#event: alumni evening

[classcursehq]

"god,  it's  crazy!  i  kind  of  wish  that  i'd  been  there  to  see  it  all  go  down…  alumni  evening,  an  accidental  lockdown…  apparently  there  was  a  weird  tape?  i'm  sure  dante  uploaded  it  all  on  tiktok."

what  began  as  a  slightly  off  putting  high  school  reunion  soon  span  into  something  much  more  unsettling  .  the  flood  warning  is  in  play  ,  the  doors  are  locked  and  the  sound  proofing  doesn't  help  the  outside  communicate  what  is  going  on  .  it  takes  three  hours  before  they  manage  to  unarm  the  emergency  protocol  ,  in  which  time  theories  and  emotions  run  wild  .  no  one  knows  if  this  is  part  of  the  plan...  if  something  else  is  going  on...  who  amongst  them  is  really  behind  all  of  this?  it  doesn't  feel  like  a  mistake  .  it  feels  like  a  warning  .  a  threat  .  there's  one  thing  you  all  know  for  sure  ...  once  you  get  out  of  here  then  you  are  well  and  truly  done  with  new  horizons  and  high  school  shenanigans...  or  so  you  think...

you  had  almost  forgotten  the  strange  summons  of  the  police  in  the  chaos  of  everything  going  on  but  as  the  doors  open,  a  recognisable  figure  enters.  a  rescuer  or  the  bearer  of  bad  news?  (  you  think  he  might  have  been  the  person  who  interviewed  you  back  in  2014  .  doesn't  he  have  a  kid  here?  )  .  then  you  hear  words  that  you  never  saw  coming  ,  sure  that  it  was  about  the  flood...  about  water  washing  through  lincoln  city  but  it  seems  tonight  ,  no  sins  are  washed  away  .  there  is  new  evidence  in  the  disappearance  of  chris  wilder,  one  of  his  belongings  discovered  by  a  dog  walker  in  the  wooded  area  near  devils  lake  .  you  don't  know  what  it  is...  but  it  doesn't  make  any  sense  .  after  all  these  years...  everything  chris  had  with  him  went  into  the  water  with  him  that  night.  his  clothes,  his  cell  phone,  his  wallet.  

the  police  are  telling  you,  you  better  stay  in  town  a  while  longer.  we're  going  to  need  to  get  a  new  interview  from  everybody  about  the  night  he  disappeared.

out of character guidance:

the  dash  event  has  now  concluded  ,  you  may  finish  threads  if  you  feel  that  they  need  more  time  .  as  this  event  happened  on  friday  26th  ,  any  threads  on  the  dash  can  take  place  any  time  following  the  event  and  present  day as they await interview !

[who-is-page]

Rent is coming up and we just had to pay for a new washing machine and to get our cat spayed and chipped (because even if she's an indoors-only cat, you can never be too safe!), if you like my work consider buying my TTRPGs or donating to my Ko-fi?

[quin-ns]

Always Forever (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

Word count: 8.2K

Summary: coriolanus finally lets himself acknowledge that he can’t stand to see you with anyone but him

Tags: (18+), cw: dubcon, cw: noncon, pseudo!incest (not related, reader raised with the snows), dark!coriolanus, pre-mentor era, jealousy/obsession/possessiveness, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, fear of getting caught, lots of drama for my lovely readers

A/N: second coryo fic and it’s somehow longer than the last one lol. only one part. pls read the tags and proceed with caution 🫶

Misc masterlist + main masterlist

“Look at you, you look so pretty!” Tigris beamed, adjusting the straps of your dress. “Doesn’t she, Coryo?”

In his peripheral, Coriolanus could see his cousin had turned to look at him expectantly, but his eyes were already on you. They always had been, and always would be.

“Yes, she does,” he replied without thought.

You faced him with a smile, and Coriolanus couldn’t help the pride that swarmed him just looking at you.

It was because of him that you were in his life, and until the day he died Coriolanus knew it would remain the best decision he ever made.

As children during the war, when he and Tigris would scavenge the streets, Coriolanus stumbled across you. Not much younger than him, huddled behind a pillar, all alone. You had a half a loaf of bread. It wasn’t fresh, but he still didn’t understand where you got it. You tore it in half and shared it with him.

He returned to Tigris with you in tow, his small hand clutching your even smaller one, and his cousin took pity.

She also took the brunt of the consequence for bringing home another mouth to feed, but sacrifices had to be made, didn’t they?

It was worth it. You were worth it to him—to both of them, really.

As you got older, Grandma’am eventually took a liking to you, although Coriolanus wondered if it was because she could see how much he cared for you.

It didn’t matter. Not really. You were part of the family now, even if you did not share the Snow name.

“Thank you, Tigris,” you said sweetly, pulling the older girl into a hug.

It was a big day for both you and Coriolanus. The academy was hosting an event for students to mingle with administration and alumni of the university.

Coriolanus had put on his best outfit—he already knew it was the same one he was going to wear when the Plinth Prize winner was announced in only a few weeks. He was sure it was going to be him.

Tigris had fashioned your dress by hand. Coriolanus was past questioning how she paid for her fine fabrics, but he had an inclination it was the same way they could suddenly afford food some days.

The long dress reminded Coriolanus of freshly fallen snow, the white holding a sense of purity and wealth that his family once had. It had a sense of elegance that you only furthered with donning it, but it lacked an extravagance that would force you to stand out.

It was perfect.

You parted from Tigris to approach Coriolanus. You had a light smile on your face as your hands ran down his black vest, adjusting it.

“We almost match,” you commented, referring to the white shirt beneath said vest. “If only I had something black.”

“Well, I’d let you borrow this, but then we’d be in the same position, only switched,” he teased lightly, drawing a small chuckle from you.

Coriolanus liked when you looked up at him, same as he liked hearing your laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’ll survive without.” Your hands fell to your sides. “Besides, it definitely looks more handsome on you.”

Hearing those words from you meant more than you’d ever know, and more than he’d let himself acknowledge.

You were so good to him, he couldn’t imagine spending the evening with anyone else.

When he walked into the ballroom of the academy with you on his arm, Coriolanus got a rush of power. Especially when heads turned. Looking at him, looking at you, just looking.

He wondered what the minds behind all those gazing eyes were thinking.

He hoped it was a balanced amount of envy and respect.

“We should find Sejanus, let him know we’re here,” you said, not thinking much of the sentence as you looked around the room, taking in the people and the decor.

Coriolanus thought everything of it, a sourness settling over him. Sejanus was his friend, but Coriolanus wished they hadn’t gotten as close as they did. It was because of his friendship with Sejanus that you met him, and began to develop… feelings for him.

God, Coriolanus hated to even think about it.

When you told him you had begun dating Sejanus, Coriolanus nearly had a heart attack. Then he felt violent. Not towards you. Never towards you.

It wasn’t just because he felt protective of you, or because Sejanus was district, or because Coriolanus knew you were far, far too good for his friend… it was everything. All of that and everything in between.

Before you could find him, Sejanus found you.

He was in a fine black suit, finer than anything Coriolanus owned, and a bright smile appeared on his face at the sight of you.

That was one thing they still had in common. Reverence for you.

“Had to come find my girl before everyone thinks she ditched me,” Sejanus joked, pulling a laugh from you. “Where have you guys been?”

“Making sure we look our best,” you replied, shooting Coriolanus a wink.

If Sejanus wasn’t reaching for you, Coriolanus might’ve smiled.

“Well, you did a wonderful job.”

Coriolanus let you slip away from his side, reluctantly giving you away to Sejanus.

The unfortunate thing was Sejanus was truly a decent person. Not perfect, but decent. Better than most, even if he was beneath you all. You cared nothing for status, and seemed to really like him. He treated you right from what Coriolanus had seen, making disapproval not exactly warranted.

Although, Coriolanus was always going to be incredibly protective of you. He doubted there was a world where he would be pleased with any relationship you found. Your interest in other people was becoming tiresome, truthfully. Did you really even need friends? Or lovers? You had Coriolanus, and he was sure that was enough.

His jaw clenched when you pressed a light kiss to Sejanus’s cheek. It would be much simpler if he was a terrible person. Coriolanus would have an excuse outside of his own selfishness to separate you—which he did not have now.

“Can I ask for this dance?” Sejanus wondered, shooting you a smile. At least he had the awareness to still look anxious.

But you… you grinned. You were too good.

“Well you just asked, so I guess you can,” you started sarcastically, but let him off the hook quickly. “And of course I’ll say yes.”

Sejanus looked relieved, taking your hand in his. You turned to look at Coriolanus, a small bit of guilt in your expression. You clearly hadn’t been planning on leaving his side so soon. You masked it with the same teasing tone you’d used before.

“I won’t be long, don’t get too bored without me, Coryo.”

Coriolanus only smiled for your sake. It fell the moment Senjanus led you away to a small group of other students dancing together.

From the sidelines, Coriolanus watched as Sejanus led you in a slow dance. He tried to avoid his eyes landing on his friend. He didn’t want to view the two of you in the same light as the other couples embracing one another.

Coriolanus tried to remember the first moment he realized how beautiful you were. It was so long ago, it wasn’t something he was even aware he thought so often.

The sun rose in the morning, roses had thorns, and you were beautiful.

It was simple as that.

After a dance and a half, Coriolanus couldn’t take it anymore.

His feet carried him to the dance floor, mind absent as he tried to justify his jealousy as protectiveness. Yes, that’s all he was. Protective. Like an older brother… like what he was supposed to be. Even if it wasn’t what he wanted to be.

You and Sejanus were swaying and talking, but as he snuck up on the two of you, Coriolanus couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter.

You turned your head to look at him, smiling in surprise at his presence.

“Coryo!”

“Can I cut in?” Coriolanus requested. His hand itched to rest on your shoulder, but he withheld. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and he briefly wondered if Sejanus sensed that or not.

“All yours,” Sejanus agreed, spinning you by the hand. You turned in a circle, then a half, facing Coriolanus. “I’m going to go find my father, he’s here tonight,” he informed.

“I’ll come find the two of you in a few minutes,” you told Sejanus, who nodded then headed off. Before he did, he looked to Coriolanus and said, “Take good care of her.”

“I always do,” Coriolanus responded easily, because it was the truth. He didn’t need Sejanus telling him that. He’d been there for you long before either of you even knew his friend existed. He looked down to you, taking your hand in his while the other fell to your waist. You looked amused. “I do, don’t I?”

“Yes, Coryo,” you replied with a smile. “Better than anyone.”

The slow waltz felt so natural, your movements in tune with his without thought. You two were always like that, always in sync.

“What were you and Sejanus talking about?” Coriolanus wondered, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Nothing important,” you dismissed with a shrug. “Sweet nothings.”

Coriolanus didn’t miss the shy smile appearing on your face. He couldn’t control the frown trying to take over his.

A more thoughtful look crossed your face, your smile faltering.

“Are you happy for me, Coryo?”

Coriolanus blinked.

“I… want to be,” he confessed, eyes scanning your face. It was the truth for the most part. He did want you to be happy, just not with Sejanus.

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. Coriolanus wished he could open your head and investigate every corner of your brain. He wanted to know every thought you had.

“Sejanus is your friend, I would’ve thought…” you swallowed and looked away. “Never mind.”

“No, what is it?” Coriolanus pressed, tilting his head, trying to make you meet his gaze.

When you did, he saw the disappointment in your eyes.

You stepped back from him, parting completely.

“I need to find Sejanus. I’ll put in a good word for you about the Plinth Prize with his father.”

Then, you departed, not leaving room for Coriolanus to argue for you to stay.

He would’ve, and you knew that.

The moment you disappeared from his view, Coriolanus went looking. You had moved quickly. He found you across the room, sitting down at a table with Sejanus and Mr. Plinth.

He didn’t approach, he couldn’t make himself look bad in front of Mr. Plinth.

So he watched you talk, and drink, and laugh, and drink some more…

“I can’t believe she’s doing this,” Arachne whispered, suddenly appearing at his side. Coriolanus looked down at her. She was clearly talking about you. He could see the way she flicked her heavily decorated eyes in your direction. “Associating with him was one thing, but… well”—Arachne let out a vicious laugh—“do you think their children will call her “Ma” too?”

Coriolanus felt ill at the thought. Leave it to Arachne to provoke him, to conjure up nightmares he hadn’t even thought of yet himself.

“She’ll come to her senses,” Coriolanus muttered, gritting his teeth.

Arachne rolled her eyes. “Let’s hope so,” she mused, continuing on her way, blood red dress dragging behind her with each step.

Coriolanus looked back to you. He was overwhelmed with nausea as Sejanus grabbed your hand atop the table. Damn Arachne for placing that thought in his head.

He watched as you lifted another glass to your lips, smiling along as Sejanus talked to his father. What was that, your third? Sejanus had yet to say anything to you. He was fine with allowing you to get intoxicated?

Drinking alcohol wasn’t exactly a crime, but Sejanus didn’t know you well enough to know you were inexperienced. The last thing Coriolanus wanted was you making a fool of yourself.

Darker thoughts crept in. Maybe Sejanus was allowing you to inebriate yourself on purpose. The thought of him climbing on top to you made Coriolanus’s blood boil. His fingers twitched to form a fist, and his jaw clenched even tighter.

In that moment, Coriolanus decided he wouldn’t let Arachne’s mockery come true.

He had to help you. You needed his protection, even when you didn’t know it. You needed him. You always would. Coriolanus could remind you, then perhaps you'd see you didn’t even need Sejanus at all.

When you left the table—Coriolanus wasn’t sure why—he saw his opportunity. He approached you quickly, finding no problem in catching your arm and leading you away from the party. Away from all the people, where it could just be the two of you.

Out a door, down a long, empty corridor until the two of you ended up outside in the school’s garden. It was isolated from the party, you’d be safer here.

“Coryo? What—“

“Are you alright?” Coriolanus asked, cutting you off. He released you to stand across from you, leaving you to lean back against the stone wall behind you. “I saw how much you were drinking.”

You looked up at him, confused, but not frightened. If anyone else had handled you the way he did, you surely would’ve been. But you trusted him. You always had.

“Did I drink a lot?” you asked, a slight pout on your lips. “I didn’t notice.”

“Oh.” So, you were okay. That was good, wasn’t it? “I thought maybe you needed rescuing,” he admitted, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or not.

You chuckled a little and the sound washed over Coriolanus, bringing him a sense of relief from all his previous tension.

“My hero,” you said lightly, smiling up at him. You were always smiling at him, but Coriolanus no longer wondered if he was worthy of it all. “You’re always there for me, aren’t you?”

Coriolanus stepped closer. His hand rose, his fingertips trailing the outline of your face. Someone so pretty, so sweet, had to be careful in a cruel world like this.

“What would you do without me?” he proposed, not expecting an answer.

You didn’t need one, because you never would have to find out.

He’d follow you to the end of the Earth, just as he knew you’d follow him. You needed each other. You didn’t need Tigris or Grandma’am and especially not Sejanus, but without Coriolanus, who would you even be? Coriolanus couldn’t imagine his world without you in it. Not even if he tried.

Staring at you now, Coriolanus heard the voice in the back of his mind begin to whisper. The one that urged his protectiveness, knowing it was fueled by possession. The one he would use all his power to silence.

Something new had overcome him, watching you galavant around with Sejanus. Well, not new, but clear. Coriolanus finally had clarity. That’s what it was. That was how he finally acknowledged what had so long been lingering in his peripheral, just on the edge of his mind, waiting for the right moment.

Was this the right moment?

He made no effort to banish his most repressed thoughts. For once, he let them win.

Coriolanus leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. Gentle, testing the waters. You did not react right away. Maybe it wasn’t necessarily a good sign, but that didn’t stop him from using it as an excuse to deepen the kiss.

His other hand found your face, holding you against him as he nipped at your lip, begging you to invite him in.

Your reaction was delayed, and Coriolanus thought maybe, just maybe, you had been thinking the same thing he had all along. That the faint taste of alcohol on your lips meant you were feeling more open to exploring this with him, and that all you needed was a nudge in the right direction.

But no, you were turning your head, making his lips part from yours.

Coriolanus faltered, but you still did not speak. Your breaths were clipped—flustered and confused. He could understand that. His own heart was racing, although adrenaline and need were to blame for that.

“Coryo…” you whispered so softly he nearly didn’t hear it. “What are you doing?”

Leave it to you to not get angry with him. Or even upset. At this point he questioned if you were even capable of feeling anger at him.

Coriolanus stepped closer, making you have to tilt your head up to look at him.

“I don’t think I can share you,” he confessed under his breath, but with conviction. “I know I can’t and you… you don’t need anyone else. You have me.”

You swallowed, eyes looking down. “Sejanus—“

“Doesn’t know you like I do,” Coriolanus finished, one hand still holding your cheek, tilting your head, making you meet his eye again. “Seeing you with him… he’s not good enough for you.”

“I thought you were above judging him for being district.” You sounded so disappointed in him.

“I don’t care that he’s district, he’s not good enough because no one will ever be,” Coriolanus corrected, imploring you to understand.

With a light sigh, his eyes fell shut. Gently, he leaned to press his forehead to yours. He blindly reached for your hands, and found them in each of his with no problem.

“I would not be happy seeing you with anyone else,” Coriolanus confessed, voice low. “Not anyone but me.”

You inhaled slightly. Was it that big of a shock?

He gave you no chance to voice it because Coriolanus was capturing your lips again, passion erupting in his veins.

His mind was clouded with thoughts that fought for center attention, his built up desires controlling him as his hands and lips cascaded down your body. Your neck, your chest, your stomach—

“Coryo, what are you doing?” you questioned when he began to move lower.

“Shh, don’t worry,” he cooed, dismissing your concern.

Coriolanus finally fell to his knees in front of you. He’d never take such a humiliating position for anyone else. But with you, it didn’t feel humiliating. It was exhilarating, knowing he was on his knees worshiping you, but he still held all the power. It was nearly perfect.

You gasped a little when he gripped your right leg and maneuvered it over his shoulder. More of your weight rested back against the wall, unable to stand straight on just one leg.

He looked upward, watching your face the entire time as he pushed your dress up around your hips, revealing your underwear to him.

Coriolanus was so close and you had yet to move.

Words couldn’t find their way to his lips. It was all too overwhelming in the best way. His heart slamming against his rib cage was a welcome feeling, and so was the pressure on his knees.

You bucked away before his mouth could reach your core. Coriolanus didn’t think much of it. He had a lot of other images rushing through his brain. Ones he wanted to become reality.

He scooted forward and tried again, this time making contact with the layer of fabric separating him from your most intimate spot.

Coriolanus heard a choked noise from you as he ran his tongue across the front of your underwear.

Right away, he wanted more.

His hands found the material acting as a barrier and he gripped it then pulled, tearing it from you one leg at a time, exposing you to him.

Before it could fall to the ground, he caught the shredded material and stuffed it into his pocket.

He felt a bit guilty, knowing how little you all had when it came to clothing, but he wanted to do this the right way. Coriolanus wanted nothing blocking him from showing you how good he could make you feel.

As much as his eyes were tempted to linger, impatience got the best of him.

He made contact again, licking a stripe across your bare cunt. Once he got a taste, Coriolanus couldn’t hold back.

His mouth latched onto you, tongue sliding between your folds, drawing a stifled moan from you. You reached for his head, trying to knock him away, but Coriolanus persisted. His will easily overtook yours. You weren’t going to take this away from him, not when he could make you want it just as bad.

He held onto the leg over his shoulder, gripping your flesh, surely leaving bruises in his wake. He held the skirt of your dress up with the other hand. With his mouth, he devoured you. Lapping at your core like a man starved, even more so when wetness began to form.

This wasn’t something Coriolanus had done, but he knew you better than anyone. He was sure he could figure out your body. He’d dreamt about it long enough, making you fall apart for him in such an intimate way.

He soon found that to be the truth when in only a matter of minutes your body was tensing. He continued to drag his tongue across you, giving every bit of you his full attention. He liked the way your thighs quivered when his tongue brushed your clit, it gave him an excuse to hold you tighter.

Your whole body flinched suddenly, but he shoved your hips back, pinning you to the wall as he brought you to the edge

His own pants felt constricted as his senses were overwhelmed by you. Your taste, your scent, the sound of your choked down moans, your hands smacking the wall (unsure what else to do), the feel of you against his tongue and how your leg strained over his shoulder, and the sight of you when he looked up through his lashes… god, you were magnificent.

You whimpered from above, teeth digging into your bottom lip, as he finally made you come undone.

Coriolanus held you still, relishing in the way you finally jolted into his touch instead of away.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were the stuff of dreams in the most literal sense.

Your head tilted back against the wall, your ragged breaths causing your chest to rise and fall in an unsteady pattern. Your leg, still draped over his shoulder, was tense, even as he pressed a gentle kiss to your inner thigh.

A wide grin spread across Coriolanus’s face when you shivered. He couldn’t help himself. He nearly chuckled at your state, but then your hand moved to rake through his wavy locks. The sound caught in his throat as you tugged him away, finally looking down at him. The all consuming pleasure had faded into something more composed.

Coriolanus could tell how much of an effort you were making, and as your eyes struggled to focus, he briefly wondered how strong your drinks were.

“I’d like to go home now,” you said slowly, conscious not to let your voice falter.

You allowed him to help get both to your feet on the ground, but you did not touch him for the rest of the night, even when he tried to reach for you.

He was still hard behind the confines of his pants, imagining the slickness between your thighs that was the result of his actions. As you walked back through the ballroom, it took everything he had to not push you back against a nearby wall. People be damned, he wanted you more than anything.

He would press his chest to your back—no, he’d make you face him. Coriolanus wanted access to your lips so he could kiss you as much as he liked, even swallow down your moans when he lifted your dress around your stomach and—

A shiver of excitement coursed through Coriolanus’s body. What would your darling Sejanus think if he knew what just transpired? If he knew it was only for your dignity that Coriolanus wasn’t fucking you against the wall hard enough that you forgot where you even were?

You silently bid the party a farewell, forgetting to say goodbye to Sejanus (Coriolanus made no attempts to remind you). You continued to ignore him, hardly speaking and not even looking his way. Not as you walked from the school to the apartment. Stumbling up the stairs, you only spoke to claim you were fine as you gripped the handrail for dear life. Then you went back to silence as you traveled from the front door to your bedroom and locked the door.

Coriolanus only found out about the door because he’d tried to follow you in, but the door knob did not budge. You never used your lock.

Even if you weren’t ready to finish what had been started, it was still incredibly cold. Were you really upset enough to deprive him of your presence until the morning?

“What’s going on with you?” Coriolanus asked through the layer of wood. The taste of you still lingered on his tongue as it traced his bottom lip, waiting for your response. “Can we talk? Can you open the door?”

He gripped the knob tighter and tried again. It wasn’t going to suddenly unlock, but something urged him to prove it.

There was a faint thud as his forehead fell to the door, much as it had to yours not too long ago.

“Can I at least say goodnight to you?”

Again, no response.

He swallowed. Cleared his throat.

Again.

“Please?”

If they could afford to fix it, Coriolanus would break the door down.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood outside your door before begrudgingly going to his own room.

He laid in his bed and fished the underwear from his pocket. Your scent still lingered on them, and it was enough to fuel his imagination as he unbuttoned his pants and pretended his own hand on his cock was yours.

Even after finishing, Coriolanus had a nearly sleepless night. His mind was plagued with memories of his lips on yours, your dress bunched around your hips, him on his knees with his mouth on your cunt. He’d never forget the sounds you made.

When the sun rose, he returned to your door, only to find it still locked. He didn’t even knock, just simply grabbed the door knob and twisted.

You always woke up early for school, putting yourself together in a way that could reflect wealth that you did not truly have. Coriolanus was sure you did it for his sake, knowing how much appearances mattered to him.

You were good to him like that.

If only you’d let him in now.

The laugh that escaped him lacked humor. It was a bitter, frustrated sound.

His hands rested on his hips, his own fingertips pressing in. It was that or gripping the door knob and if he touched that thing again and found it locked…

“This isn’t funny anymore, Y/N,” Coriolanus called through the door. “If there’s a problem we can talk about it. Just stop acting like a child.”

“What, did she steal your blazer again?” Tigris wondered, appearing out of nowhere. Despite her voice being soft with sleep, Coriolanus was still startled.

“No, just a minor disagreement,” Coriolanus replied, quick on his feet as always. “Nothing to worry about, I’m sure we’ll talk it out.”

He emphasized the word ‘talk’, hoping you’d hear him through the door. If you did, he wouldn’t know. Tigris, on the other hand, just nodded and headed for the kitchen.

The smile he gave his cousin on her way was forced. She couldn’t tell that his teeth were clenched together, which was for the best.

A thought dawned on him. You could just be testing him.

Coriolanus knocked on the door and waited, like he’d just solved your puzzle.

What was that thing about insanity—trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result?

“You’re going to have to come out of your room at some point,” he reminded, trying his best to make it not sound like a warning.

Coriolanus wasn’t used to being frustrated with you. You were usually his relief from people who made him feel this way. He didn’t understand why everything changed all of the sudden.

You’d enjoyed yourself while he got what he wanted. Why was that so bad?

You had always been an enigma, but Coriolanus felt as if he’d come to understand you—that he was the only one who did or would.

Sejanus would never know you the way he did, that was for certain.

From in your room, Coriolanus heard movement. Your dresser opening, maybe. It didn’t matter. You were awake. And ignoring him.

“Y/N? I know you’re awake.” The neediness in his voice was embarrassing. No one else could make him resort to this. “I can hear you. Are you coming out?”

“What is going on?” Grandma’am questioned, standing at the end of the hall. “You aren’t dressed for school. We can’t have you being late.”

Coriolanus looked down at himself. He’d gone to sleep in the outfit he’d worn the night before, and still wore it now.

Arguments died in his throat. You and Coriolanus walked to the academy together. You’d have to come out and talk to him. Grandma’am would drive you crazy if you missed a day of classes.

In record time, Coriolanus was in his uniform.

He might’ve been quick, but apparently you were quicker. As he opened the door to his room, he heard the front door shut.

“Whatever you did, Coryo, apologize,” Tigris advised when he chased the sound of your exit.

Coriolanus just looked at her. Why on Earth would he do that? He’d done nothing wrong.

Down the stairs and out of the building, Coriolanus finally—finally—got a glimpse of you. A flash of red as you turned the corner, setting off down the sidewalk.

It took nothing for him to catch up to you.

“How are you feeling?” he wondered first, recalling your drunken state. “I was worried about you.”

“Were you?” you challenged, eyes forward.

It was good to hear your voice, but Coriolanus furrowed his brows at your tone. You had no reason to be this rude.

“Of course I was, Y/N. How can you even ask me that?” His hand dropped to your shoulder, only for you to shrug it away. “What is wrong with you?”

You looked at him, finally, but the emotion in your gaze… there was something wrong with it. Something distant, lacking the affection those beautiful eyes of yours usually held for him.

Coriolanus swallowed.

“Are you really going to be like this? Is it because of Sejanus? You don’t have to be with him anymore.”

You turned your head forward.

“Leave me alone, I’d like to walk in silence.”

Since when had you become so spiteful? Coriolanus didn’t like it. It evoked something similar in him. He leaned down, getting near your ear.

“You liked it, I know you did,” he hissed out. Coriolanus hadn’t meant for it to come out so harsh, but you were being completely unfair to him right now. “You can’t lie to me.”

Despite the way you shuddered, your jaw remained clenched. You not talking to him was more infuriating than if you had screamed in his face. At least that way he could tell what you were thinking. But no, you wouldn’t allow him to be privy to your inner thoughts, no matter how much effort he put into prying them from you.

It wasn’t a conversation for the public, even Coriolanus knew that, so when you got to the academy a few steps ahead of him, he bit his tongue.

“What did you do to piss off your sister?” Clemensia asked him in a whisper in class. “You’re usually attached at the hip walking in.”

The way she called you his sister felt wrong in a way that it hadn’t before. Even if he never thought it fit when people would say that or assume it, something had shifted.

And was it that obvious? Coriolanus hadn’t even brought it up. He’d simply been a few steps behind you into the classroom. You’d gone to your desk without a word. Was that strange to everyone else too? It was validating, in a way, to know your behavior was, in fact, targeted and odd, but it also made him wonder what the two of you appeared to be from an outside perspective.

“It’s nothing,” Coriolanus lied to her under his breath, keeping his eyes on his paper.

“So you didn’t get into a fight?”

Coriolanus’s brows curved down. He glanced her way.

“A fight?”

“Arachne and Festus saw you pull her away from Sejanus and disappear somewhere last night.”

It was mostly the truth, but she said it so nonchalantly. She couldn’t know what happened after you disappeared. Coriolanus hadn’t seen a single person lay their eyes on either of you in that private moment.

“I get it,” she continued. “I wouldn’t want to be associated with someone from the districts either. She’s not thinking about how she’ll be perceived, or you. Don’t let her drag you down.”

Coriolanus just listened, the night flashing through his mind. No one could’ve known, there was no way.

He quickly corrected the hypocrisy in his own mind. He hadn’t done anything wrong, it was just private. No one else deserved to see you in that state—no one but him.

“We’re fine,” Coriolanus told her. “And her and Sejanus aren’t together anymore.”

Clemensia smirked to herself. “Good.”

Word spread quickly, and with the way you avoided Sejanus—a byproduct of you avoiding Coriolanus—everyone believed it. The final nail was the way you failed to appear at lunch. It got under Sejanus’s skin, causing him to question the state of your relationship without you to answer any said questions.

Truthfully, Coriolanus hadn’t seen anything as amusing in a long while, but your absence weighed on him, too.

The walk home alone was dreadful without you. Even in the morning when you had ignored him, it was better than you being completely gone.

When he got home, your door was shut. How quickly had you left your classes, how fast had you walked, all to avoid him?

This was growing old very, very quickly.

Grandma’am was on the roof with her roses, and Tigris seemed to be missing from the apartment. It was only because of that that Coriolanus devised a way to get into your room.

Why he didn’t think of picking the lock before, Coriolanus supposed it was because he thought you’d give in quicker and let him get the better of you. You were usually weak to him, allowing him to get his way without a problem. You had before.

“Last chance,” Coriolanus called through the locked door. He almost thought that would be enough. He wanted you to open it of your own will. “You can’t avoid me forever, just let me in.”

No such luck.

You looked surprised when he forced the door open, as if you really believed he would just take the loss. You were supposed to know him better than that.

You’d been sitting on your bed in pajamas, evidently already done with the day. Your legs were criss-crossed with a textbook in your lap. You looked up at him, a questioning expression taking over your features.

“What are you doing, Coryo?” you asked, voice low, eyes not quite meeting his directly.

“You weren’t opening the door.” Coriolanus squared his shoulders. “I wanted to talk to you.”

You shook your head, something between a sigh and a laugh escaping you in a puff of air. Coriolanus did not like the accusatory undertone.

“Did you think maybe I left it locked on purpose?” Were you mocking him? “That I wasn’t lying this morning and I really don’t want to speak to you?”

“That���s ridiculous,” Coriolanus insisted, closing your door behind him. He moved towards your bed, watching your body language the entire time as he finally sat on the edge beside you. “You thought I would just let you ignore me?”

You swallowed, closing the book in your lap. “I guess not,” you admitted, setting the textbook aside. “I am well aware of your ego.”

A frown crested Coriolanus’s lip. “Is that what this is—you want to hurt me?”

You tilted your head, catching his gaze, much like he’d made you do the night before. It was the first time in nearly a day since you’d looked him dead in the eye.

“What do you want, Coryo?”

“I want you”

“You want me to what? Not be with Sejanus? Is that it? Is that why you did what you did?”

“You say that like it was something awful. I was there too.” Coriolanus felt a familiar heat rush through him at the memory. “I know what I saw.”

“You humiliated me.”

“In front of who? No one saw us.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is? Because you know Sejanus is weak?” Coriolanus searched your eyes and leaned in closer. He was feeling antagonistic. “I mean, how could he touch you, knowing I got there first?”

Coriolanus caught your hand as you raised it, presumably to strike him.

“Is that what we’ve resorted to?”

He squeezed your wrist, enough to cause pain. You winced and tried to move away, but Coriolanus wasn’t going to let you get away.

“I could ask you the same,” you sneered, sounding like an entirely different person.

“What has happened to you?” Coriolanus questioned. He took a breath. “Do you want me to be sorry for what I’ve said? Fine, then, I apologize. But I’m not sorry for what I’ve done. You should not be with him.”

“I’m supposed to believe someone driven by jealousy?” you inquired back, blinking back tears. Why were you being so dramatic? “How can I trust anything you have to say to me now?”

Coriolanus was taken aback by the question. Did you really not trust him anymore? Even with the tight hold on your wrist, he could feel you slipping from his grasp. If you were to leave him, he’d never forgive the universe for its twisted irony. Coriolanus put so much time and care into you because he wanted you. His family didn’t, at least not at first, but even so, you’d have nothing if it wasn’t for him. Is that what you wanted to leave him with now? Nothing? Nothing but the memory of when you were his?

No, that wouldn’t do.

It just wouldn’t.

“You can trust me, I promise,” Coriolanus insisted, pleading, even. “I love you, I always have—you can’t have expected me to sit back and do nothing while you…”

You looked more betrayed, if that was even possible. He was trying to make it better but explaining was only making it worse. Coriolanus had never met a person where the more he talked, the more he tried to persuade them, they believed him less. In that way again you were an anomaly.

If Coriolanus couldn’t tell you, he could show you. He had to make you understand—he could salvage this and get what he wanted in the end. If he was anything, it was persistent. It had worked before, excluding the aftermath.

Coriolanus moved, keeping his hold on your wrist as he shoved you down, pulling himself up and then on top of you in a fluid motion.

You squirmed, questioning, “What are you doing?”

Coriolanus caught your other hand and brought it to join your other wrist he already had a hold of in one hand. He straddled your waist, keeping your body pinned.

“You won’t listen to me,” he pointed out. Something inside him urged him to lean down. “But I can still prove it to you, that it’s me you should be with. No one else.”

Then he crashed his lips onto yours. It was more forceful than it had been the previous night, ensuring you couldn’t turn away again. His tongue was already in your mouth before you thought to turn your head.

It didn’t matter if you didn’t kiss him back, Coriolanus was in bliss. Your lips were soft, molding perfectly to his. You moaned into his mouth, or maybe it was a protest, but it made his body heat up all the same. Coriolanus couldn’t get enough of you. Last night left him wanting more, not less.

More than that, he was determined. When he finally detached his lips from yours, the both of you panting, Coriolanus set forth on a track that wouldn’t allow him to turn around.

Even if he tried to take it back, everything would already be changed.

So he didn’t even bother hesitating. Coriolanus was determined, even, at yanking your clothes from your body.

Your words were jumbled by the time they reached his ears. His own heart racing with excitement drowned out any requests you had for him.

The word “stop” left his vocabulary until you yelled it too loud for his liking.

Your whole body shook when he clapped his hand over your mouth. Your top was completely gone, your chest heaving as you breathed through your nose. While Coriolanus could’ve easily been distracted by your state, he trained his eyes on your wide ones.

The word helpless crossed his mind, and he had to take a moment to control himself.

“Grandma’am is upstairs,” Coriolanus finally warned, voice low. “Don’t disturb her.”

You blinked. Coriolanus was almost surprised by the way you settled down, but it told him you understood the implications of alerting her.

Your position beneath Coriolanus had to be better than starving and cold on the street, didn’t it?

You didn’t have Sejanus anymore. If you thought you did, Coriolanus would make sure to remedy that with his friend before you got to him first.

As Coriolanus lifted his hand from your mouth, he silently implored he was the only one who could save you from being branded a liar.

Just as Coriolanus had always admired, you were a quick learner. As heartbroken as you looked, you didn’t raise your voice again.

“This isn’t how you make me want to be with you,” you pleaded. Coriolanus wasn’t sure whether to laugh or take it as a challenge.

“We’ll see,” he mused in response.

He got you bare, and then himself.

You averted your eyes from his body, which offended him more than he thought it would.

“You can look,” Coriolanus said, voice heavy.

Something about his voice must’ve gotten to you, because your eyes flicked between his legs. You swallowed and looked back away.

A prideful smirk overtook Coriolanus’s face.

He moved then, still keeping hold on your wrists in one hand, dragging them down over your belly, and placed himself between your legs.

With one hand still holding your wrists, Coriolanus shoved his other hand in between your legs, two prodding fingers finding your entrance before making their way in. Eagerness won out over his patience. He could take things slow later.

You tensed around him, fighting the intrusion, but he wasn’t going to let you win. Even if you weren’t squirming against him, you were resistant. Coriolanus slowly worked at breaking your resolve, massaging his fingers inside your walls, thumb on your clit.

He could see shame wash over your features when a wetness began to form, coating his fingers and allowing him to work you open for him.

“See, you can lie to me, but your body can’t,” Coriolanus asserted, voice thick with arousal.

That triggered something in you, and perhaps Coriolanus reacted too harshly.

It felt like it all happened in a flash. One moment you were on your back, beneath him, clenching around his fingers, and the next he had to manhandle you onto your chest and knees to fend off your attack and keep you still. He regained his hold on your hands quickly, pinning them behind your back while you panted from the short lived exertion.

Coriolanus leaned down to press his lips to your ear.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to fight me,” he growled.

Your shoulders shifted as you found further discomfort in your new position, but you didn’t speak. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of your voice—just like before.

Coriolanus wanted to watch your face as you submitted to him and his love for you, but if this was the only way he could have you for now, so be it.

He lined himself up with your entrance, enjoying the twitch of your body as he pressed the tip in.

Despite all the effort to get you where you were now, Coriolanus slid his cock into you with ease. Your body welcomed him, even if you didn’t.

He couldn’t help himself, his hips bucked forward, shoving himself into you deep. You whimpered into the pillow and Coriolanus’s mind went blank for a moment, basking in the feel of your warm cunt around him. It was better than he imagined.

His cock twitched inside of you, eager to fill you, but he had to make this last. Just like before, Coriolanus wanted to make you feel good. So good you had no choice but to want him.

Coriolanus drew his hips back after a few moments of just resting inside you. When only the tip remained, he thrust forward. Your body rocked against the mattress.

He did it again, this time slower. Forcing you to feel the drag of his thick cock inside of you. Coriolanus liked the way your body quivered as you succumbed to the pleasure he could give you.

You felt like heaven, all wet and warm and squeezing around him in a way that made him want to never leave you.

To show he trusted you, Coriolanus let your hands go. They immediately fell to grip the pillow beneath your head. You didn’t go to fight him and that counted for something. He had an ulterior motive, though, because now he could hold your hips with both hands.

He leaned down, pressing kisses to your back. He ran his hands along your skin, drinking the entirety of you in as he moved inside of you.

His movements were a bit slow, calculated, making you feel every inch of him stretching you out. Coriolanus imagined you rocking your hips back, your moans filling the room, eager for more. That would have to be saved for another time when you were more willing.

You body tensed and shivered, and Coriolanus knew you were getting close. You still had yet to speak.

It was petty, the sudden sharp thrust of his hips to shove his cock deep and hard into you.

A gasp—he drew a gasp from you.

He allowed his weight to fully fall on top of you, finally. Your skin was so warm on his chest, it was as if your body was trying to burn him off of you. Maybe it was all in his head. But it didn’t really matter. It was far too late for that.

“It’s okay to want it,” Coriolanus muttered into your ear.

He felt your body reacting and you were moments away from what he’d been pushing you towards. His thrusts grew shallow, not letting too much of himself leave you as you finally came undone.

You buried your face into the pillow, muffling your cry as you finally came around his cock. It was then that he got what he wanted, even if it was only brief. Your body spasmed and pushed back, trying to feel every inch of him stretching you out, clenching down to hold him there.

Coriolanus followed you soon after, cock throbbing in your walls, spilling inside of you and painting them white. He held your hips so tight he was sure he’d leave bruises as he held himself still, letting the both of you experience the sensation in full.

After however long—Coriolanus didn’t count the minutes—he withdrew from your body. He was a gentleman, so he helped you to lay down before your body collapsed on its own.

He laid down beside you, pulling your blanket over the top of both of your bodies with the intention to bring you comfort.

You were wordless, rolling onto your side, facing away from him.

Coriolanus turned with you, wrapping his arms around your midsection and pulling you back to him. He pressed a kiss to the back of your head before resting his lips near your ear.

“Do you really think not talking to me is the best idea?” he whispered, less frustrated than before.

You shook in his arms, but your voice was steady as you asked, “What do you expect me to say to you?”

Coriolanus didn’t have to think all that long.

“That you love me.”

You were silent for a moment, Coriolanus thought he was going to have to repeat himself.

“I did love you,” you uttered, voice threatening to break. “But it wasn’t enough for you.”

Coriolanus could’ve been angry, but he knew he’d win you back. He had all the time in the world, knowing you wouldn’t dare continue your relationship with Sejanus. How could you? You were already spoken for.

You were Coriolanus’s, you always had been. He realized it before you, but he knew you’d come to learn the truth. You’d accept it eventually, and everything would fall into place exactly as he wanted.

[valkyriexo]

Friday Night Lights | Lee Know

ᑉ³pairing; Jock Lee Know x Nerd Reader

ᑉ³genre; Fluff, Smut

ᑉ³warnings; SMUT MDNI ,dirty talk, swearing, oral m reciving,

ᑉ³Authors Note; 1k event Commisson giveaway winner Louie <3 (sorry it took so long :((( )

You’re used to staying in your lane.

In college, that means your nights are spent at the library, working on assignments, attending study groups, or listening to the whispers of people about crushes, weekend plans, and sometimes, the star athletes on campus. You don't usually pay much attention to that last one—until the whispers turn to Lee Minho. Lee Minho is… different. Confident, popular, and utterly untouchable. He’s the star of the football team, the guy people can’t stop talking about, but also somehow your friend.

Well, sort of.

You met through Jisung, your mutual friend, who has a way of pulling people together. You’ve spoken a few times—mostly polite hellos and small talk whenever Jisung ropes you into attending his hangouts—but every time you do, you find yourself tripping over your words.

You tell yourself it’s nothing—he’s just another guy, after all. But the way your heart races every time his attention flickers to you says otherwise.

“You’re coming to Minho’s game this Friday, right?” Jisung’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

You blink, caught off guard, and turn to face him. “What?”

Jisung leans back in his chair, balancing it on two legs like he always does, completely unfazed. “The game. This Friday. You’re coming, right?” He grins, as if your attendance is already a done deal.

“I don’t know...” you trail off, trying to avoid his expectant gaze. Crowds aren’t really your thing, and the idea of sitting through a packed football game is enough to make your stomach churn.

“Oh, come on,” he groans, dropping the chair back onto all four legs with a loud thud. “You’ve been holed up in this library all week. You need a break.”

You frown, shuffling your notebook to pretend like you’re busy. “I don’t really do... games.”

“You don’t have to ‘do games.’ You just have to show up. Cheer a little, look cute, and maybe—just maybe—have fun.” His tone is light, but the sly look he shoots you suggests he’s up to something.

Your suspicion grows. “Why do you care if I go?”

“Because it’s the homecoming game,” he says. “You know, one of the biggest games of the year? Minho’s going to kill me if you don’t show up.”

When you don’t respond, he rolls his eyes. “You know, Minho? Our mutual friend? The guy you can barely form a sentence around?”

“I do not—”

“Yes, you do,” he interrupts with a smile, leaning forward on his elbows. “And I think he’d appreciate the support. He’s been working really hard this season, and besides...”

You tilt your head, confused. “Why would he care if I’m there? I’ve never even been to one of his games.”

“That’s exactly why he’d care!” Jisung groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “Do you know how many times he’s asked me why you never go? He thinks you hate football or something.”

“I don’t hate football,” you say defensively, though the thought of navigating the chaotic energy of a packed stadium doesn’t exactly fill you with joy. “I’ve just... never really had a reason to go.”

Jisung smirks, leaning forward on his elbows. “Well, now you do.The entire campus is going to be there—students, alumni, even the marching band’s pulling out all the stops. It’s a whole thing. You have to come.”

You hesitate, nibbling on your bottom lip. It’s not like you don’t want to support Minho—he’s always been kind to you in his own aloof, confident way. But showing up at a game, where everyone’s eyes will be on him—and by extension, anyone he cares about—feels overwhelming.

“I don’t know, Ji. Crowds aren’t really my thing.”

“Crowds aren’t the thing,” he says, cutting you off with a sly grin. “Minho is."

Your stomach flips at the thought. You’ve never seen him play before, never witnessed the version of Minho everyone talks about when they say his name with awe. The star athlete, the leader on the field.

“I’ll think about it,” you mumble, quickly shuffling your papers as an excuse to avoid Jisung’s knowing look.

“Uh-huh,” he says, sitting back with an exaggerated shrug. “Just don’t be surprised when I text you the details anyway. You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

So, somehow, you find yourself in the bleachers that Friday night, bundled in your warmest jacket, pretending you’re not scanning the field for one particular player. It doesn’t take long for you to find him. Even among his teammates, Minho stands out, laughing with them, helmet under one arm as he warms up. It’s a little surreal, watching him from here; he’s all focus and intensity, so different from the relaxed, teasing guy you usually see at Jisung’s hangouts. You can’t help feeling your heart race a little faster.

As the game starts, you find yourself getting drawn in, caught up in the energy around you. The team is good, and Minho, even better. It’s not hard to see why he’s the star. Every play he’s part of feels....different. He’s practically flying across the field, tackling opponents, calling shots, making everything look effortless. You can’t keep your eyes off him.

And then it happens.

It’s fast—too fast, really—and at first, you’re not sure what’s wrong.

One second, Minho is sprinting down the field, his face set with determination as he cuts through defenders like they’re nothing. The next, there’s a collision, hard and brutal. The sound of it echoes in the stadium, a collective gasp rising from the crowd.

Your breath catches as you see him go down, gripping his ankle. For a moment, everything else disappears—the noise of the crowd, the whistle from the referee, even Jisung’s voice shouting something beside you. All you can see is Minho on the ground, pain written across his face.

Your heart pounds as players gather around him, the medics rushing onto the field. He tries to get up, but it’s clear he can’t put any weight on his leg. The sight twists something deep in your chest, and before you realize what you’re doing, you’re halfway to your feet.

“Hey,” Jisung says, grabbing your arm and pulling you back down. “He’ll be okay. It’s probably just a sprain or something.”

But Jisung’s words do little to calm the panic bubbling inside you. From this distance, you can’t hear what the medics are saying, but the way Minho shakes his head and slams his fist into the ground tells you it’s bad.

The game pauses as they help him off the field, his arm slung around a teammate’s shoulder, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. Your stomach churns, and for the rest of the game, no matter how loud the crowd gets or how exciting the plays are, you can’t focus. Your eyes keep drifting to the sideline, where Minho sits with his head down, his ankle wrapped in ice.

And all you can think about is how you wish you could do something to help him.

The rest of the game feels like a blur. The energy in the stadium surges back eventually, but not for you. Your eyes keep flicking toward the sideline, where Minho sits with his injured leg propped up, his arms crossed and a stormy expression on his face. Even from a distance, you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s forcing himself to stay composed despite the obvious frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Jisung nudges you with his elbow, breaking your trance. “Relax. Minho’s tough. He’ll be fine.”

You nod stiffly, not trusting your voice enough to reply. Jisung’s probably right—Minho is strong, the kind of guy who shrugs off pain like it’s nothing. But something about the way he looked when they carried him off the field makes your chest feel heavy.

When the game finally ends, with your school securing a narrow victory, the crowd erupts in cheers. Students flood the field to celebrate, but you can’t seem to share their enthusiasm. Instead, you find yourself lingering near the bleachers, watching as the team huddles together, Minho still sitting apart, his helmet resting forgotten at his feet.

“Come on,” Jisung says, tugging on your sleeve. “Let’s go check on him.”

Your heart skips. “What? No. He’s probably surrounded by people—he doesn’t need me there.”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re his friend too. Besides, if you don’t come, I’ll just tell him you were too shy to say hi, and then he’ll feel bad.”

You glare at him, but the teasing glint in his eyes leaves you with no room to argue. Before you know it, you’re weaving through the lingering crowd, your pulse quickening with every step closer to the team’s bench.

When you reach him, Minho is leaning back against the bench, his jaw clenched and his eyes distant. His ankle is now heavily wrapped, a crutch resting beside him.

“Minho!” Jisung calls, grinning as if nothing’s out of the ordinary. “You okay, man? That hit looked brutal.”

Minho glances up, his expression softening slightly when he sees Jisung—and then landing on you. His gaze lingers for a moment, and you suddenly forget how to breathe.

“I’ve been better,” he mutters, managing a wry smile. “But I’ll live.”

“You scared the crap out of them,” Jisung says, jerking his thumb in your direction. “They were about to jump the fence and carry you off the field themself.”

“Jisung!” you hiss, smacking his arm, but Minho chuckles, the sound low and warm despite the situation.

“You were worried about me?” he asks, tilting his head as he looks at you.

Your cheeks burn, and you scramble for a response that doesn’t make you sound ridiculous. “I mean... you went down pretty hard. Anyone would’ve been worried.”

His smile widens, a hint of his usual confidence returning. “Well, thanks for caring.”

The simplicity of his words, paired with the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, sends your heart into overdrive. You want to say more, to ask if he’s really okay, but the weight of his gaze and the teasing grin tugging at his lips leaves you tongue-tied.

“Anyway,” Jisung cuts in, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air, “you should let them take care of you. They're great at worrying—practically a professional.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands as Minho chuckles again.

“Noted,” he says, his tone lighter now, almost playful. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

And just like that, you realize you might be in deeper than you ever thought.

Over the next two weeks, Minho’s injury changes things. He’s benched for practices, forced to watch from the sidelines while his teammates run drills and scrimmage. The ever-present crutches are a constant reminder of his temporary setback, though he still somehow makes them look effortlessly cool.

The trouble starts when Jisung complains one afternoon, flopping dramatically into the seat next to you in the library.

“I can’t keep babysitting Minho,” he groans. “We don’t even have the same classes, and Coach keeps glaring at me every time I’m late because I’m helping him to practice. You should do it.”

You frown. “Me? Why me?”

Jisung grins slyly, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “You’re the only other person he talks to as much as me. Besides, you’re better at dealing with his diva moments.”

“Diva moments?” you ask, incredulous.

“Oh, you’ll see.”

Despite your protests, Jisung isn’t one to take no for an answer, and by the next morning, Minho’s waiting for you outside your lecture hall, leaning on his crutches with an easy grin.

“Hey,” he says casually, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

You blink at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Jisung said you’d help me get to practice,” he replies, his grin widening when he sees the look on your face. “Don’t worry. I’m not that high-maintenance.”

You sigh, already feeling like you’re in over your head. “Fine. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Helping Minho quickly becomes a routine. Every afternoon, you meet him after his last class to walk—well, technically hobble—to the field. At first, it’s awkward, mostly because Minho seems determined to act like his injury isn’t a big deal, even when he’s obviously struggling. But over time, the walks become... easier.

Minho, for all his bravado, is surprisingly easy to talk to. He asks you questions about your classes, your favorite things, even what made you decide to go to the homecoming game. His teasing is still there, but it’s lighter, less guarded, and you find yourself opening up to him in ways you didn’t expect.

One afternoon, as you’re walking back from practice, Minho turns to you suddenly.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

He gestures to his crutches, his expression unusually serious. “Helping me. I know it’s a hassle.”

You stop walking, frowning at him. “It’s not a hassle, Minho. I don’t mind.”

He looks at you for a long moment, something unspoken passing between you. Then, he smiles—soft and genuine, the kind that makes your heart skip.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

You’re about to keep walking when he doesn’t move, shifting his weight awkwardly on his crutches. His expression tightens like he’s debating something with himself, and before you can ask, he speaks again.

“You know... I'm not kidding,” he says, his voice lower now.

“Kidding about what?” you ask, genuinely confused.

“About this being a hassle,” he replies, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “But not for the reasons you think.”

You tilt your head, frowning. “Minho, that doesn’t even make sense.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound more nervous than amused. “What I mean is... it’s a hassle because I’m trying really hard not to screw this up.”

Your heart skips. “Screw what up?”

“This,” he says, his dark eyes locking on yours. “Us. Whatever this is. Because, honestly? I like you.”

The words hit you like a wave, and you’re left standing there, staring at him as your brain scrambles to catch up.

“You… like me?” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper.

Minho nods, shifting his grip on his crutches as if they’re the only thing grounding him. “Yeah, I do. I’ve been trying not to make it obvious, but these past couple of weeks? Spending time with you, talking to you... it’s just made it harder to ignore.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. “Minho, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupts, his tone gentle but firm. “I just needed you to know. Even if you don’t feel the same, I... I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t care about you like this.”

The raw honesty in his voice takes you by surprise, and before you can second-guess yourself, the words tumble out.

“I do feel the same,” you admit, your cheeks burning as you look at him. “I just didn’t think you would.”

Minho blinks, clearly startled, before his lips curve into a slow, disbelieving smile. “You mean that?”

You nod, unable to stop the small smile creeping onto your face. “Yeah, I do.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression soft and full of something you can’t quite name. Then, he exhales a laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he says, his grin widening. “I was starting to think Jisung would kill me if I didn’t say something.”

You laugh, the tension between you melting away. “He probably would.”

Minho straightens up, his confidence sliding back into place. “So, does this mean I can keep making you carry my stuff to practice? You know, since you like me and all.”

You roll your eyes, already regretting this. “Don’t push your luck, Minho.”

The days blend together, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you realize you’ve started looking forward to your time with him. The walks, the conversations, the way he glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking—it’s all so much more than you ever thought it could be.

But today feels different.

When you show up to meet Minho after practice, the field is empty. His crutches aren’t propped up by the bench where he usually waits, and there’s no sign of his teammates. You glance around, your chest tightening with a mix of confusion and unease.

“Minho?” you call out, but the only answer is the faint hum of fluorescent lights from the building nearby.

Frowning, you decide to check inside. The locker room is usually bustling after practice, but as you step in, it’s eerily quiet. The air smells faintly of sweat and detergent, and the echo of your footsteps makes the space feel even emptier.

You turn a corner, and that’s when you see him.

Minho is sitting on one of the benches, his crutches leaning against the wall beside him. His head is bowed, his hair falling into his face as he stares at the ground. There’s a tension in his posture, his shoulders hunched like he’s carrying the weight of the world.

“Minho?” you say softly, stepping closer.

He doesn’t look up right away, but you see the subtle way his shoulders relax at the sound of your voice. “Hey,” he mutters, his tone lacking its usual spark.

You sit down beside him, your knee brushing against his. “What’s going on? I thought we were meeting outside.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I just... needed a minute.”

You wait, giving him the space to speak. When he finally looks at you, his eyes are shadowed with something you don’t see often—uncertainty.

“I hate this,” he admits quietly, gesturing to the crutches beside him. “Sitting out, watching everyone else practice, knowing I can’t do anything. It’s... frustrating.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice. “Minho, it’s okay to feel that way,” you say gently. “But this is temporary. You’ll be back out there before you know it.”

He scoffs, his lips pressing into a thin line. “What if I’m not? What if I come back and I’m not as good? Or worse, what if I get hurt again?”

“Then you deal with it,” you say firmly, surprising even yourself. “Because you’re Minho. You don’t let anything stop you. And besides...” You hesitate, your voice softening. “You’re more than just football. At least, to me you are.”

He blinks, his eyes searching yours. “You really mean that?”

You nod, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from his face. “Of course I do. You’re amazing, Minho, even when you’re not on the field.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, he reaches for your hand, his fingers warm as they curl around yours.

Minho’s thumb traces over your knuckles in gentle circles, and he looks down at your intertwined hands with a soft, almost shy smile.

There’s something unspoken hanging in the air between you, a feeling that’s been growing with every passing day, but now, in the quiet of the locker room, it’s impossible to ignore.

You feel it too—the shift, the tension, the undeniable pull drawing you closer. His gaze lifts from your hands to your face, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the stillness of the locker room, the soft sound of his breath mingling with yours.

“You know,” Minho starts, his voice low, almost hesitant, “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

Your heart beats faster, your pulse quickening. “Do what?” you whisper, even though you already know.

Minho doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he leans in slowly, his face inching closer to yours, his lips barely brushing against the air between you. His hand moves to your cheek, his fingers warm and gentle against your skin.

And then, without another word, his lips are on yours.

It’s tentative at first, soft and uncertain, as if he’s waiting for you to pull away, but you don’t. You tilt your head, your free hand reaching up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. When you kiss him back, it’s like everything clicks into place—like this was always meant to happen.

The kiss deepens, slow and explorative, as if you’re both savoring the moment. His lips are soft, warm, and he smells like freshly cut grass and the faintest trace of cologne. His hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your other hand finding its way to his waist, holding him against you.

For a long moment, it’s just the two of you, lost in the feeling of something new and exciting, something neither of you ever expected. And when you finally pull away, breathless and slightly dazed, Minho rests his forehead against yours, his smile lazy but full of warmth.

“I think,” he murmurs, his voice low, “I could get used to this.”

You smile, feeling a quiet thrill at the thought. “Then I guess we’ll have to make it happen.”

Minho's grin softens, his hand still warm against your cheek, and he leans in once more.

This time, the kiss is different—deeper, more certain. There’s no hesitation, no wondering if this is okay. His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space between you. His lips move against yours, gentle yet deliberate, as if he’s making up for all the times he’d held back.

You respond, feeling braver now, your fingers finding their way to his collar, tugging him just a bit closer. The locker room is completely forgotten; it’s just you and Minho, the world melting away around you.

You wanted him, of this you were sure.

"Darling, why don't you let me help you forget about it all?" You purred, as your hands made their way down his chest stopping at his waist. You pulled him towards you and kissed him harder, your need for him overpowering any doubt that was left in your mind.

You knelt between his legs, the anticipation building between you. You place both of your hands on his legs and slowly began to push them apart, allowing yourself to slide in between.

"Y/n…" he said, placing his hand on top of yours, almost as if to stop you. His fingers lingered, trembling slightly. "A-Are you sure? " he said "I don't want to pressure you"

"Shh... let me," you replied softly, as you began to unbuckle his belt, your eyes never leaving his. "I want you, Minho. I want this."

He groaned as you palmed him through his boxers. You could feel him getting harder under your hands.

"Y-you don't have to, baby" He said through his moans. You slowly pulled down his boxers, his  erection springing free. "We can take it slo-OH," You leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his pink tip.

You continued by placing a trail of kisses down his cock, keeping eye contact with him. You licked your way back up to the tip and took him in your mouth, your tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, tasting his pre-cum as it seeped from the top.

He couldn't help but throw his head back and lean further onto the bench. His breath caught in his throat as his ears began to turn a shade of red. You bobbed your head up and down, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock.

The only thing heard in the locker room is the lewd sounds coming from your mouth along with his whimpers.

Minho moaned loudly, his hips bucking involuntarily. You took him deeper into your mouth and sucking harder than before. You reached up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your fingers as you continued to pleasure him.

"Fuck, Y/N," He moaned. "That feels so good. You're so good."

You responded with a low growl, taking him even deeper, his tip kissing the back of your throat.

Your lips were locked around his shaft. You choked slightly around his cock, tears beginning to fall from your eyes as his tip hit the back of your throat continuously.

He whined for more, almost sobbing when you completely removed yourself from around him, removing your lips from him with a pop.

You lick your way up his cock, once again paying extra attention to his swollen tip. His gaze locked onto yours, he began to thrust his hips forward, his thick, hard cock pressing against your lips. You parted them slightly, allowing him to slide inside once again.

He began to fuck your mouth roughly, his cock sliding in and out of your throat with each thrust. You could feel the saliva dripping down your chin, but you didn't care - the only thing that mattered was pleasing him.

"I'm go-gonna.... fuck.. gonna cum." he said, his thrusts beginning to slow down.

You feel the familiar slip of your glasses down the bridge of your nose, threatening to fall off completely.

Before you can react, Minho’s hand gently brushes against your nose, and with a soft chuckle, he reaches up, pushing your glasses back into place. His fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary, his touch warm against your skin. You felt his cock twitch in your mouth, your glasses sliding sending him overboard, and his cum paints your throat. You swallowed, your eyes never leaving his as you sucked him dry. 

He pulled his cock out, and you pressed your thumb down onto his dripping red tip.

The lower half of your face glistens, your features wet with your his cum.

"Fuck you're pretty" he said hold your chin with his hand. “I didn’t know you knew how to do that," his voice a mix of amusement and admiration. “You’ve always seemed like the super nerdy type—guess I was wrong.”

You laugh, feeling a bit shy under his gaze. “Well, I do have my moments of... unexpected skills.”

Minho’s smile softens, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you reply, a grin tugging at your lips. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out more.”

He chuckles, leaning in again, and you both fall back into the moment, the world outside fading away once more.

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[solarmorrigan]

Silly idea I talked about ages ago with @azure7539arts, inspired by a similar event my workplace hosts every year. Would minors be allowed to participate in such an event? Probably not! But then again, it was the 80s, who can say for sure. Anyway, it's my birthday and I'll post nonsense if I want to <3

-

“I need you to buy me.”

Eddie looks up from his notebook, effectively jarred from his campaign-plotting fugue state by Steve’s declaration.

Steve is standing at the other end of the dining table, staring at him expectantly.

“Y’know, this is the part where someone usually follows up their completely bonkers demand with an explanation,” Eddie says slowly.

“At the charity auction,” Steve clarifies. “I need you to bid on me, and I need you to win.”

Ah, yes, that weird Rent-an-Athlete charity auction the school runs every year; anyone on any Hawkins High sports team could volunteer to be “auctioned” off in order to raise money for said sports team, to spend a day at the beck and call of the highest bidder (within reason, supposedly). It’s generally restricted to students, but occasionally, prominent alumni are invited to participate – and Steve certainly fits the bill, especially after the story the government spun about his heroism in the face of “serial killer” Henry Creel last spring.

“And what, deny all those pretty girls a chance to get at you?” Eddie asks drily (he’d never turned up at previous auctions himself, but you could hardly avoid gossip in a school their size; it had usually been some cheerleader bidding with daddy’s money who won a date– that is, a day with Steve Harrington).

“It wasn’t always a girl who won,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest. “One time it was Mrs. Dalton – you know, the lady on the school board who lives on my block? I just spent the day doing yard work for her. She gave me lemonade. That was pretty cool.”

“Right,” Eddie drawls. “And I’m sure she definitely didn’t sit outside and stare at your ass while you were working.”

“She did not– she– I mean she was on the porch, but, like– she wouldn’t have– she’s, like, seventy, Eddie,” Steve splutters, and it’s all Eddie can do not to laugh.

“Older gals have needs, too, Steve,” Eddie says, giving in to a smirk. “So she was checking you out from the porch, huh?”

Steve goes red. “Shut up, that isn’t the point. I’m trying to ask for your help.”

“Right, right, your absolutely reasonable request for me to buy you at market. Why, again?” Eddie asks.

“The kids are planning to bid on me,” Steve says gravely.

Eddie blinks at him. “Okay?” he says, when no further explanation is forthcoming. “You basically do most of what they ask, anyway, so…?”

“Okay, believe it or not, I actually say no to at least half of what they ask me to do. I would literally never get anything done if I gave in to all their demands.” Steve jabs a finger at Eddie, who holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Anyway, this is all Henderson’s fault.”

“It usually is,” Eddie agrees, nodding sagely.

“He decided that he was going to bid on me and then use that day to finally make me play your nerd game with you–” Eddie snorts, and Steve shoots him a look, “but Wheeler doesn’t want me to play, so he said he was going to bid against Dustin and make me do anything but sit in on a session with you guys.”

“So let Wheeler win.” Eddie shrugs.

“No! I can’t let fuckin’ Mike win, he’ll probably make me do something even more ridiculous!” Steve exclaims. "He’ll make me play chauffeur for him and El on a date, or something, and he’ll probably include the stupid hat.”

“Wait, I thought El broke up with him,” Eddie breaks in.

“No, they’re on again,” Steve says absently, shaking his head. “Which is why Max has been in a bad mood lately.”

Eddie bites back the reflexive need to ask “How can you tell?”, going instead with, “I thought she and Sinclair were on again.”

“No, they are. That’s why no one’s been actively murdered,” Steve says.

“How do you keep track of all of this?” Eddie asks, squinting at Steve.

“It’s a natural skill. And we’re getting off track,” Steve says quickly. “Normally, I wouldn’t be that worried, because Dustin regularly blows his savings on weird science gadgets or whatever, but then Lucas and Will started taking sides.”

“This is getting very involved,” Eddie says.

“So you see why I’m stressed!” Steve insists, smacking a hand to his forehead (personally, Eddie thinks Steve is stressed for many other reasons, but he figures pointing that out just now won’t be appreciated). “Lucas is on Dustin’s side, and that kid does odd jobs like nobody’s goddamn business; he actually has shit saved up. And usually I’d have faith in him being more, like, sensible than to spend it all on this, but the little shit is really fucking competitive.”

“Wonder who he got that from?” Eddie mutters.

“Okay, we do remember that I’m not actually biologically related to any of these idiots, right?” Steve snaps.

“Well now we’re just getting into nature versus nurture–”

“Eddie.”

“Right, sorry, continue.”

“Well, Will took Mike’s side–”

“Shocking.”

“Right? But anyway, I don’t know if the kid has much saved up, but between him and Wheeler, they might be able to win.” Steve sighs, looking far more world-weary than Eddie feels the situation really warrants.

“You know you don’t actually have to do what they ask you to, right?” Eddie points out.

Steve rolls his eyes. “If an auction winner complains to the school that the person they bid on didn’t fulfill their end of the bargain, they can get their money back. It’s a whole…” he waves his hand vaguely, “thing. Happened once when I was a sophomore; Deacon McNab. Lost a good chunk of change for the football team, and they vandalized the shit out of his car.”

“Ah, right. Forgot we went to school with literal psychopaths,” Eddie hums.

“So, I just need you to bid on me and win, so I’m not stuck wasting a Saturday on whatever the hell the kids are going to try to make me do. Or not do. Or– whatever,” Steve says.

“Okay, not that I don’t understand your predicament here, but I think you’re forgetting something kind of important, Steve,” Eddie drawls.

Steve’s brows draw together in question. “What?”

“I’m fucking poor.”

“Oh.” Steve shakes his head. “I didn’t mean– no, I will give you the money, you don’t have to spend a dime, man, I just need you to get me out of this.”

“Why not have Buckley do it?” Eddie asks.

“That was Plan A, but she actually has a date that night, and it’s kind of a big deal, so I don’t want her to cancel,” Steve says. “But I assumed you wouldn’t be busy.”

“Wow, rude,” Eddie scoffs, and Steve sighs.

“Fine, sorry, I just really hoped you wouldn’t be busy.” Steve gives him the most lethal set of puppy dog eyes Eddie has ever seen, as if there had been any chance from the beginning that he’d be able to say no. “Please?”

Just for show, Eddie lets out a long sigh, falling against his chair and letting his head flop over the backrest like he’s deflating.

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” Steve groans, sounding so genuinely relieved that Eddie almost feels bad about how quickly his thoughts dip into the realms of the inappropriate. “Oh my god, I owe you.”

Eddie glances back up at Steve, tongue darting out to wet his lips almost unconsciously. “You know I’m not as easy to appease as a couple of fifteen-year-olds, right?”

Steve’s eyes drop for just a second—maybe down to Eddie’s lips, maybe not; who can say?—before he looks back up, cocking an eyebrow at Eddie. “I think I can handle it.”

Slowly, Eddie grins. “We’ll see.”

[sttm99]

Older!pro hero!Bakugo falling for one of UA's newer students seven years after he graduated.

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+!!

Note: I am without a doubt going to expand on this later, so consider this a teaser and let me know if anyone would like to be tagged when I post that one!

He only went back to participate in some event the school was hosting, standing near the edge of the stage next to Red Riot. He face was rigid, and his expression twisted in annoyance at having to be there as he handed out certificates to the approaching students.

He notices you after a couple of minutes standing there, his eyes glued to your side profile as you converse with your classmates. He thinks you're absolutely beautiful, and he tries not to let himself get distracted, but he can't help himself.

Everyone's giddy at seeing the heroes in their school's hall, even though they're alumni and their pictures are plastered on walls all around the school. You're excited too, and he likes that.

He likes that your eyes keep glancing over to where he's standing, and he can see how you grin, how you look towards the girl at your left, mouthing, 'Dynamight's looking here, right?'

He can't help the pride swelling his chest, his eyes still stuck on you even when you leave, all the students filing out of the classroom.

He's quick to put out an offer to you to join his agency when you guys graduate two months later. It's uncharacteristic of him, and his assistant is more than shocked when asked to send the letter, but he doesn't really care.

He doesn't care when Mina and Todoroki ask him why he's at your class's graduation even though he's always invited and has never shown up before.

He also doesn't care how quick Heroes Weekly is to talk about the first UA student to be offered a sidekick role at Dynamight's agency straight from graduation.

And he honestly couldn't care less about waking up to the scandalous picture all over social media about 6 months after.

DYNAMIGHT CAUGHT GETTING COSY WITH HIS NEW SIDEKICK!

And it's a picture of you sitting on his lap, hands rubbing over his chest, exposed by the undone buttons of his shirt, taken in the VIP section of a high-end club he and other heroes frequented.

He smirks to himself, throwing his phone on his bedside table as he climbs back into the sheets, running his palm over your naked back and leaning in to kiss the back of your neck softly.

Extra note: I guess it's my fault for writing it this way, but please, reader is 18! 😭she's unironically inspired by me, and I was 18 before I graduated, so she's intended to be 18 in her last year of school.

[wttcsms]

anatomy of desire, satoru gojo

part i. terminal velocity

with mysterious circumstances centering around a first year med student's "suicide", you do something stupidly noble: reporting to a detective that you saw satoru gojo slipping out the backdoor of the very same building yu haibara supposedly jumped from. in doing so, you start a twisted, sick game of cat-and-mouse with the most powerful and insane student on campus. the only thing keeping you alive? the fact that satoru gojo is apathetic towards everything and everyone, besides you. ( fem!reader )

chapter contains description of dead body word count 3.7k [ next ] [ masterlist ]

There’s an ongoing joke that only those who attend Tokyo Metropolitan College are privy to. It’s posed as a question, serves to make people laugh, but like all things spoken by these students, the intention of the words said are different from what they’re truly asking. It goes like this:

How much was your application fee? 

The joke is the idea that any of them would ever actually have to pay something as plebeian as an application fee to attend a college their parents or family have attended for generations. The “joke” has layers to it, though: how much did your parents have to cough up to get you in here? Did they only “donate” a new building? Did they agree to sponsor the next charity event hosted by the university? Or did Mother and Father only have to invite the head of admissions to a dinner party? For children who come from money, social currency holds a significant amount of value in their eyes. 

With an acceptance rate lower than most of the Ivies, alumni that consist of the world’s most powerful political leaders, actual royalty, and the most influential celebrities in the public eye, and the prestige that comes from graduating from such a decorated institution, attending Tokyo Metropolitan College should have been impossible for someone like you.

Full ride scholarships to TMC are nearly unheard of and are only extended to the best high school athletes or the brightest minds of the current generation. You’re smart, of course, but not at the caliber Tokyo Metropolitan demands. 

With your worn-out bookbag, drugstore makeup routine, and outlet clearance shoes, it’s obvious that you’re a scholarship student. Your classmates might have been willing to ignore your crime of being poor, but not even being able to at least wear last season’s runway designs? Some sins are just unforgivable. 

It’s fine by you, of course. You’re nothing but honest, and so if you were to ever be asked the cost of your application fee, you’re not sure how they would react when you confess that it cost a life. 

You fall in love with journalism when you’re ten years old. At the clearance grocery stores, the type of shops whose air conditioning never seems to work and there’s a perpetual leak at one area of the ceiling, there’s a rack of magazines (your mother tells you these are called “tabloids”) by the checkout line. Of course, there’s usually only one cashier working out of the entire store, and you spend most of your time waiting in line than you do actually picking out your groceries. 

While your mother shuffled her coupons clipped from last week’s newspaper, you would grab the latest issue of National Enquirer, your eyes eagerly soaking up every last word of the publication. Outlandish headlines, anonymous sources, poorly Photoshopped paparazzi photos — this tabloid is your first taste of journalism. It might not be Pulitzer Prize worthy articles, but it is the spark that ignites your insatiable, burning hunger for a story. A true story. 

As you grow older, you swap National Enquirer for National Geographic and Time, going so far as to even grabbing your father’s discarded newspapers from the recycling bin whenever you catch a glimpse of an enticing headline. Everyday, there are hundreds, thousands, millions of stories, all happening at once. Depending on who’s telling the story, the immortalized version of events could very well differ from the truth. And at your young age, when you declare to your entire middle school class that you’re going to be the world’s best investigative journalist who uncovers and reports only the truth, you are met with polite, bored applause. 

Looking back, you realize just how silly you were. You used to walk around with a Hello Kitty notepad, one of those jumbo sized book fair pens (the one where it comes with like, five different colors you can pick from), and an annoying habit of never minding your own business. It pays off eventually, though. Your inquisitive (all the adults call it nosy) nature and hunger to get to the bottom of things leads you to find out that your seventh grade homeroom teacher was stealing money from the classroom’s activity funds. You got your picture in the local paper (it still hangs on the kitchen fridge, even after all these years), and the school principal even encourages you to start a school newspaper club. 

You fear you’ve peaked in the seventh grade, though. It’s been nearly eight years since that incident, and you haven’t quite uncovered anything else that’s newsworthy. You suppose the hot topic on campus right now could be worth getting to the bottom of: did Mei Mei get a boob job or not? If you figure out the truth behind that, maybe then people will actually start to care about what you have to say. 

Good stories don’t just fall into your lap; most journalists don’t spend their time sitting at their desk, typing up their finds. Instead, they’re actually on the ground, actively hunting. 

You tell yourself — justifying your eavesdropping, really — that this is just you hunting for a good story. Besides, if the conversation was meant to be so private, why wouldn’t he at least have it in his dorm room? 

“Listen, Ken — after tonight, I’ll be set for life.” The hushed whisper immediately catches your attention. You pause, glancing behind you to see if anyone’s coming. They’re not. The Liberal Arts Education building houses the least amount of students here at Tokyo Metropolitan, and everyone’s either already in class or getting lunch off campus. No one even bothers with this outdoor walkway; it’s too cold to justify walking in the shade the overhead supplies, and the vending machines located here never have any of the good snacks — just stale packs of peanuts and the brand of soymilk no one likes. 

You don’t make a habit of listening in on people’s phone calls. You have some concept of boundaries. It’s just… The Liberal Arts class is such a small group of fish in an already small pond. You’ve run into everyone who has a reason to be in this building. You were forced to take Public Speaking with at least half of them, and this voice you don’t recognize. 

That, and everyone who can afford to spend years at college, stress-free and getting a degree in the arts, don’t need to make hushed phone calls behind unwanted vending machines to discuss how they’re going to be “set for life.” Ninety-nine percent of the student body here already are.

“Just trust me,” the voice mumbles. “I’ve got it all under control.” 

You’re really trying your hardest to fight the urge to listen, but you can feel it — that sense in your gut that tells you that this is a story worth pursuing. Who cares about whether or not Mei Mei got a boob job? Whatever this student is up to is certainly of more interest than breast implants. 

When he stops talking, you recognize that he must’ve hung up the phone. Trying to remain casual, you continue to walk towards the vending machines, and when he comes into view, walking in the opposite direction of you, you briefly glance at him. 

Brushed brown hair, slightly taller than you — kind of cute, actually.

“Excuse me,” you call out to him. He stops to turn at you, a polite smile stretching across his face. 

“Yes?” 

“Do you happen to know where room L203 is? I just switched to that Japanese Literature class, but I’m still trying to navigate this building.” 

“Hmm.” He takes a second to appear in deep thought. “I’ve never had to take the course, but L203 should be on the second floor, left side.” 

“Thanks!” You chirp out, letting him go on his way. A majority of the buildings here are built similarly; the first number always dictates which floor the room is on, and odd numbers go to the left, with even numbers on the right side of the hall. You know damn well where L203 is; you just needed a second to commit this student’s face to memory. That, and you wanted a good look at the embroidery on his black jacket. 

It says Tokyo Metropolitan College Zenin School of Medicine. 

One thing about medical students is that they (and the college) can never seem to let anyone forget, for even a split second, that they are a medical student. 

You immediately head to your dorm, cracking open your 2006 MacBook that begs dearly for you to put it out of its misery every time you power it on, and wait impatiently as the website for the Zenin School of Medicine page to officially load. Every year, the administrative team at the med school makes a big deal out of welcoming the newest incoming class, and you’re hoping that he, whoever he is, has been enrolled within the last three years. You’re not sure your laptop can handle clicking through more than three links in the timespan of five minutes without excessively overheating and then exploding on your dorm room’s desk. 

You luck out when you realize he’s from this year’s incoming class. The picture is taken outside, in the familiar quad in front of the med school’s buildings. There’s only about a dozen students entering, and you spot his bright, smiling face. To the untrained eye, he fits in well with the rest of his peers. Nothing about him appears to be different, but three years learning to navigate this world has taught you well: he doesn’t have the same social standing as these students. In a sea of On Clouds (for the active students, you presume) and Dior sneakers, he’s wearing a pair of Skechers. 

You squint at the small font of the caption, listing the students from left to right. 

Yu Haibara. 

When you search his name on the school’s site, another article appears, confirming your suspicions. 

Yu Haibara, Latest Recipient of the Zenin Merit Medical Scholarship. Every other year, the Zenin Family provides a scholarship to a promising individual who will “change the medical field for the better.” With his easygoing smile and genuine attempt at being helpful, you can believe it. Yu Haibara seems like a very nice guy.

Which is why, in the glow of the setting sun, you feel a bit guilty for tailing him. No matter what he does, it’s not even like it’s going to be something publishable for the school paper. Putting a first year medical student’s side hustle on blast isn’t anything newsworthy; you know this. The rational part of your mind tells you to go back to your dorm and actually start working on your history paper due next week. You know, something actually productive and beneficial for your future. 

But the gut feeling you’ve never been good at ignoring… It tells you that the hunt is on. There’s something here for you to uncover, and even if you have to keep it a secret to yourself, the satisfaction of satiating your curiosity will be enough. 

Following Yu isn’t really a hard thing to do. This side of campus is unsurprisingly busier than the side you normally stay on. There are more bodies for you to blend in with, more noises to disguise your footsteps, and Haibara doesn’t even seem to be paying much attention to his surroundings. He walks with his arms swaying by his sides, and he makes casual, fleeting conversation with a few faces you recognize from the class photo on the school’s website. You’re hoping that wherever he’s heading to isn’t his dorm; if it’s secrecy he wants, it would make sense for him to do everything in the privacy of his own residence, but—

“Hey, girl, what’re you doing over here?” Distracted by the greeting, you take your eyes off of Haibara’s back to look at who’s speaking to you. Sakura; you share a good portion of classes with her. You remember her mentioning a boyfriend who’s in medical school. Something about her making an offhand joke about being a future surgeon’s stay-at-home wife. It’s not like working was something she was actively going to do in the future, anyway. Her mother is a hotel heiress, and her dad owns a hefty share of Vogue. 

“Sakura, hey!” You smile at her, trying to peek over her shoulder. Haibara makes a left turn, you note. “I wanted to meet with a professor here, actually. To see if he wanted to give an interview on his research. Running out of article ideas for the school paper, honestly.” 

She crinkles her nose. She works for the school paper with you, too, but she’s never paid much attention to anything beyond her submissions to the Beauty & Fashion column. “Have fun with that.” 

“Definitely will.” You chirp, glad that Sakura’s not the type to care about what some old doctor has to say about cancer. The sidewalk is crowded with students grouping together, discussing where they want to eat out tonight, but as you make a left turn, trying to follow Haibara’s steps, you notice that the lampposts lining the walkway are fewer and farther between. It’s still not dark enough to really need their warm, yellow glow, but you’re certain you’ll need them on the walk back. 

There are less students frequenting this area, too. The buildings here are older, less maintained. You doubt any of the major classes are held here, and the only building you can really justify Haibara disappearing into would be the one at the end of this walkway. A three story brick building, whose large sign can be read even at your distance.

OLD KASHIMO LABORATORY.

Old certainly seems fitting. You wonder if the building is even still in use. 

Leaves crunch under your sneakers (that are unfortunately not straight from Rick Owens’ latest drop) as you continue to move forward, heading to the lab. It’s a big building, and it seems a shame that it isn’t as well-maintained as the front-facing buildings that make up the medical school. Your legs are practically burning by the time you make it to the steps leading to the front door. If you realized just how far of a walk it is from your dormitory to the complete other side of campus, you would have at least stretched first. 

Anything to get down to the truth, though. 

Selfishly, you hope whatever Haibara’s up, it’s something scandalous. If it’s boring, and your gut feeling is entirely wrong, you’re going to be so annoyed that you got your daily steps in for no reason. 

Pushing through the large oak double-doors of the building takes some effort, but when you do, you realize the lights here, unlike the other buildings you’ve been in, aren’t triggered automatically by movement. At least the windows all over the walls allow the fading light of the setting sun to filter through the massive entrance. 

Way down on the other end, you see it. A silhouette of someone else; you see them, but you’re shocked you don’t hear them. 

Haibara?

No. Even from this distance, this figure seems taller than the brunet boy you’ve been stalk— following — for the past hour. The figure pays you no attention, but when it opens the backdoor, for a split second, they’re — he’s — bathed in the glow from the nearby lampposts and sunset. 

White hair, sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and even at this angle, his sharp, blue eyes that are recognizable anywhere.

Satoru Gojo. 

The difference between college and high school is that in high school, it’s pretty common to have a few people designated as “popular.” College is different. Everyone is a grown adult now, whether they like it or not, and concepts as juvenile and irrelevant as “popularity” no longer matter.

At a school like Tokyo Metropolitan, though, social hierarchy is everything. A school this small, this exclusive, this prestigious, thrives because parents send their little heirs and heiresses here in order to network. These kids grew up trading Pokemon cards by utilizing tips from The Art of the Deal.

In a small group where only the wealthy and influential are allowed in, Satoru Gojo comes from the wealthiest and most influential family there is. His father has global politicians trying to cozy up to him, and his mother comes from a family who supposedly made their fortune off of blood diamonds (naturally, the Gojos deny this claim, squashing any speculation about how the wife’s family made their money by spamming the news with nothing but reports of their charitable acts). Instead of pursuing business, Gojo makes headlines by his father announcing how proud he is that his son is choosing the noble path of medicine. 

“He’s all about helping people,” the reporter quotes Mr. Gojo. 

That must be true; it’s why Gojo’s so known all over campus. It’s not enough that socially, he’s better than all of them, which makes being his friend all the more appealing. It’s the fact that he’s just a good guy. You remember how last year, the school paper did an article on how Gojo funded the entire extravagant retirement party for a beloved professor at the school. You heard a rumor that the one and only time he was late to class (by three minutes) was because he was helping a student get her kitten out of a tree. During his undergrad, he was captain of the basketball team and took them to the championships every year. He does all of this while remaining absolutely humble, kind, and top of his class. 

You wonder if there’s a story there. If maybe Satoru Gojo, who is too perfect to be real, isn’t real. Maybe his parents figured out where to get their hands on an ultra-realistic robot, something that poses as the perfect son. That would explain his eyes, you think.

You’ve always tried to see the appeal in Gojo. He’s handsome, yes. He’s nice, no doubt about it. You don’t think you could find anyone with a single bad thing to say about him. But during your freshman year at this school, you think about the moment where you had to fill in for the school’s photographer. You had to photograph Gojo accepting an award for being MVP on the basketball team (once again), and while Gojo was charming everyone, from the coach to the dean of the school to the girls in the crowd cheering him on, there was your gut feeling telling you that something was just off. 

“You’re not the usual photographer, are ya?” He peers down at you, hands in his pockets, a big grin on his face. He’s not teasing you, at least, not in a rude way. He just has a light-hearted inflection on all his words that makes everything he says seem… warmer? Like, he’s trying to put you at ease. 

You’re fiddling with the settings on the camera, unused to the tech. “Um, yeah. I’m a freshman, but I’m just subbing in for my senior who got sick.” 

“Really? That’s neat!” He says it, and it sounds so sincere, that you nod along. Yeah, maybe it is neat. 

(Gojo’s good at that. Putting people at ease, getting them to see things from his point of view.)

“Try your best to make me look good, and I’ll do my best to make sure whatever shot you get is fine! Deal?” He’s still smiling at you, and all you can do is nod. Even at this point in time, a fresh-faced baby to this school, you’re aware of Gojo’s power. When you’re looking at him through the lens of the camera, you think it’d be impossible to get a bad photo of Gojo. 

The uneasy feeling you get around him gets chalked up to nothing more than nerves. You’re a writer, not a photographer. Gojo is a legend amongst men, and being in such close proximity to him would make anyone nervous. 

But when you look back at the photo once the article gets published, you know why you felt so weird around him. 

When Satoru Gojo smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You’re not sure why Gojo is — or, more accurately, was — in this building, but it’s none of your business. You’re here for Haibara, and whatever weird ass, secretive but lucrative side hustle he’s got going on. Probably dropshipping. Or, maybe he’s selling old test banks?  

Chances are, it’s nothing special or noteworthy. The reason why you haven’t gotten a good story lately might simply be because your senses, your so-called reliable gut instinct, has just gone dull. Maybe you’ve never even had a good instinct to begin with. Or, maybe losing it is just the karma you deserve for everything you’ve done to get to where you are now. It would serve you right, wouldn’t it? The universe must have a taste for poetic justice sometimes.

You’re hungry. Your legs are sore. It’s getting late. Whatever Haibara has going on, you don’t care anymore. You’ve got a paper due, and a protein bar somewhere in the bottom of your book bag that will serve as dinner for tonight because you don’t have enough funds to get anything halfway decent at the dining hall, and what a waste of time today was. 

You’re opening the doors of the building, letting the cool evening breeze hit you in the face as you exit. You still need something to write for the school paper; the lie you told to Sakura might actually be the only valid idea you have, and— 

“Holy fucking shit! Is he dead?!”

You look to your right. There’s a trio of students gathered around a lump on the ground. Someone’s screaming, then they’re all screaming. More students are flooding out of nearby buildings, and despite the protest of your limbs, you turn and head right where the screams are coming from. 

Bringing your hand to your mouth, you barely manage to hold back your own scream. 

Lying on the concrete walkway is Yu Haibara, with his neck and body at two different odd angles, his head cracked open and spilling blood that leaks onto the manicured grass of the campus.

[b3ach-bunn7]

GOOD GRACES

You meet Gojo at a party and tell him he needs to prove his worth before you let him take you out.

Or, the four times Gojo tries to date you and the one time you try to date him.

The dress you’re wearing is impossibly tight against your figure, and this night is impossibly boring. You’re a good friend. A great friend, even. To put yourself in a room with all these stuffy, high society people. You think you deserve some kind of award for it. 

When Utahime asked you to join her, there was no contest. Of course you’d say yes to your best friend, no matter how heinous her request was. She’d been unable to find any plus one and she knew half the people at this event would turn their noses up at the fact she’d shown up alone. That was enough to deter you but the desperate look on her face had you accepting.

That’s why you were here, sitting on a table on your own while she mingled with others. You think it might be some alumni event from the rich high school she went to. Jujutsu Tech? You remember she showed you the tuition her parents used to pay once and you nearly passed out. You’re sure that's an amount of money you’d probably never see in your life. God, you hate the rich.

At least some of her peers were hot. You had your eyes on the blonde wearing blue and cream. Definitely boyfriend material. You tug your dress up your body. Utahime was definitely smaller than you, and the expensive dress she’d lent you was much more revealing on your body than it was hers. You wonder what all the high class teachers thought of your cleavage popping out of your dress. You wonder what blue suit thought about your cleavage sticking out of your dress.

“You look like you’re having fun.” A voice teases.

“I’m glad somebody’s fooled.” You reply, looking up at the man standing in front of you.

He’s tall. That’s the first thing you notice about him. You’re sitting down but you’re sure even if you stood he’d still be towering over you, long limbs that cross over a broad chest. You can see the outline of muscle through the black button up he’s wearing, and the thickness of his thighs that stretch his black slacks. And his hair is white. Dusting over his eyes that are impossibly blue, crinkled with amusement as he looks down at you.

You hold a hand out. “Hi. I’m Y/N.”

His brows furrow slightly at your hand. But he still grabs it and his palm is warm as he shakes your hand.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I don’t think I recognise you. You were in the class of 2018?” He tilts his head slightly as he asks the question.

“Oh, God no. I’m here as a plus one.” You shake your head.

“You don’t sound too happy about that.” He grins, taking the seat beside you. You turn a bit so that you're slightly facing him, rolling your eyes.

“Of course I’m not happy about it. This place is way too prim and proper for me.” You sigh.

Gojo laughs. “What, high society not doing it for you?”

“Hell no. It’s like every conversation I’ve had is just a competition of who can brag about their wealth more. I’ve taken to just lying about it all.”

“Lying?”

“Yeah. You have two yachts, then I have three. You have one million, I have two. I can go all day.” Gojo laughs again and it makes you grin.

“Well, Y/N. You’re a good addition to these things. I hate them too. Everyone’s always all over me, you know. I was valedictorian, the teachers love parading me around to the current students.” 

The very unsuccessful attempt at subtle bragging is not lost on you. Something about him, the attractiveness and cockiness rang familiar.

“Hm. You’re Gojo, right?”

Gojo narrows his eyes. “How did you know?”

“Oh, Utahime told me about you. Full of himself and tall, amongst other things. I think you fit the bill.” You pat his shoulder affectionately and he pouts.

“I can’t believe she’s been chatting shit about me. I’m a great guy.”

“It’s never the great guys who need to say they’re great guys, my friend.”

He pouts again and you giggle. You lean back, taking another sip of your champagne. You don’t notice the pair of blue eyes intently watching you do it.

“God, there’s a box of chocolate and a movie marathon waiting for me at home. I just need to power through this.”

“Oh yeah? What are you watching?” 

“Romcoms. Tooth rotting romcoms.” 

“Oh I love romcoms. You know, a lot of women say I’m just like-“

“I’m going to stop you right here.” You hold up a hand in his face and Gojo huffs, reaching up to grab it and move it.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I’m sure I can guess and none of it makes you look good.”

He’s still pouting and also still holding you. Long, slender fingers that basically engulf your own hand, they’re that much bigger than yours. You wonder what else-

Okay. Maybe no more champagne for you. You tug your hand out his grasp, trying to play off the blush that dusts your cheeks.

“If you wanted to hold my hand so badly you could just say, Gojo.” 

“I want to hold your hand.”

You fluster. “Shush. What’s your favourite romcom?”

“You just told me to ask. And.” He pauses, thinking. “27 dresses.”

You grin, now turning to face him completely. “I love that movie!”

“Me too!” 

“Wow. I thought you were just lying to get into my pants. But you’ve got good taste.”

“Yeah, I definitely have good taste.” And he looks at you in that intense way again that makes you laugh nervously.

“So what do you do, Gojo?” You clear your throat, changing your mind and downing the rest of your champagne. You could do with the confidence.

“I’m a lawyer.”

“Oh, cool. Like in suits.” 

Gojo snorts a laugh. “Yes, like in suits. Though I think I’m much more attractive than that Harvey guy.”

It’s your turn to laugh. He pouts again. “What, you don’t agree?”

“I don’t know. I’ve not actually watched the show.”

“Take my word for it. I am much more attractive than him. I’m taller, too.”

“What, that’s important to attractiveness?”

“Well, you know what they say.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks reddening again. You do know what they say and some part of you knows Gojo is probably not only blessed in the wealth department. 

Jesus. You really need to stop drinking so much at these things. You glance at the empty glasses near you and you pretend they don’t exist.

“Gross.”

Gojo grins again, flashing those pearly white teeth.  

“So, are you-“

“Gojo, fuck off.” 

Utahime’s voice is whispered as she speaks but Gojo’s face twists like he’s been yelled at. He stands and tries to pull her into a hug but she shoves him away.

“Utahime! It’s been so long, you grew up so beautiful!”

“Shove your compliments up your ass, Gojo. Come on, Y/N, we’re leaving.”

You frown slightly, glancing at Gojo who also looks slightly dejected. But Utahime warned you of what he’s like. And while all the flirting and everything was nice you’re sure it’s all just a ploy to fuck you and leave. You were not going to be another woman under his belt. That poor girl that he fucked once.

But he’s so hot. That button up is hugging his biceps so deliciously you have to physically pull your eyes away.

“It was nice speaking to you, Gojo.” His eyes widen as you go to leave.

“Wait, can I get your number?” He asks quickly.

“No, you can’t get her number. I’m not letting you fuck her over.” Utahime snaps, pulling you up on your feet.  

For the first time a twinge of irritation crosses Gojos features. “Come on, Utahime, don’t be like that. I’m not-“

“I don’t care, she’s not interested. It was not nice seeing you.” She snarls, dragging you away. 

You always commend Utahime on her strong character but you sort of wish she’d just shut up. You give one more wave to Gojo, and you sigh at the sight of him standing there, because you know it's the last time you’ll ever see him.

——————-

It turns out you will see Gojo again. Or more accurately, his wealth. 

You walk into your office the next day to see a very expensive looking bouquet on your desk. Blues and whites, all different types of flowers that bend and twist over each other. You slip off the card that’s attached to the bouquet and smile slightly at the very bad drawing of Gojo imprinted on the front. And a phone number scribbled underneath. A quick google search tells you these flowers cost a few hundred pounds. You’re so shocked by the sight of the price you don’t hear Utahime slide up beside you. You do hear her annoyed sigh.

“Let me guess. Gojo?”

You slip your phone in your pocket. “Might not be. I could have a secret boyfriend.”

“Yeah right. Like you can keep a secret for longer than a second.” She grabs the card out of your hand.

“Tell me you’re not going to message him.”

“I think I might. Thank him for the flowers, you know?”

Utahime brows furrow at your sly smile. “Whatever. I can’t stop you. You’re a grown woman. It’s your funeral.” 

She raises her hands in surrender and passes you the card again. You pocket it and decide you’ll message him after work. You spend the rest of your shift staring at the flowers, wondering when he’d had the time to even get them here. Had he been thinking about you as much as you had him? Because you had been, last night, as you were falling asleep. Thinking about his height, those slender fingers, that grin. You realised it had been a bit too long since you’d been with a man.

You decide to text him on your way home. You’re squeezed on the train between an old man and a woman you think is about to fall asleep on you.

You: thank you for the flowers mr gojo 

Gojo: 😁😁 Did you love them so much

You: I did

You: thought they take up a lot of room in my office

You: how much did you spend on them 😭

Gojo: Only the best for you baby

Gojo: And price is no issue 

Gojo: You deserve them

Gojo: Surprised you’re even messaging me

Gojo: Utahime finally lay off?

You quickly realise that Gojo is not against double texting. Or quadruple texting, it seems.

You: I told her to fuck off >:)

You: jk

You: I told her I’m a big girl who knows what she’s doing

You: especially with guys like you

Gojo: 🤔 Guys like me!?

Gojo: Incredibly handsome and rich and talented and funny and smart guys??

You: modest too..

You: no, I mean guys who fuck girls and then expect them to leave right after

Gojo: If EYE fucked you you wouldn’t be able to leave

Gojo: But I’m not like that 🙁🙁 what has Utahime been telling you about me

You: im gonna ignore that first message for ur own good 

You: and she told me enough 😒

Gojo: Whats enough 

You: what’s your body count first

Gojo: … 😅

Gojo: Okay not fair I used to be a slut when I was a teenager 

You: look i won’t say I’m not interested

You: ur hot and ur funny and u have good taste in movies

You: but I’m 24 😭 I’m not getting involved with someone who isn’t considering long term

Gojo: But I am considering long term

You: really?

Gojo: With you yeah

You: you prove that to me then

Gojo: 😫😫😫 HOW

You: YUCK don’t use that emoji 

Gojo: 😫😫 WHY

You: looks like ur in the throes of an orgasm

Gojo: LMAOOO

Gojo: I look much sexier when I orgasm thanks

You: okay luckily my stop is next so we can stop talking about your orgasms now

——-

The flowers become a regular thing. So does the texting. You let Gojo know after the third time of leaving them at your desk that this wasn’t proving he was serious about you. He tells you he knows, and that he just wants to spoil you. You pretend that it doesn't leave butterflies in your stomach. 

It’s been two weeks and you find yourself growing more and more attached to him. He messages you every morning and every night, during his breaks at work. He sends selfies too, with his three trainees, the smiley one with pink hair, the moody black haired one and the girl with a killer bob. Selfies of him in his suit for work, of him at the gym. You think those are definitely your favourite.

It’s weird that someone like Gojo is interested in someone like you. You’re sure there’s a thousand girls who are prettier and rich like him he’d get on with much better. You told him as much one late night, insecurities churning in your head, the early hours of the morning loosening your lips.

Gojo: Shut up don’t say that

Gojo:  I like you because ur funny and kind and ur so smart

Gojo: I could give two shits about how much money you have

Gojo: And you’re beautiful Y/N

Gojo: Why do you think I approached you in the first place?

Gojo: Once you finally say yes ur definitely wearing that dress again 😋

You: thank you Gojo <3

You: and that’s utahimes dress I had to give it back :/

Gojo: I’ll buy you ten like them

You’ve not actually seen Gojo since the party. But you couldn’t mistake the figure chatting to your receptionist as you leave for your lunch break as anyone else.

“Gojo?”

He looks up the second he hears your voice. And you think his eyes brighten a little when he sees you, and he bounds over. He stops in front of you, warm hands dropping on your shoulders.

“Hi, Y/N. I’m taking you to lunch.”

“I’m not going on a date with you, Gojo.” You cross your arms.

He smiles slightly, shaking his head. “Not as a date. As friends. We’re friends, right?” He smiles wider and you couldn’t say no to him if you tried.

You begrudgingly walk out, waving goodbye to Doris at the front desk. She winks at you and you shoo her away. Gojo ends up driving you to a cute little ramen shop not to far from your place. He orders something he insists you’ll love. He commends his choice again as the steaming bowls are placed in front of the two of you. Before you could call him too confident, you practically moan when you take the first bite.

“Oh my god, this is so good.” You speak through a mouthful of noodles and Gojo nods.

“I know! You’ve never been here before?”

“No! If I did I don’t think I’d ever leave.”

The two of you chat about work. Gojo tells you about his latest case, and you listen intently, only a little jealous of how fun it sounds.

“The most interesting thing that happens at my work is someone eating someone else’s lunch.” You huff. “Or maybe the huge bouquets of flowers that keep showing up at my desk.” 

Gojo leans forward slightly at the sight of your teasing smile. The table the two of you are on is small enough that when he does so his legs press against yours. You sit up a bit.

“Glad I can bring some entertainment to your office.”

“You’re giving me way too much. I had to give one of the bouquets to my mum,  I had no space at my place. And she’s asking questions.”

“Oh yeah? Who’d you tell her they were from?”

“My stalker.”

Gojo splutters. “Your stalker? That’s not fair!”

You laugh. “Why not!”

“Well, that's ruined my first impression. I need my in-laws to like me.”

You roll your eyes. “What happened to this just being lunch?”

Gojo hums. “I can’t be prepared for the future? Who knows what it holds?”

“Shut it you.” You dunk your chopsticks into your bowl

He just looks at you. You glance up at him. You think catching him in the act will make him stop, but he doesn’t. Just keeps staring at you.

“You alright there?”

“You look really pretty today.”

Your face heats and you swallow. “Thanks.”

“This blouse.” He leans forward, fingers curling into the collar of your button up. He’s about one inch away from touching your skin and you want him to, want him to reach and trace his fingers down your chest.

“Looks good on you.”

You nod. Eyes transfixed on his. “T-Thanks. Yeah. Thanks.” 

He grins once again, something glinting in his eyes.

————

A week later, the office postman drops something at your desk. An envelope with messy handwriting you can immediately recognise as Gojo’s. 

You rip the envelope open and two slips of paper fall out. You quickly deduce that their tickets. Your eyes skim over them quickly. Your mouth drops open when you read the loopy calligraphy on them and you grab your phone, immediately dialling Gojo’s number.

“Gojo! You didn’t!” 

“Wait, what did I do?” His voice comes confused down the other line.

“The tickets! To the outdoor movie night thing at the park! They were sold out, how did you get them?”

“Oh, that! Yeah, I know someone who works there that owes me a favour.” You can almost hear the smug tone in his voice but you don’t care.

Because the truth is you really wanted to go. Those outdoor movie parks. You always loved the picnic blankets all spread across a field, watching the sunset behind the movie screen. And not only was this one in the prettiest park in your town, but it was also showing one of your favourite movies ever. You usually went every year and you’d tried to buy tickets but you missed the cut off and they’d all been taken. You tried not to dwell too much in your disappointment, but this was too much.

“God, Gojo, thank you. How’d you even know I wanted to go?” 

“You mentioned it like. A week or two ago? When I called you during my lunch break, remember?”

You barely did, so you have no idea how he did. You say as much to him and he laughs.

“I don’t know either. It’s not important. I hope you enjoy them. 

He pauses suddenly.

“Also, this isn’t me like- asking you out subtly. They’re yours, you take who you want.” 

God. Was Utahime sure this is the same Gojo she had gone to school with? Bceuase the man she’d described was nothing like the one you were on the phone with.

“Shut up, I’m taking you, obviously.”

“You really don’t need to.”

“I know. I want to.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll pick you up after work, then?”

“I finish at five.”

“I’ll see you then.” 

——

 It’s been a month and Gojo doesn’t know what to do.

He hates it. Never in his life has he been this enamoured with anyone. It’s usually the other way around and usually he’s the one rejecting unwanted advances. As vain as it sounds, Gojo doesn’t think he’s ever met a woman who’s taken longer than a few days to fall for him. Maybe that’s why he likes you so much more. You respect yourself too much to fall for the stuff his usual girls do. 

Gojo will be honest. When he approached you at the party, his one goal in mind was to get you in bed. You just looked so good. Tight dress clinging around your curves, those tits almost spilling out. The expanse of your legs, paired with those heels. God, he’s only human. How could he not come over to you?

But then he’d actually spoken to you. And you were funny, and witty, and he kind of wanted to introduce you to his mother instead of just fuck you. And then Utahime had to ruin it all before he even had a chance. 

So Gojo’s been trying so hard to win you over. Done everything he can think of. And it’s worse now, because the more he tries to win you over, the more he gets to know you, and the more he wants you. Not just physically but in every way of the word. He wants to take you out on dates, and wants to introduce you to Geto and Nanami. Buy you necklaces and bracelets that cost half his paycheck, introduce you to his family.

And most of all, though, he wants to spread you open against his bedsheets. Kiss his way down your neck, your chest. Make you whine underneath him, come undone under his hands.

That’s all minor details. Patience is what Gojo needs and what he definitely doesn’t have any when it comes to you.

He walks into his office, cursing the wasted good weather as he signs in. He waves at the receptionist Ijichi, a cheery, starry-eyed man a few years younger than him. Before he can reach his office he sees Yuji and Nobara standing in front of the door, giggling and whispering amongst themselves. Megumi is standing off to the side. He looks uninterested but Gojo can tell by the way he’s slightly leaning towards them he’s listening too.

“Is there a reason you young trainees are giggling in front of my office?” Gojo asks.

He feels oddly like their teacher, even though new hires are sort of everyone’s responsibility. They always only come to him. Megumi is probably his favourite but he’ll never tell them that.

Yuji giggles again. “You didn’t tell us you had a girlfriend, Gojo.” 

Gojo’s brows furrow in confusion. He tilts his head to the side. “Apparently I didn’t tell myself either. What are you talking about?”

Nobara joins him, grinning. “Yeah, is she hot? I bet she is, you’re too vain to date someone ugly.” She shakes her head scathingly and Gojo splutters.

“Both of you shut up. Go do some work.” He shoos them away and they stalk off.

Gojo mumbles some choice words under his breath. He walks in and instead of seeing his messily kept desk he’s met with a bouquet of flowers on his desk. They’re definitely smaller than any of the ones he got you, but they’re pretty and pink. He plucks the card off the side and scoffs at the clumsily drawn person he’s guessing is supposed to be you. 

Gojo: Blushing so hard in the office rn 🙈

Soon to be gf: do you love them :D

Gojo: They’re very pink

Soon to be gf: does that hurt ur masculinity :(

Gojo: Of course not

Gojo: I love them😆

‘I love you’ is what Gojo wants to say but he holds his tongue. That’s always his issue. Gojo doesn’t love a lot but when he does, he loves hard. Loves so much that he thinks it might kill him, swallow him whole. 

He spends the first few hours of his shift idly working, eyes darting to the flowers that sit pretty on his desk. The trainees keep trying to find stupid excuses to walk in so they can try and see who they’re from, but Gojo just waves them off every time. He decides to go out for his lunch break, because the sickly sweet smell of the flowers is only reminding him of everything he doesn’t have.

And then he sees you chatting with Ijichi at the entrance and he remembers what this is all for. Your face lights up when you see him, grinning cheekily.

“Did you like your flowers, Mr Gojo?” 

“I did indeed.”

You rest your head on your hand, leaning against the desk. You’re wearing a summer dress, something blue and patterned that clings to your chest and torso and flits around your lower half. The skirt rides up your thighs as you lean forward to whisper something to Ijichi and he curses under his breath. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Gojo walks until he’s right in front of you. 

You look up, something mysterious in your face.“I’m taking you out for lunch.”

Gojo tilts his head. “You’re taking me out? What's the occasion?”

“Just felt like it. Come on.”

Gojo follows obediently as you grab his arm, linking yours in it to walk him out the building. You chatter about something or the other. He can’t really focus because the sun is shining off your skin and your smiling and he just wants to reach over and touch you.

“Okay, we’re here!”

You pull Gojo into a bakery. There’s cakes and cupcakes and pies all lined up in glass cases, and the other half of the shop is filled with sandwiches and savoury treats. Gojo is practically drooling as he reads the menu.

“What- Why are we here?” He asks, eyes still trailing over the long expanse of desserts to choose from.

“I know you like your sweets so I looked around for a good bakery and this one was right here, right next to your work! So I thought I’d take you here so I could-“

You pause. “Yeah.”

“So you could what?”

“No matter. Now go pick something.”

You end up taking the desserts to go after the ten minutes it takes for him to decide what he wants. You lead Gojo through some pathways he’s never been down before. He asks you if you plan on murdering him and you roll your eyes. Doesn’t deny it though. 

The end result is not his murder location, but a cute park, with ducks and a pond. They sit on a rusty bench dedicated to someone gone, and eat their desserts. You scrunch your nose at the amount of sweets he can eat in one sitting. The two of you talk about everything and anything, until you start looking nervous. 

“You okay? You’ve gotten all fidgety.”

“Mhm. I’m okay. Just nervous.”

Gojo is confused. Nervous about what? About him? 

“What’s there to be nervous about?”

There’s a soft breeze blowing wisps of your hair into your face. It's only twelve o clock so the sun shines brightly above the two of you. The park is pretty empty, though, the occasional dogwalker or old man idly walking by. You bite your lip, scratching at your cheek.

“I just don’t know how I’m going to ask you out.”

Oh. 

Your cheeks flush red almost the same second as the words leave your mouth.

“Shit. Fuck, I didn’t mean- Oh god, I’ve ruined it.” You groan, covering your face with your hands. 

Gojo breathes a laugh. “What- What's going on?”

You shake your head, still hiding in your hands. “God, I just. I like you, I realised. Really like you. And I think that- that I want to be with you. So I thought about asking you out and I was going to do all the things you did for me, like the flowers and everything. But I’ve fucked it.”

You look up at him and he looks at the crease between your eyebrows, the small pout on your lips. And it seems the only thing he can do is reach forward and kiss you. His hands reach up and curve under your jaw, fingers toying with the hairs on the back of your neck. You make a little whine as he licks into your mouth and it makes him press closer. He’s sure you can probably feel the arousal on him, and he knows that as he lets his hands slip to the small of your back and pull you onto his lap.

“So beautiful, you know that? Been dreaming about this.” He groans, kissing your jaw, down your neck.

He licks at your pulse and you moan slightly and he can feel the heat on your face as you cards a hand through his hair. You pull him back, and it’s his turn to moan at the pain in his scalp mixed with the delicious pressure of you sitting in his lap.

“Gojo, we- we’re in public.” You laugh.

He leans forward, dropping his forehead on yours.

“I don’t care. I’ve been waiting for you for a month, you temptress.” He sighs dramatically.

“Ask me out first at least, gosh.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you all enjoyedddd! i just randomly had the idea for this and i hope you all like it. also i really wanna write smut but i also cringe out so much?? so one day just expect at the end of one of these oneshots y/n getting dicked down!

as always asks are open, so plz feel free to leave me some suggestions!

[pomefioredove]

wait wait wait, your requests are open for noble bell for this weekend only? (if i got that right?!) sound perfect gimme 14 of em. anywhos if i did not getting the date wrong i have one! and if i i did please just let me shrivel up and die, thank you.

post college rollo and reader who live together as “roommates.” they’re 100% more than roommates and everyone can see it but them. rollo is probably some senator or something and insisted reader moves in with him cause he insists that since he’s making laws more just for magicless people there’s literally no where safer for them to be. just basically some domestic fluff with two people who act like they’re married and don’t even realize it. i personally think it would be way cuter to read from the perspective of a third party but if you’re willing to write this you can do it anyway anyhow and i’ll still be happy. thank you! <3

(if i got the weekend wrong i will absolutely die so please let me down gently, i am accoustic so i no no understand very basic things such as “this weekend” or “next saturday” if the day of the week is before a saturday)

oooh a bit of a future au... this is cute

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ and they were roommates

type of post: fic characters: rollo additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, kinda written from a 3rd perspective

Rollo Flamme's favoritism had never been a secret.

He might have been quiet, reserved, repressed beyond all reason, but there were some things even he couldn't hide behind his star-spotted handkerchief.

The very moment you arrived at Noble Bell College, you were his.

Rollo Flamme beheld you with a sort of reverence that could be called sacrilegious. That is to say, one had never seen idolatry until one had seen the way he looked at you, the way he touched you as if you were made out of porcelain, as if he could break you with an unclean hand and a breath.

His coldness and cordiality towards the others never changed.

For all your kindness, your smiles, your gentle touches upon his cheek that he would never have let anyone else give, you could not change him. And you did not try.

It was a tragedy in two parts.

Not that it mattered, of course. Not to you.

As far as you were concerned, the world began and end with each other. In a room full of people, mages and scholars and royalty, Rollo Flamme would still only look at you.

Nothing was confirmed. Your affection for one another was kept to lingering touches and burning glances across the long, morose hallways of Noble Bell.

If anyone had asked, and they certainly did, Rollo's handkerchief would come to sit over his mouth and he would remind them that gossip is unbecoming.

And to be decent, thank you.

Yet the rumors could never be smothered, and they lingered after Rollo's first graduation, and another, and to his seat on the Fleur City Council.

You lived with him.

You lived with him, in his family home.

And he would continue to deny anything romantic, giving the same excuse that he had since Noble Bell, that you simply had no one else to look after you, and it was his duty as a civil servant to see to your care.

Which was utter bullshit.

But, perhaps, bullshit that you both believed.

Outside of the council, it was rare to see him alone. When he went out, he went out with you. When he attended public events, you walked by his side. When he worked at home, you sat in his study, by the fireplace, as if you had always belonged there. With him.

Rollo would excuse himself from small talk and after-hour business like so:

"It's been lovely talking to you, Senator, but I'll be late for dinner,"

"Please, come by my office first thing tomorrow morning. I'm expected at home,"

"I'll have to be going, now. I have an excursion on the town tonight. With whom? Well, whom else?"

It became widely accepted, amongst his colleagues and the public, that Rollo Flamme was married. One might not have guessed, of course, from his cold demeanor, but rumors of the magicless alumni from Noble Bell that he so adored smoldered.

Rollo did not concern himself with the whispers or the knowing looks his colleagues gave each other, until a warm day in late March where a well-meaning secretary from another branch asked if he had any children.

"Children?" he had scoffed. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

The poor secretary looked like he had seen a ghost. "Well... you're married, aren't you?"

"Absolutely not. What gave you such an idea?"

And he seemed reluctant to answer.

Rollo had gone home that night with much on his mind. When you asked him if anything had happened at the council, he said "Nothing eventful".

To Rollo, who had lived in Fleur City, lonely yet not alone, for so many years without a kindling of friendship and not a thought on romance, he had never once questioned your relationship. You were his companion. His first, and last. That's all that matters.

Isn't it?

He could ask for nothing more than you. Your voice, your smile, your hands and warmth mingling with his. He was happy with you. Your friendship is enough for him.

Isn't it?

Despite what he tells himself, that night, when you sit close to him in front of the fire, reading a book he recommended simply because he recommended it, Rollo finds himself looking at you twice as much as usual.

He puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side, and you stay there, as if you had always belonged there. With him.

[zzeraphilm]

Fight For Me (II)

Part one Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader (GN) word count: 3,803 Summary: When industries collide, Kuroo is reunited with the one that got away. But nobody is pleased to see each other.

“Oh Y/N!” Alisa Haiba screeched, bringing her old friend into a hug. “I’m so glad you took the role! Ah I can finally have a friend amongst my team.” 

With a laugh, Y/N only rubbed their friend’s back lightly, not to crease her outfit that will soon be shot in the new YSL photoshoot. It had been back in Melbourne did Y/N L/N and Alisa Haiba became acquaintances. At first it took Y/N a while to realise how they recognised Alisa, thinking it was just because they saw her face plastered on every major billboard on their way to campus. But the illusive fantasy of a celebrity was shattered when she spoke in her accented English and their high school memories came flashing before their eyes. From that day forward, their worlds collided. 

After a gruelling last ditch push to complete their masters, Y/N was lucky to have Alisa as one of their few friends in Tokyo. Since coming back to Japan, Y/N had forgotten how lonely the city could be. How they would blend into the crowd of faces, becoming another statistic on a long list of residents. They hated the city, they hated how the streets they used to walk down during high school remain untouched, how the faces of the shop owners only grow older, their frowns sagging to the floor. Getting out of Japan felt liberating, to come back to it all Y/N found themselves wallowing in the same self-pity that they found themselves suffering with during their teen years. Alisa was a reminder of the world outside of the city, she allowed Y/N to follow her on trips and try new exciting things to brighten their full life. When Alisa became the face of YSL Japan and her modelling career expanded beyond Asia, Y/N was thrilled to join their friend at the request to be her assistant public relations secretary. 

If I could get Alisa to be the most known face across the globe, I can finally start my life again, out of Tokyo. 

The desire to finally leave Japan behind, leave their past behind and explore the world beyond. Maybe, that could get rid of the sour taste in Y/N’s mouth every time they thought of Tokyo. 

Despite their extensive years in academia, books could not compare to reality. Piles and piles of paperwork, emails and meetings meant Y/N lived and breathed the Haiba siblings. Being a part of Alisa’s PR team meant being a part of Lev’s, it was a given to see the fellow Nekoma alumni at work. At first, Y/N was resentful. Nekoma was supposed to be long past them, just a floating memory of guilt and regret. Lev was advised by his sister to not pester Y/N about high school, about anything related to Nekoma especially anything about Kuroo. The first few months with the Haiba siblings were stressful. Lev was growing increasingly popular amongst younger fans, booking him on daytime television to speak about his latest projects was a breeze. More fans meant more fan meets and thus more work for Y/N. 

More work means bigger reach, and getting even closer to leaving.

With winter around the corner, Y/N knew there would be an exponential growth in events that would need to be covered. Press conferences, online campaigns, brand collaborations. Whenever Y/N closed their eyes, all they could see was the Haiba siblings plastered on the inside of their eyelids. Amidst the pile of work, Y/N noticed a oddly hand written note; 

‘Please please pleaseeee consider this one! I wanna work with Kenma and Chibi-chan T^T’ 

Lifting up the sticky note, the title page screamed out to Y/N. 

“Bouncing Ball Corp ft. Hinata Shoyo and Lev Haiba.” 

“Helloo~”

“Where’d you get this plan from? Who gave it to you? Is this some kind of joke? You’re a high end luxury brand model with limited television guest appearances, what makes you think I’d let you represent sports now?” Y/N’s voice boomed into the phone, causing Lev’s eardrums to burst and bleed from the noise shattering scolding on the other end of the call. 

“Kenma gave it me! He said his team told him it would be good to reach out to other famous people who knew!” He whined.

It was partially the prospect of being with Kenma and Hinata again, but more so, he craved the feeling of slamming a volleyball with his bare hands again. After years of maintaining his pristine image, his calloused hands had smoothened out, as soft as a baby’s bum. He was yearning for the thrill of the game again. 

“No. This proposal makes no sense anyways. Who even wrote this?” 

“Well it was someone on Kenma’s side! Anyways, he’s got a hugeee following on Youtube and Twitch! All people talk about on Twitter is his stuff! Y/N you’ve always wanted a big international gig, and I’ve found us one! Please, please, please, pleaseeee!” If Lev wasn’t in public he would’ve been on his knees begging, kissing Y/N’s feet till they said yes.

Indeed, all Y/N needed now was a major international break for the siblings, if they could book either a global brand ambassador position or an American modelling debut, then Y/N could finally relocate to anywhere but Japan. The Tokyo smog blocked their lungs each daily commute to work, the buildings never changed and the familiar scents of old stores and parks they used to frequent as a student became sickening. 

“Give me Kodzuken’s contacts and we’ll see.”

It was a wild goose chase to get the right person to contact. Email, after email. More and more useless contacts that lead Y/N to no helpful responses. Different representatives of Kodzuken and Hinata Shoyo till finally the Japanese Volleyball Association. After two weeks of this ordeal, Y/N was finally sent through to the person in charge of organising the project. But of all people, it just so happened to be Kuroo Tetsurou. Shit. 

Despite getting to chase around his old volleyball rivals across the world for scouting, interviews and just regular catch ups. Kuroo hated the mundane parts of his job, emails and project meetings. Managers up his arse about deadlines. His fingers were beginning to cramp into a contorted version of itself with all the typing he had to endure. He swore his email page was burned into the scleras of his eyes. 

Ping. 

Another one to the read later pile. It was fifteen minutes till the end of his shift, he wasn’t going to stay for overtime this week, he had made plans with Kenma tonight. After weeks of rejection, the self-made entrepreneur finally was willing to leave his room to grab a drink with his long time friend. Before he could shut off his monitor, he read the Sender’s name.

L/N Y/N. 

Holy fuck. 

He thought he had buried the last sparks of affection he had for Y/N the morning they blocked them. But no, like a phoenix, the embers within him burst into an inferno. Nothing could quench the burning desire he held inside. Kuroo had forgotten where he was, he was no longer stuck in a mechanical cubicle with the robotic tapping of keyboards echoing throughout the room. He was back in his Nekoma uniform, back with Y/N by his side. He could smell them, touch them and most of all kiss them. Their laugh was ringing in his head, he was high on their perfume. Kuroo begs to any mighty power above him or anyone who could hear his heart, for his yearning to cease. He thought he could leave it all behind but his body, no his soul calls for Y/N. 

A few clicks was all it took and he plummeted to the pitiful man he once was without Y/N. His eyes darted at the few sentences, he could hear Y/N’s echoing in his head reading to him.

I hope this email finds you well…Lev Haiba…with Bouncing Ball Corp…please contact me…best regards L/N Y/N. 

By some wicked power that festered inside him, Kuroo saw this as a sign from the universe. Finally letting Y/N back into his life. He could once again feel true happiness, the love that had left his heart with a gaping void for the last few years. 

Within a few weeks, each team was able to schedule the first table reading for the promotional video. The main plan to have it filmed over a course of two weeks, just in time before the Olympics in Tokyo. Time was of the essence and the only reason why Y/N was pushing themselves to succeed in this collar was the promise of a better life for themselves. The table reading was in a spacious meeting room curtesy of the Japanese Volleyball Association, the room stretched far beyond any hall Y/N had seen before. A titanic monitor casts its shadow over the table, a long aisle of varied refreshments framed the corners of the room. The chairs were individually cushioned, the carpet was soft with the richest woven fibres from the farthest corners of the world.

Y/N had arrived with Lev and multiple representatives from his team, Kuroo was stood under the frame of the entrance door, his jaw ajar. To Kuroo Tetsurou the mere sight of Y/N took his breath away, all he wished to do was run as fast as his legs could take him and embrace them with the strength of a thousand suns. Claiming them to be his all over again. He didn’t notice that Y/N’s face was getting closer and closer towards him, till they were stood shoulder to shoulder, face to face. 

“Mr. Kuroo, a pleasure to be working with you.” Y/N held out their rigid hand.

“…Y/N,” he whispered, as if saying their name aloud was punishable by death. 

“My name is L/N. I expect you to refer to me as such. We will see you inside.” Five seconds. Their reunion lasted five seconds, Kuroo couldn’t help but watch Y/N’s figure walk away, the closest he’s ever been to them, and all he can have in return is the sight of their back. 

“My god, they’re as beautiful as the day I lost them.” Kuroo uttered. 

The meeting went as smoothly as planned. Any issues were discussed thoroughly and everyone was confident in the project. But Kuroo paid no attention to any of it. His eyes could not keep off of Y/N. The way they’d speak so eloquently, unlike how childish they were in high school. He admired Y/N’s new found maturity, this chic version of his love, he was still entranced by their allure years after their split. However, his eyes would dart to the presence of Lev Haiba next to Y/N. A deeply rooted feeling of jealousy to the boy he once considered his underling. The Haiba siblings could see and be around Y/N every waking hour, yet the only time he had with them within his reach, lasted only five seconds. It wasn’t fair. He had assumed that Y/N had no more ties to Nekoma, so the thought of Y/N never cross his mind, till now. Seeing them beside Lev Haiba, sparked a new fire within his chest. Distant memories would flash in Kuroo's mind, younger versions of themselves, a first year Lev begging to meet and be around Y/N, his partner of three years. Jokes that he would push aside, confirming how Y/N was separate to volleyball and he had no intentions of merging these two sides of him. Yet there they were, in union with each other. Y/N and volleyball. He felt sick. 

“I understand that the sport is the focus of this project, but we mustn’t ignore the everyday audience who aren’t fans of the sport.” Y/N spoke with a tinge of spite, they never mentioned the sport by name. In case the moment they uttered its name, they would be shackled down to its legacy for all of eternity. 

“Lev is the public’s rising heartthrob, for both his looks and his humour, use it.” 

“Aw! Thank you Y/N!” The half-russian man tried to coddle Y/N only to be pushed back into his seat by them.

Kuroo Tetsurou was torn. He wished to be the one to coddle Y/N. He hated how formal this all was, never had he thought of Y/N as this pragmatic android that spouted the same endless bullshit his co-workers would repeat. He wanted to see them laugh again, he wanted to bring them crying on their knees from tears of laughter. Maybe if he did that stupid impression of their father that always made them laugh, maybe then Y/N would go back to how they were in school. 

The meeting came to a close and the rounds of production was set in stone. Kuroo’s work continued to pile, he couldn’t stay on set with the boys anymore than a day and any moment he did have on set, Y/N was never there. Filming ceased and everyone returned to their original teams, muttering away on their desktops and laptops to meet the deadline their bosses’ had set. Lev Haiba went back to modelling for big brands, Kenma increased the number of live-streams in the weeks forward after having a week off for filming. Whilst Hinata was preparing the announcement of him joining the Japanese National team.

Kuroo was stuck in his monotone cubicle again. The sight of his friends succeed in things beyond the mundane 9 to 5, that he was a  slave to, was not an idea that came to mind at first. Originally, he loved the thrill of working behind sports promotion. But now, as a settled employee, he felt his life drain by the second. Only the thought of Y/N pushed him, once the project is uploaded and succeeds, he could see them at the celebratory party. If everything goes to plan. Then he could finally speak to them. Apologise. Tie everything up in a pretty bow so he could feel, complete. 

The promotional video saw millions of views and trending hashtags across multiple social medias. They had, of course, prepared for this case. Releasing behind the scenes content, exclusive photographs and interacting with online fans.

It was as Y/N had planned, down to the T. It was like a weight was lifted off their shoulders, they knew within a few days the money would come rolling in through sponsors and new deals for their company. The Japanese Volleyball Association along with Bouncing Ball Corp allowed the teams to work in a private office space for the collaboration to increase cross communication. Y/N had spent night after night working endlessly on multiple PR plans that would cover all of Lev’s possible mishaps. The moment everything succeeded, they crashed. Their face plummeted to the keyboard and drifted into a deep slumber.

Y/N was at the entrance of Nekoma High, their uniform was slightly creased because they forgot to iron their shirt the night before. First day of high school and they already felt nauseous. They hated how their uniform sat on their frame, they hated how they had they ended up in a school where most of their old middle school classmates joined them. They felt stuck in an endless cycle of the same boring, mundane life they always lived. 

“Ya gonna go in?” 

The light spring breeze blew the tall boy’s black hair to fly upwards, revealing his other eye. He quickly flattened it to hide his forehead. He looked ridiculous, his jumper was slightly too big for him, his parents probably went a few sizes up awaiting for his eventual growth spurt. 

“L/N c’mon, let me copy your English homework! Just this once!” Kuroo pleaded, training behind Y/N like a cub to its mother. 

“Kuroo this is the fourth time! Remember last time, the teacher called your mom in for a meeting about you cheating!”

The boy had grown to tower over Y/N now, he was freakishly taller than the day they first met. His long limbs made him be twice as fast as well. “I’d much rather get told off for copying than get told off for bringing nothing at all.” 

With a huff, Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle. Their dynamic was a breath of fresh air for Y/N, who previously was so used to an isolated world. But by Kuroo’s side, Y/N felt like they belonged. Somewhere within Kuroo’s circle, Y/N had a place fit just for them. 

Kuroo would always tell people that he asked Y/N out first, that he prepared a romantic dinner at his place and popped the question as if it was their last night on earth. In truth, Y/N caught him amidst his plans and cut him to the chase. But Kuroo Tetsurou, the ever-so secret romantic, wanted everyone to believe that he swept them off their feet. 

“If we’re going to be together we’ve got to do good morning and good night texts,” he huffed whilst Y/N’s arms cradled him into a tight embrace. They laughed in response for his childish acts, as a way to get back on ruining his plans on asking them out, Kuroo insisted on being as romantic as he could be with them. Holding hands, spooning, kisses in public. He didn’t care for the stares, he didn’t care for the whispers. He was happy. Y/N was happy. 

“Y/N,” Kuroo’s face was so close yet each time Y/N reached out their hand, it faded into nothingness. 

“Y/N! Y/N!” He kept calling their name yet Y/N couldn’t reach him. 

“Tetsu?”

A sudden jolt caused Y/N to shoot back up, their shoulders were covered with a distinct black jacket. Beside them was of course, the man who emerged straight from their dreams. Kuroo Tetsurou.

“Sorry but, they’re shutting the building soon. You shouldn’t sleep here, it’ll hurt your back. I know that very well,” he chuckled beneath his breath. 

Y/N hadn’t realised this before, but Kuroo’s eye bags had sunken deeper into his face. He had more noticeable crows feet and the wrinkles between his eyebrows had settled in already, quite concerning for a man still as young as him. He had changed his cologne again. He went back to the faint powdery scent, with hints of elderflower. The cologne Y/N bought him for their second anniversary. They didn’t know they still made that scent. His hands were still as calloused as they were years ago, bulging veins decorated his wrists and forearms. He maintained his built form, Y/N could see it through his button up shirt. He hadn’t changed much but was still an entirely different person.

“I was just tired Kuroo.” Y/N shimmied out of the man’s coat to return it, but Kuroo remained still. 

“It’s weird to hear you call me that.” He chuckled, “I was always Tetsu to you.”

“Yeah well that was when we were kids.” 

Kuroo smiled, a sad empty smile that held the years of regret that he harboured. Kids in love, he thought. 

“I’m going home now, thanks for waking me.” Before Y/N could step out of the office door, Kuroo grabbed their wrist. He knew this was the last time he would ever see them, he sensed it. The moment they walk out that door it’ll be over. He had to fight, it was now or never.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I’m sorry for how I treated you all those years ago. I’m sorry I didn’t pay attention to you. I’m sorry I was never there for you.” 

Disgusted. Pained. Relieved. Scared. Y/N’s stomach felt like a pit of snakes colliding into each other, trying to consume one another but failing miserably. Kuroo Tetsurou was a shell of a man now, the pain of heartbreak that lasted an eternity was killing his body slowly. He hadn’t mourned Y/N properly. He hadn’t mourned their relationship properly. 

“Why?”

“Huh- What?” Kuroo asked, dropping his grip on Y/N.

“After all these years. Why are you apologising to me now.” You could hear a pin drop from the deafening silence between the two.

“Because I love you. I’ve always loved you Y/N, I won’t ever stop loving yo-“

“Shut up.” This was straight out of teenage Y/N’s dreams, the Kuroo Tetsurou who was begging them to stay. The Kuroo Tetsurou that they used to cling to in hopes of a final embrace. He was finally right in front of Y/N. With glassy eyes, proclaiming his undying love to them, his body craving Y/N’s own. He was right there, and he was pathetic. 

“You don’t get to talk to me like that. If you did love me, you would’ve done this the night we ended it. But no, you barely said anything to me. In fact what you did, hurt me more than our actual split. You left me. You left me alone. Not just in our time together. I was never included in any part of your life beyond me. Despite being together for three years, I was completely, utterly alone." Warm tears that Y/N had suppressed for years began to arise from the dead. 

“I thought you wanted me by your side, that you needed me because I had a place in your life. But you proved me wrong time and time again! I came second to everything in your life! Not once did I feel like a person to you. You took me for granted.” 

It was like a slap in the face for Kuroo Tetsurou, he hadn’t realised it till now. In his eyes, Y/N was someone he once wanted to possess, to have and hold forever. He saw them just like his old pair of glasses he lost down the coach pillows. It took a few blinks to realise in front of him, was a person who had seen love and loss, found liberation and had it taken away. A person who had worked their life away to see the riches of their hard work. When they were in Nekoma, Y/N would always cheer him on from the sidelines, he thought it was fine. He thought they were okay with just watching them afar, he knew they didn’t really like volleyball but he didn’t care to talk about it anymore. He didn’t care. He didn’t care for having Y/N meet his teammates and hang around them, he wanted to keep them to himself. He didn’t care. His indifference was his demise. After over five years, he realised this. 

“I have lived a thousand lifetimes since I left you. I think it’s time for you to do the same Tetsurou. Stop clinging to the past.”

Kuroo Tetsurou, the man who yearned the joys of his youth, could see clearly now. Y/N didn’t look back at the man. They picked up their bag and stepped out the door. Phone in hand, ready to dial up their friends, to celebrate a life well lived. 

[classcursehq]

"i  can't  believe  how  many  of  them  actually  came  back  after  all  these  years.  i  heard  that  the  wilders  are  coming...  isn't  malcolm  wright  giving  the  opening  speech?" 

it  might  have  a  new name  and  a  new  brand  but  you  know  that  you  are  still  breathing  the  same  air  the  moment  you  step  inside  of  new  horizons.  you  are  ushered  as  a  group  to  the  new  grand  hall  by  your  previous  headmistress,  tight  lipped  smile  and  an  impatient  air.  the  guests  aren't  there  yet...  you  thought  you  were  speaking  to  future  students  but  instead  you  are  talking  to  their  parents.  it  becomes  clear  as  you  are  handed  the  programmes  that  you  are  being  used  as  show  ponies,  not  inspirations  to  a  new  generation  but  to  encourage  their  parents  to  empty  their  pockets  for  a  new  lease  of  life  at  new  horizons.  some  of  you  have  suspicions  it's  to  fund  a  new  stained  glass  window  but  you  decide  not  to  comment. 

looking  around,  it  seems  to  most  of  you  that  the  looming  threat  of  the  online  messages  has  disappeared...  just  another  stupid  class  of  2014  prank.  seats  seem  to  fill,  snacks  lined  up  at  the  side  that  you  are  looking  forwards  to  getting  to  when  this  part  is  over.  and  then  you  see  them...  god,  is  that  the  wilders?  why  are  they  wearing  vip  banners  that  look  like  they  came  from  from  party  city.  there's  no  time  to  think  about  it  because  the  first  speaker  is  already  up  and  most  of  you  are  thanking  the  lord  it  wasn't  you.  take  the  stage,  malcolm...  wait,  this  isn't  the  slideshow  that  was  prepared  for  you.  is  this  one  of  chris'  home  videos?  is  that  malcolm  and  helena  together?  did  that  seem  weird  to  anybody  else?   

somebody  yanks  out  the  projector  cable...  the  headmistress  is  waving  to  hurry  up  and  just  like  that...  the  speeches  continue  rolling  on  just  like  life  at  st  marys  always  did. 

out of character guidance:

the dash  event  that  will  take  place  from  friday  26th  until  sunday  5th  (this  can  be  extended  if  we  need  to!).    the  most  important  aspect  of  this  event  is  that  it  will  be  split  into  two  sections,  before  9pm  and  after  9pm.  this  post  will  hold  all  the  details  for  the  start  of  the  event  and  the  second  plot  drop  will  be  shared  on  monday  -  this  will  affect  what  all  characters  are  doing  after  9pm.  from  the  morning  of  the  26th,  you  can post  event  starters. 

timeline.

5:30pm: alumni arrive.

6:00pm: guests/parents arrive.

6:15pm: speeches begin opened by malcolm wright, you can choose whether your character self-elected to do a speech to the guests about their successes and time at st marys/new horizons.

7:30pm: 5 minute short video about the successes of previous st marys alumni and where are you nows then a q&a session.

8:00pm: mingling, refreshments and opportunities to catch up with your fellow students and parents who decide to stay on.

if you are ever confused about where we are up to in our story, you can click here for a summary!

[octuscle]

Four T and one C

On campus, they were known only as TTTT. Tanner, Thad, Trent and Trey had known each other since childhood. Their parents were all members of the same country club, their parents all had summer houses in the same area in the Hamptons. It was clear that TTTT would all go to the same college together. With a lot of money from their parents, they had all made it to Yale. Even if not everyone was actually clever enough for it. Fortunately, as Yale alumni and successful investment bankers and lawyers, their fathers and mothers were able to fix that. And so the party at the high school became an Ivy League party. And TTTT were the guests of honor at the party.

Chad's parents weren't in a country club and didn't have a house in the Hamptons. But they were wealthy enough that Chad had somehow managed to find favor in the TTTT's picky eyes. He lived in the same dorm, they had talked at some point. And the fact that Chad was smart and could help them with an exam or two wasn't a disadvantage, of course. The TTTT were all studying business studies, Chad biochemistry. But with an IQ of 142, he was easily able to pick up what little knowledge he needed for an MBA in a lunch break.

The first semester came to an end. TTTT had done reasonably well, Chad already had a job as a working student at a biotech lab and had a good chance of finishing the semester at the top of his class. Nevertheless, he was at every party and if you saw the five of them in their Polo Ralph Laure and Abercrombie & Fitch outfits, you would have thought that all five of them were nothing more than spoiled and stupid frat boys. Until the day the last marketing exam was written. TTTT treated themselves to a beer in the sun on campus in front of the football stadium to celebrate the end of the semester. And then Chad came by. But he wasn't dressed like Chad. He looked like a British hooligan. At least almost. Tight jeans, DocMartens and a tight Fred Perry polo shirt that showed he obviously didn't just spend time in the library and lab. The tight shirt showed off his pecs and biceps pretty well.

“Bro!” said Tanner. “What do you look like? What's with the chav look?” Chad grinned. With that cheeky grin and his haircut, he was still one of them, even if he was dressed differently. “I got this invitation from my new employer. Sick party, all for nothing. And the employees were asked to come in the company colors. And they are yellow and black. And because I didn't have time to change beforehand, I wore the only thing like that I could find. I had it from my exchange year in Berlin. Everyone at my school walked around like that.” Trent grinned. “Sounds sick, dude! Do you think you can get us into the party?” Chad grinned and pulled out four ribbons. “You think I'm forgetting my best bros? Put on your wristbands, they'll get you into anything you want. And here are the tickets for the entrance.” Chad took a look. The nerd still had to study, he still had two exams to write. TTTT did a collective high five. The evening was saved. It would be just the right end to their first semester at university.

The bouncers had had their hands full. The party was an event of the year, crowds of people wanted to get in. TTTT had problems even getting through to the bouncers. But when they showed their tickets, they were waved through. One of the bouncers said to a colleague “What boring philistines!” Fortunately, TTTT didn't hear that. And fortunately, the four of them were so sure of themselves and their appearance that they didn't feel they stood out among the party people.

The party was good. There was plenty to drink, there were hot girls for the four of them to dance with. But the real kick was missing. Trey noticed that the most attractive people were heading towards a door with another group of bouncers in front of it. Trey waved his bros together and headed for the door. “Ribbon only,” grunted one of the gigantic bouncers, pressed into a black and yellow leather suit. Trey grinned. He had pocketed the ribbons and had almost forgotten about them. TTTT put the wristbands on their wrists and passed the gorillas with a grin.

Loud bass thumped at the end of the corridor. Strobe flashes flashed. There was much more yellow and black on the dance floor than on the last dance floor. And the people here were different. Beautiful. But not New England at all. Thad was reminded of Berghain in Berlin. He'd tried to get in once, but even with a wad of dollar bills he hadn't been able to get past the bouncer. But those who had managed to get in often looked like the people dancing on the dance floor here. Thad turned to look at his bros. The three of them had rushed straight onto the dance floor. In their outfits, they stood out like colorful dogs. At least their hairstyles matched the crowd on the dance floor to some extent. Thad rubbed his head. He loved the feeling of freshly shaved sides. Fuck, Trent really looked good with that badass undercut. Thad's cock was getting hard.

The four of them danced in a trance to ecstasy. The hard techno beats thumped through their bones. Every now and then, one of the TTTTs went to the bar and provided the four of them with an energy drink. Last time, the awesome bartender had also slipped Trent a few colorful pills, which the four of them washed down with the candy-sweet drink. I have no idea what time it was. But the party had only just started. According to his watch, it was 06:00 in the morning when Tanner had to go to the toilet. The room was overcrowded. A few of the athletes who had gathered here sweating were actually pissing. But most of them were sucking cock or being sucked. Damn, there was a muscular guy at the front wearing nothing but a pair of black and yellow chaps. Tanner had already noticed the guy on the dance floor. Without giving it much thought, he dropped to his knees in front of the Adonis. And sucked the first cock of his life. But no one, not Adonis, not Tanner would have thought that. It was as if it was routine on a club night.

Tanner had swallowed every drop. He wiped the rest from the corner of his mouth and made his way back to the dance floor. Maybe with a detour past the bar. There was a guy sitting at the bar who made Tanner want to get down on his knees again. The guy's bulge in his latex pants looked almost painful. The guy almost grabbed his crotch, kneaded the bulge and asked, “So, Tanner? Do you like sucking cock, you pervy pig?” Tanner winced. He knew that voice. That was… Chad!

Chad grinned, took a swig of beer and unzipped his pants. A monster jumped out of his prison like a jack-in-the-box. Tanner first licked the skin-tight latex-wrapped nipples and then ran his tongue over Chad's washboard abs to the shaved cock. Shit, Tanner was addicted to hot guys' cum. Chad leaned back and enjoyed Tanner's practiced tongue. For a semester, TTTT had taken advantage of him. Always made him feel like a second-class human being. But now? The substance he'd soaked the ribbons with seemed to be working excellently. The dumb college jocks had become techno disciples who followed their DJ gods around the planet from party to party. As guinea pigs for Chad's new employer, they would not become lawyers or investment bankers. But thanks to a lavish expense account, they would be able to lead a very hedonistic lifestyle. And whenever Chad was horny, one of the TTTT would be at his disposal.

Tienn, Tyrus, Tai and Taren were in top form. The party was far from over. They were the stars of the dance floor. Hardly anyone moved to the music like the four of them. When they weren't in the washroom servicing a hot guy they had picked up on the dance floor. One of them always had his eye on Chad. When Chad needed their services, he always had priority. All they were, they were only thanks to Chad.

Pics by @ki-kink

[odinsblog]

Worth re-reading

Rule No. 1: Believe the autocrat. I argued against the expectation that Trump would change in the months following the election, becoming somehow “Presidential” and abandoning his more extreme positions. This belief, it seemed to me, stemmed from the inability to absorb the fact of a Trump Presidency, and not from any historical precedents of similar transformations. The best predictors of autocrats’ and aspiring autocrats’ behavior are their own public statements, because these statements brought them to power in the first place.

Rule No. 2: Do not be taken in by small signs of normality. Most catastrophes unfold over time. Following the shock of a disastrous election—or a Presidential tweet—the sun rises again in the morning, and life appears to proceed as before. One adjusts, until the next shocking event.

Rule No. 3: Institutions will not save you. During the election campaign, one often heard the argument that institutions of American democracy are strong enough to withstand attack by Trump. A year ago, I pointed out that many of these institutions are not enshrined in law—rather, they exist as norms—and even those that are enshrined in law depend for their continued survival on the good faith of all actors. There is no law, for example, guaranteeing daily press briefings at the White House and media access to these briefings. I predicted that the investigative press would be weakened and that reality would grow murkier.

Rule No. 4: Be outraged. If you follow the first three rules, you ought to be outraged. But I know from experience how hard it is to be the hysteric in the room.

A year on, progress is mixed. Activist groups like New York City’s Rise and Resist, founded by alumni of the aids-activist organization act up, stage regular, vivid, act up–style actions. On the occasion of the first anniversary of the election, they vowed to begin weekly demonstrations demanding impeachment. The A.C.L.U. continues to file lawsuits; late-night comedians continue to amplify the painful absurdity of Trumpism. On the other hand, Washington has absorbed Trump, and so has the Republican Party. (It’s the other party whose national organization is imploding these days.) No single event or revelation has produced enough outrage to cause Trump to be removed from office, nor has one seemed to hurt his chances for reëlection. Not Charlottesville. Not the revelation of a Trump Tower meeting with a Russian lawyer who promised to deliver dirt on Hillary Clinton. Not the regular revelations of past acts of corruption and of current lies. Not the continued spectacle of a government of haters and incompetents. The outrage dissipates, and Trumpism persists.

Rule No. 5: Don’t make compromises. I predicted that Republican Never Trumpers would fold and offer their loyalty to the new President. I also feared that a great many federal employees would face an impossible choice between staying in their jobs under a reprehensible Administration and leaving, forfeiting the chance to do good within a system that had started rotting from the top. Trump’s attacks on the institutions of government have been so fast and brutal, however, that many people made the choice without torment: they left. (Remember the President’s arts and humanities committee? Or the business advisory councils?) Still, a few people remain in what’s left of the State Department; some people have joined the Administration with the explicit goal of using their expertise to help minimize damage. But to watch General McMaster struggling to mislead journalists on Trump’s behalf is to see the built-in problem with the project of minimizing damage: one inevitably becomes an accomplice.

Rule No. 6: Remember the future. There will come a time after Trump. What will we bring to it? I wrote that the failure to imagine the future—to offer a vision in opposition to Trump’s appeal to an imaginary past—had cost the Democrats the election. A year later, the national Democratic Party does not seem closer to proposing a vision (or a candidate); instead, the last week has seen the Party plunged into a vicious re-litigation of the 2016 primaries.

(full article here)

[ahhnini]

strength

frat!rafe x tarot!reader

warnings - slight animal injury (not from any of the characters!), not proofread

frat!rafe x tarot!reader masterlist

a/n - lowkey hate this :( also masterlist links aren’t working again, so I apologize. I’ll add links once this glitch is fixed.

a small meow emerged from the foundation of your shop. you gasped, seeing the cat you’ve always fed right by the door, have a small gash across its nose.

it was tiny, and growing much slower than other cats you’ve seen. its been coming around for a couple of weeks now, and you have been doing your best to nourish the little animal.

you observed the kitten, watching it eat the food you placed. it must’ve been starving, you didn’t see it come around yesterday. you knelt down, gently stroking its fur. it continued ravishing its wet food, softly purring to your touch.

after the kitten finished eating, you gently lifted it, observing the gash on its nose. you hold it close to your chest as you walk downtown to the local vet.

“is he yours?” the primary vet asked. shaking your head, you watched as she fed the cat some medicine. she sighed, putting the syringe down. “well, you have a couple of options. you can give him to us and we can put him up for adoption…or you can adopt him yourself,” your eyes light up at the second option. “what do I need to do to adopt him?”

you didn’t really think this through. you were stood outside the frat house, freshly mowed grass slightly irritating your nostrils, your newly adopted kitten purring in his carrier. the realization hit you. were you even allowed to have pets? guess you’ll find out in a little.

barely anyone was home. there was an event with a nearby sorority, and you saw a glimpse of rafe getting a snack from the bar. you cringed to yourself, trying to make small footsteps up the spiral staircase. unfortunately, your feline friend didn’t get the memo, and started meowing every time you went up a step.

“who’s there?” you hear rafe’s footsteps quickly approach. you suck in a deep breath, turning to face him.

rafe had to break the news to jay about the cat. thankfully, there had been no rules in the frat constitution about a pet, and jay reassured you that a couple years back the guys all took care of a fish named guppy, so you were in the clear.

the next morning, you woke up to your room being filled with cat food, toys, and accessories. rafe was in a corner assembling the cat tree. however, the kitty was nowhere to be found. as if rafe read your mind, he spoke up, “he’s in the living room, playing by the windows.” you sigh in relief before replying, “did you get all these things?” he shook his head, “no, all of us pitched in. it started with one of the guys suggesting we get some food for him, and then it sort of…spiraled into this,” he places the wrench on the floor, and you had to stop yourself from staring at his arms. you look away, nodding. “speaking of, we sort of, named the cat for you,” “oh? it better not be some stupid name like ground beef—”

he chuckles, eyes crinkling. “nah. we named it merlin. after the wizard. we decided it fit him ‘cus you’re his mom and you know, you do witchy things. you’re welcome to change it,” he shrugs, standing up to admire his craftsmanship.

“merlin? oh, I love it. merlin the cat. has a nice ring to it,” you chuckle.

heading downstairs, the surprises kept coming as you see a professional photographer, who was taking pictures of your cat, dressed up as a wizard. a couple weeks later, the photo was hung up on the hallway walls, right next to the alumni.

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[hjparisian]

time doesn't wait for you- theodore nott x reader

p: theodore nott x fem!reader w: angst, sad, cussing summary: a few years after the war, theodore is forced to step back onto the grounds of hogwarts, where he finds an old lover he misses. a/n: something about writing theo angst has me all :D but reading it is like D: anyways sorry for breaking your hearts

Theodore had no intentions to join in on this event. In fact, he wanted to avoid this whole thing entirely. He almost succeeded too if it wasn't for his best friend Blaise randomly apparating to his apartment earlier that day begging him to join.

"Come on Theo."

"No," he told him. "There's no point in going."

"There's always a point in going to a party."

"It's not even a party, more like some idiotic get together."

The 'party' in question was a reunion and a celebration of the ending of the war. All Hogwarts alumni were invited, no matter the age or the house you were in.

"It will be a party when we're there."

Classic Blaise, it was like the war never changed him.

Unlike it did to Theodore.

"Still. I'm not going."

Blaise rolled his eyes at the boy on the bed. "Come on man, Draco will be there with Astoria and her sister. Mattheo and Enzo are going too. It won't be a real reunion without you."

Theodore groans at his best friend's insistence. "You're not gonna give up are you?"

"Nope," Blaise says. "You're always locked in your apartment ever since your hearing at the ministry."

Ah yes. That. Because of Theodore's father allegiance with the Dark Lord, he was questioned for working along side him. They were not wrong though. His father made him to join the Death Eaters in his sixth year. Luckily for Theodore, they ruled it as him being forced to join by his father and was just given some community service.

"Not always," the boy grumbles.

Blaise snorted. "Yeah, sure." The boy walked to Theodore's closet and began rummaging through his wardrobe.

"What are you doing?" He asked him.

"I'm helping you get ready," Blaise told him. Theodore groaned.

"Come on Theo. Just go for a bit, you don't have to stay for the whole thing. What's stopping you?"

Theodore remained silent, his head in his hands. Despite his silence, Blaise was able to figure it out.

"You're scared to run into her, aren't you?"

Theodore sighed before nodding his head. "It's been forever since I last saw her, during the war," he mutters, looking at his best friend. "I never got to explain everything to her."

Blaise sat on the bed next to Theodore. "Mate, it'll be alright. I'm sure she understands why you left her."

But Blaise never witnessed the hurt in her eyes when Theodore broke things off at the beginning of sixth year, nor when he saw her during the battle at Hogwarts. Theodore just shook his head.

"I don't know."

"You might not even see her," Blaise said to him. "I heard there's quite a bit of people going. Plus we will be by your side. I know Enzo misses you."

Theodore sat and thought for a bit before answering. "Fine. Only because you probably would make me go either way."

Blaise had left Theodore to get ready at his own place, promising to meet up with him at Hogsmeade where they would travel to Hogwarts together.

The boy stood in front of the mirror in his room, gazing at his opposite. The person staring back at him was only a shell of what remained of him, the war and his father torturing him. Would she even want to look at him?

He shifted his gaze to the small clock on his nightstand, indicating it was almost time for him to leave. Theodore was half tempted to stay home and not go, but he couldn't, knowing Blaise would probably be on his ass if he didn't show.

Theodore half-willingly exited the comfort of his home to apparate to Hogsmeade to meet with his old friends. As soon as he arrived, the boy began wandering around in search of his old mates, until he found a head of white-blonde hair.

"Theo!"

A girl with dark shoulder length hair wrapped her arms around him in a hug, catching him off guard. The girl stepped back, taking a look at her friend.

"It's been forever! I was starting to get worried about you."

"It has been," Theodore states. "But I'm alright, no need to worry Pansy."

"We have every right to," said Enzo. "You barely reached out to us. Not since the trials. Even Mattheo over here has been reaching us and he had it worse." Mattheo nodded at Enzo's words.

"I've been busy."

"We're all together now, so does it matter?" Blaise points out. "We should start heading towards the school."

The group begun their trek towards the school. Everyone was all catching up with each other, updating how their lives have been. How Draco had begun dating Astoria not too long after the war, how Enzo and Mattheo had recently got an apartment together, Pansy's fling with some witch she met on vacation, and Blaise's many rendezvous.

Theodore remained silent, taking in all information, until Draco's voice cut through the air.

"So Theo, you haven't told us what you've been up to."

"Yeah, last I heard was you having to do some service for the Ministry after your trial," Mattheo said.

"I haven't been doing much," Theodore began. "Mainly reading. Picking up the odd job here and there."

"Didn't you want to be a healer?" Astoria inquired. "I remember Draco telling me that a while ago."

Theodore looked at Draco who looked away, looking a bit embarrassed. Theodore remembered confiding in the Malfoy boy about this one night during their teen years, but he knew he couldn't. Not with his father wanting him to join the Ministry like him.

Another person had known about this dream career. And she was the one person who encouraged him to pursue it. He still remembers what she said to him about it

"Who cares what your father says? That bastard doesn't know shit. You would be a wonderful healer. I know you've healed my heart," she teasingly says.

Theodore shivered at the memory.

"I did."

Before the group could ask anymore questions, the voices of others caught their attention. They had arrived at the castle.

Theodore let his eyes wandered as they walked towards the Great Hall. The last time he stepped on these grounds, they were in shambles. Sometimes he still sees it in his nightmares.

The Great Hall seemed brighter than the boy remembered. Perhaps it was the gold and silver decorations lining the walls. Instead of the four long tables, there multiple round tables around the room. It reminded Theodore of the Yule Ball.

He remembered how he felt the night of the Yule Ball. He built up the courage to ask out the one girl he had a crush on. Granted, Enzo kept annoying him about it, saying if he wasn't going to ask her out, then he would.

Needless to say, Theodore asked her out the next day.

He was nervous. The moment he saw her in her gown, he felt time stop. He was a lucky man that day.

"You know Theo, I was waiting for you to ask me," she tells him while they danced.

He smiles shyly. "Sorry. Just needed a little push I guess."

"It's alright," she tells him. "I would always wait for you."

Theodore shook the memory from his head, trying to tune in to what his friends were talking about. A nudge from the person next to him caught his attention.

Enzo leaned towards Theodore. "Hey isn't that (Y/N) over there?" He looked over to where his friend was pointing to see his former lover, talking to the Patil twins.

She looked gorgeous in Theodore's eyes. The way her hair was styled. The way her dress sat on her shoulders. The way it framed her body. The way her eyes still sparkle like they did back in their schools years. It felt like the Yule Ball all over again.

Oh god, shit feels deja vu.

Theodore continued to watch as she interacted with their old classmates. Seeing her laugh at something Hermione Granger said made something flutter in his stomach.

He didn't even realize how long he was staring until a pair of fingers were snapping right in front of him.

"Hey, Theo!"

Blaise stood right by him, for how long or when he got there, Theodore didn't know. He turned to his mate and looked at him.

"Been trying to get your attention for a bit," Blaise told him. "What were you looking at?"

"Nothing," he quickly said.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, not believing a word he said. He looked in the direction of where Theodore was gazing a few moments ago. He paused when his eyes set on something and they widened, realizing who his friend was staring at.

Blaise smirked a bit. "Ooohh, I see. You were looking at her."

"What? No I wasn't," Theodore denied. It was blatantly obvious that he was.

"Just go talk to her."

"No."

"What's going on?" Mattheo asks.

"Nothing. Nothing is going on."

"He's been staring at his ex this whole time," Enzo tells him.

"(Y/N)?" questions Draco.

The whole Slytherin gang was staring at Theodore, curious about what's going on.

Merlin put me in Azkaban, Theodore thought.

"What happened between you two?" Astoria questioned. Merlin shut up.

As Mattheo was about to answer, Theodore cut him off. "Just didn't work out." But oh how he wish they did. Astoria nodded her head, deciding not to probe any further.

The topic came to an end thankfully as Enzo and Mattheo went to grab drinks and Draco and Astoria started chatting with Daphne. Theodore stood by Pansy and Blaise as the two were talking about who knows what.

He let his gaze wander again to her. (Y/N) was with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, talking with some of the former Gryffindor quidditch players.

"Do you miss her?"

Theodore looked towards Pansy, staying silent. The boy let out a sigh before answering. "I do."

"Why don't you just talk to her?" She asks him.

"I can't."

"Well, why not?"

"He's scared," Blaise says. "The last time they've talked to each other was after the break up. Then she found out he was a Death Eater during the war."

"You broke things off because of that, didn't you?" Pansy inquired. Theodore nodded his head.

"I didn't want her to get involved in that bullshit."

"You need to talk to her Theo," the dark haired girl told him. "She probably heard about your trial, (Y/N) has to understand what happened."

"Pansy's right," said Blaise. "The war is over, people are healing and moving on. I'm sure she will understand."

But Theodore hasn't.

"No."

"Mate, come on. We both know you miss her."

"Yeah. I'm sure she misses you too. You just have to try-"

"I said I'm not gonna do it." He was started to feel frustrated.

Pansy starts to reach out toward the boy. "Theo-"

"I'm getting a drink." Theodore walks away from his mates, who watched him leave with concern.

The boy walks towards the refreshment table, grabbing a glass of elf made wine. He began downing the glass, until a sweet familiar voice caught him off guard.

"Theo?"

The boy turned around to see the one person he's been thinking about this whole night. Of course the first thing to happen as soon as he saw her was for him to begin choking on the wine he was drinking.

"Theo!" The girl exclaimed as she rushed to help him. The girl conjured up a cup of water for him to drink as he stopped coughing.

"Merlin are you alright?" (Y/N) asked him.

"Yeah, was just surprised that's all."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's alright. Not your fault," He tells her.

The two stood in silence until (Y/N) broke it.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Theodore nods. "It has. A couple years actually."

"How have you been?" She asks him.

"Been alright," Theodore says to her. "Hasn't been a smooth couple of years but I've managed. How are you?"

"I've been well. Been working at the ministry. It's a lot but has helped put my mind off other things." (Y/N) said. "Have you gotten a job at St. Mungo's yet?"

"Huh? What for?"

"You know," (Y/N) began. "As a healer?"

If Theodore had to be honest, he wasn't expecting her to remember. Hell, he would've thought she would forget all about him. "No."

"Really?" She looked at him in confusion.

He nodded his head. "Just a lot going on since the war. Also I don't think anyone would want a former death eater treating them."

He noticed her breath hitch at the mention of him being a death eater, but decided not to say anything about it.

"Well, I think you shouldn't let that stop you," she tells him. "It wasn't deemed as your fault anyways, your bastard father made you."

"You know about my trial?" The boy was a little shocked.

She smiled sheepishly. "I read up on it a bit. Yours and Mattheo's trials were mentioned in the Daily Prophet."

Theodore felt his face go cold as a small oh left his mouth. He should've expected it, considering he's the son of one of the most well known Death Eaters in the country.

"So I guess you understand why things ended the way they did between us," Theodore tells her. "I didn't want anything to happen to you because we were together."

"I mean, I didn't really understand at the time," she tells him. "The trial gave some clarity, but I kind of understand it now."

He nodded. "I hope you know I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Theo," she says, giving him a small smile. "I'm glad you're okay now." Was he really though? He wouldn't say.

He felt his heart quicken at the thought that she was glad he survived the war. She still cares about him, at least that's what he was telling himself.

Maybe, just maybe, if she still cares about him, she may have missed him. Pansy could be right. And maybe, he could get her back. Just maybe.

Theodore decided to take chance, taking Pansy's words to heart. "Hey (Y/N)." She hummed in response.

"I just want to say, that I really missed you." He felt his heart running miles. "And I truly am sorry for what happened between us."

"It's alright, Theo. It's in the past," (Y/N) said, smiling at him.

"But I was wondering," Theodore pauses. "If you would be willing to give it- us, a second chance."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened, not expecting this. Sadness seemed to cloud her features soon after.

"Oh, Theo," she started. "I'm sorry but, no, we can't."

Theodore felt his heart crack. This was not what he was hoping for. "Why not?"

(Y/N) looked down at her hands, fidgeting with her fingers. "I'm engaged Theodore."

It was at that moment when Theodore noticed the diamond ring sitting on her left hand. How did he not notice it?

"With who?"

"With Harry."

Theodore couldn't believe it. He didn't want to.

"We started talking more after the war," she tells him. "With us both at the ministry, some things just led to another."

The boy felt like choking. Like something was in his throat, but he manages to get out one word. "Why?"

"Theodore what did you expect me to do?" She burst out, tears glistening in her eyes. "We were broken up. I couldn't just sit around begging for you to come back. I had to move on! Time doesn't wait for you."

All he could do was stand in silence as (Y/N) attempted to stop the tears from flowing. The pain in her eyes brought back the memories of when he broke things off. Oh how he wish he didn't do it. How he wish they could've just stayed together.

"I'm- I'm sorry," was all he could mutter out.

(Y/N) just shook her head. "I think I should go back to Harry. But it was nice seeing you. Think about the healer job."

She patted his shoulder as she left. Theodore watched with blurry eyes as she walked towards The Boy Who Lived, who wrapped an arm around her waist. Oh how he hated that git and how he wished he was him right now.

It was at that moment Blaise and Pansy appeared at his side. Pansy's voice catching his attention.

"Hey Theo, you alright?"

He shook his head. "I- I lost her."

The love of his life had become the biggest loss of his life. How he wished time would travel back to when they were happy little fourth years.

But unfortunately for him, time doesn't wait for anyone.

[roosterforme]

Adult Education Part 17 | Hangman x OC

Summary: Jessica realizes she is going to have to work hard to help the students in the class she is teaching in Brian's place. Add that to her tenure review, and she's already exhausted. At least she can trust her boyfriend. Jake couldn't be more proud of Jessica, but a night out without his girlfriend is a bit eye-opening for him.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, oral, angst, language, mention drinking and driving, 18+

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC

This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

"You'll never believe what happened!" Jessica gushed, releasing Jake and bouncing around a bit. He was all smiles, just like she'd come to expect with him. There were even two beers and a dish of peanuts waiting on the table which made her feel a little weak. She pushed him down onto one of the high stools and let her hands rest on his thighs. 

"Damn," he grunted when she kissed him again, slotting herself between his legs with a laugh. "Either your day was excellent, or you're very happy to see me."

"It's both," she assured him, basking in the soft pressure of his lips on hers. "I am officially under tenure review."

"Reedy," he grunted, cupping her face in both of his hands and pulling back slightly. "Are you serious?" Wide, green eyes searched her face for a hint that she may be joking, but she just shook her head slightly. "How?"

She told him everything, sparing no details about her time in Rosenthal's office with her friend and how much that meant to her. "She promised me that Dr. Rosenthal would hear me out, and when I let him know I never got a tenure review from Brian, he agreed immediately." Tears stung at her eyes again as Jake listened intently, his hands stroking her face. "He started the process today, Jake! He's so busy right now, since he's stepping into Brian's shoes while still covering his own classes, but he still took the time to look at my grade book and my schedule! And he complimented me on how organized I am!" She felt ridiculous for crying at Chippy's, and she could see a concerned looking Chippy himself through her blurred vision, so she gave him a little wave.

"You're incredible," Jake whispered, kissing her forehead. "And how was your meeting with the dean?"

Somehow her smile grew brighter as she said, "He told me the fratraiser was the best event of alumni weekend and already asked me to do it again next year."

Jake's lips were all over her face, bumping her glasses and whispering that he was proud of her while she laughed. If Rosenthal and Dean Walters were both in her corner along with her friend, she felt like she could do anything. She felt like she could succeed. Finally. 

Eventually she made it to her own seat where she started to crack open some peanuts. "I'm absolutely starving," she muttered. "I think all the adrenaline from the day is messing with me." Her fingers were shaking as she pressed the peanuts to her lips, and Jake pushed the bowl closer to her.

"I brought some food with me," he said, kind of nodding toward the door. "It's in the cooler in my truck." He paused before asking, "You still want me to sleep over, Jess?"

"Of course!" She pressed her lips together and softly said, "I've never really done midweek sleepovers before?" Frankly, she'd never been in a relationship she took as seriously as this one. With Jake. 

He lounged back in his seat so casually as he said, "Neither have I. So I was just going to follow your lead on this one, soon-to-be-tenured Dr. Reed."

Jessica blushed as she chewed up another peanut. She imagined mind blowing sex, going to bed early, and Jake making her breakfast in the morning before they both left for work. But she was really worn out from the day, so she said, "We can figure it out together."

-----------------------------

Jake watched his girlfriend as she stood at her kitchen counter in her work clothes and ate the casserole he made for her. She moaned softly while she licked her fork with clearly no idea that she was making him hard. He loved cooking, and she loved eating whatever he made. And then she said, "This is so good, Jake." And she'd make the word good sound like it had too many syllables. And she did all of this while wearing her high heels and cute glasses and looking at him.

This was just the first midweek sleepover, but Jake was already looking around to see how much stuff she really had. It could all fit in his condo. She could ditch her rental and move in with him. He could cook for her all the time and tell her he loved her. Why hadn't he done that yet? He was as excited for her tenure review as he had been for his last rank promotion. He recently printed out a picture of her and flew with it in his helmet bag. He was a mess right now, hesitating because he was afraid of not saying it at the right time and worrying that it was too soon.

"It was really good," she whispered as she set her fork in the sink, and Jake realized he'd never responded to what she said. 

"I love cooking for you, Baby," he told her with a wide grin while she yawned. "You had a big day today. Almost ready for bed?"

"Yeah, I'm tired," she replied quickly, voice soft. "But I kind of wanted to... mess around a little bit?"

There was no way he could deny her something she wanted, especially when he wanted it so badly, too. Without warning, Jake got his hands on her thighs and hiked her skirt up to her waist. Jessica gasped and grabbed at his shoulders just like he knew she would. "Jake!" Her voice was muffled by his lips as he lifted her up, guided her legs around his waist, and carried her to her bedroom. His fingers tangled in her lace underwear as she rubbed herself against his abs. 

She shrieked in delight as he dropped her onto her back on the bed. "Scoot up to the pillows, Baby," he instructed. "And keep your shoes on."

He watched her shimmy up to rest her head on the pillows while she kept her feet up in the air, and he undid his boots, tossing them aside. Jake crawled up the bed, kissing her through her panties before hiking her legs up over his shoulders and pushing them back until he was kissing her lips and the tip of her nose. 

When he ran his rough hands along the backs of her thighs, she whimpered into his mouth. Jake could feel her fingers on his name tag and insignia pins as he pushed his cock against her core through layers of fabric. "Let me eat your pussy?" he asked between soft kisses.

She met his questioning eyes and rubbed her core up against him. "I want you to," she gasped, and Jake pressed one more rough kiss to her lips before moving down her body to his intended target with a little grin.

"These are pretty," he murmured, kissing along the top of her underwear as he pushed her skirt up higher around her waist. Jessica's fingers found his hair, and her high heels dug slightly into his back. So far, he loved midweek sleepovers. As he pulled the blue lace to one side, he kissed her wet slit and thought about how there was actually plenty of room in his closet for her entire lingerie collection. All he wanted to do was keep adding to it, since he definitely loved it as much as she did. 

"Jake," she gasped, pressing herself a little harder against his mouth as he parted her with his lips and teased her opening with his flat tongue. "Jake!" 

He chuckled and kissed her inner thigh as he asked, "How do you make it so many syllables like that?" But Jessica tugged on his hair and put his mouth back where she wanted it. 

"Stop messing around," she whined. Holy shit, he loved it when she told him what to do. When Jessica bossed him around, it made him want to give his best performance.

"Anything you want, Baby," he promised, and she whined louder until he was sucking gently on her clit. That seemed to be what she was after, so he set a leisurely pace, occasionally going harder until she got loud. Then he ran his knuckle along her opening before slipping his middle finger inside her. 

Those heels pressed harder into his back as she demanded, "Harder." Fingers tightened in his hair, sending a ripple of need down along his neck. He plucked her clit with his lips as he added his index finger and hooked them just so. 

"Jake!" she called out, absolutely riding his face and fingers now. She tasted so good, and he couldn't stop picturing her stuff in her condo. He was grinding his hips against the bed in time with the tugging of his hair. Her sharp heels were starting to hurt, and he was a little afraid she would rip his uniform shirt, but there was no way he was stopping now. 

She was clenching and practically screaming as he swirled his tongue around her sweet spot and fucked his fingers harder into her. He was rock hard against her bedding, and her fingernails scraped along his scalp as she came for him. She was squeezing his fingers and felt so tight around him that he needed to fuck her. He needed that around his cock.

Jake was up on his knees and out of her grasp as her legs splayed wide and her hips shook. Quickly he unzipped his khaki pants and pulled himself free, thrusting his cock into her clenching pussy and patting her clit with his wet fingers. Jessica was rolling her head from side to side as he ground himself into her with her name a low growl on his lips. 

"Jessica." He came hard after barely a few thrusts, shocking himself. He wasn't even sure how it happened so fast. But then he looked down at Jessica as his cum seeped out of her and onto the blue lace. Her fingers were in the air coaxing him closer, and he went so willingly to her lips, an absolute mess for this woman.

-------------------------

On Monday, Jessica and Jake cuddled all night in her bed, but Tuesday evening after her office hours, they moved things to his place. "Tomorrow is Wednesday, and you've got to teach that asshole's class, Smart Girl," Jake whispered. "I'll pack you some extra snacks in your lunch." 

Then he fucked her in her new lingerie until she could barely walk, leaving her in his bed aftwards to relax for a few minutes until she could get up and join him in the shower. And Jessica was relaxed and happy and fresh on Wednesday when she walked into the classroom where she would be in charge of Brian's Senior Studies seminar class. 

"Hi, I'm Dr. Reed," she announced when she rushed in as soon as her Physics lecture in the previous time slot ended. "I'll be filling in for Dr. Conley," she said to the group of ten in attendance, unable to keep a smile from her face. "And you're all graduating chemistry majors?" 

She had been given just a tiny bit of information on this class from Dean Walters, and she was a little nervous that she wouldn't be able to help as much as she hoped. Then she convinced herself she'd be okay. She passed a bunch of chemistry classes as an undergrad, and she could work her way through any textbook with ease. 

"Yeah," replied one of the students as he sat up a little straighter in his seat. "But Dr. Conley usually just takes attendance and then leaves."

She blinked at him for a few seconds and adjusted her glasses. "I'm sorry. What? He leaves?"

"Yeah," another student agreed.

"But aren't you all trying to graduate in May? With top grades to get a job or go to grad school?" she asked as she looked around. She was met with nodding heads and a few blank stares as she set her notebooks down at the front of the small room. "Well..." she started, unsure what she should do. "Let me look at your grades a little closer. Maybe we can work on some things from your classes?" She pulled out her information packet on these students. Indeed two of them did have perfect 4.0 GPAs, but there were a few who could use some help with their grades.

"So are you going to stay?" a third student asked. "Even after you take attendance? And help us?"

Jessica was appalled as she stood there with her hands on her hips. "Yeah. I'm going to stay. And we're going to talk about which classes you might be struggling with? You still have some time left in the semester to bring your grades up."

Just then, the door at the back of the room opened, and Dr. Rosenthal walked in, quietly taking a seat off to the side. "Sorry I'm late," he muttered. "Just pretend I'm not even here."

Great. Jessica's first foray into her tenure being reviewed would be when she wasn't even teaching her own subject with her own students. A flash of panic hit her in the face. Her palms started to sweat. Her trusty high heels suddenly felt very uncomfortable. The snack Jake packed for her was sitting like a brick in her stomach. 

"Uh, are there any specific classes or questions in general that I can help you with?" she asked lamely as she wiped her hands on her suit jacket.

"Organic chemistry," a handful groaned in unison, and she supposed that was at least somewhere to start. 

"Okay," she said, watching Rosenthal scribble something in his notebook. "Does anyone have that textbook with them? So I can take a look?"

A minute later, she had the chapter in front of her, and everyone had moved their seats a little closer to the board. With some help from the students themselves, she wrote a few problems out. She had to consult the text frequently, and she had to Google something on her phone, but they did manage to solve the first one correctly. She also noticed a text from Jake when she had her phone out.

Hey, Smart Girl. I just know you're killing it right now. Call me after work.

His words made her push through the second problem on the board. And then a third and a fourth. With only a few minutes left in the class, she passed around her red notebook and said, "Please write down your email address. I could pull them from the campus catalog, but that will take too long. I'll email out more Organic Chem problems to work on for next week, and I'll talk to Dr. Snyder and see if he can give me any idea of what he might be focusing on for his final exam, okay? And please email me if you need help with anything specific," she added, writing her own email address on the board. 

When she turned around, they were all scribbling it down. And Dr. Rosenthal was smiling up at her; she'd forgotten he was even in the room. A few of the students thanked her as they stood to leave, and she handed the borrowed textbook back. This was going to be a lot more work than she anticipated.

"Well, Dr. Reed," Rosenthal murmured as he stood. "Chemistry is not your subject, is it?" he asked with a chuckle. 

She groaned softly. "Was it that obvious? I don't even know any good chemistry jokes."

"Oh, I do," he promised. "I subscribe to the science joke of the day website. I could start forwarding the jokes to you if you'd like?"

She nodded and laughed. "That would be nice, Dr. Rosenthal."

Then she watched him write something in his notebook about forwarding the emails to her, and she realized he really was a very sweet person. But she was afraid that this class would reflect poorly upon her, and she was just about to tell him that when he tucked his pencil behind his ear. 

"I thought you did a good job with these students today, especially since you aren't proficient in the subject. I'll be seeing you in your Quantum Mechanics lecture in about an hour or so."

Jessica watched him hustle out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. And sure enough, later that afternoon, Dr. Rosenthal got to see her shine as she taught her favorite class. And Advanced Calculus was there, too, taking her own set of notes. And then Jessica felt a lot better.

--------------------------

Jake sat at the Hard Deck on Friday night with a beer in one hand and Bradley sitting next to him. He'd invited Jessica to come, but she told him she had to write down some chemistry problems. Coming from literally any other woman, Jake would have assumed she was lying as a way to dismiss him, but he believed every word she told him. 

"Where's Dr. Tits?" he asked Bradley with a smirk as he sipped his beer.

Bradley grunted in response. "Working late. She has a lecture until eight. That's why I'm not staying long tonight. I told her I'd pick her up before nine."

Jake checked the time. It was barely seven. He hadn't been to the Hard Deck in weeks. Maybe months. He'd been spending all of his time with Jessica at Chippy's. He kind of missed that cranky, old man. He also missed being in an environment where he hadn't hooked up with every woman present. As he looked around the bar, he started to get a little uncomfortable. 

"Wanna shoot some pool?" Bradley asked him, and Jake got up out of his seat immediately and headed toward the pool table. 

"You can break," Jake told him as he watched Bradley rack the balls. He was going to lose anyway, and he didn't even mind. Occasionally he glanced around the room, and it registered to him that if he wasn't dating Jessica, he'd be taking one of these women home with him. "I need something stronger," he murmured. "You want a whiskey or two?"

"Sure," Bradley replied, eyeing him closely. "But just one for me."

"Yeah, alright," Jake told him before turning toward the bar where Penny was working at a blistering pace filling orders. He had to wait a minute to get her attention, but she smiled at him when he said, "Penny, my dear, I'll take three Maker's Marks. Neat."

"Of course," she replied. "You sharing them with Rooster or with... someone else? Or two someone elses?"

Jake's eyes settled on the two younger women who were eyeing him up across the bar. They didn't turn away when he made eye contact, rather they looked even more excited. But two of the whiskeys were meant for him. Maybe to take the edge off of the nerves he was feeling being out for the night without his girlfriend. 

"Nah," Jake told her as she poured. "Just ol' Rooster."

She winked at him as she added them to his tab. "Enjoy."

He wanted to enjoy his drinks. He planned to. He carried the three glasses back to the pool table with every intention of downing two of them and giving the third to Bradley. But he could tell he was being followed now, so he stepped through the crowd a little faster to reach his destination.

Jake was handing a glass to Bradley when he knew it was too late. "Hey, fellas," said the first girl who had the fucking nerve to even look a bit like Jessica. "Can we join you?" 

"We always wanted to learn how to play pool," chimed in the second one who was barely wearing any clothing. 

"I'm married," Bradley told them blandly, holding up his left and barely looking at them before he lined up a really nice shot. "And my wife is hot. And I'm not interested. You're up, Hangman."

"Are you married?" the first one asked Jake as he downed both drinks, one after the other.

He looked at her and backed away a few inches. "Well, no."

"Teach us how to play pool?" she whined, her hand coming to rest on his chest. 

And it suddenly occurred to Jake that he had never turned a woman down before in his life. He'd never had to. He'd always been game. Sure, he'd been shot down himself on occasion, but this wasn't something he was used to doing at all. He turned to Bradley for help, but just got a disappointed look in return the longer he waffled. And Jake already felt like he had failed his girlfriend.

---------------------------

Jessica was sitting on her bed examining Jake's birthday gift that arrived in the mail earlier. It was perfect. She giggled and kicked her feet, knowing exactly where he should hang it at his place. She was carefully putting it in the frame and attaching the back when her phone rang.

"Jake!" she gushed answering his call. It was after ten o'clock now, and she was exhausted from all the extra work involved with taking Brian's class and actually doing something to help his students. "How was the bar?"

"I miss you, Jess," he drawled, a harsh edge coming through in his voice. "Can I... can I come over?"

"Yes," she told him right away. "Come over."

"Okay." Then the call went silent. He didn't sound like himself, and Jessica became a little concerned as she packed up all of the chemistry notes that were littering her bed. She put Jake's birthday gift in a box in her closet, and then slipped her robe over her silk nightgown. 

When Jake knocked just a few minutes later, she was surprised he was already there. She was going to have to copy a key so he could just let himself in going forward, but her mind went blank when she opened the door. He looked a little drunk. He smelled a bit drunk. She wondered if he drove himself over, and that thought made her stomach lurch as he walked inside and locked the door behind him.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly as he collected her in his arms and started toward the bedroom.

"Yeah," he grunted. "Just needed you."

He needed her. She let him kick off his shoes and remove about half of his clothing, and then he was reaching for her again. Jake snuggled next to her in bed and fell asleep with his arms wrapped tightly around her.

-----------------------------

Jake. Don't be a fuckboy. We trusted you. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 18

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