#second class textbook arrived and was working

[pharaohbean]

college starts in 1.5hrs and ive already been screwed over by them

for context: the specific way i am doing college atm (its not officially college long story) is that the government/state/whatever pays for everything in my classes except science/language lab fees. this includes textbooks—however, they only pay for the cheapest option. so you have NO idea if you’ll get physical or digital. thats fine by me, i can work with both.

so, lo and behold, i go to find my two textbooks for today (both digital)— and yeah, no, not there.

WHAT HAS HAPPENED IS THAT:

The book they said they’d sent me for one class not only isn’t where they said it would be, but it straight up ISNT THE TEXTBOOK FOR THE CLASS. the textbook for this class is free online, which is also funny to me bc this teacher doesn’t allow electronics in the classroom. like buddy did you expect us to memorize the book wtf

The OTHER textbook they said they’d pay the subscription for for the semester (YES THE BOOK IS LOCKED BEHIND A SUBSCRIPTION THIS IS A CALCULUS CLASS.) is, in fact, not paid for. I have it, but it’s on a 2 week free trial. And you’re thinking, “Zerro, just pay for it!” ITS A HUNDRED AND THIRTY DOLLARS ARE YOU NUTS?! NOT WHEN THEYRE SUPPOSED TO PAY THAT!

So NOW, I have to figure out how they’re supposed to pay for the latter textbook (because the former is straight up wrong anyways) while also just straight up not knowing how these classes even WORK (the calc class… has discussion forums required. What The F—) and yeah college is going GREAT.

[fushitoru]

infect me with your love

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

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

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

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

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

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

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist

fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.

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

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

that is, until gojo satoru.

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

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

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

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

but then, the door creaks open behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…what can i get you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and yet, here you are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you said to surprise you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“you know, i didn’t get your name.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i really can’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“as you wish.”

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

you’ve seen him before.

okay, pause.

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

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

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

alright, pause over. back to now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“nice hit, by the wa—”

“it’s you!” you exclaim. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“let me get that for you.”

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

gojo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

that day at starbucks, though.

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

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

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

what was it again?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no.”

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

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

“how is it complicated?”

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

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

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

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

“well, when you put it like that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

“rough night?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“from?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you should do that more,” he said.

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

“laugh.”

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

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

“is that right?”

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

“what?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“take my mask off.”

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

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

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

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

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

“gojo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you trust me, don’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“and yet, you’re still here.”

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

“guess i’m curious,” you admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“do what?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your breath catches. “satoru…”  

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

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

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

you nod, and then his lips are on yours.  

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

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

that’s when he freezes.  

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

your heart drops into your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

then it comes again, a little louder this time.

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

satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

for once, you thank the gods that he listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

nestled right against his morning wood.

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

oh, say can you see—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

satoru just tied you up using his webs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist

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

plspls pls comment and reblog!!!

TAGLIST

@sugoroo @ryutotsukai0824 @sharkubi @lisvanrouge @mxlktae

@samisfunky @achbbys000 @xd3pr3ss3dx @jottositto @cheescakebroom

@r0ckst4rjk @callmeagardengnome @rottmntrulesall @blankwashed @sindulgent666

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

@creamflix

[yanderedrabbles]

What do you think about yan!Academic Rival who's obsessed with reader? Yan!Rival who has all the resources he needs to be the best but then there's reader who basically came from nothing/is a scholarship kid but is exceptional in her studies.

@casuallyanidiot did an amazing take on this! You can read it here.

Yandere Academic Rival x Reader

Yandere! Rival who comes from money and privilege. Who's been top of his class since grade school. Who has every resource at his fingertips - tutors for his difficult subjects, a heap of additional textbooks, teachers desperate to impress his parents with the attention they give him...

Yandere! Rival who's used to winning. Who expects to always be number one. Who's never had anyone even come close to being his equal.

Yandere! Rival who expects university to be exactly the same. So what if it's a tough school to get into? He didn't struggle in the slightest, so clearly he's already a cut above the regular applicants.

Yandere! Rival who gets a nasty shock when his class gets their first report back. He's not even in the top ten.

Yandere! Rival who feels himself unravel a little. This should have been easy.

Yandere! Rival who throws himself into his studies. Who spens every minute outside class with a tutor, textbooks and notes piled high on his desk. Who doesn't give a damn about making friends or going out to parties.

Yandere! Rival who feels more than smug when the next class ranking is out. Who rudely pushes his way through his classmates to see it firsthand.

Yandere! Rival who stands frozen when he sees the list. He came in second.

Somehow, someone managed to outdo him. Even with all the hours he poured in, even with the tutors and the one on ones with his professors. There's still someone better than him, someone smarter.

Yandere! Rival who looks you up the second he sees your name ranked above his. Who prowls your social media, hoping to find the secret behind your success.

Yandere! Rival who expects you to be just as dedicated to studying as he is.

Yandere! Rival who stares in disbelief at your profile. You're nothing like him at all. Parties on the weekends, extracurriculars, hikes, friends, boyfriends. He stares and stares, not understanding how you even have time to crack a book, much less beat him.

You're having fun.

Yandere! Rival who just doesn't understand it. Why does he have to work his ass off while you get to parade around, living life to the fullest?

Yandere! Rival who has never been so bitter in his entire life. Who has no idea how to deal with the way he feels. So he does the only thing he can. He studies you instead.

Yandere! Rival who starts sitting behind you in every class. Who takes the table right next to yours every time you visit the library or the campus café. Who listens to every conversation you have.

Yandere! Rival who needs just one chance to ruin your life. And foolishly, you give it to him.

Saturday night and Yandere! Rival knows exactly where you'll be. Who makes sure to arrive at the club extra early, just to beat you there.

Yandere! Rival who stalks you all night, waiting for his chance. The second he gets close enough, he's slipping something in your drink and slipping his arm around your waist.

Yandere! Rival who can't help the giddy feeling in his chest when you hang onto him to keep yourself from falling. Who loves the glazed look in your eyes, the way you're so helpless in his arms.

Yandere! Rival who keeps calling himself your boyfriend as you stagger out of the club, loving the way it sounds.

Yandere! Rival who keeps you locked away in his fancy uptown apartment. Why waste money on tutors when his pretty little girlfriend is twice as good?

Yandere! Rival who starves you for days until you stop fighting him.

Yandere! Rival who makes sure your assignments get turned in on time, but who always edits them just a little. Who let's you study as much as you want, but refuses to let you leave.

Yandere! Rival who focuses so much better with his head on your thighs and your fingers in his hair.

Yandere! Rival who promises he'll let you go after graduation. As long as you promise to always take second place.

[brokenmenswhore]

I need more stuff with poly!maraudersxreader spicy stuff🤭

i am but your humble servant 🙇‍♀️

mean | poly!marauders

pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader (james, remus, & sirius)

summary: the boys get jealous seeing you with a study partner, and you reap the consequences when you tell sirius he was being ‘mean’

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), rough sex, use of the word daddy twice

a/n: is my sirius favoritism showing too much or no

────── ☾ ──────

“I don’t think I’ll ever actually understand this class,” you said, the library study session beginning to take its toll.

“You’re getting it!” Evan encouraged, “we just need to work on it a little bit more.”

“I appreciate your faith in me, but I think after four hours, I either get it or I don’t,” you replied.

“I don’t mind the time,” Evan said, “especially when I get to spend it with you.”

Your three boyfriends could hear every single word exchanged between the two of you, being that they were seated only two tables away, and the second they heard Evan’s statement, Sirius jolted upwards from his chair.

“Sit down,” Remus instructed, “what are you gonna do? Kill him in the middle of our entire year?”

“Yeah, Remus, I just might,” Sirius responded, but still sat back down, eyes never leaving the two of you.

“You have to trust her, Sirius,” James scolded.

“It’s not her I don’t trust,” Sirius said, nostrils flaring in a rage.

Evan was sitting much closer to you than the boys were comfortable with, but they had to trust that you would shut him down if he overstepped.

“Yeah, this has at least been fun!” you told Evan, “but I think I’m a lost cause. This library is beginning to feel like an asylum.”

Evan shrugged, “I mean, we could change the scenery if that’s the problem. There’s usually not anyone in the fifth year potions classroom after the midday class. It would be quiet, and we could be alone and really focus.”

Evan shifted his chair even closer to you, placing an arm around the back of your chair, and leaning closer to you.

“That’s it, I’m gonna kill him,” Sirius said, standing up and reaching your table before Remus or James could keep him at bay.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Sirius spat, hands on the table as he leaned in, standing across from you.

“Studying?” you replied as Evan backed off.

“Studying,” he mocked in a high tone, “tell him he better get the fuck away from you if he wants to continue breathing.”

“I’m right here, Black, if you have a problem, say it straight to me,” Evan retorted, standing up to meet Sirius’s eye level.

“Ok, Rosier,” Sirius cleared his throat, “I have a problem with you attempting to feel up my girlfriend and then get her alone. I also have a problem with the lack of bruising on your face.”

“Sirius!” you and Remus scolded in unison, the other two boys now next to Sirius, ready to pull him back if he decided to lunge.

“I didn’t do a single thing,” Evan protested, “but if you’re so insecure that you think studying means she’ll cheat on you, maybe she never really liked you in the first place. She could do better anyway.”

Sirius went to jump over the table, but Remus and James held onto one arm each, holding him back as Evan laughed.

“This is not worth it,” Evan told you, “I’ll see you around.”

“Evan, I’m sorry-“ you tried to say as he walked away, your attention turning to Sirius. You were angry with him for the way he was acting, but his fury far outweighed yours.

Remus and James dropped their grip on Sirius when he calmed down. Sirius glared daggers into you. “Just studying, eh?”

“We were just studying until you tried to attack him,” you retorted.

“Go to the dorm room now before I decide to make you feel sorry right here. We’ll meet you up there.”

“But I still-“

“Now.”

The rage in Sirius’ voice was not something to take lightly. When he was mad, making him angrier often ended badly. You retreated to the dorms, seated cross-legged on your bed with a textbook open as you waited for your boyfriends to arrive.

The door to the dorms swung open so hard that the door slammed open against the wall. All three of your partners entered the room, Sirius stomping straight over to you and wrapping a hand around your throat.

“Had a fun day toying with other boys, huh?” he asked.

“Sirius, please, I really was just trying to study,” you pleaded, eyes finding Remus and James and searching for help, “you guys should know that I would never do that to you.”

“I know, baby,” Sirius’ voice weakened, his anger breaking at your pleas, “I’m just mad someone else tried to take what’s mine.”

“I think he was trying to make us jealous, too,” Remus added, “and it worked.”

“Is that what the big issue is?” you asked for clarification, “you’re all jealous?”

“He got really close to you,” James responded, the candor in his voice hurting your heart.

“I’m yours,” you said, grabbing the wrist around your throat, “I’m all of yours, and yours only, you know that.”

“We know,” Sirius said, “I’m just so mad. I can’t calm down.”

“You need to release the energy, Sirius,” James said, “you’re never gonna get past this if you don’t.”

Sirius looked into your eyes, and you gave him a slight nod, signaling to him that he could use you to release the energy. He had a lot of pent up rage from the earlier incident that he needed to let out. He needed to remind you, and himself, that you were his.

Sirius crashed his lips onto yours, a hand still on your throat as he pushed you back against the headboard.

Remus threw the textbook in front of you onto the floor, pulling your legs from their position until they were out in front of you. He kissed up your thighs until he was under your skirt, kissing on top your underwear as you let out a small moan into Sirius’s mouth.

Remus moved your underwear to the side, immediately diving in between your folds with his tongue, causing you to gasp. Sirius pulled away from your mouth, allowing him to hear the noises you made. You whined as Remus shoved his tongue into your soaking wet hole, the intrusion catching you off guard.

“Shit, Remmy,” you whimpered.

“Gotta remind you who you belong to, dove,” James spoke, taking a seat on the bed next to you, “you remember?”

“I’m y-yours, shit, James, all yours,” you whined as Remus continued to fuck you with his tongue, your hand taking its place on his head, fingers entwined in his hair, holding him in place.

“No fair,” Sirius pouted, “why do you get to hear her moan your name when I’m the one who got mad in the first place?”

“Y-ou were mean,” you explained, breathing heavy, making talking difficult as ever, trying to give Sirius the reason you weren’t focusing your attention to him, despite your better judgement.

Remus heard you and immediately stopped his assault on your core. You tried to push his head back down in desperation, but he took your hands off of his head, pinning them to your sides.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Sirius questioned, tone low and dark.

“Nothing,” you answered, hoping they would let it go but knowing better.

“I was mean, huh? I don’t deserve to hear you moan my name then, is that it? You think you’re so big and powerful, punishing me because I was mean?” Sirius was growing angrier and angrier, his rage overtaking him again.

“I- I’m sorry,” you tried to backtrack.

“No, no, it’s too late for that now. If you think I don’t deserve to hear you, then I won’t do anything that constitutes a noise. You don’t want me, then so be it.”

“No, please, I do, I want you, please-“

“Tell it to James,” Sirius cut you off. He was mad at you for talking back to him, and mad about earlier, but he was strictly doing this to punish you. He knew you loved how he fucked you when he was mad, and he was threatening to deny you what you wanted.

“Jamesie, please, tell him that I w-“

“Uh uh,” James tutted, “you’re with me now, not Sirius. You don’t get to have him now.”

You pouted, tears threatening to spill as you looked up at James. He leaned over you, kissing your forehead before your lips, distracting you with his mouth before a hand lifted up your skirt and traveled beneath the waistband of your underwear, finding its home on your pearl.

James began to rub in circles, eliciting a moan in the kiss.

“Remus, I think you can go back now,” James spoke.

Remus kept your hands pinned at your sides but shifted downward, tongue reentering you as James rubbed you off, the feeling of two different men on your core driving you insane.

Sirius slumped down on a chair a few feet away, lighting a cigarette as he watched Remus and James overstimulate you as they held you down.

“Jamie, please,” you moaned.

“Please what, dove?” James asked, beginning to touch any part of your core he could, the pleasure becoming too much to handle.

“Please let me come,” you begged.

James looked at Remus, who made eye contact with him, but never left you alone. He shoved his tongue in and out of you, curling it upwards once inside, eyes focused on James as he waited for any signal to stop.

James, however, was always the nicest to you in the bedroom. Though he knew Sirius and Remus would usually stop now, he was making the call, and he hated denying you your pleasure, even if you were being punished.

He leaned in and kissed you, his touch quickening and hardening as Remus continued to taste as much of you as he could, causing your climax to hit you without warning. You squealed and moaned into James’s mouth, legs shaking as Remus licked up any remnants of your high before pulling away from you and standing up.

You attempted to catch your breath as Sirius took one last drag of his cigarette, extinguishing the flame and walking over to you, your cheeks flushed and chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to calm down.

“See, you didn’t need me, did you?” Sirius taunted.

“I-“

“Still don’t want me?”

You furiously shook your head no. “No, nonono, I want you, please, I need you,” you begged.

“Even though I’m so fucking mean?” he spat, intentionally working himself up to an angry place again.

“Yes, daddy, please,” you replied, using the name for him that you knew he couldn’t resist.

Sirius growled, tugging on his jeans and crawling over you, lightly kissing your neck before meeting your gaze.

“Beg for me,” he demanded.

Your heart was beating so hard it made your chest sore. “Please, daddy, I want you.”

“I think he’s earned hearing his name, sweetheart,” Remus spoke from beside you.

“Please, I need you so bad, Siri, I-“

The second you spoke his name, Sirius pushed your skirt up to your waist and your underwear to the side, inserting his entire length into you in one quick motion, a move he loved to use when he was punishing you for something. Though he had been inside of you plenty of times, he was too large to simply just start fucking you without a warm up, unless, that is, he was purposefully being mean.

You let out a high pitched moan at the intrusion, always forgetting just how deep his cock hits within you.

He then pulled almost his entire length out of you before slamming it back in, your body jolting upwards at the feeling of his hips snapping against yours. He started to fuck you, fast and hard, leaving no time for you to adjust to him or his size.

“Siri, fuck,” you moaned.

“That’s it,” he breathed, “you’re all mine. You fucking belong to me.”

All three boys were possessive of you, but knew you ‘belonged’ to all three of them, not just one. However, when Sirius was mad, the other boys didn’t matter. They knew he needed to feel like you were his and only his. All the boys needed that one-on-one intimacy at times, but Sirius craved it all the time, and sometimes Remus suspected that he really did wish you were all his.

“It’s too much, can’t- I c-“ you started to plead, but Sirius didn’t care, continuing his ruthless pace that nearly had your head slamming upwards into the headboard with each thrust.

“You can, and you will,” Sirius spoke, “you’re all fucking mine. I don’t even want anyone else near you. You’re gonna take it like a good girl so that everyone can hear who you belong to, understood?”

You nodded, taking a moment to process that you had to speak. “Yes, Siri.”

“Good girl,” he said, one of his hands grabbing your throat as he snapped his hips at an almost violent pace.

“Siri, please, I’m gonna c-“

“You know you’re supposed to wait until he comes,” Remus reminded you, “or else it just isn’t fair.”

“B- but- I-“

“No buts,” Remus said, running a thumb over your cheek to collect the tears that were now falling, “you wait until Siri is ready, and then you come with him. He deserves at least that much.”

Your walls were clenching around his cock, and you fought desperately not to come. You knew you were supposed to wait and come in unison with whoever was fucking you, but you were overstimulated, and Sirius’s possessiveness was hot.

“That’s right, baby, you gotta wait,” Sirius cooed, “my girl only comes when I say she can. You’re my girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Siri, I’m yours,” you responded, your hands grabbing desperately at his shoulders to steady yourself, “all yours.”

Sirius ran a hand over your body, scanning every inch of you as he fucked you. “All mine,” he whispered, almost more to himself than to you.

Sirius’s thrusts began to become erratic and sloppy, his high approaching as his clock twitched inside of you.

“You gonna come with me, love?” Sirius asked, and you whined in response, signaling that you were ready.

Sirius tightened his grip around your throat. “Come for me,” he commanded, “for me and only me.”

Your walls clenched around Sirius one last time as you came around him, one final “Sirius!” leaving your lips as you did.

The feeling of you coming around him caused Sirius to reach his high, his final few thrusts sharp and deep inside of you.

He took a moment to collect himself and catch his breath before pulling out of you.

“You remember who you belong to now?” James asked, sweetly repositioning your skirt over you to allow you modesty as you calmed down.

“Mhm,” you began to feel tired, “I’m all of yours.”

[pottersfia]

I love your work and I’m wondering if you can make a Harry Potter x reader! Where the reader is a Slytherin and she’s all cocky and shit and she’s enemies with Harry. They get in a argument and out of frustration Harry kisses her and then they Have rough sex?

harry x fem!reader

smut

a/n: sorry this took so long! it was a fun write :)

out of all the people you could've been partnered up with for your DADA assignment, it had to be harry. you despised the so called "chosen one" but you wanted a good grade so you had to get through it.

you and harry agreed to meet in the library, but this particular evening you both happened to be busy after your classes and the library closed before you could get there. you decided to meet in your dorm instead. your roommate was gone for the night and you had a desk in there so it would have to do.

"wish me luck, pansy. hopefully i don't end up punching this guy." you said. pansy snickered.

"have fun." she said as you walked towards harry who arrived in the common room.

"hello potter." you said.

"y/l/n." he replied.

"ok let's get this over with." you lead him to your dorm.

as you began to pull out your notes and textbooks harry spoke up,

"just so you know, i already started. i thought i'd do most of it for us." he said. you scoffed. who did he think he was?

"no." you crossed your arms.

"no?" he raised his eyebrows.

"i already have ideas for this assignment so i'll do it. i don't need you doing anything for me."

"that's not really how this is supposed to work." he pushed his glasses up which sent your stomach churning. with annoyance of course.

"well you're trying to do all the work too."

"i said most!"

you furrowed your eyebrows and stared at him. harry always managed to get on your last nerve. this grade was important, yes, but you were in no mood to put up with his attitude.

"can you stop being insufferable for once so we can get this done." you said.

"i don't see how i'm insufferable when you won't listen." he said. the two of you glared at eachother.

"you can leave you know. we don't have to do this today." you stood up and walked towards the door.

"you know that i'm busy all week. unlike you i have other important things to do." he walked towards you.

"then stop acting like you're better than me!" you practically yelled in his face and moved your hands up to try and push him away from you but he grabbed them before you could touch him. "let go." you said but his grip was strong.

"no." he replied, holding your arms against the closed door. you two stared each other down until you noticed him look down at your lips. you raised your eyebrow in a questioning way about to say something until he leaned in and kissed you. you froze for a second confused by his actions but then you kissed back just as he broke away. he let go of you.

"woah, i'm sorry y/n, i uh-"

"shut up." you kissed him again and this time it was longer. your lips synced together perfectly and harry let his hands roam along the sides of your torso. you pushed him to walk back towards your bed and climbed on top as he laid down. you parted your lips to pull your shirt off and he stared hungrily at your body.

"like what you see, potter?" you smirked at him.

"come here." he pulled you against himself and flipped you over so he was on top. he then took off his own shirt and moved down to pull your bottoms off. he rubbed your thighs and slowly moved his hands closer and closer to where you needed him most.

"stop teasing." you whined out. he laughed at you making you whine again.

"you know what? i've always wanted to shut you up. i think i'll use that loud mouth of yours instead." he pulled his underwear off revealing his hard erection and moved up to straddle your chest.

"stick your tongue out." he said. you looked up at him and furrowed your eyebrows.

"you're not making me suck you off like this." he grabbed your face roughly and replied, "i said stick your tongue out. i'll use you how i want." you rolled your eyes and did so, ignoring the wetness pooling in your own underwear.

he slapped his tip on your tongue before pushing himself inside your mouth. he moaned as your lips wrapped around him and he buck his hips in and out of your wet mouth.

"fuck. you feel so good like this." he groaned. you gripped onto his thigh with one hand and began rubbing yourself under your underwear with the other. harry only noticed when he felt the vibrations of you moaning around him and saw your arm moving.

“i knew you were a dirty slut. rubbing yourself while is use your throat.” his word made you moan even more as you squeezed your thighs together to feel more pressure. “you’re way prettier like this, you know.” he let out small whines and groans from the sensation of your lips and wet tongue on his cock.

you loved having him use you and his noises only brought you closer and closer to the edge. you shut your eyes as you took in the feeling but suddenly your mouth was empty. you looked up and watched as harry climbed off of you, grabbed your hips, and turned you over.

“stick that ass out.” he said. you arched your back and showed off the wet spot on your underwear, slightly spreading your legs.

“you better fuck me good, potter.” you said, rubbing yourself over your underwear. harry felt like he was dreaming. the sight in front of him made him throbbing as he pumped himself, still wet from your mouth.

“fuck.” he pulled your underwear to the side to see your dripping pussy and replaced your rubbing hand with his. “i will, trust me.” and with that he pushed himself inside you making you gasp from being stretched. he instantly started pounding into you, chased how good it felt to finally have you.

“so tight.” he groaned. his hands were gripping you and you were moaning louder than you ever have before. you reached back to rub yourself again making harry smirk.

“slap me please, harry.” you moaned out. he slapped your ass making you groan from the sting.

“making so many pretty noises for me.” he slapped again. “i want you to cum on my cock, y/n. i know you can do it.” his words only got you more wet and you grew tighter around him as you reached your orgasm.

“harry, i’m so close.” you said. he fucked into you harder, feeling himself get closer too.

“i’m gonna cum too, fuck.” he relished in the moment, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer with every stroke. finally, you felt your release as your legs shook, letting out loud whines.

harry came soon after, pulling out and pumping his cum on your ass and back.

“that is crazy hot.” he said staring at the image in front of him. you relaxed your legs to lay on your stomach trying to catch your breath.

harry quickly grabbed a towel to clean you off. he sat next to you and wiped your body.

“that wasn’t too bad, potter.” you said turning towards him with a smile.

“glad i could make you feel good.” he smiled back. you sat up as soon as you were clean.

“i could do a better job fucking you if i were on top, though.” you said. harry’s eyebrows raised and suddenly he felt his cock twitch at the thought.

[riddlesrose]

last person you expected

w/ leona kingscholar

in which trein pairs you with leona for a history project but we all know his sleeping habits.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ᯓ★ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

the housewarden’s door opens, revealing a familiar savanaclaw resident peering down at you, a studied grin across his lips. you greet him kindly, thanking him for inviting you over to work on the duo project trein assigned earlier that day. well, it was more of a one-sided invitation, you suggested working on it now so that you could have the weekend to yourselves. he simply shrugged in agreement, telling you to meet him in his dorm by 7.

which brings you here, standing half-awkwardly in leona’s room, unsure of where to set your things, and yourself. he offers the desk, or the floor, or he doesn’t care let’s just get this done. you take the desk, the chair looks comfortable enough for a few hours of sitting on it, the floor does not. 

you two work in tandem, a concentrated pair; he’s answering your questions and flipping through books while you compile all of the research into a presentable project. it surprises you how serious he’s taking this, or how serious it looks like he’s taking the project. you can argue you’re doing more work, but who’s keeping score? 

you start to ask him another question while stretching, feeling your writing hand getting increasingly sore. when leona doesn’t answer or you hear the rustling of paper, you turn to fully look at him. you cross your arms and sigh at the sight; leona’s forehead is pressed into the history textbook, your history textbook, snoring ever so slightly. did he seriously fall asleep that quickly?

thinking of a way to wake him without bursting his personal bubble you grab an extra pen and throw it at his head. the thin plastic tube hits the crown of his head and he instantly reacts, giving you the most intimidating glare his sleep-ridden eyes can muster. it’s not very effective. he rolls his eyes at your apparent amusement at his nodding off, half-ass apologizing while leaning on his hand, flipping through the textbook he was just dozing in.

almost two more hours pass before the project is finally done. all information has been checked over by yourself and leona, though you’re sure he just looked at it and assumed it was right, handing it back a lot sooner than he should’ve. 

you can feel the weight of your eyelids grow heavier with each passing minute, though it’s only nearing 10pm and you’ve definitely stayed up later, you’re beat. after a week's worth of classes, school work and everything else in between, you’re ready for this day to be over. you can practically hear your bed calling your name all the way from ramshackle dorm. 

the housewarden’s already halfway back to unconsciousness by the time you clear your stuff off of his desk. his eyes follow you with a sort of intent that has you scared you did something wrong while you sort through the papers and textbooks at the foot of his bed where you threw a stack of history notes at him when you arrived. while searching for yours, you neatly compile his books and few papers in a stack and leave it on his desk. his small amount of notes compared to your organized stack is almost comical.

when you go to leave you hear leona shift and call for you, asking you to wait. you pause and step back, turning to rest a knee on the edge of his bed so you can hover nearer to him, head cocked to the side. when he makes no effort to continue his statement you take the pen that previously struck his head and poke him on the forehead with it. he’s quick to threaten to snap the poor pen as if it’s at fault. you roll your eyes and turn to leave for a second time but you’re stopped by a hand catching your wrist.

leona doesn’t know what comes over him but all he musters is, “stay.” and it doesn’t sound like a question, but not a command either. more of a.. suggestion? before you could press further you’re slightly tugged closer towards his bed, the grip on your wrist is light enough that you could break free at any point, but you don’t. 

you allow yourself to be guided into leona’s hold, head tucked deftly under his chin. an arm makes its way around your torso, its owner humming in satisfaction. 

you were here to finish school work, not be dragged into sleeping with savanaclaw’s housewarden.. not like it’s a bad thing though, he’s always been on your radar. from the first day you accidentally woke him up and his (almost) empty threats, it's a weird sort of endearing, you find. 

your eyelids betray your curious mind, the warmth enveloping you lulling you into a quick rest, you can see why leona calls upon sleep so easily, he’s warm as hell, making for a comfortable meat-headed radiator. 

you wake the next morning significantly more rested than you expected, thanks to the warm rays of sun drifting in through leona’s window. leona, however, is not a fan of his personal pillow moving, so he drags you back down for what you surmise is going to be a lazy saturday with the last person you expected. 

masterlist

[puck-luck]

among the sheets | jack hughes

SEQUEL TO BETWEEN THE TILES

warnings: unprotected p in v, jealous and possessive jack, dirty talk, creampie, lots of kissing (lfg), trickery, light breeding kink (shh), mentions of masturbation (m & f), fingering, light biting, praise, ignoring the apparent repercussions of taking Plan B (cappy says that it’s bad for your body and to be real? i’ve never taken Plan B so idfk and idfc about the repercussions) pairing: frat!president jack hughes x reader summary: “Frat! Jack getting jealous watching reader get paired with another guy in their shared class together for an assignment 🤭”, “ok but reader talking to another guy in jacks frat bc she’s like whatever ur gonna act like nothing happened so will i and he gets PISSED and finally breaks telling her that he can’t stop thinking about her” wc: 6916

Three weeks. Six classes. Two Mondays, two Wednesdays, and two Fridays. One entire Thanksgiving break. That’s how long it’s been since you and Jack hooked up at his party in the beginning of November. 

December comes with a new goal for you: that you’re not going to let Jack Hughes get into your head. After all, he’s just a frat guy. It’s typical for frat boys to get what they want– laid– and then ghost their hookup. You’ve seen it happen to your roommates and close friends in years past, who always seem to fall for the frat guy that can’t commit. He’ll string them along for a fuck, convincing them that he likes them, just so that they’ll come back for more. 

Your girlfriends never stay the night, never receive aftercare, and sometimes don’t even get to come. Yet– the boy is always allowed to stay the night at her place. And he always pulls her back in, even when he’s fucking other girls and lying about it. Your mind automatically goes to Jack’s frat brother, Cole, who was the puppeteer of a miserable situationship with your close friend a few years back.

You’ve learned, just through talking with Jack during class, that he and Cole are still close friends. Cole’s his VP of Brotherhood. You don’t share the fact that you know the girl who cried over Cole every week for the better part of sophomore year. 

No, that information you keep to yourself. Although, to you, Jack’s friendship with Cole is proof that Jack is doing the same thing to you. If he asked, you probably would fuck him again. After all, he’s been nothing but kind to you since that party. But, at the same time, he’s been kind– not flirty. 

The distinction between the two is clear. Heading into finals, you’re going to keep your head down and do your work. You’ll study, you’ll prep for the second-to-last set of finals you’ll ever take, and you will not allow Jack to distract you. He’s just some guy.

You’re a little nervous heading into your first class back from break. Today, your teacher is announcing the pairs for your final project. In this class, there’s an optional written exam. Instead, there’s the required project, where you have to research and present about one of the topics that was covered this semester. With your luck, you’re expecting that your teacher will pair you and Jack together. That way, you won’t be able to avoid him. It’ll be a nightmare.

Like always, you arrive to class before Jack does. Like always, you take out your computer and your textbook, rereading your most recent notes to make sure you’re up to speed on what you’ll talk about in class today. Like always, Jack drops into the seat next to you just before the bell rings, and like always, he peers over your shoulder to look at your computer screen, snooping.

“I see you haven’t changed over break,” Jack says, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping that we’d come back and I’d get to watch you shop for a dress for formal instead of having to look at your notes all the time.”

“I’m not going to any formal,” you reply. “I’m not in a sorority.”

Jack clicks his tongue like he’s just remembering, about to retort when your professor starts class. You shush Jack, then turn your attention to your prof. 

She tells the class that today you’ll be meeting with your assigned partner and choosing a topic for your presentation. Everyone will have to move around in the classroom to do so, which is a relief– unless Jack ends up being your partner, he’ll have to leave your side. You won’t be burdened with the weight of having a man who’s seen your face when you come right beside you.

She begins to read from the list on her computer and you get lucky– Jack isn’t your partner. Instead, you get Braden Schneider, who sits across from you in the classroom, close to the back. He tucks himself into a corner every class and you’ve seen him at office hours once or twice. When you’re partnered up, he gives you a little wave and a smile.

Jack is stuck with another boy from the class, a boy named John (you think) with whom he seems to get along. 

Once the class splits into pairs, Jack raises his hand to bid you goodbye and goes to join John across the way. Braden comes and takes his seat. You don’t know Braden well, but he’s passionate about doing a presentation about the topic that you know best, so you click almost immediately. You leave class feeling confident that you will get a good grade on this final, so good that it might bump you up from a B+ to an A-... or even an A, if you can speak as well in front of the class as you can research.

You and Braden leave class together, trying to decide when it’s best to meet up outside of class and start working on your presentation. As you walk down the hall, Braden tells you that he can’t meet up on Friday because he’s going to his girlfriend’s formal– you can’t seem to escape the topic of greek life. You decide to grab coffee on Sunday morning. Outside the building, Braden leaves you with another wave and a confirmation of “It’s a date!”

Then, Jack finds you.

“How was Schneider?” He asks, eying your classmate’s retreating figure. 

“He’s good. We’re getting coffee on Sunday. I think our project will go well. How’s… John?” You reply, fixing the backpack straps on your shoulders before setting off towards the parking lot where you parked today. This class with Jack is the last of the day, so you’re ready to head home. He walks back the same way, since the parking lot is about a block closer to campus than the frat houses.

“Johnny,” Jack corrects. Then, he shrugs. “He’s fine. Why are you getting coffee with Schneider?”

You almost burst out laughing. “For the project?” You explain, like it’s obvious. “We have to talk about it.”

“Why can’t you just go to the library? Or you could work on it during class time,” Jack says. 

Now, it’s your turn to shrug. “We want to get it done and he says he works best in a more relaxed environment.”

“Of course he does,” Jack scoffs. “Those fucking Nups. They never take anything seriously.”

“‘Nups?’” You repeat. “What the fuck is a ‘Nup?’”

“Nu Upsilon Rho,” Jack says. “Our rival frat. He’s one of the brothers.”

“So… because he’s in this frat that you don’t like… you think he’s not going to take the project seriously,” you deadpan. “Do you even know him?”

“I just think he’s going to ditch you with all the work because he’s busy,” Jack says with another shrug. He fixes his baseball cap, turning it so it’s backwards atop his head. 

“Well, I have faith in him. We’ve got a plan and he seems pretty into our topic, so I think everything will be fine.” You frown at Jack, narrowing your eyes at him. “Thanks for the concern.”

“Are you angry with me, or something?” Jack asks. “You seem mad.”

“I think you’re really overstepping,” you tell him. “My project isn’t your business. We’re not partners.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“Why don’t you worry about yourself?” You’ve reached your parking lot, so this is the part where you turn left and Jack continues going straight. You cross your arms over your chest and he stops in front of you, turning to face you. You’re crowded on the left side of the sidewalk. Other students walk past you, sometimes looking at you to express their distaste at the obstacle blocking their way. 

Jack looks at you for a minute, holding eye contact without saying anything. He looks confused at your retort, a slight frown tugging at his lips. 

Those are the same lips that kissed your earlobe, your cheek, your neck. Behind them is the same tongue that licked into your mouth and slid against yours. 

You’re flushing a bit now. It takes a lot of concentration to tear yourself away from him, to look down at his feet. He’s wearing those white AF1s that he always wears, creased and gross after years of wear and tear, and that’s enough to bring you back to yourself. 

“We’re throwing a party on the last day of classes,” Jack says. “It’s, like, a final hoo-rah before finals. The theme is Ugly Christmas Sweaters. I’ll put you on the list, if you want to come.”

“Maybe,” you say. You probably won’t go. The last time you went to one of Jack’s parties, you ended up losing your head after one drink and fucking him in the downstairs bathroom where everyone could hear, just because he asked you to.

“Okay. It’ll start at nine. You can come early, too. I’ll be at the house all day.” If Jack is bothered by your uncertain answer, he doesn’t let it show. He bids you goodbye and turns away, heading towards the house. 

You watch him walk away, then you don’t think about him again until class on Wednesday. Wednesday begins exam review. Your optional exam is scheduled on the first day of finals week, in just ten days. You’ll only have two classes to summarize everything you learned this semester, since Monday and Wednesday are reserved for presentations, so it’s imperative that you pay attention. You have to pay attention in case your final project falls apart and goes completely south, the way that it seems Jack believes it will. You want to ace this final exam if you have to take it.

You barely speak with him throughout exam review on Wednesday, nor on Friday. You head to the library to work on other papers and exam reviews after your classes instead of going home, just so you don’t have to walk back with him.

If Jack’s not going to bring up the fact that you fucked, then neither are you. If he’s going to be a dick about the project, and the fact that you’re paired with one of his rival frat’s brothers, then you’re just going to ignore him.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t try to bother you during class, because he does. He’s insatiable like that. It’s impossible for him to go a class period without talking or without poking you and pouting for attention. You’re just the bigger person.

Jack’s presentation is on Monday and it goes fine. He and his partner are relatively monotone and they don’t seem to care much about their topic, so you’d say that they earned a solid C on the presentation part of the project. Hopefully their research and write-up is better and can lift their grade up to a B. You give him a high five after it’s done, just to congratulate him on completing the assignment, and he slumps in his seat. 

Your presentation is on Wednesday. You and Braden met for coffee on Sunday, like you said. He told you a bit about his girlfriend’s formal on Friday, then you got down to work. You both pulled through with your end of the research, so organizing your presentation was easy. You were in and out of the coffee shop in less than two hours, feeling fully confident that you’d be able to present well and receive an A.

On Wednesday, everything goes off without a hitch. Your professor looks impressed, scribbling only a few notes on her sheet of paper. You try not to look at Jack, lest he distract you, but he’s staring at you the whole time. He gives you a tight smile after the presentation is over and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

After class, Braden comes over and gives you a hug. You’d gotten his number before your coffee date, but he assures you that he’d love to study together in the future. You’ll have a class together next semester, anyway– the same one you’ll have with Jack, since you’re all in your last semester before graduation and everyone always ends up in the same course. 

Jack walks with you to the parking lot on Wednesday, heading home in the same direction, but his hands are shoved in his pockets and his expression is oddly blank. When you reach your normal parting point, Jack stops.

“Are you coming to the Ugly Sweater party?” He asks. 

“It’s on Friday, right?” You ask, still beaming after your successful presentation. “I don’t have any plans, I don’t think.”

“Do you have an ugly sweater?” Jack asks.

“I think I can find one.”

“I have two. You can borrow one of mine.” Jack kicks a rock to the side of the sidewalk, out of the way. “Do you want to come to the house and grab it? I know coming to frat parties early, like… isn’t fun for most people. I’ll kind of be busy before, too, so. You coming to the house now to grab it would be better. If you have nothing else to do.”

His words are jilted and awkward. You’re just as aware as he is that the last time you came to the house, you came all over his cock and he shot off inside of you. You know Jack’s thinking about that because the tips of his ears have gone red and he can’t meet your eyes.

You’d rather face the frat house now, in the light of day, than go back on a Friday night when there is a huge crowd and you can barely hear Jack.

“Yeah,” you tell him. Your answer surprises Jack, but it makes him smile. 

“Okay,” he says, trying to bite back the big grin. “C’mon.”

Together, you bypass the parking lot where your car sits. You walk together to the row of frat houses down the block. Jack swipes into the house with his student ID, holding the door open for you.

You kind of think he expects you to keep walking, but you’ve never been to his room before. You’ve only been in the dancing room– which looks like shit in the light of day, on a Wednesday afternoon– the kitchen, and that bathroom down the hall. 

Jack waves at a brother who is sitting in the living room to the right of the foyer, then guides you upstairs with a hand at the small of your back. His touch is featherlight, his fingertips pressing against the back of your sweater, bunching up the fabric. 

You make it to the top of the stairs, turning towards the left. There are more doors on that side of the hall, so you expect Jack’s room is down there. There are two doors on the right.

Jack climbs the final stairs and hooks a finger through the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you gently towards the right. “My room’s over here,” he mumbles, reaching for one of the doorhandles. “The other one is the shared bathroom for the guys. If you need the bathroom during the party, you can go in this one instead of waiting downstairs again.”

You nod, not sure how to reply. You’re not sure if you can face that bathroom without wanting to repeat your encounter with Jack. 

It’s even harder seeing his bed– unmade, messy, and looking comfortable. The sheets are wrinkled and thrown around haphazardly, his pillows flat and squished like he was hugging them in his sleep.

“Sorry for the mess,” Jack offers. “I didn’t think…”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I don’t mind. My room isn’t much better.”

That’s a lie. You have a laundry basket for your dirty clothes and Jack seems to drop them in a pile in the corner. He’s got books out, whereas yours are stacked neatly on your desk. The truthful part is that you don’t mind– you didn’t expect a clean room in a frat house.

You take a seat on the edge of his bed, clasping your hands in your lap and bouncing a bit on the mattress when you sink into it. He digs through his closet, moving hangers and pulling boxes out of cubbies to try and find the ugly sweater that you’re going to borrow.

You spot a can of Zyn on his bedside table, which makes you laugh to yourself. You’re looking around the room for more when your phone dings.

You dig it out of your pocket, checking your messages. It’s Braden, who has sent you a picture of a coffee and a donut– and his girlfriend in the background– from the same coffee shop where you met up on Sunday. His message reads: “Thanks for the recommendation! Ordered your fav to celebrate our awesome presentation today. Jos says she’ll get the butter cream next time for sure :)”

“Who’s that?” Jack asks, already facing you when you look up with a truly ugly Christmas sweater in his hands.

“Braden.”

Jack’s face clouds over. His hands drop to his sides, the sweater drooping in his right. “You’re done with the project, though.”

“So what?”

“Why are you still talking to him?”

“We get along,” you explain with a shrug. “He’s nice.”

“He’s a Nup,” Jack says again, deadpanning.

You scoff and shake your head. “Jack, just because he’s in another frat than you doesn’t mean he’s not nice. I’m friends with him just like how I’m friends with you.”

“But we were friends first,” Jack complains.

“Does that mean that I’m only allowed to be friends with you?” You ask, teasing him slightly. The idea is absurd and you need to know if Jack really means what he’s implying. “Heaven forbid I have to tell my roommate that we’re not allowed to be friends anymore because the President of Pike doesn’t allow me to talk to anyone other than him.”

“That’s not fair, you know I don’t mean that,” Jack says. 

“Jack, honey,” you begin, an air of patronization lacing the pet name. “You’re overstepping again. Let me see that sweater.” You hold a hand out, making a grabbing motion at the lump of fabric in his hand.

“You can’t just look at it,” Jack says with a pout. “You have to try it on to get the full effect. That’s what my mom always says.”

A short silence hangs in the air as you both realize what he said. It’s not like you can pull this sweater over the sweater you’re wearing– you’ll be sweltering and it won’t fit right.

Jack looks so caught on the spot that you can’t help but burst into giggles.

“Jack,” you laugh. “Are you trying to get me to take my clothes off?”

“Well, you’d put a new sweater on immediately after,” Jack says, trying to make up for his blunder. His ears are burning again, eyes darting around the room awkwardly. “I’ll even turn around.”

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” you say, shrugging him off. You start to pull your sweater over your head, revealing the bra you’d thrown on this morning because it was on the top of the pile in your drawer. You weren’t expecting anyone to see it.

“I mean, technically, I haven’t seen it,” Jack jumps in. “You kept your shirt on when I fucked you.”

It’s so jarring when he says it so bluntly. You’d both been avoiding the mention of your… encounter… for weeks.

“Well, now you’ve seen it, so you’ve collected the full package,” you concede, pulling the ugly sweater over your head and standing to look at yourself in the mirror in the corner of his room. 

It’s ugly. That’s for sure. There’s fake tinsel, there’s a stupid Christmas saying on the front, and there’s probably a Santa hat or reindeer headband to match.

Jack comes up behind you, smiling at you in the mirror. “Do you like it?”

“It’s an ugly Christmas sweater,” You reply. “You weren’t lying when you said that.”

Jack seems to forget that the mirror shows his expression, because he bites his lip and eyes you. “Looks good on you.”

You laugh, pulling the sweater back over your head, leaving you in your bra. You go to move past Jack, approaching the bed where your old sweater lies. “I think you just like to see a girl in your clothes, J. You seem to have a possessive streak.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jack refutes. 

You fix him with a look, glancing over your shoulder and seeing him with his arms crossed over his chest. “Jack, you don’t want me to be friends with a boy in another frat. I think you seem to believe that I’m Pike property because you fucked me once in the bathroom.”

Jack’s eyes go wide.

“Not that we’ve talked about it, because we probably should,” you point out. “We’re friends and we’ve fucked, then you acted like it never happened.”

“So did you,” Jack says, defending himself.

“I did because you did,” you tell him with a shrug. “I thought you’d bring it up during class or one of our walks. I don’t know. Maybe that was stupid of me.”

“I just didn’t think you wanted me to bring it up,” Jack says. “I thought you’d want it to be a one and done. I mean, I–” He pauses, wincing a little bit. “I came inside you. We didn’t talk about that. I didn’t know if you’d… be mad at me. So I… didn’t… talk to you?”

“I’m not mad at you for coming inside me,” you reply, shaking your head at him. “I don’t mind that. I took a Plan B afterward and everything’s fine. My period is supposed to come sometime this week. Plus, I–”

You cut yourself off, snapping your mouth shut. Jack’s not someone who you’d share your kinks with under a normal circumstance. He’s not your best friend, he’s not someone you gossip with, he’s not someone who you’re fucking regularly. It happened once, halfway in public, and that doesn’t mean he’s entitled to information about you. He doesn’t need to know that you felt feral over the way he came inside of you, with that low groan that has been replaying in your head every time you pull out your trusty vibrator and take care of yourself.

Jack cocks his head to the side. He raises an eyebrow. “You what?” He queries, expecting an answer. When you don’t answer, he takes a step forward and asks again. “You… what?”

“I’m not saying it,” you announce. 

Jack smirks. “That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Hmm, let’s think,” he teases, tapping his chin with his finger, pretending to think. “You didn’t mind when I came inside you, so I think you might… like that?”

You pull your sweater over your head, covering yourself up again. You seal your mouth shut and look at Jack, who takes another step forward, his smile only growing.

“You… want it,” Jack surmises. 

You hope your poker face is good, because he’s mighty perceptive. You would absolutely rather have a man come inside of you than in a condom. But, once again, it’s not something you were planning on telling Jack after just one fuck.

“You might be just as possessive as me,” Jack teases. He’s close enough to touch you now, so he does. He places a hand on your shoulder, his thumb smoothing against your exposed clavicle. He pushes the fabric of your sweater off your shoulder a bit, displacing it. The knitted fabric is stretchy, so it moves easily. He leans closer. “You like when I come inside of you because, well, I’m yours that way, aren’t I?”

With his hand on you and his body so close, he doesn’t miss the way you stiffen up.

Yes, you think. That’s exactly it. You hadn’t been able to place your finger on exactly why before now– Jack seems to have opened your eyes. Yes, you like it when a man is so desperate and overwhelmed by the feeling of you that he has to fill you up. He’s yours. He might be marking you up in a way that claims you, but his come is a sign that he’s yours.

“And I like it,” Jack continues. “Because you’re mine.”

A shiver actually runs down your spine.

And then Jack kisses you.

It’s sensual. It makes your brain melt. He’s gentle with it, his tongue caressing your lips until you open up for him. With one hand, he cradles your cheek. His other hand slides along your waist, underneath the bottom of your sweater. It feels like he’s branding your skin with his touch– or maybe all of the ‘possessive streak’ talk is warping your brain. 

“Why did you put your shirt back on?” Jack murmurs when he pulls away. 

He’s genuinely asking, which makes you laugh and pull him in again. Your laughter has him smiling, which makes it hard to kiss him properly. It devolves into a series of sweet pecks, interrupted by a breath of laughter or a wide grin before your lips meet again.

“No, really,” Jack says between kisses. “Why’d you put your shirt back on? I didn’t get a good look.”

“You are such a goof,” you reply, touching his hip. “Obviously I didn’t know we’d be kissing by the end of this conversation.”

“I think we should do more than kiss,” Jack says.

Again, a bout of laughter escapes you. He is so blatant and honest about what he wants. It’s such a male trait– you can’t imagine being so brash.

“You don’t think so?” Jack asks.

“You’re just so– I don’t know,” you say, feeling flustered. He’s still touching you, his hands are  greedy, roaming along your middle.

“Is it– too much?” Jack asks, matching your tone. His face contorts with concern. “If you don’t want to go again, we don’t have to. I would… fuck, I want to fuck you again.”

The sincerity of his voice surprises you. You know that he’s a man and men are often fueled by their desire to have sex with a partner, but Jack’s words blossom in your stomach like a flower opening on the first warm day of spring.

“You do?” You ask, coyly goading him into saying more. 

“Baby, I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” Jack reveals, groaning a little bit with want. “I can’t use the downstairs bathroom anymore and all the guys think it’s hilarious.”

“So is that why you didn’t want me talking to Braden?” You ask. “Because you’re jealous, seeing me have fun with another guy, meanwhile you can’t stop thinking about how my pussy felt around your cock?”

The dirty words make Jack keen in the back of his throat, tugging insistently at the hem of your sweater. 

You start to remove it, slowly, teasing him. As you watch his pupils dilate, fixing on your newly revealed skin, you continue to talk: “Have you been fucking your fist a lot, Jack? While you think about me?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice merely a whisper.

“Good boy,” you praise lowly, trying to make your voice as seductive and innocent as possible without feeling like a fool. “I’ve been fucking myself to the thought of you, too.” 

Your shirt comes off, dropping to the ground, but Jack’s eyes find your face.

He bites his lip, his eyes dancing along your features. “Fingers?” He asks.

You shake your head. “Been using a toy.”

Jack’s blue eyes are starting to look black, shadowed and heady with lust. They’re devoid of emotion– except for one: want.

“Good?” He asks.

Again, you shake your head. “Not as good as the real thing.” You bring your hands to his pants, popping the button on his jeans slowly, to build suspense or even give him a chance to kiss you again. He’s standing still, staring at you with those dark eyes, so you drag the zipper of his pants down and reach in, palming his length over his underwear. 

Jack’s eyes stay on you as you touch him, the blue of his eyes matching the navy of the midnight sky. 

You stroke him until you’re certain he can’t grow any harder. Then, you push his t-shirt up to reveal his stomach, somehow soft and toned at the same time. You scratch along his abdomen, lifting the fabric. His mouth curves up at the edges when you’re finally able to pull the shirt off of him, leaving his hair disheveled. It’s cute like this, you decide.

The air between you is tense, his gaze weighing on you. You kiss him again, just because you can, and you use the distraction to push at his jeans until they’re falling to the ground. His lips are wet against yours. He must have licked them while he was staring, while you stroked him.

One of his hands works on your jeans, but you’re much more concerned with the hand that’s petting over the clasp of your bra. He’s able to unfasten it quickly. Once your bra is loose, he acts quickly. He brings his hand to your front and pulls at the band of the delicate piece. He drops to a knee, leaving your lips behind, but kissing over your stomach as he tugs at your jeans. They’re tight around your hips, so it takes him a second to get them off, but his fervor and determination aides him.

Once he’s got you in your underwear, completely braless, he rises. He covers your skin in wet, messy kisses as he comes back up. He captures one nipple between his teeth, then moves to the other and sucks. His hands are flush against your ass, squeezing your skin and keeping you close. 

“Fuck, Jack,” you moan, threading your fingers through his hair and breathing in languorous spurts. 

“Wanna take my time with you,” he murmurs. “But I’ve been waiting for this for weeks. I can’t wait any longer.”

“So fuck me,” you tell him. “I want you to. I want you to fuck me now.”

Jack smiles against your skin, licking over your nipple one more time before he comes back to his height. “Music to my ears, babe.” He places a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth, helping you step backwards until you’re against the bed. “Lay down. Let me touch you.”

You obey, climbing onto the messy bed and making yourself comfortable among his pillows. Jack joins you, climbing up your body and planting another kiss on your lips. He takes a pillow from beside your head and brings it under your hips, tapping your sides so that you lift up for him. 

“Good girl,” he mumbles. 

His words are quiet, but they still give you a burst of pride. 

He’s already moving to pull your panties down, biting his lip in concentration. His eyes are fixed on the point between your legs, even though his face is level with yours. His hair is falling into your space, tickling your forehead. You take a moment to take him in. Your eyes are wide and unblinking as you stare at him. You know Jack’s attractive, because you look at him all the time and you like looking at him, but in this moment, he’s a work of art. You might have stopped breathing.

You gasp when he touches you. His fingertips are blunt and careful as they sweep through your wet folds. 

The gasp takes Jack by surprise, his eyes flickering to your face, and he smiles when he meets you there. “Are you always this wet when we’re together?” He asks. “I’m imagining you in class, absolutely soaked even though I haven’t touched you.”

“Fuck off,” you laugh, bringing a hand to his hair again and smoothing it back. 

“That’s a no?”

“Definitely a no,” you say. “I’m not just wet because you’re around, Jack. It doesn’t work like that. This is because you’re a good kisser. And, well, because you sucked on my nipples.”

Jack brightens. “And I’ll do it again, too.”

You grip his hair before he can dip down and make good on his vow. “Slow down there, cowboy,” you say. 

Jack laughs at that, kissing your lips instead of finding your nipple. He swipes a finger against your clit, making you gasp again, into his mouth this time. 

“Mm,” Jack hums patronizingly. “Does it feel good?”

He fills you with his middle finger and thumbs at your clit, working the digits in tandem to make you whimper.

“Listen to yourself,” he says. “All that noise for me?”

“Fuck me,” you plead. “Please, Jack. I need you to fuck me.”

“You need it?” Jack teases, sliding his ring finger inside of you, joining the other. 

“Don’t be a dick,” you whine. 

“God, and I thought it was embarrassing how bad I want you,” he simpers. “But, you make a good point. We both want it. Let’s not wait.”

He removes his hand from between your legs, the empty feeling foreign and dissatisfying. He shucks off the final bit of clothing remaining between the two of you, throwing the underwear over his shoulder comically. It’s not sexy, but he’s so charming and goofy that you swoon anyway.

Jack fists his cock, stroking himself. He aligns himself with your entrance, teasing your folds and bumping your clit with the head of his cock. He smiles to himself, gaze meeting yours before he speaks. He quirks an eyebrow, coming lower to kiss you again because he just can’t help himself. “Let’s fill you up, hm? Just like you like.”

“Just like you like,” you parrot back.

He murmurs a quiet agreeance as he pushes into you. He goes slow, sinking into you in a direct contrast with how he fucked you last time. “Still so tight,” Jack acknowledges. “You feel just as good as last time.”

You hold his shoulder, one hand twisting into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

He dips down to smear a kiss against your jugular, mouthing at the area where your pulse races. Jack starts to roll his hips, feeling you out. Even though it was the whole point, you realize suddenly that he’s bare inside of you. It’s like the piece of information was delayed and that you didn’t understand it until you felt him, felt the way his cock was weeping inside of you.

“Jack,” you moan, pulling him closer. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back. You don’t let up, not until his pelvis is flush with yours and his stomach is practically touching your own. You need him to be close– you’re drunk on the feeling of having him inside of you, bare and leaking.

“I know,” he soothes, rocking into you. He kisses you again, his tongue lathering your lips and petting whatever area he can touch– teeth, tongue, the roof of your mouth… it’s messy, but driven completely by his desire, and you love it.

Your whines and whimpers, musings about how well he fills you, and your trembling touches fuel him. 

He fucks you deeply, making sure his cock brushes against your cervix with each thrust. You lose the ability to kiss him when he taps your sweet spot, keening in a way that has him grinning. You clench down involuntarily, which makes him choke a bit on his own breath and stutter his movements. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that, this is going to end a lot faster than I want it to,” Jack tells you, grimacing through another thrust. He snaps his hips, showing no signs of stopping even though he seems determined to last. 

“I want you to come,” you goad, practically begging. “Please, Jack, fill me up. Need you to come in my pussy, I need it.”

Jack makes a choked moan in the back of his throat, his head dipping to bury itself in your neck. He nibbles your neck, keeping his teeth in place to quiet himself as he quickens his pace. His breath is like music in your ears, panting and turning high pitched when you squeeze him again. “Baby, shit,” he moans, dropping to his elbows, bracketing your head. 

You grind up against him, your hips lifting off the bed and the pillow completely. 

He rearranges his position, shifting his weight to one arm so that he can reach down and rub circles over your clit with his dominant hand. His fingers, the ones next to your head, toy with your hair. He thrusts as hard as he can, his thick cock pistoning into your heat and making your stomach turn over from the pleasure. 

The pressure on your clit sends sparks through your body. You can feel the pleasure in your clenched fingertips, the burning tips of your ears, and in your curled toes. He’s everywhere, and his cum is seconds from marking you.

“Be mine,” you plead. You mean to say, ‘fill me up, put your cum inside me until it spills out of me, come apart like your cum belongs to me,’ but what you hear is different. You hear yourself ask him for more than just a fuck– you hear a slogan from a chalky Valentine’s heart, begging for a romantic connection.

He’s a frat boy. He won’t acknowledge this, he won’t understand what you mean. He’ll take it the wrong way and he’ll never talk to you again, even if you show up to the party on Friday. He’ll say hello, then look over you to find the next girl–

“I’m yours,” Jack replies, breathless. “All yours.”

The relief that comes with his reply washes over you. You cry out, unable to stop yourself from clenching down on his member and succumbing to the pleasure that had been building up inside of you.

You let your release take hold of you, throwing your head back and baring your neck to Jack. He takes advantage of the newly revealed skin, sucking on the skin below your jaw. His nose presses against the side of your face, his breath wet against your skin. 

“Good, baby, so good,” Jack praises as he fucks you through your release. “Y’feel so perfect around me, gonna give you what you want, just another minute…”

His hips work in a frenzy, snapping into you with lewd noises that mix with the noises falling from both of your lips. It only takes a few more thrusts before Jack is shuddering in your arms, his lips coming to smudge a messy, passionate kiss against yours. He spills inside of you, filling you with his hot, intoxicating cum until there’s none remaining in his cock.

His hips slow when he’s done, his blinks becoming longer and slower as he regains his breath. He watches himself thrust into you a final few times, his mouth open slightly and eyes trained on the spot like he’s in a trance. 

You snap your fingers by his face, drawing his attention. “My eyes are up here, pretty boy.”

Jack bursts into a fit of giggles, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and peppering you with kisses. He uses the leverage, and the wide expanse of his bed, to roll over so that you’re laying on top of him. He touches your hips, your ass, the smooth plane of your back, all the way up to your shoulderblades before wrapping an arm around your waist and keeping you there. 

He kisses you silly, cradling your cheek with one hand. Occasionally, he allows you to pull away, but you never go far. He’ll play with the strands of your hair, gazing at you with a satisfied, smug smirk on his lips. 

“It’s a date party,” Jack says eventually.

“What is?” You ask, your nose scrunching in confusion. 

“The ugly sweater party. It’s a date party. I was conning you into being my date.”

You barely stifle a laugh. “You’re a fucking freak.”

“Hey,” Jack complains, pouting. “Not all of us can just say shit like ‘be mine’ in the middle of sex.”

You pat his chest, clicking your tongue at him to reprimand him for mocking your words. “Says the boy who tried to trick me into being his date for a frat function.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Jack shrugs, pulling you in for another kiss.

It’s slow, like the first one. Your lips move together until you’ve both run out of air. Jack returns to your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“Gonna get you a Plan B in the morning,” he says. His tone sounds like he’s wondering, still thinking about it, although you know that he’s stating a fact and formulating a plan. “But I think, if we want to keep doing this, we’re going to have to figure something out about birth control.”

Normally, you wouldn’t allow a man to tell you what to do with your body. Today, though, you concede. He’s right. The world isn’t ready for a little Jack, and you don’t want him to stop coming inside of you, so you make a mental note to call your doctor tomorrow.

Still, you can’t resist the chance to make a joke.

“Maybe we’ll get you a vasectomy instead,” you tease, touching his bottom lip with your index finger. “They’re reversible, you know.”

note: i couldn't resist posting this, since i finished it before i expected to. I LOVE YOU FRAT JACK! (am willing to skip the plan b but only if you're also down)

[saebyeokbliss]

ONCE MORE TO SEE YOU— PART V.

synopsis: on a cold january day, you were worrying about the reason your girlfriend wasn’t texting back. when she finally does and asks to meet at your apartment, you’re met with heartbreak as she ends your relationship. no explanation. two years later, you run into her at a cafe with someone new. what are you to do? warnings: angst, mentions of injury, familial trauma, guilt trip lol

pairing: sae-byeok x fem!reader

The morning started with a phone call. 

You were halfway out the door, textbooks stuffed into your bag and a piece of toast clenched between your teeth, when your phone buzzed. The screen lit up with your mom’s name, and for a second, you hesitated. Calls from her this early in the morning were never a good sign. 

Sighing, you answered. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end wasn’t her usual clipped, passive-aggressive tone—it was frantic. “It’s your sister.”

Your heart dropped. “What? What happened?”

“There was an accident,” your mom said, her voice trembling. “A bad one. Last night. She’s—she’s in the hospital. They’re still running tests, but—” Her voice cracked, and for a moment, all you could hear was the shallow sound of her breathing. 

“Is she..?” You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the question.

“She’s alive,” your mom said quickly. “Thank God. But it’s bad. Really bad.”

Relief and panic clashed in your chest, leaving you breathless. “I’ll come as soon as I can,” you said, already calculating how soon you could get there. You had classes, work, rent to pay—it wasn’t as simple as just dropping everything. But this was your sister. Nothing else mattered.

“Don’t bother,” your mom snapped, the shift in her tone sharp enough to make you flinch. “You’ve made it clear where your priorities lie. School, work, whatever else you’re doing—it’s more important than your family, isn’t it?”

Her words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at the wall, your grip on the phone tightening. “That’s not fair,” you said quietly.

“Isn’t it?” she shot back. “You left, you chose this path, and now when we need you, you’re too busy to help. You weren’t there when your father lost his job, and now you’re not here for your sister either. What else am I supposed to think?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. No matter what you said, it wouldn’t matter. She had already made up her mind. 

“Just… don’t bother,” she said again before hanging up.

The line went dead, but the weight of her words stayed with you.

You barely made it through your classes that day. The lectures blurred together, the professor’s voice fading into background noise as your thoughts spiraled. You kept checking your phone, half-expecting another call, another update. But there was nothing.

Your mom’s words echoed in your head, each one cutting deeper than the last. You told yourself it wasn’t fair—she didn’t know how hard you were trying, how much you were struggling just to keep your head above water. But part of you couldn’t shake the guilt. What if she was right? What if you weren’t doing enough?

By the time your last class ended, you felt like you were running on fumes. But there was no time to rest. You had a shift at the diner, and rent wasn’t going to pay itself.

The diner was busier than usual when you arrived, the sound of clinking dishes and overlapping conversations filling the air. You tied your apron on quickly, slipping into the rhythm of the job without so much as a greeting to your coworkers. Normally, you’d at least exchange a smile or a quick joke with Minji or Hyejin, but today, you couldn’t muster the energy.

It didn’t take long for them to notice.

“Is it just me, or is she extra snappy today?” Minji whispered to Hyejin as the two of them restocked the coffee station. You were at the other end of the counter, wiping down a table, but their voices carried just enough for you to catch snippets of their conversation.

“She’s been weird all day,” Hyejin replied, glancing over her shoulder at you. “Think she’s having a rough time?”

“Maybe it’s a boy,” Minji said, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Or a girl. You never know.”

Yuna, who had been quietly folding napkins nearby, sighed. “You two are ridiculous. Not everything is about relationships.”

“Well, then what is it?” Hyejin asked, leaning against the counter. “She’s been acting like a robot. It’s kind of freaking me out.”

Before Yuna could respond, another voice cut through their conversation. “What are you talking about?”

The three of them turned to see Sae-byeok standing behind them, her arms crossed and her expression sharp. “Is your work time used for gossiping now?”

Minji hesitated, glancing at Hyejin for backup. “It’s not gossiping,” she said quickly. “We were just… worried about her. That’s all.”

“Why would you be worried?” Sae-byeok pressed, her tone leaving no room for evasion.

“Well…” Minji trailed off, clearly uncomfortable. “She just seems… off, you know? Like something’s bothering her. She hasn’t been her usual self lately.”

“She’s probably just stressed,” Yuna added, trying to diffuse the situation. “It happens. No need to make a big deal out of it.”

But Sae-byeok didn’t look convinced. Her gaze flicked toward you, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she were trying to read your mind from across the room.

The rest of the shift passed in a blur of orders and trays, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Every time you glanced up, Sae-byeok was there—monitoring, observing, her expression unreadable.

By the time your shift ended, you were practically running out the door, desperate to get to the hospital and see your sister. You had just untied your apron and grabbed your bag when a voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait.”

You turned to see Sae-byeok standing near the counter, her arms crossed and her gaze fixed on you. There was something in her expression—something that made your heart skip a beat. 

“I need to talk to you,” she said, her tone firm.

“I can’t,” you said quickly, your hand already on the door. “I have to go.”

“Five minutes,” she said, stepping closer. “That’s all I’m asking.”

You hesitated, torn between your urgency to leave and the weight of her words. There was something about the way she looked at you—something almost… concerned, though you couldn’t be sure.

Finally, you sighed, letting your hand drop from the door. “Fine. Five minutes.”

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[voidofsunlight]

Title: PART TWO OF You're a bet.

Word Count: 800

TW: ANGST / ANGST / ANGST —NOT A HAPPY ENDING— Betrayal / Heartbreak / Toxic relationship dynamics

A/N: Hello hey hi 💀

I know I haven’t posted much lately— I’m currently sick and on my period and it’s been rough 😩 so energy levels are in the negatives right now. I apologize for the lack of posts.

This is my first real dive into angst, and I’m not used to it, so please be gentle I usually write happy endings, so this was new territory for me. A fluffy version is coming soon though!!

Also yes I am aware my pictures choice suck ass. I'M SORRY!

To my beloved Lorenzo girlies, theys, everyone in between please don’t come for me. I’m fragile. MWAH

🧸 my C.ai profile! // 📜 my main masterlist! // 🫂 Click here to send me a request or message

You don’t remember walking out of the Slytherin common room. One second, you were standing there, textbook at your feet, and the next, it was like the castle swallowed you whole.

His voice sticks to you:

“The bet was so easy to win. It takes nothing to make her swoon. I mean, Merlin, how oblivious can you be to not realize it’s all fake?”

It’s all fake.

You knew. Somewhere in you, you always knew. You’d heard the stories. The warnings whispered in dorm rooms and bathroom stalls, passed like secrets between girls with wounded hearts. He was charming, sure. But calculated. Cold. Dangerous. You knew. And still, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—you weren’t like the others.

You remember the way he’d hold you, the flowers he picked by hand. The way he never had to ask what was wrong—he just knew. You let yourself think it was real. That he was different with you. That maybe you were different.

The next day, you make yourself vanish. It’s easier than expected. He’s not in your first two classes, and by lunch, you’ve memorized every shortcut, every unused stairwell, every side corridor. You move through the castle like smoke, slipping just out of sight, heart hammering every time you hear his name. You don’t want to see him. Don’t want to hear him. Because you know what he’ll do—he’ll twist it. Reframe it. And you can’t let him. Not this time.

But of course, Lorenzo Berkshire doesn’t give up that easily.

It happens fast—he catches you turning a corner near the library. You hear him call out in the hallway

“Wait.”

You keep walking.

“I just want to talk.”

You stop. Not because you want to, but because your body betrays you—still attuned to his voice like a bad habit. You turn slowly, not flinching, not folding. You want to laugh. Instead, you meet his gaze with the kind of calm that hurts. His face is as handsome as ever—hair a little messier than usual, his eyes pleading in a way that would’ve melted you a week ago.

“I don’t,” you say. Your voice is quiet. Steady. It’s the kind of calm that burns.

He doesn’t call after you again. Not then.

But he tries. Over and over. He waits outside classrooms, leans against doorframes like he belongs there. He’s always nearby—just close enough to be felt, never close enough to be caught. You switch routes. You become a shadow of yourself just to outrun him.

It almost works.

A week later, he finds you on the Astronomy Tower—the only place that still feels like it’s yours. You don’t look up when he arrives, though you hear the quiet shuffle of his steps. He doesn’t say your name. Doesn’t try to coax you right away. Just stands there, leaning against the archway like he doesn’t already know what he’s destroyed.

“You win,” you say without looking up. “Go ahead. Say whatever speech you’ve been practicing in the mirror. I’ll try to act surprised.”

Lorenzo steps forward, slow, like he’s handling something volatile.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like that.”

You sigh. “There we go.” You finally meet his eyes. “Right. You were aiming for what—two weeks? Just another game? A story for you and your friends to laugh about?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at you, jaw tight.

“It started like that. I won’t lie to you,” he admits.

You let out a short, cold breath of disbelief. “That’s a first.”

Lorenzo swallows. His jaw tightens. And for once, he looks… unsure.

“I didn’t expect you to matter. You weren’t supposed to. But then… you did. And I didn’t know how to handle that. I didn’t know how to fix it without breaking it. I know,” he says, and for the first time, his voice cracks just slightly. “I fucked up.”

His eyes flicker. You see it then—the flicker of regret, or maybe just discomfort at losing control.

“I care about you,” he says. “I love you.”

It’s almost laughable. Almost.

“No, Lorenzo. You loved being wanted. You loved being believed. You loved the power. That’s not love. That’s ego.”

He moves closer. “It wasn’t fake. Not all of it.”

“That’s supposed to make it better?”

“No,” he admits. “It’s supposed to make it true.”

You shake your head. “If any of it had been true, you would have told me the truth. People like you don’t love, Lorenzo. You collect. You conquer. And when the thrill fades, you move on.”

You take one last look at him. Not with longing, not with anger. This time, it’s different. This time, you see him clearly.

You were the story this time—the punchline to a joke you didn’t know you were in. Just another name in his black book.

PLEASE DO NOT COPY / TRANSLATE OR REPOST AS YOUR OWN!

©Voidofsunlight

TAGS: @queenanababy @hellooitsrose Because I saw your requests💛💛

[elphabathroppupland]

Clandestinely Yours

So this may or may not turn into a multi-chapter. This was inspired by THIS picture and by a chat with Mac on Twitter. :)

Disclaimer:  I own nothing from Wicked.  All characters are property of the original creators.  I’m just borrowing them. <3

Clandestinely Yours

Chapter 1

Elphaba Thropp was livid.  Fuming.  Boiling.  Her hands were shaking when she stepped into the dorm she shared with Galinda fucking Upland, the dimpled blonde with piercing brown eyes and a knack for pissing her the hell off. 

She was so mad that the door slammed shut behind her on its own accord.  She took a shaking breath to try to level herself.  The glass on the terrace doors vibrated.  She closed her eyes and clutched her books to her chest.  She took several deep breaths before she felt her heartbeat slow down and her blood come down to a simmer.  She slowly opened her eyes and calmly walked over to the bookshelf to place each textbook back in its rightful spot.  She glared down at the last one—her notebook—and tossed it down onto the desk.

Classes were over for the day which meant that she had at least two hours before Galinda finished socializing with half of campus and returned to the dorm to irritate her with her perfume and hair-tossing and snarky barbs about her appearance.  Funny, the green jokes only came in class when she had the audience of her fellow students, what Elphaba liked to call the Galinda Upland Fanclub. 

And she really didn’t want to be home when Galinda returned. 

For the past few weeks, Galinda had been insufferable.  She was a big enough person to admit that she hadn’t exactly been the best roommate either.  The moving of Galinda’s things just to annoy her, the one-upping her in jousting class to knock her off balance, the way she sometimes left her books for Madame Morrible’s sorcery class lying around just to make Galinda jealous.  She was no saint.  But Galinda Upland had really done it today.

*~*~*~*~*

Galinda had stepped into the classroom about three seconds after her, and she’d made a beeline for the desk that Elphaba was heading to.  It just happened to be the last desk in class, because apparently Shiz couldn’t possibly accommodate one extra student.  The professor had already let the class know that whoever arrived late in class would have to stand or use the professor’s desk for the duration of class.  And nobody wanted either of those options.

She hadn’t meant to be late, but at least she’d arrived before Galinda.  And when Galinda practically knocked her down to beat her to the chair, she’d seen red.  She’d stumbled but bolted for the seat, and somehow they’d both slid onto it at the same time.  Snickers and laughs had risen up around them from their fellow students, but neither of them had noticed, because they were too busy noticing each other.

Elphaba had tried to shove Galinda away by nudging her with her hip.  Galinda’d fought back, and soon they were at a stalemate, both pressing into each other hard, both gripping the tabletop to keep from being thrown to the floor.  And finally, with a gasp, Galinda had made the mistake of shifting her weight on the seat, and Elphaba took advantage of the moment to bump her out of her seat.  Galinda’s butt hit had the floor, and she’d stared up at her, eyes dark and nostrils flaring as she brushed her tousled blonde hair out of her face and stood up, smoothing her skirt down.  She stood there for a moment just staring.  The other students went silent, practically leaning forward in anticipation of what was going to happen next. 

The professor walked in soon after, pausing in the doorway and appraising the situation before deciding to let the girls work it out for themselves.  She’d started toward the black board and began to talk.  Elphaba had opened her notebook, grabbed her pen and tried to concentrate on what the professor was saying.  All the while, she could feel Galinda’s eyes on her.  She could hear her huff out an exaggerated sigh.  She could smell her perfume when she tossed her hair over her shoulder again.  She glanced up at her.  Just once.  Galinda’s glare was hard and unflinching.  Elphaba couldn’t help herself.  She smiled.  Fucking smiled.  She didn’t know why.  She just did it, and when Galinda narrowed her eyes at her, she felt her pulse quicken. 

Elphaba had expected her to say something snarky.  Call her a broccoli floret or some other thing she considered an insult.  She expected her to do anything but what she did next. 

When Elphaba turned her attention back to her notebook, Galinda took two steps toward the desk.  Her pen froze, poised on the half word she’d been writing.  She looked up again just in time for Galinda Upland to turned and slide back onto the seat.  Correction.  Onto Elphaba.  Before Elphaba knew what was happening, Galinda was sitting on her lap, blonde hair whipping directly into her face.  Elphaba blew the blonde strands away from her mouth, a choked gasp clawing at her throat at the audacity. 

“What are you doing?” she hissed out, trying to push Galinda off of her.  But, the blonde held onto the desktop for dear life.  Her ass pressed back against Elphaba’s pelvis.  Elphaba froze.  Galinda sighed heavily, ignoring the whispers and stares from the students around them.  She shifted on Elphaba’s lap, and suddenly, Elphaba felt the heat from the blonde’s body seeping into her own.  Her heart skipped a beat.  Her mouth went dry.  Her hands trembled.  The pen fell from her grasp and landed on the floor.  She didn’t dare try to move to pick it up.  Instead, Galinda simply took out her own pen and started jotting notes down in Elphaba’s notebook.

The fucking audacity.

And what was worse was that the professor didn’t even take a moment to pause her lecture and reprimand Galinda when she noticed what she’d done.  She just went about her lecture like it was no big deal.

What the fuck?

Galinda sat there for the entirety of the class.  Her blonde hair occasionally flipped into Elphaba’s face.  The smell of her shampoo invaded Elphaba’s senses.  Was that birthday cake?  

When the lecture was nearing a stopping point, Galinda shifted in Elphaba’s lap again.  Elphaba’s thighs were numb, but when Galinda moved, she felt something else entirely.  A throb between her legs.  She stiffened.  Galinda noticed.  She looked over her shoulder with a smirk as if she knew exactly what she was doing, though Elphaba highly doubted she had an Oz-damned clue.  Galinda shifted again.  Elphaba reacted by digging her nails into Galinda’s hips to still her.  She felt the blonde take in a deep breath.  Felt her stiffen against her.  She loosened her grip on her then, but Galinda didn’t move.  Didn’t even breathe for almost a whole thirty seconds. 

Elphaba’s head was reeling.  The throbbing between her legs intensified when Galinda reached down to curl her fingers around her wrist.  Elphaba loosened her grip with that hand, and Galinda let her go.  The other hand was still on the blonde’s hip, but not for long.  The professor excused the class, and Galinda got up out of her seat, rushing out the door with her books and her pen, leaving Elphaba in her seat with her notebook, half-scrawled on with her own writing, half with Galinda’s. 

Elphaba had blinked down at the notebook as the other students filed out of the room.  She could still smell Galinda’s shampoo. She could still feel her sitting on her lap.  She could still feel that throbbing between her own legs.  And now she was staring down at the little heart-shaped doodles in the corner of the page of notes that Galinda had barely made an attempt to jot down.  Not only had she decided to be a brat, but she was going to have her failing her classes at this point.  Evil.

*~*~*~*~*

Elphaba stood in the middle of their shared dorm staring down at that notebook.  It was filled with smart, studious notes from the past few weeks of class.  And today, she’d missed an entire lecture because Galinda had sat on her and made silly notes that made no sense.  Not that Elphaba had paid a lick of attention to what the professor had said, but she was certain that she hadn’t said—what was it Galinda had written?— thaumaturgy could also be used to take that giant stick out of Elphaba Thropp’s behind.  She’s actually kind of c—

The word cut off there, presumably when Elphaba had dug her nails into the girl’s hips.  The fact that she didn’t finish the sentence pissed her off even more.

Elphaba slammed her notebook shut and slammed the rolling desktop down to hide it for good measure. 

“Ugh!” she growled, hastily unbuttoning her waist coat and shoving it onto a hanger.  She decided she was going to go to the library.  She could use some fresh air away from this so-called shared space that was mainly Galinda Upland every where she turned.  Galinda’s knickknacks set out on various surfaces.  Galinda’s clothes shoved in every available storage space save for the few drawers Elphaba had for herself.  Galinda’s shoes, Galinda’s makeup, Galinda’s Oz-damned fluffy pillows that probably smelled just like Galinda’s shampoo.

Not to mention, when Galinda was home, she was literally everywhere.  She’d flit about the room as if she owned the place, taking up her share of space as well as Elphaba’s.  She’d flounce around in her robe that showed off enough leg to almost be obscene.  Not that she’d been looking.  Well, it was hard not to look.  Galinda did have nice legs.  And sure, she was pretty.  Attractive, even.  Alright, gorgeous. She might have been the most infuriating person in all of Oz, but there was no denying her beauty.

Elphaba paused, hand on her hip as she stood in the middle of the room wondering how the hell her mind had wandered to Galinda Upland’s legs.  Oh, that’s right.  She’d pushed her way into her seat and onto her lap and tortured her for an hour and made her body ache in ways she hadn’t felt so strongly before.  And she wasn’t more certain what pissed her off more.  The fact that Galinda had done it or the fact that she had let it happen.  Liked it even.  Deep down, she knew she could have overpowered her and shoved her off again.  And for whatever reason, she’d let it happen, and now she was left feeling pissed off, confused and…turned on.

Oz damn it.

She was feeling hot all over now.  She crossed the dorm in four big paces and threw open the terrace doors.  She leaned into the cool air, her memory flashing back to Galinda leaning into the wind that first day at Shiz. 

She could not escape her. 

She shut the door again and started to unbutton her blue shirt to change into something more comfortable to wear to the library.  But her hand froze when the doorknob rattled.  Her pulse thrummed in her ears.  She turned her gaze to the door in time to see Galinda come walking in with her books in one arm and a pleased smile on her face. 

She walked right past Elphaba without speaking, and Elphaba bit the inside of her cheek.  Hard.  She wanted to say something.  Anything.  She wanted Galinda to say something.  Someone needed to start the argument.  But at the same time, she knew that would likely lead to items flying to the ceiling and glass windows being broken.  Again.  So, she bit the inside of her cheek a little harder and opted to keep her mouth shut. 

She grabbed her bundle of books for Madame Morrible’s seminar from her bedside table and started for the door.

“Going somewhere, Elphaba?” Galinda asked lightly as she kicked off her heels and put on a pair of obscenely adorable fluffy pink slippers. 

“Out,” Elphaba muttered, grabbing a fresh notebook and a pen. 

“More studying, I see,” Galinda sighed.  “You might want to go over the lesson from Thaumaturgy class.  You seemed a little distracted.” 

Elphaba was certain she could taste blood.  She wanted to tell her just what she thought of her.  How it was her fault she missed the lesson entirely.  How it was her fault that all she could think about since class was the smell of her hair and the way her own body responded to Galinda’s sitting on her and shifting around in her lap like that.  But all she could think about in that moment was how glossy Galinda’s lips looked and how her skin was glowing.  And—Oz—was her face flushing?

She swallowed hard and clutched her books to her chest.  Galinda took a few steps toward her and smiled.

“Speaking of class, where is your notebook, Elphaba?  I’d like to go over the notes I took.”  She was practically smirking, and Elphaba couldn’t help but notice the way she licked her lips and put her hands on her hips as if she was waiting for a delicious come back.  Oh no.  She wasn’t giving her the satisfaction. 

“Don’t wait up,” Elphaba bit out before she turned on her heels and left the dorm, thankful for the space she’d put between them, thankful for the silence that followed the echoes of her boot heels on the floor.  Still, as she walked, she couldn’t ignore the fire coiling low in her belly or the ache between her legs that only seemed to grow with each step.

She took the stairs down to the lobby below, and when she stepped out into the cool afternoon breeze, she took a leveling breath.  The breeze cooled her warm flesh, but it did nothing to quell the tension down below.  It was then that she got a whiff of that scent.  That Galinda scent.  She tugged at her blouse, bringing the piece pinched between her thumb and forefinger up to her nose.  She inhaled deeply.  Oz damn it, now she smelled like her. 

Oh.  She was done for.

[rangerbarbz]

Love Drunk

Disclaimer: This is my first ever published fanfiction. I have been wanting to write for a while, and I have been on a Gravity Falls kick. I really hope y’all enjoy it. I apologize for any grammar mistakes. Thank you so much for reading!

Summary: Ford and reader are college best friends. Reader is in love with Ford, but he doesn’t know. One night, the reader gets drunk and lets some things slip out. This is pure fluff.

You arrived at Ford's dorm room door and knocked on it softly so as not to startle him. You were alone in your dorm due to your roommate and her boyfriend being out for a late-night rendezvous. You decided to ask your best friend, Ford, if it would be okay if you got ready in his room. There was a party going on at one of the frat houses, and you were going to get dolled up at his dorm. You didn't like being alone in your dorm because of some weirdos on your floor, so you often visited Ford in his room when your roommate was gone. To be honest, you were always there just because you enjoyed being there with him.

Ford opened the door and greeted you with a smile on his face. "Hi, Y/N! Come on in. I was just working on some physics homework." He stepped aside so you could enter his dorm. His desk had books all over it along with scattered papers, but the rest of the room was decently clean. Other than some crumpled up paper balls from where he missed the trashcan, it was quite a cozy place.

You smiled up at him. "Thanks so much for letting me come over to get ready, Ford. I promise you it won't take long. I already have everything planned for the look,” you explained, holding up a floral blouse and bell bottom pants. "What do you think?"

Ford laughed. "Well, you know I don't know much about style, but I do think it looks nice. You'll have to beat those frat guys off with a stick," he joked, sitting at his desk.

A slight blush spread over your face while you laughed. "Thank you, Ford. You turned to walk to his bathroom, and sighed when he was out of earshot. You wished you were beating HIM off with a stick (or your hand, either way.) You have liked him ever since you met at freshman orientation; he had thick, dark hair, dorky glasses, and a cute sweater vest. You quickly became friends after having a biology class together. You wanted him to like you so badly.

After you got done getting completely ready, you stepped out of his bathroom. Ford turned around to face you. His eyes widened a bit as he looked at you up and down. "Wow, Y/N," he said. "You look great!" That sickeningly charming smile was once again on his face.

"Really? You think so?" you asked, your heartbeat picking up.

"Yes, I do," he replied. There was a second-lasting silence between you before he said, "Well! Back to the drawing board!" He turned back around to face his homework and started scribbling away.

Your shoulders slumped in disappointment. You walked up behind him and set your chin on the top of his head. "You know, I still could use a plus one," you murmured, hoping you could get him to go with you.

 Ford chuckled. "I appreciate the invite Y/N, but you know parties aren't really my crowd. Plus, I got this assignment to finish.” You exhaled out your nose. Why did you even ask? You knew it was a lost cause to get him to notice you.

“Okay, nerd. Suit yourself.” You straightened up and grabbed your purse off his bed. “If I make any bad decisions tonight, I’m blaming you,” you stated, shutting the door behind you.

                                           | Later that Night |

You stumbled down the hallway making your way to Ford’s door. You had had one too many tonight trying to get your unrequited love off your mind. You started knocking on his door before saying in the manliest tone you could come up with, “This is the SWAT team. If you don’t open up, I’ll confiscate the textbooks.” You covered your mouth to keep from making noise.

There was shuffling behind the door. It then opened to reveal a confused looking Ford in plaid pajama pants and a crewneck. “Y/N? Are you okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

You held your hand up to your mouth again feigning a walkie-talkie noise. “Breaker, breaker the dork is here. I repeat, the dork is here. Over.” You could barely get through saying it because of your hiccups.

Ford began laughing. “Are you drunk?” He guided you into his room. If you weren’t wasted, you would be freaking out over the fact his hand was on the small of your back.

You turned to face him. “Sir, you do not ask p-police if they are drunk.”

He smirked. “I thought you were the SWAT?”

You paused for a moment. “Don’t sass me, boy,” you retorted, poking a finger into his arm. What you poked, exactly, was a bicep. “Oh my. I like your arms. They’re like… totally muscular,” you slurred.

Ford’s face went bright red. “Uh, thank you Y/N.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. He was not used to receiving compliments, especially about his appearance. “Here, let’s get you into something more comfortable and get you to bed. I have an extra toothbrush, and you can wash your face in the sink if you’d like.”

“Okie dokie, manly Stan,” you replied, saluting him. Ford giggled and shook his head. While you were finishing up in his bathroom, he placed one of his t-shirts and boxer shorts in a neat, folded pile on the counter beside you.

“I’m sorry if you don’t like the clothes. I haven’t done laundry in a while,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I like them,” you reassured him. You picked them up and sniffed them comically loud. “They smell like you.” Ford was about as red as a tomato and was going to reply before you started peeling off your clothes in front of him.

“WOAH!” he exclaimed, covering his eyes, and walking back into his room. He wasn’t expecting that and did not want to see you in such a state when you weren’t in the right mindset. (Although, if circumstances were different, he would have been blessed to see you like that.) You put on his pajamas and walked in to see him make a pallet of blankets on the floor.

He smiled fondly at you. “You can sleep on my bed. I fluffed up the pillows for you.” He seemed a little nervous. “Let me know if you need anything.”

You grinned back at him and wrapped your arms around his waist. He was hesitant at first, but he returned the embrace. He was warm and you felt protected in his strong arms. If you were sober, you would have melted.

You gazed up at him, sleepiness slowly taking over your body. “Ford?”

“Yes?” His chin was resting atop your head, and his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He looked down at you with his big, brown eyes.

You whispered not-so-quietly in his ear, “I love you.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you fell asleep. Ford caught you before you collapsed on the floor. He scooped you up in his arms and placed you on his bed. He pulled the blanket up to your chin and tucked a stray hair behind your ear.

“I love you, too.”

                                            | That Next Morning |

Ford held your hair back as you vomited into his toilet. This was not the way you wanted to begin the wee hours of the day. You couldn’t remember a thing from last night. After you were done, you drank the glass of water he offered you.

“Ford, I am so sorry about this,” you apologized, holding the side of your head in your hand. “I appreciate you taking care of me last night.” You looked over at him. “I probably would be in much worse shape without you.” You smiled warmly at you. God, he looked so good right now. His hair was tousled, and he was still in his pajamas.

“No. It’s absolutely no problem. I promise you,” he replied, gazing at you. You could’ve sworn he looked at your lips. “Um, there is something I need to ask you though… Did you mean what you said last night?” His eyes were full of hope, but you didn’t know why.

“Ah, what exactly did I say last night?” you questioned. You were wracked with anxiety over what his response would be.

A blush travelled across his face. “Well,” he let out a dry laugh, “this is hard to say. Um, you told me you loved me.”

Your chest tightened, and you put your head between your knees. “Oh my god. You weren’t supposed to hear that-“

“Did you mean it?” Ford interrupted you. You lifted your head up to meet his eyes. They looked sad now.

You sighed. “Yes, I did. I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I completely understand if you don’t feel the same way. I just hope we can still be friends,” you rambled.

“Who said I didn’t feel the same way?” he asked you quietly. He was smiling from ear to ear.

You gasped. “Are you serious right now? Like you aren’t joking with me?” This could not be real. There was no way the guy of your dreams reciprocated your feelings.

“Of course not. Why would I joke about that? I’ve always loved you. Just been too much of a coward to tell you.” As he was talking, he was looking at the ground, tracing the grout between the tiles with his finger. “You’re the kindest and most beautiful girl I’ve ever known. It would be statistically improbable for me NOT to fall in love with you. Trust me. I did the math.”

You laughed, and now you were the one blushing. “That was the sweetest and dorkiest thing anybody has ever said to me.” You scooted your hand towards his and intertwined your fingers together. It felt nice. “So, what other things did I confess to you last night?” you asked.

He laughed and rested his arm behind you. His six-fingered hand squeezed your shoulder. “Oh don’t even get me started.”

                                                  | THE END|

Author’s Note: Would y’all like a part two? I would be happy to make this into a series.

[harpsinfinity]

OPPOSITES ATTRACT - PART III

→fratboy!jock!Chris X nerdy!reader (afab, fem)

CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III (current)

→ After getting a small glimpse of Chris' softer side, you start noticing his presence lingering more often. Although things quickly get heated when you call him out for his behaviour.

→ other characters featured in this chapter: Claire Redfield, Jill Valentine, Leon Kennedy & Piers nivans.

→ taglist: @cassiecasluciluce

→ notes: a warning of bullying reader (from Chris, I'm sorry it needs to get worse before it gets better)

→ word count: 2.8k

→ THEMED PLAYLIST

Ever since the last rugby practice you were forced to attend, you'd begun to notice Chris' presence.

Outside of practice.

And almost every time he'd spare you a quick glance— just as you expected— passing you if you were nothing more than a stranger. Though you'd notice that was when he had his usual flock of cocky jocks and giggly cheerleaders were around.

But every once in a while he'd spare a second to say hello. It was quick, but it was a surprise. This often happened when he was by himself, it had you wondering if he put up a front whenever he was around his friends.

And there would be times where the moment would drag out longer, especially if Claire or Jill were with him. They'd always have something to talk to you about, whether it was any assignments due or normal small talk.

Occasionally Chris would have some input, it was like he was different around them. Less cocky and arrogant.

It was actually quite nice. Though you still had your heart locked tight for the occasion Chris would try something he should with you. — to play you like you were some gullible cheerleader— you weren't going to let yourself be added to that list.

. . .

Today was another similar to that.

The familiar sound of your locker clicking shut rang through your ears. You were collecting the textbooks you needed for your upcoming lesson, just minutes away from the bell ringing.

This meant the hallways were empty, the perfect time to get your things. It was a routine; get there before everyone else and promptly arrive early to your class.

That was going according to plan, until you heard a voice. One that was recognisable to you. A call of your name and a wave.

You turned around and the two familiar girls came into view. The ponytail and red jacket,the other girls swept to the side bob.

Jill and Claire.

“Hey Jill, Hey Claire.” You greet them, a small smile on your lips. You were never short with them, you didn't have to be.

“Hi.” Jill returned, a gentle expression on her features.

“We just wanted to stop by,” Claire spoke up, her cheerful demeanor unchanging. “We've got the same class together!”

Claire and you shared the same class together, English. Jill didn't though.

“Oh yes, we do.” you reply, holding your books against your chest.

She nods, a smile on her face “yeah, so let's get going. I know you like to be early!”

You hide the coy smile that plays on your lips, Claire always remembers the little tidbits of information you'd drop every so often.

“Alright, let's go” you add, watching Claire say her goodbyes to Jill. The two of you now walking down the hallway together, which was now slowly starting to fill up now that every student's lessons was probably seconds away from starting.

. . .

“Alright class, please open up your text books to page 38.”

The teacher droned on. Even though you were at the top of your class, you really couldn't help but be bored during the lesson.

Sure, Shakespeare was interesting.

If it was your first time reading one of his works.

You'd seen his plays so many times you knew the lines like the back of your hand. And you knew you were going to ace the test, so why pay attention?

You hear a ‘psst’ come from next to you, turning your head to see Claire trying to get your attention. You were too bored not to indulge in a small distraction.

“Hey, I heard you're the first aid for the rugby team this semester?”

Oh. That was what she wanted to talk about. Your position as a makeshift nurse was something you were trying to forget about, not talk about.

“Yes, not willingly though. One of my professors recommended me to the coach for the position.” you replied in an equally hushed tone to Claire's.

Your face makes it obvious to her that you weren't exactly happy with the outcome of your situation.

“I feel for you, I wouldn't want to be around my brother that much either, and I have to see him everyday.” she joked, a playful expression on her face.

You huffed, a small grin on your lips as you propped your face upon the heel of your palm.

“He told me you helped him out last week, when he hit his head real hard.”

“Just doing my job.” you reply with a sense of sarcastic enthusiasm.

Claire hides a snicker, not to alert the teacher during their monotonous lecture.

“Seriously though, thank you,” She had a tone of gratitude towards you.

“For taking care of my brother as well as putting up with him.”

“No worries, it is my job after all.”

She flashes you another quick smile,

“The team's next practice is this afternoon, right?”

You nod, confirming her question.

“Well, good luck. The competition is coming up so they're trying extra hard. Might mean more injured soldiers for you.”

You almost grimaced at the thought, having to tend to so many injured players as if you were their personal Florence Nightingale.

“Thanks, I'll need it.” You exhaled, pushing up your falling glasses with your index finger.

And with that, the both of you returned just in time to catch the end of the teacher's lesson.

The bell rang shortly after.

“Class is dismissed, good job today.”

. . .

After returning your things to your locker and swapping it for your medical kit, you started to make your way outside. Preparing yourself to deal with whoever got injured.

How were you preparing for this? By walking to the sports block as slowly as possible. Maybe, just maybe, if you dragged your feet slowly enough you'd miss the entire game and the coach would be so furious that you didn't show up that they'd pick someone else as first aid.

You regretted that decision as quickly as you decided it.

You're attention being directed to the two people just up ahead of you; Chris and the cheer captain.

It was obvious she was infatuated with Chris, happy to have his attention. While it was even more obvious that he was just using her. Another girl in his system of Hook, Line and Sinker.

“C'mon pretty girl, don't go yet” He begged, arms wrapped around her waist as she giggled and gave into his affections so quickly.

“Chris, I've got class!” She had a giddy expression.

‘poor girl’ was all you could think. She thought it was going somewhere. You'd give it a week before Chris got bored and dumped her like the asshole he is.

You were glad you didn't catch them sucking faces, or you'd have been sick.

After what seemed like eternity, they parted ways. Chris watched her strut away with a over confident smirk.

You prayed that ‘love’ like that would never come your way.

As if to make matters worse, Chris then noticed your presence not far from him.

“smarty pants!” He darted by your side, purposly bumping into you with his shoulder just to annoy.

“i see you have the cheer captain wrapped around your finger.”

you spoke, the tone of irritation and contempt barley hidden. As much as you needed to bit your tongue, you couldn't. His actions really struck a nerve.

“Don’t tell me you're jealous.” He goaded, a toothy grin flashed your way.

That seemed to snap something inside of you. Making you want to push further and really get under his skin how he got under yours.

“Jealous? Jealous of what? Being used and then tossed away when I'm not longer entertaining enough for you?”

Your tone began to border on anger, anger for all the girls who'd fallen under his spell.

Chris scoffed, rolling his eyes as he took began to feel irritation. He'd never have someone question him like this; he didn't like it.

“Oh please, a little bookworm like you would be lucky for that kind of attention from me. Infact, you're lucky I'm even walking beside you right now”

Your jaw ticked, features scrunching up in clear digust and vexation.

“Lucky?! If I'm lucky for anything I'm lucky to not be so gullible as the girls you choose to mess around with!”

Chris growled in frustration, shoving you by your shoulder and swiftly planting a hand on your chest to shove you against the nearby array of lockers, your medical kit slipping from your hand and clattering onto the floor with a metallic thud.

It was quick enough that it happened before you could even process he was touching you, let alone being rough. It knocked the air out of your lungs.

“I know your type: bullied, quiet, always keeping to themselves and abiding by the rules.” He bared his teeth as his fingers gripped the soft material of your cardigan.

Your own teeth were bared, your form now slightly disheveled from Chris' actions.

“And I know yours: stuck up, popular only because of their looks. You put up a front to cover up and justify your bad actions!”

The scowl Chris had didn't budge, slamming you against the lockers once more and bringing his face dangerously close to your own.

“Let me give you some advice; keep your mouth shut before you land yourself in a world of trouble.”

And with that, in a surge of anger, he gave you a final rough push against the hard locker and snatched your glasses off you. Rendering your vision blurry as he tossed them far down the hallway.

“Go fetch, smarty pants.” He sneered before sauntering off.

Your heart was pounding. Throughout your time of receiving harsh treatment at school, it never seemed to get any better. You'd still feel the fear, the dread building up in your stomach.

The sting of tears in the corners of your eyes.

But you had to stay strong, blink away the tears and keep your head up.

Now you had the task on your hands of searching for your lost glasses. And paired with your poor vision it was sure to be a challenge.

. . .

By the time you'd found them, they were scuffed up and scratched from skidding across the floor. You could still see with them, but multiple scratches got in the way. They'd have to wait until you could get a new pair.

You certainly didn't like Chris, especially now you'd seen his true colours.

It was crystal clear that your words had gotten to Chris, someone was calling out his behaviour for once. You'd affected him and he was frustrated by it, and you just happened to be the nearby source for the outlet of his frustrations.

Maybe, in some way you'd gotten through to him.

. . .

The door to the locker rooms slammed open, revealing Chris’ tense and angry form stomping through.

“What's gotten into you, man?” Piers comments, immediately noticing his friends attitude.

Chris shook his head, gritting his teeth.

“That little fucking nerd,” he hisses “not as quiet as she looks.”

“What did she say?”

“Saw me with the cheer captain and decided to give me a piece of her mind.” He rolled his eyes, lip curling in vexation when he looked back on the whole thing.

He all but ripped open his locker, pulling out his gear for practice.

How his temper flared up when he shoved you into that locker, holding your cardigan tight enough until his knuckles turned white.

All Chris could tell himself was that you deserved it, you fucked around and found out.

“Seriously? What did you do?”

“Gave the little overachiever a piece of my mind.” He huffed, shoving his jersey over his head.

“As you should.”

Chris grunted in agreement, coming to his helmet as he held it in his hands.

Looking at the crack along its front, from when you'd helped him the other week. It made his expression soften the most miniscule amount.

Remembering your advice, your treatment of the concussion he had.

How you were almost like a breath of fresh air for him. Just for a second, — a little pause— he wondered if it was worth it. Treating girls the way he did.

Wait, no. What was he thinking? You weren't right, and you certainly deserved his treatment of you earlier.

Chris Redfield was a player, a heartbreaker. He didn't soften for nerds with stupid pink glasses and an honoury in every class.

. . .

He wasn't shocked when you didn't turn up to watch over the practice match. The coach mentioning that you told him you suddenly fell sick.

It didn't bother him, it wasn't supposed to. He just kept playing, to get better for the upcoming competition.

“Hey, where's first aid?” Leon inquires to Chris, coming up beside him before the match was about to start.

“Had too much to say, so I scared her off” Chris replied with much arrogance and smugness.

Leon had a look underneath the heavy helmet that Chris couldn't see, he wasn't fond of his answer to the question.

Leon knew about his player behaviour, but couldn't bring himself to call out his friend. He guessed you did what he couldn't and got poor treatment.

The blaring whistle of the coach rang through the field, followed by a:

“Start!” Yelled by the coach.

With everyone in position they started the game.

Throughout the game, people got injured. More of them had to sit on the sidelines because first aid wasn't there. The team was losing.

Deep down, Chris knew it was his fault. He was too caught up in his ego to realise how his actions affected others. And now, it was affecting something he cared about; his sport and the team.

When you were around, as reluctant as you were, you were on it. As soon as someone got injured you were there with whatever they needed.

Ice packs, bandages, water, even antiseptics if needed.

A small seed of guilt borrowed its way into his stomach. A seed Chris decided to bury deep enough into the depths of the emotions that he could forget.

He'd kept up his reputation for so long, he wasn't going to let it all spill over now.

. . .

Meanwhile, after composing yourself you holed yourself up in your usual corner of the library. Your head stuck in your textbooks once more.

You just kept yourself busy, reading until your eyes hurt and writing notes until it felt like every muscle in your wrists were tense and spasming.

You were doing everything in your power to forget what happened. Usually you managed to keep your composure, but it shook you. Chris shook you.

The flaming anger that bore into his eyes in the moment seemed to bore into your own memory. The right grip he had on your cardigan, how you were worried he might rip the fabric. He'd mange to stretch the knitted fabric from how tightly he held it in his fist.

A reminder of the event.

You buried your head in books until the final bell of the day went off, forcing you to leave the temporary safe haven of the library.

You quickly carried yourself down the corridor, not wanting to encounter that asshole again, bag secured— and full of books— on your shoulder.

Though you quickly felt someone's presence by your side, making you tense up.

“Hey.” The person spoke, watching as you visibly relaxed to find out if was Leon.

“Hi.” You choked out, voice wavering.

“I know what happened earlier, I saw it.”

He saw it? What happened between you and Chris? Your eyes were wide with disbelief and worry.

He must have been here to give you an earful, a part two to earlier.

“Let me apologise on his behalf, I know what he's been doing.” Leons voice was neutral, but it soothed you a little. Doused the fire of anxiety burning within you.

“I know you must have been scared, Chris is an intimidating guy. But someone had to call him out for his bullshit.”

You were rendered speechless. Leon was on your side, he agreed with you that Chris' behaviour wasn't acceptable.

“I guess..Someone had to say something.”

“Yeah, you've done what I couldn't.”

You nod, looking ahead of you with your eyes trained on the doors Infront as you moved.

“I think you've gotten through to him.”

“I…I have?”

“Yeah, only because he noticed how the team was falling behind without you. You're a huge asset to us.”

Leons words resignated within you, knowing that you were infact appreciated within the team. Even if if was silent.

“Come to the next practice. We need you with us.”

Claire's words from this morning echoed in your mind:

‘The competition is coming up so they're trying extra hard. Might mean more injured soldiers for you’

The team needed you, and you weren't there for them.

The breath you were taking was stuck in your lungs. The fear of Chris struck you. But, these people depended on you.

You never got anywhere by wallowing in your fears, only facing them head on.

“I'll be there.”

[hansmic]

project kisses

Jeongin x gn! reader

summary:

Two people who have never spoken before are paired together for a group project in class. As they work together, their connection grows, and it’s not just their grades that improve—so does their chemistry. They start spending late nights studying, and somewhere between the textbooks, the laughter, and the shared exhaustion, sparks fly.

genre: fluff,romance

warnings: kissing, and brief sex.

word count: 1.0k

————————————————————————-

you start explaining your idea, he's more than happy to hear you out. after listening to what you want to do and how you want to go about it, he then thinks for a second. "how about we do it this way?" he suggests another idea which you think is even better than yours so you decide to go with his idea and so you guys go from there.

your plan was to finish your project in a day but you've realised you have a lot more work to do than you anticipated.

"I think we would be better off finishing this project next time we meet. are you okay with that?" he asks gently, not wanting to push any boundaries. "um, yeah, I guess that's fine."you reply back.

you both go ahead and make arrangements to meet up on the upcoming saturday.

yeah you and Jeongin grow closer as you guys spend time together. it was a little awkward between you both at first but after a while he starts to come out of his shell and is more playful, comfortable and flirty around you.

one sunny afternoon you and Jeongin are at a cafe talking about your project over coffee and he starts to become a bit flirtier than usual. "you know, I'm really glad I got put into a project with you."

"oh yeah and why's that?"

he leans in slightly and smiles at you. "because I wouldn't have noticed the cute dimples you have when you smile"

you blush hard at what he just said as you try to hide your face with your hands. "why'd you hide your face, you look so cute" he grabs your hands and moves them away from your face then gives you a charming smile and looks into your eyes.

you can't deny it, you find him very attractive. "you know, you're pretty cute as well" you say, this time looking into his eyes.

he moves a little closer to you by adjusting his chair. "you have a very pretty face" as he looks at you longingly. you start to move slightly closer to him as well, your heart beating fast with anticipation on what will happen next.

he moves his face right in front of yours, his lips just inches away. you both look at each others lips, you want to kiss him, and you know he wants to kiss you. after what felt like an eternity, the tension is finally broken when he places  his thumb onto your bottom lip before he gives you a kiss.

you kiss him back and the two of you are in your own little world. after that you guys pull back and look at each other, your cheeks are rosy, and Jeongin is staring at you with a dreamy smile on his face and you can't help but smile back.

"I'm guessing you like me now" Jeongin smirks.

"I've liked you before we kissed." you smile as you tuck your hair behind your ear. "well, I guess my advances worked then. " Jeongin chuckles.

you giggle a little and then he grabs ahold of your hand, "shall we go back to mine to keep working on our project? or something else..” you smirk

he raises his eyebrow at you "I like the sound of something else" he smiles and stands up. you stand up with him and he takes you to his home.

when you two arrive at his house, he opens the door,  steps inside and beckons you to follow.

when you enter and shut the door behind you, he then grabs you by the waist and pulls you in for a kiss, then he moves you two into his room.

the kiss starts to become very heated as you both get lost in the moment.

you let out all your moans as Jeongin starts to bite your neck, he enjoys hearing you moan as you both stumble into his bed.

his kisses become more passionate and needy and you start to do the same to him, he likes it and a moan of satisfaction comes from him.

he starts to take off your top and then moves you to be beneath him before he kisses down your chest and stomach.

suddenly he stops and looks up at you, giving you a mischievous smirk. "what are you doing?" you ask.

he laughs "you'll see"

he then moves himself down to where he wants to be. "Jeongin, what are you do–" you then suddenly moan out. it feels too good, your mind can't think of the things you even want to say at the moment.

he is very good with his tongue, you are moaning so loud it almost makes you feel a little embarrassed. you're gripping on to his hair but he doesn't seem to mind at all.

after a while, you and Jeongin look at each other, out of breath and sweaty with smiles on both your faces.

you feel quite sleepy after doing all that. Jeongin notices this, so he asks "are you okay?"

"yeah just sleepy."

"do you want to sleep here?" he asks before laying back into his bed.

you nod then lay down next to him. he then moves you so that your head is on his chest.

"I didn't expect you to make the first move" you giggle."

"what can I say? I just couldn't resist the idea of being with you anymore." he chuckles.

you both end up cuddling and falling asleep in each other's arms. in the morning, you wake up next to him and take a moment to admire his face, he is so beautiful.

after a few minutes of appreciating Jeongin, he awakens and notices you staring.

"what? do I look funny with bed hair or something?"

"sorry, I just got distracted looking at you because you're so beautiful."

"aww, did you just call me beautiful?" he smiles and pulls you into hug.

he chuckles at the blush on your face. “come on babe, let’s get ready and go for breakfast.”

as you both freshen up and get ready, your mind can’t help but think about how you ended up with such a cute boy next to you.

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hope you liked it!

masterlist is here!!

[slowd1ving]

ACT I: FLOURISH ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT

Vil Schoenheit and second place aren't supposed to be a thing. He's supposed to be the very embodiment of perfection, so why the hell is someone else's name usurping his crown on the Potions leader board? In which our starring actor cannot quench the flames of academic rivalry and resentment that consume him, nor can he fathom the enigma that you are. gn! scientist! reader warnings: contains nsfw but only later, angst with a happy ending, spoilers for book five, canon-compliant violence

anyways this fic is one of my personal favourites that I've written so please enjoy <3

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

BREACH THE IMMEASURABLE CHASM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

NEXT PART

Scene I: Overture . 　⁺

It starts on a particularly dull morning. Grey clouds adorn the grey skies; they are utterly devoid of joy and beauty. Rook would see beauty in this lifeless day, but Rook is not there to see it. Vil is. Standing here, in the dull hallway outside the Potionology classroom, is a perfectly miserable way to start off the school day.

Three heartbeats pass before Vil composes himself enough to straighten his posture. Three long heartbeats. Between each thump, he has to remind himself that he’s still the best in the Advanced Potions course. Of course he is. So what is this foreboding that’s chilling him to his very bones? He fights the urge to adjust his tie as he anxiously waits for the rankings of the top students to emerge onto the noticeboard facing him. It’s approximately two minutes before Crewel typically posts the monthly rankings, and ten minutes before he has to face the music by entering the classroom for said course. He’s still got time before hoards of clamorous students charge through the hallways.

One minute. He’s always been on top of this leaderboard, even after being transferred to the course as a freshmen where all his peers were at least a year older. His potions are always textbook perfection. Always. Something’s been weighing on his mind, though. Ever since last week’s assignment to brew a sleeping potion using only five ingredients, he’s had a very uncomfortable feeling that Professor Crewel’s ranking is leaning towards someone else. Even though Vil’s recipe contained some of the most potent ingredients, even though he delivered perfection and potency wrapped in a wax-sealed bottle; it may not have been the star of the show.

A parchment scroll slowly materialises into view behind the thick glass. Vil waits with bated breath; it’s been years since he’s last felt tremors like these. The gnawing feeling in his gut feels horribly similar to the first time he experienced stage fright. It’s unfurling. Whoever made this unveiling spell needed to be fired immediately; the bottom rankings were being revealed first. Vil sighs in relief as he sees his name emblazoned on top in a deep red alongside his markings.

Hold on.

Someone else’s name is slowly scrawling itself onto the parchment. Who the hell- an annoying ringing permeates his ears as he feels his heart miss a beat. He doesn’t know that name, but as his eyes swivel to the house logo proudly emblazoned beside it, he can clearly see the Ramshackle logo. The Prefect? The magicless human? The orientation disruptor? The beast-tamer? That person?

It’s been precisely two months since you arrived, and somehow managed to worm your way into Advanced Potions class, despite not possessing any sort of understanding of magic or potions. That should have been a sign in itself, but Vil dismissed it as nothing more than a fluke. Foolish. You’ve kept your head down, preferring to sit in the back of the lab as Crewel lectured the students, while Vil’s consistently kept to the middle rows. Of course he hasn’t noticed you.

Still, it must be a fluke. It has to be. How could you, someone who’s decidedly without any magic at all, become the proverbial spanner in the works? Distantly, he feels his hands clench into tight fists as he scans the row of marks next to your name. You’ve been consistently scoring just a couple of points below him, although the marks for the first class are subpar, of course. Still, he cannot fathom how you’ve managed to beat his average of 96.

That’s until the final row of marks - for this week’s assignment - slowly unveil themselves. Your score of 100 sits proudly above his meagre 87. Vil feels a vein protrude on his forehead. That’s impossible! It’s unheard of for a student to achieve 100 marks in Crewel’s classes, especially for an exam assignment, and especially in the Advanced Potions course! There’s no way, absolutely no way you of all people managed that! The next person below Vil only managed to scrape a 50, for Sevens’ sake!

Vil feels his breathing become uneven. He can’t even imagine how you could’ve cheated - those assigned flasks were enchanted with every sort of spell imaginable preventing cheating, and each potion had to be brewed somewhere on school grounds, under teacher supervision, within an hour.

The clatter of students is beginning to approach. Breathing heavily, he shoulders the door open, devoid of his usual lustrous grace. He avoids his usual row, choosing to sit on the far back corner of the lab - your row. Surely, there must be some indicator as to how you achieved a perfect result, some lapse in composure that would betray what must doubtlessly be foul play.

There’s only one seat between Vil and your chair. He can feel the lack of distance sharply. The lab isn’t particularly big; it’s never bothered him apart from now. Feverishly, he stares down the door, watching the slow trickle of students enter to distract that gnawing feeling. From the corner, he can see the hallway, as well as whoever chooses to look at the noticeboard. It’s agonising, waiting for you to walk in so he can observe you.

When you finally decide to show up, you’re in class around a minute later than Crewel and the previous student. Vil can tell by the direction of your body and feet that you haven’t yet seen the rankings. He’s not sure you know they even exist. He can feel his blood starting to boil slowly, which is only heightened when Crewel points his riding crop at you. Your surprise is apparent by the way your feet stutter to a sharp halt.

“Listen up, whelps!” his voice resounds throughout the lab. “I’m sure most of you have seen the rankings for this month that were posted this morning! As usual, most of your scores were abysmal for the final assignment, though this promising pup managed to get full marks-” here he gestures to you with approval. Vil doesn’t miss the way your brows furrow, then a small smile blooms on your face as you look down at your shoes. “-on an assignment that would likely even trouble my fourth years. Next week, we will go over why your attempts were so laughably mediocre, and I will personally make sure that lesson is drilled into each and every one of you pups.”

Crewel’s piercing glare marches itself around the room. Vil can see your shoulders slump in relief as Crewel strides behind his desk and you are free to make your way to the back. Your gaze is trained straight on your seat. Vil leans on his forearms to observe the other students; a few look back at you with congratulatory smiles, which you return. You don’t seem to have noticed your new neighbour. He feels his eye almost twitch. How dare you? You don’t even realise the full gravitas of this situation! Not only did you dismiss the noticeboard, you don’t even seem to be affected by the knowledge that you got full marks! Not to mention you haven’t even looked at him once! Is it ignorance, or a blatant smugness? Vil almost begins chewing his pen in anger before stopping himself.

The rest of the lecture goes by agonisingly slowly. Today isn’t a lab practical day, so Vil hasn’t got a chance to observe just how you’ve managed to secure that top rank. Instead, he alternates between taking notes and watching you watching Crewel and taking your own notes, which seem to be interspersed with pointless little doodles in the margins of your notepad. It’s infuriating.

He’s worked hard; he’s worked himself to the very bone to be the Fairest One. Yet that title was snatched away by some wimp resting on his laurels and looks to snag the roles that Vil yearned for. Now it’s happening all over again. Something within him is twisting, churning, grating his insides and self-control into a bloody pulp. The title of number one in the Potionology department is something he could finally call his own. Something that couldn’t be snatched away by someone’s looks or charm or mere luck. It was a way to prove himself to his dorm. It was a way to finally be held above all others for something you could very well work hard for. It proved his diligence.

So why? Why was this newly sprouted tuber next to him number one? Why the hell weren’t you taking any of this seriously? He seethes. It’s unbelievable. When he surreptitiously glances at your notes, they’re written in a language that he can’t even make sense of. They’re a far cry from the runes of Twisted Wonderland, and even with his studies on linguistics he can’t figure the twisted squiggles out.

“It’s the Latin alphabet,” your voice is suddenly in his ear, and he wishes for nothing more than to explode on the spot. His eyes flicker between your notepad and your face, which sports a tired smile. You’ve clearly misinterpreted the furrow of his brows as a question, because you continue.

“I can barely make sense of the runes here,” you twirl your pen between your fingers. Your other hand props up your chin as you tilt your face towards Crewel’s general direction, but your eyes linger on his. “So I use the language from my world.”

“I see,” Vil’s curt response doesn’t even make you bat an eye; instead, you turn to face Crewel again as if you had never spoken in the first place. This revelation from you is useless information to him, but if he continues talking to you he may be able to glean more information about your supposed genius.

Towards the end of the lecture, you pause in packing up and swivel towards Vil. He masks his startled expression within a millisecond, luckily.

“I never got round to asking your name,” you smiled sheepishly, scratching your neck with the back of your pen. “I think I saw you at orientation?”

That’s it. Vil feels his self-control splinter.

“Vil Schoenheit,” he says coldly. “You would do well to remember it, tuber potato.”

Your expression is nothing short of bewilderment as you toss your pen in your bag, but ultimately you don’t say anything after you nod. Vil feels a swell of the same ugly, twisted emotion that rears its head at the mention of Neige LeBlanche.

As you leave the room, Vil is left watching your back as the bell rings.

Scene II: Interlude . 　⁺

“Bonjour, Roi des Poisons,” Rook’s sharp gaze misses nothing as Vil feels those eyes observing his countenance. Vil elects to be silent, sipping on the fragrant lavender tea. The Pomefiore lounge never fails to ease his mind with its deep blue tones, fit for the Fairest Queen herself, but it cannot help his turbulent thoughts.

“Who is the lucky one who has cracked that beautiful mask of yours?” Rook’s voice is beginning to sound rather jarring after today’s fiasco earlier.

“I can’t say I know what you’re talking about,” Vil’s stiff words are forcibly turned casual as they leave his mouth.

“Tu me mens,” Rook drapes himself over the armchair Vil sits in, taking off his hat in a sweeping motion. “It breaks my heart, hearing sadness in that beautiful voice of yours. Tell me, who is the cause of this pain?”

“Rook,” Vil turns to him contemplatively, observing how Rook’s present grin is all teeth and sharp edges. “The Prefect of Ramshackle has piqued my interest.”

He didn’t mean to admit it, but the truth escaped his lips before he had a chance to think it through. Vil sighs, shutting his eyes and placing his teacup back into its saucer. It’s been a stressful day, one that can’t be amended with just a simple cup of tea.

“How very beautiful,” Rook comments, rising from his draped position. “I will take my leave, mon Roi.”

Vil has no doubt that Rook’s interest will also be spiked by you. He just hopes he gets some worthwhile intel about you in the process.

Scene III: The Hunter . 　⁺

“Félicitations,” a very familiar voice cuts through the tranquillity of the Botanical Gardens. Vil tenses up from where he was crouched harvesting the flowers of a particularly potent species typically used in aromatherapy. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop on Rook, but as fate would have it, your voice responds to the hunter.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” your tone is quizzical; by the rustling, Vil gathers that you’re likely here for the bounty of flora available in the Garden. Judging by the volume, you and Rook are probably three or four metres around the bush he’s facing.

“Of course, pardon my impertinence. Je suis Rook Hunt. I was simply admiring your beauty, when I realised you’re the one I’ve heard so much about,” Rook’s voice is sincere in his flattery, but Vil almost screams at his forwardness.

“What’s been said about me?” a shift is heard in cloth. No doubt you’re rocking on your feet, either in curiosity or nervousness, Vil can’t tell.

“Your scientific prowess has been held in very high esteem amongst my peers,” Rook murmurs; Vil can imagine those green eyes staring into yours at that moment and fights the urge to shudder at his audacious nature. Seems like Rook’s already cut straight to the heart of things. “I cannot help but be curious about what you plan to do with those sprigs of Somniablossoms, les fleurs des rêves.”

“Just some analysis,” your tone turned to that of academic fervour, one that resonated with Vil. “I’ve noticed that a lot of the elements present in this world match the properties of the ones back in mine - meaning that this place is likely in a shared universe. I’m trying to examine some of the flora here to see if the subcellular structures of plants here differ in any way from the ones back home. Then I’ll extract and purify the oil from these sprigs for further use, and use the flowers to see if they’d work as indicators.”

Your rambling catches Vil off-guard. He hadn’t expected you to be passionate about science outside the classroom; he judged by your attitude in Crewel’s classroom that it was more of a one and done occurrence of genius.

“Incroyable. Your mind captivates me. It seems we share the same love of science,” Rook’s own scientific fervour is clearly audible in his voice. Vil feels sickened by this sudden closeness between the two of you. He can’t turn away from the conversation, listening while he holds his breath.

“Yeah,” your tone is once again sheepish, drawing the ‘e’ vowel out ever so slightly. “I can’t read the runes here all that fluently, so it’s up to me to conduct my own research instead of relying too much on textbooks.”

“What tenacity! I would love to see your workspace someday,” Rook praises. It’s too much for Vil; he can’t listen any more without feeling that ugly monster within rear its head. “I’m sure it’s as captivating as that wonderful brain.”

Rook’s sweet talk fades out as Vil quietly slips away. He’s got no doubt that Rook sniffed his presence out; he only hopes you were too preoccupied by the vice Housewarden to notice him as well.

He massages his temples as he walks into the secluded corner of the Pomefiore lounge, seeking out his favourite armchair. It’s thankfully empty, as he’s one of the only ones with a free period at this time. Now he’s got time to think. All these negative feelings were going to damage his health, and he couldn’t afford to lose sleep over this. Not with the SDC a mere three months away.

No, he should treat this as a challenge. You proved yourself to be a worthy opponent with clear wit, something you had clearly worked for. To win against you… to win against you would be a more worthwhile endeavour than winning against that bumbling Neige. You would not take his title away from him. At long last, here was something that he could work hard for instead of it being taken away by something out of his control.

Was that what this was about? Control? After being overlooked for everything, left to play the villain, surely he could achieve this, at least?

“Roi des Poisons, I hope you were adequately amused,” Rook’s sudden appearance almost started Vil from his musings. Almost.

“Quite,” Vil responded, staring out of the window at the blue sky and beyond.

[edawgz]

ᝰ.ᐟ LATE SHIFT

𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ mikasa x reader. ~1.2k words.

❚ ❙ ❘ college au. slow-burn. academic angst. innuendos. fluff. i had goth college mikasa in mind when i wrote this. i love mikasa.

: ̗̀➛ You and Mikasa share the same late library shift every Tuesday. It’s supposed to be quiet — just shelving books and avoiding distractions... but you’ve been distracting each other for months.

| masterlist. | rush week masterlist. |

The Tuesday night library shift was never supposed to mean anything. It was just a job — quiet, predictable, but most importantly.. a paycheck. You were assigned shelving on the third floor where no one really wandered after 8 p.m., and the silence hung like a blanket over the rows of worn academic journals and forgotten thesis manuscripts.

You’d been working that shift for nearly a semester before Mikasa Ackerman joined it.

She wasn’t the type of person you expected to end up shelving books. She was all black hoodies and sharp eyes, the kind of girl who looked like she’d walk out of a poetry seminar without saying a word, only to ace every assignment. Rumor was she was a double major, something impossible like biochem and military history, and that she didn’t talk much unless she had a reason.

You didn’t think she even noticed you for the first few weeks.

She was fast, methodical. Her shelving cart was always half empty by the time you were still sorting call numbers, and she never wore earbuds like everyone else did. You’d catch her watching people sometimes, quietly, as if she was listening to more than what anyone was saying. Not judging — just… seeing.

She never said much.

Not until the night you dropped an entire stack of books trying to reach the top shelf, and she appeared beside you without a word, crouched down to help, her fingers brushing yours as she passed you the heaviest one.

“You should ask for the stepping stool,” she suggested, voice low and steady. “It’s safer.”

You’d blinked at her, flustered more than you expected to be. “Thanks. I didn’t think anyone saw that.”

“I always see,” she replied simply, and then walked off before you could ask what that meant.

After that, it was like something shifted.

She’d nod at you when you walked in. Sometimes she’d make small talk — ask about your classes, your paper deadline, the professor who had apparently become the shared bane of your existence. You started learning her habits. She drank her tea unsweetened, read during breaks instead of scrolling on her phone, and only laughed when she forgot to stop herself.

And it was never loud. Just this quiet, amused sound that made your chest tighten in ways you didn’t like to examine.

By midterms, you were waiting for Tuesday nights the way other people waited for weekend parties.

And that should’ve been your first sign that you were in trouble.

It started to rain one night as you were both locking up. Mikasa had forgotten her umbrella — claimed she didn’t mind the cold, but you could see the way her arms crossed tighter across her chest the second the wind hit.

“Come on,” you tiled your head while stepping closer beneath yours, holding it out with the unspoken invitation.

For a moment, she hesitated. Then she stepped in beside you, close enough that her shoulder brushed yours, close enough that her hair smelled like eucalyptus and ink.

She didn’t look at you when she spoke up, “I like this part.”

You blinked without a sound as you tried to register and understand what she meant. “The.. rain?”

“No. This… Walking. Quiet.”

You swallowed. The umbrella felt suddenly too small for how much space she took up in your thoughts. “Me too.”

You walked all the way to her dorm like that, not saying much else, not needing to.

But you remembered every second of it.

After that, things got a little messier.

She started bringing you tea without asking. Left sticky notes inside your textbooks with small, helpful reminders. You found yourself watching the door every Tuesday evening, hoping she’d arrive before you so you could pretend you were casually there and not counting the seconds.

You were supposed to be focusing on your grades, your internship applications, your thesis outline that hadn’t been touched in weeks.

Instead, you were memorizing the curve of her smirk, the way her eyes softened when she was too tired to be guarded, the rare, rare times she smiled like she forgot to be careful.

She never said anything about it and neither did you. Yet, the tension between you built like a held breath.

The shift before finals was where it all unraveled.

You’d been distracted — tired, overstressed, and more than a little on edge. You were reorganizing a cart that had already collapsed once, and your hands were shaking just a little from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. Mikasa found you like that, kneeling on the floor with books scattered around you and your head pressed to your hands.

She didn’t ask what was wrong.

She just knelt beside you and said, softly, “Breathe.”

“I can’t,” your words escaped faster than you meant, but you weren't sure if you were whispering or choking. “I’m behind on everything. I messed up an interview. I think I bombed that stats exam. And I haven’t written a word of my thesis draft. I’m-.. God.. I’m falling apart like this stupid fucking cart.”

Mikasa didn’t try to fix the issues you complained about like they were weighing you down to the bottom of the ocean.

She just put a hand on your back, steady and warm, and said, “You’re doing your best. That’s not nothing.”

You let yourself lean into her touch.

And when she finally stood, she held out her hand. “Come on. You don’t need to do this alone.”

That night, she walked you home. You didn’t say much, but she didn’t let go of your hand.

The last shift of the semester felt quieter than usual.

There were only a few carts to shelve. Most students were gone already so the halls echoed differently.

You shelved one last book and turned to find her standing at the end of the aisle, arms folded, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“Mikasa?” you asked, heart skipping.

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she walked toward you, steps slow and deliberate, like she was debating something she’d been holding in for far too long. When she stopped, you were only inches apart, and you could feel the heat radiating off her, even through your sweater.

Her voice was steady. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded, not entirely sure what to expect so you couldn't muster up any words.

“What would you do,” she began, eyes locked on yours, “if I told you I’ve been trying not to fall for you since September?”

Your breath caught. “Then I’d probably have to tell you I’ve already failed.”

She didn’t smile — not really — but the look in her eyes shifted, something warmer blooming behind the quiet.

Then she leaned in, just enough to let her forehead brush yours, just enough to leave you breathless.

“Good,” she murmured, and this time, when she smiled, it was all real.

[doobinluvr]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Sieun x Reader ( Hero trope)

Title : sad eyes, original story by me! ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ( school crush , mystery weak hero class characters, love, action )

⋆˚࿔ The day started out as usual—snagging a piece of toast from the kitchen, practically choking on it while stuffing your face on the way out the door.

You stand at the front of your house, waiting patiently for your best friend, Beom Seok. For as long as you can remember, he’s been there every morning, pulling up with his driver, to take you to school. He always says the same thing with a half-smile: 'You’ve got to conserve your energy in the morning if you want to study hard.' It’s a small routine, but it’s one of those quiet constants that make the day feel right. On the car ride to school, you review notes from yesterday’s class with quiet determination. In the background, there’s the faded murmur of conversation between Beom Seok and the driver, but you’re not listening completely consumed by your studies. It’s never come easy to you. You've always had to work twice as hard just to keep up. With no money for cram school, every test feels like a mountain. If you don’t study hard or borrow Beom Seok’s notes and textbooks passing feels almost impossible. You soon arrive at school, stepping out of the car with a polite bow to the driver. you head toward the gates, where Beom Seok quickly falls in step beside you. The two of you chatter, voices light but edged with stress as you agonize over the upcoming exams. As you approach the classroom building, a sudden shout cuts through the morning air.

“Hey!”

You and Beom Seok freeze mid-step, turning slowly toward the voice.

Hyo-man, the school bully, standing a few yards away, his eyes sharp and hostile, locked directly onto Beom Seok. You feel your stomach knot as you meet his glare, and your expression hardens.“What’s your problem?” you ask, stepping protectively in front of your friend. Beom Seok often bore the brunt of Hyo-man’s aggression, and you weren't going to stand by again.“You guys,” Hyo-man sneers, his smirk crooked and cold. Before you can react, he’s already moving fast. In a blink, he lunges. You try to block him, but he shoves you hard. You stumble and hit the ground, the impact jarring through your body just as Hyo-man barrels toward Beom Seok.You hit the ground hard, the impact jolting through your body. For a split second, everything blurs your thoughts, the noise, your sense of control. But then you hear Beom Seok cry out, and something sharp ignites inside you.You scramble to your feet, heart pounding. Hyo-man has Beom Seok by the collar, fist raised, sneering like he’s already won. The other students nearby hesitate, unsure whether to intervene or watch. “Let him go!” you shout, rushing forward. Hyo-man raises his arm in your direction, his eyes cold and focused, as though he’s already made up his mind. You squint your eyes, accepting your fate, bracing for whatever’s to come. But then, out of nowhere, a quick figure rushes past you, a blur of motion. Your class mate sieun !Before you can even process what’s happening, both he and Hyo-man topple to the ground in a flurry of limbs. Sieun lands on top of him , his face twisted with determination as he pulls out a pen, aiming it for his neck. Hyo-man gasps in shock, struggling beneath him, his hands reaching for his wrists, trying to pry his arm away. Startled, you rush to help Beom Seok up, his shock mirroring yours as you both stumble to your feet. You look at the scene before you: Sieun, pinning Hyo-man down, the pen dangerously close to his throat, and Hyo-man’s desperate cries filling the air. He writhes in pain, trying to crawl away from Sieun’s unrelenting grip, but his movements are slow and labored. A whirlwind of thoughts races through your mind. Should you get involved? Should you stop Sieun or let this play out? You hesitate, the weight of the decision hanging heavy in the air.

After a few more seconds of tense contemplation, your breath catching in your throat, you make your decision you bolt forward to pull Sieun off Hyo-man. But before you can reach them, the sound of firm, deliberate footsteps echoes down the hall. A teacher is approaching. The tension snaps like a wire.

In a flash, Hyo-man wriggles free from Sieun’s grip, scrambling backward like a cornered animal. He wipes the blood from his lip, straightens his clothes, and slips into the crowd with practiced ease like nothing had ever happened. Sieun doesn’t chase him. He doesn’t speak. He stays crouched for a moment, chest heavy slowly, he rises to his feet. You meet his eyes , the weight in them stops you cold. Not anger. Not pride. Sadness. A deep, unspoken sorrow flickering beneath the surface. You look away, ashamed that you hesitated. But he walks toward you anyway. His eyes drift down to your arm, where Hyo-man’s grip had left a fresh bruise. Gently, he lifts it, his touch cautious, respectful. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice steady, calm. But there’s something in it , something fierce and protective, like he’d do it all again without a second thought. You nod, quietly. “Thank you.” He simply gives a small nod in return, then turns to Beom Seok, helping him to his feet without saying a word. There’s no gloating in his actions, no need for praise just purpose. Silent, focused. Why did he help me? you wonder. We’ve never even talked before.

As the teacher arrives and begins questioning the commotion, Sieun is already walking ahead, books in hand, shoulders squared. By the time you and Beom Seok catch up, he’s slipping into class, flipping open his notebook like nothing had happened. But you can’t stop thinking about it. All day, your mind spins with questions. Sieun—the quiet boy no one really knew. The one who never talked to anyone, who sat alone at lunch, who kept his head down and disappeared into textbooks. There were rumors, of course. Dark ones. That he had a violent past. That he’d hurt someone at his old school. You never believed them. You never cared. Until today. End of part 1 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

⋆˚꩜｡ Want part 2 ? I’ll put out the next part of the story! ⋆˚꩜｡