nick nearly snapped at the guy, wanting to yell at him to get on with it, until the doctor smiled.

“It was close, but she’s okay. They both are.” Nick nearly crumpled to the ground in relief. “We managed to save her uterus too, so if more kids are in your plans-”

“I don’t care about that.” Nick interrupted because in the moment he didn’t. All he cared about was that his daughter was alive. That Sabrina was alive. “Can I see them?”

“Yes.” The doctor smiled and nodded. “Come with me.”

Nick nearly ran down the hall, but stopped in a room where Sabrina was lying on a bed with a nurse nearby taking care of a small bundle.

Sabrina looked up at the noise and saw Nick, tears pouring down his cheeks and smiled weakly.

“Hey, you.” She said to him and Nick didn’t waste anymore time, moving to her in two strides and taking the chair next to her bed. He leaned in and kissed her slowly, not caring that the nurse saw.

“God, Spellman, you scared me.” He kissed her forehead. “Don’t scare me like that, okay?”

“Okay.” Sabrina nodded and brushed her hand through his hair. She couldn’t come up with something witty at that moment, too tired and grateful to be alive. “Wanna meet our daughter?”

Sabrina waved the nurse over who carried that bundle of blanket to him. It wasn’t just blankets at all, but a tiny baby girl with a head of dark hair and bright eyes.

“Hey there.” Nick said to his daughter when she was laid in his arms. The nurse let them be, leaving the room to give them some space. Sabrina brushed her hand through Nick’s hair again and wiped a tear from his cheek. “Hey, Diana Grace.”

They’d decided on a name shortly after finding out they were having a girl. Naming her after Sabrina’s mother had been an easy choice, the middle name after Nick’s even easier. A few tears leaked out of Sabrina’s eyes too, watching in wonder as Nick took to being a father immediately. He knew just how to hold their daughter, how to swaddle her, how to change her diaper perfectly. He helped Sabrina get into the best breastfeeding positions and was right there to offer an arm of support when the nurses had her try to watch. It baffled Nick that they’d have her walk around so soon after having major surgery. He knew mother’s were strong, but Sabrina was the strongest of all.

Diana drifted off to sleep in her bassinet and Nick settled in the chair next to Sabrina. She’d tried to get Nick to get into bed with her but he was nervous, all too aware of the stitches holding her abdomen together. So he cuddled as close as he could and grabbed her hand, playing with her fingers and focusing on her breathing.

“Sabrina, I-” Nick told her after a few quiet moments. It was late into the night and he was getting emotional, the day catching up with him. “I thought I was going to lose you. I thought I was going to lose both of you.”

“Hey, hey.” Sabrina brushed her hands across his cheeks. “You didn’t lose me, Nick.”

“Sabrina I almost did.” Nick explained. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t made it. I can’t do this without you.”

“Oh you would have been alright.” Sabrina tried to joke. “Imagine all the tail you’d have gotten as a hot single dad.”

“Spellman, that’s not even funny.” Nick shook his head.

“Come on, it’s a little funny.” Sabrina held up two fingers, but her face fell when she saw he wasn’t laughing. “Nick, you would have been okay because you’re you. You’re already an amazing father. But most importantly, you don’t have to do it without me, Nick. Because I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sabrina, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Nick.” She pulled him down and kissed him softly. “And I love our little family.”

“I don’t want to live this life without you by my side, Sabrina. So-” Nick paused, nervous.

“Oh my God are you about to propose?” Sabrina cut in, suddenly laughing.

“What?” Nick’s face twisted in surprise. “No, of course not.”

“You totally were.” Sabrina smiled. “You were totally gonna do the near-death proposal.”

“So what if I was?” Nick was laughing now too. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thinking about making their relationship more official. But now he saw the ridiculousness of it. A post surgery proposal was so not them.

“Nick, no!” Sabrina shoved him lightly. “You can’t propose to me here!”

“Am I the one loopy and on drugs or did you not accost me earlier for not being married to you.” Nick pointed out, smirking at the memory of earlier in the day.

“I was pissed and in pain and not in my right mind. And neither are you if you think I’d say yes to a proposal because of a near death experience.” She held her chin in the air and Nick chuckled in response, leaning down to kiss her pouted lips.

“Don’t worry, Spellman. I promise to not propose to you right now.” Nick brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead. He almost missed her face which was part disappointed and part relieved, and he filed away the fact that she wanted to be engaged soon. That much he could tell. But he was not about to do it when she was out of it and on pain killers freshly cut open. But he’d do it soon.

Nick held Diana even closer to his chest when she fell asleep. He’d never been more grateful in his life than he had been when the doctor told him his girlfriend and daughter were alive. He hadn’t left their room other than to grab the Aunties and Ambrose, who seemed to have fallen in love with little Diana Grace just as quickly as he had. Ambrose especially, was wrapped around that girl’s little finger, and it was hard to miss the tears in Zelda’s eyes.

They settled in their apartment in Boston after staying in the hospital for a few days and her family stayed with them, the C-section adding some extra recovery time. They’d needed all the help they could get, though by the end of a week Sabrina was ready for her aunties to leave and ready to spend some time just the three of them.

The Aunties and Ambrose had left a few days prior, and Nick and Sabrina were really settling into their new life. They still weren’t planning on getting married yet, and they weren’t in any hurry. Nick would propose eventually, they’d get married and they’d get pregnant with baby number two on their honeymoon, baby number one living it up at the Mortuary getting spoiled while they were gone. They’d move back to Greendale to be closer to family and to raise their babies on Hilda’s sweets and Zelda’s sarcasm. Their life would be an adventure and crazy and beautiful.

But for now, with the birth of their first child, things were new and exciting. Nick had snuck away to get Diana before Sabrina could when he saw him stirring on the monitor, the hint of a cry starting. Nick told Diana the story of her mom, how they’d met, and all about their eclectic family. Nick believed his girlfriend needed some rest and peace and quiet so he got to her first, feeding her a bottle and reminiscing all of their history.

He didn’t know though, when he was seated in the rocker with their daughter, that she’d woken up not long after him. She felt the spot next to her, the one that he’d occupied since the night she told him she was pregnant, and noticed him missing. They had hardly spent a night apart since then, as Sabrina moved her stuff into his apartment the very next day. She missed his warmth, being able to put her head on his chest. And though she logically knew he was in the next room, she went in search of him anyway. She’d heard the whole thing, the story from start to finish how they’d met and started dating and ended up here: in a forever kind of love with a kid to boot.

She laughed when she heard him complain about her yelling at him for thinking of proposing, and Nick’s eyes shifted to her in the doorway. She looked marvelous despite her sleepy eyes and messy hair. She was wearing a shirt of his, a favorite of hers that she’d put one nearly every night after she became too big to fit in her own pajamas.

“Hey, you.” Sabrina said to him before kicking off the door and coming to stand by where he was seated. She moved to kneel down and placed her arms on the arm of the chair. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I wanted you to get some sleep.” Nick smiled at her. “I love you in that shirt.”

“It’s still one of the few things that fit.” Sabrina explained.

“I don’t care.” Nick shook his head. “You could wear that for the rest of our lives and I’d applaud you for it.”

“Okay, okay.” Sabrina rolled her eyes and then looked down at her daughter, all cozy and cute in Nick’s arms. “Now let me kiss my baby.”

Sabrina leaned down to kiss her daughter’s forehead but before she could Nick smirked and kissed her lips instead. She yelped and giggled and sunk into it, sighing and relaxing into him.

“Okay not what I meant.” Sabrina whispered against his lips and then kissed him again. “But I’m not complaining.” She kissed him one more time before kissing their daughter’s forehead and taking Diana from his arms. She cooed a little but didn’t wake up, and Nick smiled at how Sabrina whispered and sang softly to her. He followed Sabrina as she carried their daughter back into their room and placed her in the bassinet next to her bed. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissing her neck whispering I love you against her skin. She shuddered, never unaffected by him, and pulled him back to their bed.

She pressed her cheek into his chest in hopes of finally falling asleep. She was met with an old friend, the scratchy and worn yet somehow soft fabric of an old pajama set he had. She breathed in the memory of him holding her close underneath a blanket, as those were the same pj’s he’d had on the night of the fire alarm. It was shortly after they’d started seeing each other and shortly before he’d asked her to be his girlfriend. She didn’t even know he still had them, but the laundry had been piling up from lack of sleep and lack of time so he pulled the only pair left in his drawer and threw it on as Sabrina had pulled on the last of his shirt that didn’t have baby puke on it. He kissed her forehead and she snuggled closer still, both delirious and exhausted, but fell asleep smiling, and stealing some comforted rest until their sweet baby girl needed them again.

Before their eyes shut Sabrina sighed and leaned up, catching his gaze on her.

“Go to sleep, Spellman.” He ordered in a soothing voice, his own eyes nearly closed.

“Fine. Marry me?” She asked him smirking.

“Fine.” He answered, eyes fully closed but smile wide. He pulled her tighter, plans already forming in his had to ask her officially. Someday, and in a way that is perfectly them.

#nabrina #fic: fire drill au #finally this is done #one more part to go eventually #nicholas scratch #sabrina spellman

10 notes · View notes