#Top Tally Classes

[estrellami-1]

Ok so I saw a post about Steve as a teacher letting his kids control his Spotify which means his Wrapped is All Over The Place but the top artist is Corroded Coffin and Steve finds out from the thank-you video that Eddie is hot. I see it, I love it, it’s inspired.

I’m thinking something… a little different.

“Alright, class!” Steve calls. “Marcus, it’s your turn to choose the music, right?”

“Actually, Mr. H?” Amber pipes up. “Spotify Wrapped came out today!”

Steve blinks. “Spotify… what?”

Marcus is nodding. “Spotify Wrapped! It tallies up what you’ve listened to and gives you stats and stuff. It’s cool!”

“Ah,” Steve says, nodding, squinting at his computer. “And I see that… how?”

There’s a cacophony of noise until Steve holds up a hand. Everyone quiets, and Becky holds her hand up. He nods at her. “It’s at the top,” she says softly. “Where your recently played is.”

He smiles at her. “Thank you, Becky.” He navigates to it, clicking on it and letting the graphic play.

Their genre, apparently, is soft grass indie metal. He’s entirely sure that’s made up. Their top artist, making up sixty-four percent of the music they listened to, is Corroded Coffin.

There’s a video; a little thank-you the band put together. It starts with Eddie up front, as the lead singer. Gareth, Jeff, and Freak are slightly behind him, grinning at the camera. Steve recognizes the background as Jeff’s living room. “Hi!” Eddie starts. “Thanks so much for listening to our music this year.”

“We couldn’t do what we do without you,” Gareth adds on.

“And everything we do is for you!” Jeff says.

“It’s totally metal of you to listen to our music, and we appreciate it!” Freak finishes. They all wave, and the camera cuts off.

Steve is… gobsmacked. He loves his husband, truly, but he looks so uncomfortable, and the way he’s speaking is weirdly stilted. He was not made to stand still.

He shakes his head, knowing he’s about to make Eddie’s year, and blow these kids’ minds.

Eddie had always been more vocal than Steve about coming out, saying fuck it to the consequences. Maybe being gay was accepted in the metal community, but Steve had been too new in his current job to even think about the jeopardy this could put his career in.

But honestly. That video was terrible, and his kids deserve better.

He sighs, raises a hand to get the class’s attention. “I know that was cool,” he chuckles. “But if you can be quiet and patient, I could get you something even cooler.”

“Cooler than a video from Corroded Coffin?” Nick asks.

Steve tilts his head. “Cooler than that video, at least.”

Nick doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”

Steve just smiles. “How about we find out?” He puts a finger to his lips and FaceTimes Eddie.

He makes sure his volume is low, enough so that he even has trouble hearing when Eddie picks up.

“Baby!” Eddie exclaims, then clocks the background and is instantly worried. “Wait, you’re still at work. Are you okay? Is everything okay? Did you hit your head again? Do I need to come get you?”

“Christ, you’re dramatic,” Steve mutters, grinning wide. “I’m fine. I’m with my class, and we just finished looking at our Spotify Wrapped. Guess who our number one artist for the year was.”

Eddie’s eyes sparkle. He grins. Steve nods. “Corroded Coffin,” he confirms, then sighs. “I have to say, though, I was a little disappointed by the video.”

Eddie groans, throwing his head back. Steve gets a great view up his husband’s nose. “I know! I know, it sucked, but the guys were happy with it and it was, like, our eighth go, and-”

“I get it,” Steve promises. “But how would you like to one-up it?”

It takes Eddie a second, but his eyes gleam. “Are you sure? Your career-”

“Is stable enough now,” Steve finishes. “I’m sure. If you are.”

“Fuck,” Eddie mouths, conscientious of Steve’s class. “I love you.”

Steve smiles, blows a kiss to the camera. He gets a smattering of awws from some of his female students.

He figures out how to connect his phone to his computer to the screen, pushes the volume button up, and nods. “Go, Eds.”

Eddie grins and waves at the screen. “Hi, Mr. Harrington’s class! I’ve heard so much about you guys. It’s totally metal that you’re listening to our music—that’s something your teacher neglected to tell me.” He grins at the screen, a private thing for Steve, who dutifully rolls his eyes.

“I hear your music every day, Eds, forgive me if I don’t think anything of it when I hear it here and at home.”

“Mr. H,” Nathan asks in a pseudo-whisper, “how the hell do you know Eddie Munson?”

Eddie bursts out in a laugh. “You must be Nathan,” he says.

Nathan goes white, then pink. “H-hi, Mr. Munson, sir.”

“I think you should be their teacher,” Steve says, grinning first at Eddie, then his class. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Nathan say sir before.”

Everyone laughs—including Nathan—and Eleanor raises her hand. “How do you know him?”

Steve takes a breath, glances at his phone. Eddie’s smiling patiently at him, and Steve’s own smile grows as he answers her. “I’m his husband,” he tells her.

“Ten years and counting!” Eddie crows. “Though we’ve known each other for… twenty… something.”

Steve chuckles. “Twenty-three, Eds. If you count high school, which I don’t.”

“But I do,” Eddie nods. “Twenty-three years. And counting.”

Steve chuckles again. “And counting,” he agrees.

As his room explodes into noise, he looks back at his phone to find Eddie already looking at him.

That’s the way it goes, he thinks. Eddie saw him the whole time. It took Steve a while to catch up, but now that he has, he’s never been happier.

Twenty-three years and counting, indeed.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Seeing Stars 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Summary: You struggle to be star struck by the world's most famous super soldiers. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: Guess this is happening.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The lights, the noise, the crowd, it's all a bit much. You move out of the way of another Red, or, Black Widow cosplayer only to nearly bump into a rather short but broad Thor. At least, you think you have those right. You don't know. Bonita is more into this stuff. You're more here for moral support, or more realistically, to carry her bags.

Didn't she tell you she was trying to cut down her spending? You've already tallied up more than you'd spend on groceries on a single poster and a bobblehead hero. Which one was that? The one with the metal arm…

You jostle against Bonita to keep from brushing against a stranger. You're not much for human contact as it is, but you'd rather it be here than that guy in the Spiderboy outfit doing twirls. You can respect the passion but it's all over the top. Someone's going to get hurt.

"Alright, signature time!" Bonita claps her hands and leads you over to a long queue behind a velvet cord. A man in black asks for her VIP pass. She shows it and you see the not so subtle total on the receipt; $500! That's robbery. These Stark Industries-issued heroes don't need all that.

You keep your grumbles to yourself and cross your arms to follow her. The man stops you too. You reel back and give him a glower.

"Relax, I'm carrying milady's things," you raise the bag and bobblehead. "I'm not interested in having a class photo."

"Please, sir, she's not really into any of this," Bonita adds with a cute smile. He considers her and drops his shoulders. He waves you through.

You shuffle along with the line of bodies. You lean to the side as you try to see the front. It zigzags back and forth. You're going to be here forever.

"Why couldn't Mo come with again?" You drone.

"Because he's a butthead," she whines. "Couldn't even pay me back for getting the tickets on pre-sale so he can miss out!"

"I didn't pay either," you mutter.

"Yes, but you're more fun. My brother's spoiled. He deserves it."

You nod and move with her as the queue shifts again. It's easy for her to come out and spend all this money. She still lives at home. You're not judging her but she also doesn't seem ashamed of it either. As happy as you'd been when you got out on your own, you sometimes wonder what it'd be like to have people to fall back on.

"It's going to be so cool. I got a photo with both of them! EEEEE!" Her squeal has you touching your earlobes.

"Both of them," you nod dully.

"Captain America and the Winter Soldier," she exclaims and claps her hands. "Do you think they'll like my outfit?"

You look her up and down. She wears a star-spangled corset and a red and white striped skirt. She's like an excitable flag. You shrug. "It's cute, but you must be cold in here," you peer up at the high-ceilings and the fans swirling the air around.

"Nope! Too excited," she assures you.

"Cool."

You might not be into any of this but you try to be a supportive friend. Bonita's a bit flighty but she's not a bad person. Really, you admire how into things she gets. You have your things but she's about as interested in those as you are in super soldiers.

She chatters on about the photo. Do you think they'll sign it too? Oh, she needs to put it right above her desk. Obviously, it's going to be her phone background. You nod and peer around vaguely.

She thrives in place likes these. Bright, loud, and chaotic. You'll take something warm to drink and a book. She'll join you if you throw in some face masks and the like.

It's more than hour before you're in sight of the front table. Your feet hurt from standing mostly in one spot. You stretch your neck one-way than the other as you near the head of the line. You stand right by the stanchion where the cord opens.

Someone emerges from behind the curtain and you have to quickly step out the bouncing soldier's way. Is it considered stolen valour or an homage? As you move, your elbow hits someone else and you spin to face the unexpected figure.

"Oh," the man catches your elbow as you look up at him. Dark beard, dark hair past his chin, wide shoulders, and straight posture. His blue eyes seem familiar. "Sorry, miss. I'm just trying to get back to my station."

You sidle closer to Bonita as she gasps. The man brushes his fingertips down your sleeve as he passes and heads for the table. He stops to speak with the person handing out merch then proceeds behind the curtain where the flashes have been steadily flickering behind.

"Gosh, can you believe that?"

"Believe what?" You stare after him.

"That was him. Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier," she exclaims. You blink at her and she scoffs.

"God, you're so lame. I can't believe you had no idea."

"I dunno," you pop your shoulders up and down. "Not my thing but that's cool."

"Oop!" She hops on her toes as the person at the table calls for the next in line, "that's me."

"Have fun," you say as you move aside with her haul.

She skips up to the table and shows her phone again. She takes the SWAG they offer her as they explain the next step and point behind the curtain. As she disappears behind it, you hear her squeal. You wonder if super soldiers have super hearing. That must've hurt.

You sway as you wait. Your name cuts through the air as you space out staring at a banner and you look over as Bonita waves from behind the curtain. You hesitantly cross the floor, expecting to be stopped.

"They want you to join!" She says.

"What?" You stop a foot away from her head as it appears to float between the curtains.

"Sure. They said why not? Since you waited in line."

"Oh, no that's… fine. I'll stay out here."

"Come on," she huffs and grabs your wrist, dragging you through. "Here she is!"

You step through and scan the space. There's the photographer patiently waiting behind the camera. Across from the lens, two large men stand with smiles that you can tell are all for show. This is a paid appearance for them.

"Hey, how about it?" The blond asks and beckons you over.

"I guess if you want me too, Bonnie," you say to your friend without acknowledge the man you know to be Captain America.

She brings you over with her and stands you between her and the brown-haired sidekick. Bucky steps closer and you wince as his hand goes to your lower back. You suppose it's normal given that you're getting photos but you want nothing more than to growl at him.

"Alright, everyone set?" The photographer looks at the camera and adjusts the lens. "Smile."

The flash goes as you refuse to follow orders. You're not much on smiling. You stand there like a mannequin as your vision speckles from the light.

"Oh, Steve, um, will you pick me up for the next one?" Bonita asks. You cringe and step away from Bucky's hand. He looms close as you squirm.

"Sure," Steve accepts breezily. He lifts her with no effort at all as you give a skeptical look.

"How about you?" Bucky touches your arm again and you draw away reflexively.

"No thanks," you curl your shoulders inward as you try to shrink down. "I'm good."

"Alright," the photographer says, "everyone together."

"Um, I think I'm going to step out, actually--"

Too late. Bucky puts his arm over your shoulders and crowds you as Bonita poses in Steve's arms. Your eyes round in horror and the camera blinds you again. She's really going to owe you for this one.

[spanktony]

GOT HER OWN. — karina. (part one)

“𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗶𝘁. 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗶𝗻 𝗶𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵, 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗶𝗻 𝗶𝘁.”

in which — y/n is a valorant streamer who loves trolling and chasing a spot on the top 10 valorant clutches list. when katarinabluu, a high-ranked player, takes the #1 spot, y/n throws shade during their stream—only for katarina to clap back online.

pairing ! —streamer!karina x streamer!gn!reader

genre ! — smau w a little bit of written text, enemies to lovers, comedy

warnings ! — kys/kms jokes, swearing, this is very bad 😕

featuring ! — aespa, yunjin (le sserafim), keeho (p1harmony), minji (newjeanz), and more

a/n: this isn’t a long series just a 2 part (maybe) series (part two)

it was a routine you followed every month: react to the top 10 valorant clutches of the month video, hope to see one of your clips make the cut, and play it cool if it didn’t. at this point, it was less about the recognition and more about the banter with your chat.

you weren’t the most well known valorant pro out there—your channel had a decent amount of subscribers, but it was nowhere near the top 100. you had a pretty loyal following that you had worked hard to build since your first few days on youtube and twitch.

and as the months passed, your fan base was only getting bigger.

today was no exception. you had set a stream up for your regular wednesday afternoon time slot. you were going to try and squeeze in a few rounds with a few friends before you had to get ready for your night classes.

but first, you needed to react to the new list. it had dropped the night before, and your notifications had been buzzing ever since.

your fans loved hyping you up every time these compilations came out, spamming your inbox with messages like “this has to be your month!” or “if you’re not on this list, we riot.” it was all in good fun, but deep down, you couldn’t lie—it’d be nice to finally see your name make the cut.

“alright, chat,” you said as the stream went live, your usual intro music playing softly in the background. “you know the drill. top 10 valorant clutches of the month. place your bets now: am i finally on this one, or are we adding another ‘rigged’ tally to the scoreboard?”

username: no way they missed that icebox play last week right?

username Manifesting y/n at #1 this time!

username if you don’t make it we ride at dawn

username 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

username they’re saving your clip for a ‘top fails’ compilation 😭

you chuckled, rolling your eyes. “hilarious. let’s just get into it, yeah?”

you pulled up the video and hit play. as the countdown began, your commentary started up right away.

clip #10 was decent, a 1v4 clutch with some clean sheriff shots. “not bad,” you admitted, nodding approvingly. “but let’s be real, chat. i’ve done better.”

clip #9 featured an insane operator flick. “okay, now that’s spicy,” you said, impressed. “still waiting for my clip, though.”

by the time it got to the top three, you hadn’t seen your name, but you weren’t surprised. “alright, here’s the moment of truth. if i’m not in the top three, i’m officially calling this list a scam.”

then, the #1 clip began to play. the name on the screen caught your eye immediately: katarinabluu.

your face froze for a second as the clip began—an ace on icebox, clean headshots, and a flick with an operator that sealed the round. it was an undeniably impressive play, but your competitive streak refused to give in.

“that’s it?” you said, pausing the video. you shrugged. “but let’s be real—if that’s #1, this list is definitely rigged.”

username who the hell is that

username y/n who???

username: HELLO??? KARINA’S GONNA SEE THIS

username not you dragging her when she’s literally better than you ☠️

username 😭😭

you leaned back in your chair, smirking at the chat’s chaos as the messages flew by faster than you could read.

“what? i’m just saying!” you said, raising your hands in mock defense. “she’s good, but if that’s the best clutch of the month, then clearly the editors need to broaden their horizons. my icebox clip was cleaner.”

the chat exploded even more.

username oh you’re done for

username: why are you here starting beef w karina i can’tttttt

username: Plz she’s gonna roast you so bad

username 100% she’s gonna watch this later and go feral

username you done fucked up 💀

you laughed at their reactions, brushing it off as just another day of trolling with your viewers.

a/n: lolll idk how i feel about this 😔

part two

[kumkaniudaku]

Just For You

Summary: Terry and Patrice give each other lasting nicknames.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: None

"Terrence and Patrice, you're married. Any objections?" 

None from Terry. A few from Patrice, but what was new? She always had objections. Ms. Cole answered each of her star pupil's questions in extreme detail before sending the pair home as a fictional married couple exploring the semester's section on personal finance. 

It was Terry's idea for them to work together on the weekend at his house, citing weekday football practices as too much of a hindrance to after-school instructional time. His sophomore year came with another growth spurt to a towering 6'1", and he couldn't let the new length or extra muscle go to waste. The fight for starting receiver had only just begun. 

Patrice hated falling behind. The thought of letting days pass without tracking toward their project's completion ate away at her. She allowed Terry to have his way, but under one condition: they'd work all morning on Saturday to knock things out in one day.

He scrunched his face and ran a hand over his haircut. "Patrice, that's a lot. We can't stretch it to two days?" He thought again for a better solution when she started to open her mouth with a rebuttal. "What if we talked on the phone and finished up Sunday night! Then you only have to leave home once!" 

"Take it or leave it, Terrence. One day or a little bit every day after your practice." 

With Saturday morning SportsCenter's top five clips playing on the television while they sat beside each other, their feet and legs jutting out from beneath his mother's coffee table, it was clear he'd taken the offer with a few concessions. Highlights stayed on during homework. 

Patrice sat still and quiet while she watched Terry twirl a pencil between his fingers and squint at the instructions on their project syllabus. Late morning sunlight streaming through the living room window brought out the honey color in his eyes, her favorite part of the blue-green pieces of art she pretended not to sneak glances at when they spent time together. His brows furrowed to create little ripples at the center of his forehead. Three. She always counted them when he made his focused face. 

If anyone didn't know him, he'd look like an intimidating man at least five years his senior. But Patrice knew Terry was mostly a gentle giant. He spoke softly as if the sound of his own voice was scary, opened doors, laughed on occasion, and remained polite day to day. Compared to the other boys in his grade, Terry was a saint—a saint slowly creeping his way into Patrice's day-to-day thoughts. 

Terry's shoulder brushed against Patrice's as he shifted on the floor, making her shuffle further away to avoid the goosebumps populating her forearm. Terry glanced over, concern replacing the focus in his eyes. "You okay? Did I hit you?" 

"No, I just didn't wanna be so deep in your space." Partially true. The why was her secret to keep. 

Terry shrugged. "It's cool. You're not bothering me." She never was. If he were honest, Terry wished she would bother him more. Come over more, show up to more games, and stay on the phone a little later when he called under the guise of missing notes from class, knowing the only thing he missed was her voice. He scooched closer to her, leaving a sliver of space between them. "So, I think you're the breadwinner in this scenario. Sixty-thousand a year ain't half bad. You must be a professor or something. Talkin' them students' heads off, I'm sure." 

"Shut up," Patrice laughed as she elbowed his side. "You aren't far behind! Your $45k gets us to a combined $105k. That's more money than I've ever seen." 

Her compliment of his pretend income pulled a closed-mouth smile from Terry. "Yeah, well, how do we spend it? Says here we need to budget our combined monthly income between bills, discretionary spending, and savings." Quick mental math helped him tally their post-tax income. "That's $3,204 bi-weekly. Just under $7000 a month. I think we can handle that." 

"Let's start with housing and work from there?" 

"I'm following your lead." 

One hour of hard work and bickering netted the play couple one outcome they could agree on. Terry thought it'd be best for them to choose a modest three-bedroom dwelling with a low mortgage to fit their housing needs and free up funds for two cars. Though Patrice wanted a bigger backyard for her garden, she relented when her mate pointed out she'd get the better car and a summer vacation if they were wise with their monthly spending. One night out a week, $500 a month in "fun funds," and a strict savings schedule left them more than enough money in their reserve to consider children in their plan. 

Brain fog stemming from a quietly growling belly made Patrice stretch her arms high about her head and whine. "Can we take a break? I'm a little hungry." 

"I can make you something!" Hearing the extra eagerness in his own voice felt like a punch to the throat for Terry. Embarrassment had him scaling back to save face. "It's just a PB&J. You don't want me using the stove. Or you can wait 'til my mom gets home. She usually does crawfish on the weekends."

"Shoot, let's do both! I've never had crawfish before."

Not ever having crawfish was a cardinal sin in Terry's household. If his parents found out Patrice had been living a life without experiencing their family specialty, she'd be forced to camp out until every piece of corn, sausage, potato, and crustacean was consumed. Terry logged the reference in the back of his mind for later use as he made his way into the kitchen. 

While Terry focused on the even spreads of peanut butter and jelly on his mama's "good" bread, Patrice took her time mosying around the large living room to acquaint herself with her surroundings. 

Expensive trinkets and books she'd never read lined the cubby spaces on one side of their large wooden entertainment center. On the other, family photos told the Richmond family's story. At the top, Mr. and Mrs. Richmond posed in formal attire with big smiles to celebrate what Patrice assumed was their wedding day. Another shelf featured photos of twin girls with encased baby booties in the middle. She smiled at their big afro puffs and chocolate-covered faces while they enjoyed dessert at Disney World. Then, she spotted it. Perched on a stack of photo albums, a little boy decked in Spider-Man gear from head to toe stretched himself in the hero's signature squat. But those eyes were unmistakable. Little Terrence was clearly on a mission to save the world. Or his backyard, at the very least. 

In awe of how cute Terry looked as a kid playing make-believe, Patrice reached out to grab the frame for a closer look. That was him, alright. Terry still had the same toothy grin that crinkled his nose at the bridge and made his eyes close from the rise of his cheeks. Ears too big for his body stood out even more than they did ten years later. He may have been smaller in stature and much more upbeat than the brooding teenager in the other room, but after a year of friendship and a little secret pining, she could recognize him anywhere. 

Immersion disarmed Patrice's senses, giving Terry ample space and opportunity to sneak up on her. "That's funny?" His voice cut through the silence, making Patrice jump and turn to catch the sly smile on his face. "That was my fifth birthday. I can't remember why I didn't get a party, but I guess I still had fun that day." 

"It's cute," Patrice complimented. "I didn't know they made masks for little kids with adult-sized heads." 

Payback from her jab tasted perfectly sweet on her tongue, like her Nana's homemade apple pie. Patrice watched Terry roll his eyes and shake his head before pulling the glass photo frame from her hands and placing it back in its rightful spot. 

He pretended to laugh along before kissing his teeth. "Come get this sandwich before I change my mind, girl." 

Terry would never change his mind, no matter how hard he tried to pretend or fight back the smile revealing his top row of teeth. Patrice had a free license to pick with him, and, on occasion, he'd join in to further solidify their friendship. 

Lighthearted rounds of the dozens meandered into winding conversions dominated by Patrice's favorite secret chatterbox. He ran through team drama a mile a minute, only taking breaks to chew and ask her intentions for the remaining pretzels on her plate. She granted him permission to clean up her portion and his if it meant he'd keep talking. 

"So, you like orange?" His abrupt change in subject turned Patrice's passive listening into active confusion. He pointed at the scrunchie on her wrist to clarify. "The color, I mean. I noticed you wear it all the time. I was just wondering if it's your favorite." 

Patrice fiddled with the ponytail holder, looking for anything to keep her from making eye contact with Terry. Knowing she was being watched excited and terrified her with equal intensity. "Um, yeah. It is." 

"How come?" 

"I don't know, really. I think because of how the sky turns orange when the sun's going down in the summertime. That's always been pretty to me." Terry committed the information to memory with a quick head nod, letting awkward silence scream into Patrice's ear until she forced out a follow-up question. "What about you? What's your favorite color?" 

Terry thought for a moment. "Blue, mostly. But like Carolina blue. If you get too dark, it's like the Patriots, and I hate the Patriots." 

"Dang. Soooo, no tickets to see Tom Brady for our fun money, huh?" 

"Well, I ain't say all that!" 

Stomach-busting laughter derailed all thoughts of returning to the second half of their assignment. Instead, they chose to take a nose dive into each other's likes, dislikes, and anything in between. Terry had to know Patrice's birthday for…research purposes. 

She scribbled the date on his mother's wall calendar. "April 23rd, remember? Shakespeare's birthday!" 

Fitting. Terry stored the date away in the section of his brain reserved for important things like stats and Lil Wayne lyrics for good this time. 

"What's your favorite food?" 

"My maman's étoufée," Terry answered, whistling from the memory of last Thanksgiving. "I can't wait to go visit next month!" 

How Patrice wished to visit with him and experience even the smallest taste of the dish, brightening his smile more than she'd ever seen before. 

Back and forth they went while time morphed into more of an abstract concept than a rule governing the physical world. Terry's favorite film? Remember the Titans. An obvious answer for obvious reasons, but Patrice loved to hear his explanation anyway. Patrice's plans for her future career? A teacher, high school English more specifically. And, if she found the time, she'd get her PhD and teach other teachers how to teach one day. Her commitment to learning and school was admittedly odd to Terry, but still, he found her passion for it magnetic. 

In their own world, Patrice and Terry were free to be themselves in every imperfect way. Nothing was too nerdy or too weird to discuss. And, if it got close, they knew to keep each other's secrets. 

Gathering plates for cleanup, Terry rattled off his umpteenth question. "What's your middle name? Wait! Can I guess?" Patrice smiled and pushed for him to take his best shot. "You look like a Nicole." 

"No way! How'd you guess that?" 

"Every Black girl's middle name is Nicole. Or Marie. It was a 50/50 chance." 

"It was a 50/50 chance," Patrice mocked before kissing her teeth. "What's yours? Michael?" 

Terry smirked at her attempt to get him back. "Nope. It's James. Me and my dad have the same one." 

"I guess that's kinda cool." Curiosity turning the wheels in Patrice's head robbed her of seeing Terry trying to hide his smile and reddening ears from her view. "Do people ever call you TJ, or is it always Terrence or Terry?" 

Hardly anyone called him Terrence. His full first name was his mother's go-to when he was in trouble. In school, teachers faithfully called him what existed on the roll sheet. But, those closest to his heart knew him as Terry and nothing else. The divide between Terrence and Terry was his way of telling friends from foes. TJ, though, was new and interesting.

Thinking for a couple of seconds yielded no results. "Nah, I don't think so. You can have dibs if I give you one." 

Decisions decisions. Alternate names gifted by little boys never went well for Patrice. Four Eyes, Girl Urkel, and Stilts still haunted her well past elementary and middle school. The potential fallout from another botched nicknaming debacle wouldn't deter her from having something special between them.

"Fine," Patrice relented, grumbling enough to pull a laugh from Terry. "But nothing about my physical appearance. Or food-related. Or downright mean. Or Pat. I hate Pat." 

Her heavy southern twang exaggerated all of her demands, eliciting a laugh from Terry as he shook his head. "You know, usually, people don't get that much say in their nicknames. It's kinda the whole point." 

"Yeah, well, this ain't one of them time, so tread lightly." 

Terry lifted his hands in surrender, not wanting to squander his opportunity to deepen their connections. If rules existed around what he could and could not call her, so be it. "What about…P," he prosed after a few seconds. "Short and simple." 

"And unfortunately already taken by my mama. Try again." 

"Patty? Like LaBelle. Y'all both kinda mean but in a cool, old lady way." 

Patrice's annoyed eye roll sharply contrasted with Terry's impish grin. Payback was officially his again. 

"Terry, I swear! Be serious!" 

Relenting, he tossed out another option. "Okay, okay," he laughed. "For real this time. How does Treece sound? Just the second part of your name." Terry watched her mull over the idea, his smile growing when she offered no immediate rebuttal. He nudged her shoulder and smiled when she forced a sour expression. "Nah, you like it! Treece! Treecey! Big Treece!" 

Listening to Terry rattle off variations of her newly minted nickname, the sound from his lips sounding like her mother asking who wants a second helping of ice cream or Usher singing to her and her alone through her radio's speakers. 

"You know we sound like twins now, right? TJ and Treece?" 

"That's what we should name the kids." 

Missing context caused an invisible record to scratch, forcing Terry to quickly correct himself. Kids? They'd just reached good friend status. Patrice opened her mouth to question Terry, but he beat her to the punch with an explanation. 

He emphatically waved his hands in front of him, trying to sweep the misstep into the ether. "For the project! I meant kids for the project!" 

"Right!" The project. Duh. Patrice tried to recover cooly from what she was sure looked like utter panic with a dash of hopefulness on her face. "The kids from the project. Which –" 

"We should get back to. It's gettin' late. Unless you stayin' for crawfish tonight?" 

Dancing eyebrows and an irresistible grin slowly turned a firm no into a maybe before Patrice could stop her lips from moving. 

She sighed, giving in to the barely there push of peer pressure. "I'll call and ask my mom," she grumbled. "Is the phone in the living room, TJ?" 

"By the couch, Treece." 

Special names reserved for private use added another layer to a friendship blossoming by the day. Terry stood in the kitchen for a second longer to try out Patrice's new moniker alone, flexing different inflections and how it sounded next to his. Treece and Terry. Terry and Treece. Treece Ellis. Treece Richmond.

The last one earned a few repeats until Patrice's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. 

"No luck on crawfish, TJ! I've got to leave to babysit my brother tonight!" she hollered from the other room. “Come on so we can finish! We gotta get one of these kids on paper and budget for their Spider-Man birthday party!" 

Terry chuckled and shook his head. She'd never let him live that down. "Alright. I'm coming. You're a real demanding wife, you know that?" he shouted back with a smile.

Treece Richmond. He could get used to that one.

—————-

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[sicko4smut]

Everybody’s A Suspect! | B. Floyd

synopsis: A string of murders in the fall of ‘84 in a small town shakes the residents of WoodSprings to their core

warnings: violence, murder, eventual smut, gore, porn with a whole lot of plot, inaccuracies of the 80s (have mercy), personal head cannons of characters/dynamics, dubious consent, pushy male characters who can’t take no, bullying, physical harm, other warnings i can’t think of right now

PSA- i do not own any characters, names, ideas, or royalties of the ‘Scream Franchise’ or ‘Top Gun Maverick’

CHAPTERS

📼 1.1 - A Body…In WoodSprings?

PLAYLIST 📻 (no particular order)

The Perfect Girl - Mareux

Dark Red - Steve lacey

Somebody’s Watching Me - Rockwell

Hidden In The Sand - Tally Hall

The Red Means I Love You - Madds Buckley

Smooth Criminal- Micheal Jackson

Arms Tonite - Mother Mother

Sippy Cup - Melanie Martinez

Headlock - Imogen Heap

♪♫♪

─•────

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

MEET THE CHARACTERS

. ݁₊ �� . ݁˖ . ݁ 🏈 - Jake Seresin as ‘Dumb Jock’

* Jake is captain of the football team and son of the town’s mayor, super rich boy vibes

* Wholeheartedly believes you and him should be together because he is captain of football team and your cheer captain

* All brawns no brain up there, his poor skull is sitting there collecting dust and head trauma from getting tackled one too many times. 🏆 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘˚⊹ ࿔

🎸⋆⭒˚｡- Bradley Bradshaw as ‘Punk Outcast’

* Rooster is a free-spirited, rule-less, angsty, outcast

* Stays to himself and rarely ever talks, seriously no one has heard the guy say more than three words since high school

* working to put himself through college even though the stress from college and work is kinda making him flunk out

* Butts heads with Jake, two sides of different coins mixed with egos, passive aggression, and LOTS of testosterone leading to many physical fights between the boys. ᶠᶸᶜᵏᵧₒᵤ! ‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

☥🦇 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪ - Nat as ‘Freak Loner’

* Out of her nerdy, timid shell from high school and free as can be…Natasha has voiced her disdain for all oppressive nature and love of the unknown, terrifying, and paranormal.

* She doesn’t feel the need to pretend to be uninterested in her education to fit her aesthetic when all is said and done, Natasha wants something to call her own and a degree is just that. So she’s willing to swallow her pride on how the world forces you into school for years right into the capitalist system of working for even longer before screwing you over even more the longer you let them..though she sure won’t be quiet about it

* But don’t be fooled by her dark makeup, passionate outburst, and spooky demeanor as hard she tries to bury her, that nerdy timid girl within Nat keeps kicking no matter how hard she beats her down. 𓉸ྀི ✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ -You as ‘The Town’s Sweetheart’

* You never wanted for anything in life for as long as you could remember, born with a silver spoon in your mouth however you were never snotty about it…never let it get to your head

* Miss goody-two-shoes as you were called was always the first one to volunteer your help whenever needed, first to be picked for the cheer team, first to speak up when someone was being bullied, first place in the Woodsprings beauty pageant, Prom Queen, Co-class president, captain of dance committee. It was all honestly a little overboard but you loved it all, love how busy it made you and how you were praised by seemingly everyone around you.

* Your family being the second wealthiest people in Woodsprings (thank you mommy and daddy) it was a given you never worried about how you were going to pay for college, the thought never crossing your mind until you overhear some peers complaining about how THREE jobs weren’t even enough to cover book fees so they would have to go to the local community college instead…it left you with an odd feeling never really having had the chance to acknowledge your privilege °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

⊹₊⟡⋆ 🔪 - Bob Floyd as ‘Ghostface’

* The man of the hour, our beloved robby. Fed up with being bullied and patronized, bob fights back…he didn’t mean for the guy to die but he would be lying is he said he didn’t like the silence that came with one less of those losers gone.

* Sweet boy who lives with his single mother trying to help her pay bills by working a variety of on campus jobs, from handyman to security to library assistant…anything that pays to lighten the load off her back

* Geek Charming in the flesh, bob but always robby to you has always been super smart which is why he was head of chess club, class president, and valedictorian in high school and awarded a full-ride scholarship to Woodsprings University

* Robby has had a crush on you since the first grade, it’s honestly a mix between creepy and embarrassing how bad he had it for you but you rarely noticed him anyway. When you did seem to remember his existence you were always so sweet just like he knew you to be his sweet girl

🪓 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

• This a masterlist/promotion for a WIP soon to be fic

• All actual chapters will be published on my main account @smutmaniac

• Please like and reblog

[ssivinee]

❥ 𝙰𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎

Le Sserafim! Nakamura Kazhua x F reader: You and Kazuha both come into a tight spot. She needs a 'fake girlfriend' to make her parents happy, and you need to help your dad, who needs dire help. How will the rich and popular girl and a nobody like you help each other out?

Word Count: 6.3 k

Author's Note: Writing this one actually came so easy to me, like it was so refreshing😭. ANYWAYSSSSS I'll be working on a few fics this month FOR SURE since the break is coming up! I'll have a few things coming up in school, and college WILL be kicking my ass but before and after all that, I'll try and update as much as I can.

The warm aroma of miso soup filled the air as you ladled portions into bowls, your movements practiced from countless nights spent at your father’s restaurant. The steady sizzle of tonkatsu in the hot oil, the clinking of glasses as men toasted as a celebration, and the occasional chime of the register felt as natural as breathing.

Your father fixed the dishes on a large tray: two bowls of miso soup, steaming plates of tonkatsu with rice and curry, a platter of salmon sashimi, and some plain green tea. He handed it off with a nod, and you hoisted the tray onto your shoulder, carrying it to a table where a young couple sat, lost in their little world.

Returning to the counter, you set down the tray and started wiping down tables, each swipe bringing closing time a little closer. After wiping down the last tables and cleaning the floors, you closed the register and changed out of your uniform.

“Otosan! I’m heading out!” you called from the door. Your father looked up from his notebook and calculator long enough to wave goodbye, immersed in tallying up the day’s earnings. Hopping on your bike, you pedaled home under the quiet night sky, planning to tackle your homework before bed.

This was your daily routine: mornings at university, afternoons helping your dad at the restaurant, then late nights finishing assignments. It wasn’t an amazing lifestyle, but you and your dad were getting by, and that was enough.

The scholarship you’d earned was the key to giving your father a better life, and you were determined to keep it that way. Whether that meant long hours studying or missing out on having any kind of social life, you didn’t mind. As long as you succeeded, that was what mattered.

But life wasn’t smooth sailing either. You attended a prestigious university filled with classmates from the country’s wealthiest families. You’d worked hard to pass the grueling entrance exam, clinching one of the top scores that earned you a scholarship for a business degree. That meant you had to work 10 times harder to keep your spot in school.

Now, you sat at your desk, fingers nearly flying over the keyboard as you worked on a project for business class. The computer was slow—a model you’d saved up for after countless shifts—but it did what you needed, even if you had to be patient with it. You then finished up as quickly as possible, just before you were extremely exhausted and crashed into bed.

You woke up to the harsh blare of your alarm at five in the morning, practically slamming it off as you dragged yourself up, feeling like you’d just been hit by an earthquake. Stretching the sleep from your limbs, you quickly showered threw on a plain polo, a knitted sweater, and some hand-me-down jeans. With classes starting at seven and living an hour away by bike, this was your routine—always the first one in the classroom.

As other students trickled in, you were already immersed in your textbook, laptop open, barely noticing the bustle around you. “This is why you have no friends,” a voice teased, pulling you out of focus. You looked up to see your best friend, Tanaka Anna, grinning at you.

“Then why are you here?” you shot back, smiling as she took the seat beside you. Despite being one of the “rich kids,” Anna quickly became your closest friend in that first week of school. Both of you were some of the top students in your class, and the bond you formed was effortless.

Meanwhile, across town in Osaka, Nakamura Kazuha was just stirring awake. Even fresh out of sleep, Kazuha exuded an effortless beauty. With her family’s prestige, she was known for her grace, wealth, and status—a girl who seemed to have it all.

Kazuha’s morning began in her usual luxurious bubble. She opened her eyes to soft light filtering through silk curtains, stretching slowly against the plush, oversized pillows. As she got out of her bed, she slipped on a velvet robe and made her way to the bathroom, where everything—from the marble countertops to the gold fixtures—yelled rich in anyone's face. 

She took her time in the shower, letting the warmth ease her into the day, before wearing a high-end light blue blouse, matching skirt, and short white heels. The final touches were a pair of delicate pearl earrings and a designer bag to match.

By the time she came down her grand staircase for breakfast, the family’s chef had already prepared a large spread: sliced fruit arranged like art, freshly baked pastries, and perfectly poached eggs. She settled in at the long dining table, enjoying her home's quiet and refined atmosphere. But it wasn’t long before her parents joined her, each with their usual aura of authority.

“Kazuha, darling,” her mother, Mitsuko, began, setting her teacup down with a slight clink. “Your father and I wanted to discuss something important.”

Her father, Ichiro, nodded. “The company ball is next month, and it’s…well, you know how it is. We’d like you to bring a date this year.”

Kazuha paused, her fork hovering mid-air. “A date?” she asked, the idea feeling suddenly foreign. She was used to being in the spotlight on her, but with a date?

“Yes, Kazuha. You’re at the age where these things are expected,” her mother replied gently. “You’ve been so focused on yourself, but you need someone who can stand beside you, someone accomplished. It would make a good impression.”

Her father added, “It’s a chance to meet someone who’s not only a match in standard but also has the intellect to keep up with you.”

Kazuha swallowed, the weight of their expectations settling over her. She had high standards, and finding someone who was smart and emotionally intelligent, especially in her circle, felt nearly impossible. The clock was ticking, though, and she knew her parents would be relentless until she found someone. He parents weren’t one to judge, but they had some expectations that not many people reached.

Later, in the school cafeteria, Kazuha shared her dilemma with her two closest friends, Yunjin and Chaewon, as they sipped their lattes. “I just… I have no idea who I could find that’s… I don’t know, like that? They have to be smart, like really smart, and have a good head on their shoulders. But most people here are either too shallow or stupid.”

Yunjin began thinking for a second, then raised an eyebrow. “Maybe~, you’re in luck. Y/n. Top student, really smart, doesn’t exactly live in a bubble like most of us but could probably act like it.”

Chaewon nodded in agreement. “Y/n’s definitely a good option. Not a pushover, but they won’t embarrass you either. I think they’d be convincing enough to your parents.”

Kazuha thought for a moment. Y/n wasn’t exactly the first person she’d ever consider as a “date,” but you had the qualities she needed, at least from what she was hearing from her friends. And perhaps, with the right incentive, you might just agree to help her.

During your lunch break, you were scanning over some notes when Kazuha appeared before you, looking both determined and slightly nervous.

“Y/n, I have a proposition,” she began, choosing her words carefully. You looked there confused, never imagining someone this famous talking to you. “My family is hosting a ball next month, and I need a date. It’s important that they’re…well, someone smart, someone good with people. And I think you’d be the perfect choice.”

You raised an eyebrow, barely glancing up. “No thanks, I’m not really interested in being someone’s date.”

Kazuha’s expression shifted as she leaned in, desperation flickering in her eyes. “Look, I’m willing to make it worth your time. I’ll pay you—100,000 yen.”

That caught your attention. You looked at her properly, noting how she tried to maintain her usual composed expression despite the obvious urgency in her voice. “I’ll think about it,” Kazuha took that response, nodding furiously as she took a piece of paper from your notes, writing something down.

“Here’s my number. If you make up your mind, just give me a text,” You were about to say ‘okay,’ but she anxiously walked away, going back to her table. Your fingers trail to the paper, looking at the number but paying no mind to it as Anna comes to sit with food in her hands. 

You told yourself you’d think about it later. “What was Kazuha doing here?”

“Huh?” You look at Anna in surprise. She hands you a sandwich, her brows raised in interest. “Oh, she was just asking me about Professor Ito’s class,” you try saying confidently, which works as Anna just shrugs and begins eating her food.

Anna had already started chatting about her morning, sharing the latest gossip and complaining about her calculus homework, which you gladly offered her help with after work on call.

After lunch, you headed to your next class, slipping into your usual seat in the back. The professor discussed business ethics, but your mind drifted back to Kazuha’s offer. The idea of pretending to be her date for a month—just to impress her family and their high-society crowd—felt entirely out of your comfort zone.

As the class ended, you tried to shake off the lingering thoughts. You had work to do and didn’t want to be distracted by a girl like Kazuha, no matter how much money she offered.

Your next stop was the library, where you planned to work on your project. It was a presentation, so you had to make sure it was perfect to save yourself from embarrassment. The quiet hum of the library was a relief after the loud and crowded hallways, and you found a secluded spot to set up. As you opened your laptop and began typing, you noticed a familiar face a few tables down—Kazuha, of all people, was sitting with Huh Yunjin and Kim Chaewon. They were talking in low voices, and every so often, Kazuha would glance around as if worried someone might overhear.

You tried to ignore them, but their conversation kept drawing your eye. Eventually, you buried yourself in your notes, focusing on your work, determined to stay on track. As minutes passed, you got into a rhythm, typing away as the library around you faded into the background.

By the time you finished, the sun had started to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm glow through the library windows. You packed up your things, feeling accomplished after making some serious progress on your project. Heading out, you passed by the university’s main quad, where groups of students were sprawled on the grass, enjoying the evening air. You caught sight of Anna again, now sitting with a few friends, laughing at something on her phone.

You waved to her and kept walking, mind back on your to-do list. 

It was now after your shift, and you were doing your nightly cleaning of the restaurant, but a low, tired sigh interrupted that. You look at your dad, who was doing his usual finance check, but his hand gripped the side of his head, and he shook it in disappointment. With concern, you go over to him, sliding your hand up and down his back.

“Everything okay, otosan?” you asked, your tone light, though you’d noticed the tension in his shoulders and the tightness around his mouth. He shook his head and lowered his reading glasses, his gaze fixed on the old open notebook.

“It hasn’t been for a while, Y/n,” he admitted, his voice drowned in stress. You glanced down at the page filled with columns of numbers, each line a reminder of the months he’d been struggling to keep up. Your stomach sank as your eyes settled on the red circle at the bottom.

“80,000 yen?!” you exclaimed, your voice rising as the reality of the number hit you. Your father nodded, the faintest tremor in his hands as he pushed the book toward you.

“If we don’t pay by the end of this month, we’ll have to close down,” he said, his voice cracking. You felt your chest tighten as you watched him lower his head, shoulders sagging under the weight of shame he tried to hide as tears began dropping.

Before you knew it, you were reaching over, wrapping him tightly. He leaned into you, his struggles now fully visible. “I’ll find a way to keep this place open,” you murmured, feeling the promise settle deep in your bones.

“Y/n,” he started to say, pulling back to look at you, but you just nodded as pure determination coursed through your veins. You knew it wouldn’t be easy, the restaurant’s debt being too large for your dad to handle alone.

After helping your father close up for the night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, your mind racing with thoughts of how you could come up with such an amount so quickly. The scholarship helped with university fees, but that was about all the financial freedom you had. The rest was a constant scramble to save and help out however you could. 

You couldn’t—wouldn’t—let your father’s efforts be for nothing.

Yet you were stumped. Thinking of ways to help him, even if it were just a short solution. Your eyes then drift to the pocket of your raggedy jeans that hung on a hanger on your closet door. As if a light bulb went off, you rush over to the pockets, taking out the wrinkled paper that held Kazuha’s number. 

You reached for your phone, texting her quickly, and sighed as you hit send.

Kazuha had been lying in bed, eating some chips as she watched a movie before bed. Feeling the buzz of her phone, she read the message that made her smile: It’s Y/n. I’ll accept your offer.

The feeling of relief sank in quickly, deciding to respond back just as fast: Got it. We’ll talk in person tmmr.

Kazuha couldn’t contain her excitement, texting her group chats with a big grin stuck on her face.

Zuha🦢 SHE SAID SHE’D HELP ME OUT EEEEEEEEEEEE Jen🐍 woah wasn’t expecting that to actually work out Chae🐯 wait what about her status? ik Y/n isn’t rich 🤔 Zuha🦢 i got that handled. ill talk to her about it tmmr Jen🐍 goodluck with that then 🤩

With the good news, Kazuha’s sleep was amazing that night. So the next day, during your break after your business and statistics class, you barely sipped your coffee when you noticed Kazuha approaching. She seemed more put together than yesterday, her expression a mix of confidence and happiness as you felt the peppiness from a mile away. She stopped just in front of you, a polite smile on her face.

“You free now?” You nodded, which had her quickly taking a seat across from you. “So let’s talk about the ball first,” she started. “It’s formal, of course, with a lot of people from my father’s company, some rival companies, and family friends attending. I need you to play the part of a rich, smart, and well-behaved girlfriend.”

“Alright…” you nodded, leaning in as Kazuha launched into more details.

“And as far as your ‘background’ goes, we’ll need to smooth over a few things,” she added carefully, her gaze flickering over you as if assessing what she was working with. “Tell me about you first.” “Well, uhm, my mom passed away from a heart disease when I was four years old, so it’s only been my dad and I. I’m on a scholarship here, and I work in my dad’s restaurant. She fought for a long time, and…well, my dad’s been managing on his own since,” as you finished the short summary of your life, Kazuha couldn’t help but feel sad for your mom. 

Kazuha’s expression shifted immediately, her eyes softening as she nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her usual composure breaking just enough to reveal a genuine sadness in her gaze. She reached out momentarily as if to offer a comforting touch, then thought better of it, folding her hands instead. “I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for you. Really.” You waved your hands frantically at her, passed the pity and grieving stage. “It’s been a long time, don’t worry about it.”

Kazuha tries to move past the subject. “So you’re gonna be the child of a successful family, then. Your father owns a chain of restaurants,” she said, pausing as if trying to gauge your reaction.

You raised an eyebrow but decided to go along with it. “Alright, we’ll leave out the real specifics,” you said, slightly grinning. “If your parents are convinced, that’s all that matters, right?”

“Exactly,” Kazuha replied with a relieved smile, then hesitated, her expression softening.

Kazuha nodded thoughtfully as if committing everything you’d said to memory. “Alright, for our story, your dad’s chain will be ‘up-and-coming.’ We won’t mention the name; I’ll handle any questions from my parents.”

“Right,” you replied. “So…what’s the next step?”

Kazuha’s face lit up a little, her businesslike expression slipping back into one of enthusiasm. “First, we need to make it believable. If people see us together, the rumors will spread, and my parents will hear about us before we even have to introduce you. So, a slight makeover and some new clothes.”

You raised an eyebrow; the idea of a “makeover” is not exactly high on your list of priorities. “New clothes? Aren’t people just going to think we’re…together if we’re seen in public a lot?”

“Exactly. That’s the point. We want to make it believable to everyone else first, so my parents buy into it,” Kazuha explained with a sly smile. “Trust me, it’s easier that way.”

You sighed, wondering just what you’d signed up for. “Alright, fine. Lead the way.”

The next day, you met Kazuha in the city, feeling more nervous than you’d anticipated. She took you to a luxurious shopping district that, honestly, you’d only ever seen in passing. Her eyes lit up as she led you through the marble-floored entrance of the first boutique.

“Alright,” Kazuha said with a determined smile. “Let’s find you something that says, ‘sophisticated and slightly out of everyone’s league.’”

In the first store, she handed you a blazer and high-waisted pants, then a chic blouse and dress slacks, each piece seemingly more expensive than the last. You tried on outfit after outfit, and Kazuha would look you over, making tiny adjustments to the sleeves or tilting her head thoughtfully before approving or rejecting each one. Soon, there was a stack of ‘approved’ items in her hands, and you were only beginning to realize how committed she was to this whole “couple” thing.

After several bags of clothing, she led you to a high-end salon in the district. The place was sleek, and the stylist practically glowed when Kazuha told them what she was envisioning for you. You barely had a chance to speak before you were in the chair, caped and ready. They added soft layers and volume to your hair, trimming it in a way that made it frame your face, and the stylist styled it with effortless waves, adding a sense of ‘rich’ vibes to you.

Once the haircut was done, Kazuha gave a little approving nod, almost as if she were admiring her own handiwork. “Perfect,” she said, a small smile of satisfaction creeping onto her face. “Now, for the ball…”

She led you to yet another store, where you noticed her eyes darting between the dresses on display and the sleeker suits on the other side. Finally, she grabbed a tailored navy blue pantsuit, complete with a fitted blazer and high-waisted pants. The fabric looked soft, and the cut was elegant. 

When you tried it on and stepped out of the fitting room, Kazuha’s smile widened. “That’s it. It’s perfect on you.” She handed the attendant her card without another word, leaving you feeling both flattered and somewhat stunned at the transformation.

Over the next few days at school, you and Kazuha started hanging out in the open, just as she’d planned. You sat beside each other during lunch, walked to classes together, and even laughed at each other’s jokes like an actual couple. 

It wasn’t long before people started talking. Anna finally cornered you at lunch with a smirk on her face. “Alright, spill. What’s going on with you and Kazuha?” Anna nudged you, raising her eyebrows knowingly.

You gave her a shrug, trying to play it cool. “It’s…kind of complicated,” you started, but Anna was already crossing her arms, ready to hear all the details.

With a sigh, you explained the situation, from the fake relationship helping her with the ball to the makeover Kazuha had insisted on to your father being in debt, and you do all this for him. Anna just shook her head with a laugh. “So, you’re basically the prince in this Cinderella story, and she’s…what, the princess in disguise?”

“Something like that, I guess,” you chuckled, though you could sense how strange this all sounded. Still, you couldn’t deny the thrill of it. You’d been helping your dad as usual but found yourself waiting for each break to see what Kazuha might come up with next.

All of this was beginning to feel too real to you. On a random school day, you and Kazuha had been hanging out on campus at a place with a good view. Just the two of you, sitting on a bench as her head leaned on your shoulder. “You know, this isn’t so bad,” she says as she stares off, and you find yourself staring at her as she speaks.

“These past few weeks have probably been the happiest I’ve been in my life.” You smile at her words. But when she looked at you directly in the eyes, your heart skipped a beat. Her eyes are large as she looks at you so hopelessly. Your heart raced as she smiled with genuine happiness. 

On a different day, a rainy afternoon, you and Kazuha found yourselves tucked away in a small coffee shop off-campus. The rain had started out of nowhere, and after a rushed dash to find shelter, you both ended up laughing as you brushed the rain from your jackets. It was quieter than usual inside, only a handful of people scattered throughout the cozy café, and you and Kazuha snagged a booth by the window, watching the rain drizzle against the glass.

Kazuha stirred her hot chocolate absentmindedly, a small smile on her face as she leaned across the table toward you. “I think we make a pretty cute couple,” she teased, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

You raised a brow, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “Do you, now?”

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, a playful grin spreading across her lips. She reached over and took your hand, threading her fingers through yours without hesitation. Her touch was warm, her thumb grazing the back of your hand in soft circles, and her expression turned softer, her gaze lingering on your joined hands as though they fit perfectly together.

“It’s kind of unfair, don’t you think?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What is?” you asked, your voice quiet in return, as if the moment was too fragile to break.

“That you get to look at me like that,” she replied, meeting your eyes, “but I’m the one who can’t look away.”

Her words hit you like a sudden rush, leaving you speechless. Her gaze was tender, searching your face as if trying to memorize every detail. She leaned a little closer, her free hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. For a second, you thought she might pull away, but instead, she stayed, her eyes lingering on yours with such intensity that you couldn’t help but feel your heart race.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but Kazuha’s soft smile stopped you. “You don’t have to say anything,” she whispered, still holding your hand. “I just… I’m glad it’s you.”

With the act almost becoming real, the rumors spread quickly, just as Kazuha had hoped. You started noticing curious looks and hearing whispers as the two of you walked down the halls every day. It didn’t take long for the rumors to reach Kazuha’s parents as other kids were beginning to tell their parents about the visual-like couple.

But not everyone seemed thrilled by it. Tsuki, a girl you wouldn’t usually see around Kazuha before, started lurking nearby during lunch, watching the two of you with narrowed eyes. Finally, one day, she approached your table, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Kazuha,” she began dismissively, looking Kazuha up and down with a disdainful expression. “Is this the best you could do?” She snorted, her gaze lingering on you. “I thought you had standards. Isn’t she…a bit out of your league?” You were surprised, trying to hide it. She was talking to you, saying Kazuha was out of your league? You could almost laugh at the comment.

You clenched your jaw but stayed silent, waiting to see how Kazuha would respond. Kazuha’s eyes darkened as she opened her mouth to retort, but you placed a gentle hand on her arm, shaking your head slightly. You turned to Tsuki, keeping your voice steady.

“Funny,” you said, meeting Tsuki’s gaze. “I didn’t realize other people’s standards were your concern.” You offered a polite but firm smile. 

Tsuki glared but huffed, turning on her heel and walking away, though not without a parting sneer. Kazuha looked at you, her tension easing as she let out a relieved breath. “Thanks,” she murmured, a hint of a smile returning to her face.

Finally, the night of the ball arrived. You dressed in the tailored pantsuit, running a hand through your styled hair and taking a deep breath as you checked your reflection. When you arrived at the large venue hall to meet her parents, you found yourself on edge, but Kazuha reassured you with a warm smile.

Her parents, Mitsuko and Ichiro, greeted you with polite smiles, though you could tell they were evaluating you closely. As you settled into introductions, Mitsuko eyed you thoughtfully. “So, Y/n,” she said smoothly, her eyes flickering to Kazuha with a hint of warmth, “we’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” you replied with a smile, and Ichiro chuckled.

Kazuha’s hand brushed yours briefly as she added, “Yes, all good things. You’ve been such a huge support with my studies and…well, life in general.”

Her parents exchanged a look, the conversation continuing as the ball’s formalities began. You mingled, keeping up the act seamlessly as the night went on, and found yourself growing more comfortable in the role. Each smile from Kazuha felt a little more real, every glance just a little warmer.

The ball was in full swing, with the lights of the crystal chandeliers casting a soft glow over the elegant scene. You and Kazuha mingled effortlessly with her family’s guests, moving from one conversation to the next, and each time someone asked about Kazuha’s new “girlfriend,” you surprised yourself with how naturally the words flowed. You talked about her with such ease and admiration that anyone listening would have believed you were truly in love. Kazuha noticed, her gaze lingering on you with a mix of curiosity.

At one point, she pulled you aside to thank you, whispering, “You’re really selling this, you know? My parents adore you.” She had said it as a joke, but her eyes showed unmistakable warmth. 

You grinned. “What can I say? I’m a natural.”

As the night wore on, you found yourself enjoying the warmth of her hand in yours, the comfortable way she leaned into you as you navigated the crowd together. Yet, as much as you were swept up in the moment, a pang of guilt ate at you. This was Kazuha’s world, not yours, and even though you’d agreed to this arrangement, you couldn’t shake the weight of knowing why you’d accepted it in the first place.

Needing a moment to gather your thoughts, you excused yourself and slipped outside to the balcony. The cool night air wrapped around you as you leaned against the railing, trying to calm the flood of emotions that had crept up on you out of nowhere.

Kazuha must have noticed your absence because a few minutes later, she appeared beside you, her brow furrowed in concern. “Hey… is everything okay?” She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

You took a deep breath, deciding that it was time to be honest. “I… Kazuha, I took your offer because my dad’s restaurant is in massive debt. It felt like the only way I could help him. I know I shouldn’t feel bad because you asked, but—”

She cut you off with a soft smile, shaking her head. “Y/n, you don’t have to explain. This was my idea, remember? If anything, I should be thanking you. You’re helping me way more than I expected, and… honestly, I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side right now.”

Her words were gentle and understanding, but she could tell you still felt uneasy. So, she took your hand, looking up at you with an earnest expression. “You’re always talking about how much you love your dad’s restaurant. How it’s more than just a place to work—it’s part of who you are. And I get that. So…” She paused, her voice softening. “I want to help you. I want to invest in the restaurant, help with renovations, whatever it takes to keep it running.”

Your eyes widened, and you were at a loss for words for a moment. “Kazuha, you don’t have to do that…”

“I want to,” she replied, her gaze steady. “You’re doing this for me. Let me do this for you.”

At that moment, the full weight of her offer, of her kindness, settled over you. She wasn’t doing this out of pity—she genuinely wanted to help. And that thought, that selflessness, made you see her in a completely new light.

She flashed a grin, hoping to lighten the mood. “Plus, just imagine the look on everyone’s faces when they realize their favorite restaurant got a glow-up, courtesy of Nakamura Kazuha.”

You laughed, feeling some of the tension in your chest dissolve. “Alright, alright. But don’t think you can just buy your way to my heart, Nakamura.”

“Oh, please,” she teased, nudging your shoulder. “You know I don’t have to buy anything.”

As the weeks passed, Kazuha threw herself into the project with as much passion as you had for the restaurant. She helped with renovations, shared updates on her social media, and made sure her friends and family spread the word. When the grand reopening day finally arrived, a line stretched down the block. The place was packed, the sound of laughter and conversation filling the air as your dad greeted customers, overwhelmed by the support.

At this point, she didn’t even have to pay you the 100,000 yen. This was so much more than enough for you and your father.

“Y/n,” he started, pausing as if searching for the right words. “Your girlfriend… she gave us a second chance at life.”

You looked up, surprised by the emotion in his voice. He rarely spoke like this, always focusing more on action than words. He noticed your silence and continued, his gaze softening in a way you hadn’t seen in years.

“I remember when your mother and I first opened this place,” he said, a hint of nostalgia in his tone. “Back then, it was just the two of us, struggling to make it work, but it was worth every late night, every sacrifice… because we had each other. And now, seeing you and Kazuha—she’s doing for you what your mother and I did for each other. Giving you support, standing by you.”

Your father’s eyes gleamed as he placed a hand on your shoulder. “She didn’t have to help us, go out of her way. But she did, all for you. That says something. Don’t take that for granted.”

You nodded, processing his words as they settled into your heart. He smiled knowingly, giving you a soft pat on the back. “I can tell how much you care about her. And I know it scares you a little. But don’t let that stop you. Hold on to her. People like that… they don’t come around often. And when they do, you don’t let them go.”

Your throat tightened, gratitude welling up inside you. Hearing your dad’s approval, especially about Kazuha, meant everything. You thought of all the small moments—her smile, her laughter, the way she showed up for you without asking anything in return. It all hit you at once, the depth of what you had.

“Thanks, Dad,” you murmured, a smile pulling at your lips. “I really do like her.”

He chuckled, ruffling your hair like he used to when you were a kid. “Good. Then don’t let anything hold you back.”

Watching from a distance, you couldn’t help but glance over at Kazuha, who stood beside you, taking in the bustling scene with a proud smile. “This is all thanks to you,” you said quietly.

She met your gaze, a soft glint in her eyes. “No, Y/n. It’s thanks to us.”

Months had passed, and with each shared moment, your feelings for Kazuha were now real to you, basically official. Every late-night conversation, every stolen glance, every quiet laugh over shared secrets had pulled you closer to her, and it was clear now: you were completely, undeniably in love with her.

One evening, Kazuha’s parents invited you over for dinner, a formal yet comfortable gathering at their home. The dining room was elegantly set, with an array of food laid out on the table. As you sat beside Kazuha, her hand resting discreetly on your knee beneath the table, you tried to focus on the food and polite conversation, but the weight of her parents’ glances didn’t go unnoticed. Something about how they looked at you tonight was different—almost piercing as if they were assessing you anew.

Midway through the meal, Kazuha’s mother, Mitsuko, set down her glass and fixed her gaze on you with a soft, almost too-knowing smile. “Y/n, we wanted to tell you how wonderful you’ve been for Kazuha. We’ve seen her happier and more at ease, especially these last few months. We’re grateful for that.”

Her father, Ichiro, nodded in agreement, though his gaze was more reserved. “Yes. And we noticed your father’s restaurant has been doing much better since… well since it became known that you’re dating our daughter.”

You felt your pulse quicken, sensing a shift in the room. They were putting the pieces together, tracing Kazuha’s involvement in your life and her influence on your father’s business. The implications were there, and you realized they must be questioning if any of this was genuine.

Kazuha’s hand tightened on your knee, a silent reassurance, but you couldn’t ignore how her parents’ gazes seemed to look through you, waiting for an answer. Taking a deep breath, you decided it was time to be honest. You looked at both of them, then turned to Kazuha, the words coming from your heart.

“When Kazuha first asked me to help her… I agreed, partly because my dad was struggling. I knew it was risky and how that might look to you now. But the truth is, I never expected this to happen. I never expected to fall for her.”

The room went silent, and Kazuha’s parents watched you with unreadable expressions. Heart pounding, you looked directly into Kazuha’s eyes, unable to hold back the feelings that had been building over the months. “Kazuha, you’re… so much more than I ever imagined. You’ve been there for me in ways I didn’t even realize I needed. And somewhere along the way, I stopped pretending. I fell in love with you. Completely. I want this—for real, if you do, too.”

Kazuha’s eyes widened, her mouth opening slightly as she took in your words. Her cheeks flushed, and for a brief moment, slightly embarrassed with her parents there. She looked as if she were struggling to breathe. Her eyes began to glisten, and a tear slipped down her cheek, though she made no effort to wipe it away. She reached for your hand, her fingers intertwining with yours as she nodded, a smile trembling on her lips.

“I’ve been hoping you’d say that,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Because I’ve fallen for you, too, Y/n. And I’m tired of pretending.” Her voice grew stronger, her gaze fierce as she held your hand tightly. “I want this. Us. For real.”

Kazuha’s parents exchanged glances, their expressions softening as they took in the scene before them. Her mother leaned forward, a gentle smile on her face. “Well,” Mitsuko said softly, “it sounds like you two have found something real after all.” She looked at you, her approval evident in her eyes. “We only want what’s best for Kazuha, and if that’s you… then welcome to the family.”

Kazuha’s father nodded, a small but genuine smile gracing his usually serious expression. “Take care of each other, and take this real relationship seriously,” he said simply, with respect in his tone.

As you left that evening, hand in hand with Kazuha, you couldn’t believe how everything had unfolded. The guilt that had weighed on you for so long was gone, replaced by a new feeling—a warmth, security, knowing that this was real. Kazuha leaned her head on your shoulder as you walked. The night air cooled around you, and you smiled, kissing the top of her head.

“Looks like we’re not pretending anymore,” you murmured, and Kazuha laughed softly, her arm wrapping around yours.

“Not even a little bit.”

[strawberryasbestos]

The quirk apprehension test was... weird? Right?

The more and more you go over the quirk apprehension test the more you notice how it... doesn't actually apprehend anyone's quirks. At all. Especially when compared to the Training Camp Arc that's specifically built around improving and, yknow, apprehending the strengths, weaknesses and limitations of everyone's individual quirks.

As one of the first high-stakes events at UA the quirk apprehension test isn't there to actually evaluate or rank the class' quirks, but to create a moment of tension and anxiety for Deku's future as a hero, and to highlight how much work he has ahead of him to keep pace with his classmates. Sure, okay, cool.

EXCEPT! THE! SCORES! MAKE! NO! SENSE!!!

( Yes okay I understand the point for the test wasn't to actually properly reflect the specific skill-sets of class 1-A, I know this. But. )

Not only does the test severely limit their ability to show off what their quirks can actually do, but for a lot of them they're just... totally incompatible. Sure, some of them have been training a long time before UA, so they should have high scores anyway, and yeah some of them have quirks that naturally lend themselves to getting high scores in these areas. Sure! But!

But.

Deku should not have been in 20th. At all. There's plenty of people who did little-to-no training before UA, have quirks that don't have the kind of physicality that's helpful in these circumstances, and in a lot of ways would actively hinder them!

For many, unless you choose to sabotage your competitors, which would get you a higher score by comparison but utterly wreck the idea of teamwork and untiy, their quirks are either totally irrelevant to the task or actively detrimental. I don't say this to shit on any of the characters, just to point out that:

1. The test set up is bogus (and I'm astounded that Aizawa would set up something that's so biased against non-physical quirks, when his own would be totally useless without choosing to sabotage others)

2. Deku was active, fit, in good shape, and more than capable of getting above-average scores on almost all categories without using OFA

3. Compared to some other members of the class who had either detrimental or non-physical quirks, and also did very little physical training, he SHOULD have ranked higher than 20th at the BARE MINIMUM

So, having spent a good while talking it over with @chilchucks-timbs we created an in depth chart ranking the 1A students in each of the 8 listed tests, using the (very VERY few) recorded canon scores and common sense and logic to fill in the gaps.

Below is a chart of the final scores:

Left: Our final top 20 ranking, with scores across all 8 tests tallied and organised lowest to highest (think golf rules)

Center: The same top 20, but this time colour matched to the canon rankings, and accompanied by averages

Right: The canon top 20, colour coded

We tallied the final marks only after going through each physical test one by one and debating the outcomes individually.

Below is a breakdown of each of the rankings for all 8 physical tests:

Most of our choices were based on 2 questions we applied to very category: who would be able to apply their quirk the best in this scenario, and who would perform/be hindered by their quirks the worst. Working from there, we filled in the blanks.

The biggest conclusions we drew are:

While he's shown to struggle with flexibility, Deku has proven over and over during his training montage that he's fit, active, strong, exercises to excess, and can certainly maintain a long distance run. Steadily ranking around the halfway mark of the class by topping those who can't apply their quirks to the task, combined with second place in the ball throw, there's no CHANCE he would end up in 20th place. Free my boy he did a good job he didn't deserve that.

Yaoyorozu really has the most versatile quirk that's applicable to ANY situation and she absolutely deserves to retain her 1st place position.

Asui achieving only 13th place in the canon ranking is baffling. BAFFLING. Her quirk is entirely physical and lends itself utterly to these speicifc types of tests. 13th??? THIRTEENTH??!??! When her entire quirk is hopping jumping moving??? Madness. Absolutely madness.

Bakugo maintains 3rd place either way because he really is That Bitch

Using Todoroki as an example, I think Horikoshi built his final ranking based on vibes and based on quirks. By looking at the canon ranking versus ours, I think it's quite clear that he rated them based on his own perception of their quirk strength as a whole within the context of the entire story - not how they would perform in this specific circumstance. Todoroki, who at this point, while highly trained, is still refusing to use his fire and can't actually use just his ice for very much of these tests. Side steps? Seated toe-touch?? What could ice from one half of his body POSSIBLY add to those scores? Enough to bring him to 2nd place? Not on your life

Iida stays in 4th place, all-rounder king and legend

Ashido is a similar case to Asui - how can someone with such a physically-focused quirk AND a canonically physical lifestyle rank in at 9th? Even then, her agility and speed can only take her so far HOW did she overtake Asui in the final canon ranking? How could acid possibly trump frog in jumping or side stepping?

Horikoshi has a very clear bias towards strength-type quirks that (excluding Asui) dominates among males students. Characters who are larger, stronger, an have bigger builds are ranking higher in these tests DESPITE the fact that, for a lot of them, they'd either be hindered (seated toe-touch if they're too stocky to have much flexibility, the long-distance run in their larger builds work against their stamina and endurance, etc.). Being strong doesn't make you fast, or agile, or flexible, and a lot of them shouldn't be as highly ranked as they are when other quirks are more applicable in those circumstances.

Sad to say but Koda is ranking 20th overall. Koda's quirk doesn't lend itself to ANY of these tests (unless he chose to summon animals to actively detract from his classmates scores to bring his own up by comparison) and his quirk has given him a stocky, heavy, inflexible build that would hinder him greatly in any of the tests that need speed, agility and flexibility. Despite doing well in some tests, overall his quirk wasn't able to help him AT ALL in any of these tests, and by comparison he's sunk to 20th in the end.

While there really aren't enough girls actually in the class (the first red flag) to be able to draw a clear conclusion on the final canon rankings having an extreme gender bias, I've still included a gendered breakdown because you can see just how clearly and aggressively Asui and Mina were nerfed for absolutely no logical reason.

Most of the tests' 20th place were between Koda and Mineta, based on how their physical builds would work against them in different tests (Koda would have more physical reach for jumping, running, etc. than Mineta's absurdly short build, and Koda's stockiness and inflexibility would hinder him). I know we all love to put Mineta in last place overall, but unfortunately he did absolutely kill the repeated side steps and there's no arguing with it, and despite coming in 20th more than anyone else, one 1st place score is enough to drag him out of 20th overall. (Which, again, further reinforces our argument that Deku never should have been in 20th place after managing to snag a 2nd place score in just one of these tests, even if he did perform poorly in all other physical tests. Which he didn't. At all.)

One last time, I'd really like to reiterate that these apprehension tests are straight up unfair to those without physical quirks. Koda, Jirou, Hakagure and Kaminari specifically cannot use their quirks to physically agment their own body or their movement in any way - even if they're incredibly valuable in the contexts of a physical fight, espionage, or search and rescue work. Jirou and Kaminari in particular likely did well at the entrance exam against robots, while Koda and Hakagure could do excellent work in the future as underground and search and rescue heroes. I simply cannot believe that Aizawa would use this as a useful measurement of these kids' quirks and abilities.

You cannot seriously try and convince me that DEKU has poorer running endurance, grip strength, etc. than his classmates that DON'T have physically augmented quirks, after spending months proving it to us through his intense training regimen. Mineta? Hakagure? Jirou? Kaminari? Aoyama?? You think he has a weaker grip strength than foppish waifish fancyboy Aoyama?? After dragging around piles of scrap by HAND?!? MADNESS. Madness. Even if he didn't score as well as we think he would, coming out on top of those guys (which he UNQUESTIONABLY would) combined with a 2nd place ball throw score he CAN'T place 20th overall. That's! That's not how numbers work! It just doesn't work like that!!!!

Someone could absolutely argue that Aizawa put the test together to see who puts in the physical effort to improve themselves outside of their quirk as well as being able to use it creatively - but honestly I don't buy it. At the end of the day, I know this was just a plot point to further Deku's motivation and contrast his own power level compared to his peers, and I know its not that serious, but we really enjoyed trying to fugure out how it would all shake out if the quirk apprehension tests were given some more realistic thoughts.

If you disagree with any of the rankings do feel free to comment, I think a lot of us probably have different ideas on how someone might creatively apply 1A's quirks in this scenario, and I'm hardly about to declare myself the final authority on the topic.

[poisoned-fruit-prose]

𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞 • 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢: 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭-𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

synop: you have landed a spot in the university of piltover's prestigious graduate program. you meet two men who will change your paradigm on love forever. a figure, unfamiliar to you now, waits patiently for this to happen.

wc: 3.7k.

includes: modern au. lots of setup for the upcoming chapters. jayce is a big puppy and viktor is a perpetually annoyed cat. no magic—yet.

author's note: happy new year everyone! my gift to you all is a series i've been festering with for the past few weeks. i'd like to get a new chapter out every other week, maybe sooner if my schedule allows. i hope you all enjoy.

masterlist • chapter ii (coming soon) ⇀

Life had taken a delightful turn for the better.

The past few years had been endlessly exhausting. You had your sights set on grad school—an English PhD, no less. You had toiled with the idea long enough before finally deciding to pull the trigger and the splatter of work that came with the shot was nothing to shake a stick at. There were exams to be taken, papers to be written, letters of recommendation to be awkwardly asked. And you had to pay for it somehow on top of it all—shifts at the little mom and pop diner by your apartment were punctuated with exam study books and a crumpled bit of paper with your expenses tallied tip by tip.

You managed to get into one of the top schools in the country: the University of Piltover. You would say you didn’t know how, but you did. You worked hard and it paid off. You landed a teaching fellowship, securing a huge majority of your tuition, and a roommate in one of the campus apartments offered to you. You were dreaming of orange autumns wrapped in a scarf on cobblestone campus walkways, faded sunlight filtering through stained glass library windows, creaky wooden chairs circling ancient lyceums.

It was all laid out before you now. Things were going to be perfect from here on out.

You arrived at your new living space in mid-August, a few weeks before classes started, your rickety car absolutely packed with your precious belongings. Your breaks creaked as you pulled into the driveway outside the little townhouse. The siding was painted a handsome cream to pair with the brick foundation and the ivy that climbed up the sides and front and choked the huge bay windows. A maple tree, verdant in the summer light, sat old and happy and fat in the front yard.

You could hardly kill your engine fast enough. You virtually skipped up to the front door, unlocked it, took a deep breath of your new home base as you stepped in. It was hard to not contain the joyous ichor that dripped from the fruits of your labor. You laughed, did a little dance, oblivious to the far nicer car that was tucking itself beside yours or the very tall, very handsome man that was scaling up the porch steps and through the door—

“Oh, hello,” a timbre voice said bemusedly as it stumbled upon your victory dance in the foyer. You froze, blood rushing up your neck to settle in a nice, tomato red glow on your cheeks and ears as you tried not to gape at this Greek god of man in horror.

“...Oh god. Hi.”

“No, please don’t be embarrassed, I’m the one that stepped in on your celebration,” he said warmly as he stepped forward and offered a huge hand to shake. “Plus, I just really don’t want start off on the wrong foot. I’m Jayce.”

Ah. So this was he. You had been emailing him sporadically, of course, but it was really the university that matched you up. You knew he was an architecture major and... not much else. Neither of you even had profile pictures attached to your school emails, so you had no clue that your roommate was going to be a tall, dark, handsome Superman.

You extended your own hand and shook it as firmly as you could, what with your knees suddenly feeling like a poor attempt at gelatin and the afternoon light haloing his perfect hair a little too brightly.

“I thought you’d be coming a little closer to the start of classes,” you said with a bashful laugh.

“That was the plan, but I have some furniture being shipped that’s coming over the next few days. Plus, y’know, I wanted to… make a good impression, I guess.”

“...On me?” you asked incredulously.

“Well, yeah! We’re gonna be rooming together for at least the rest of the year, if not through our degrees.” He smiled warmly. “I’d like if we at least tolerated each other.”

“...And you figured you’d do that by... getting here early?” you teased.

Jayce’s jaw went slack as he struggled with words for a moment. “Well I—Well, I was gonna buy my textbooks and have them all stacked up on the counter so you’d see what I was taking and how sm—y’know what, never mind.”

You were already laughing and he was already laughing, and the horror of dancing like nobody was watching when, indeed, someone was watching was already fading.

“Consider a good impression made, Jayce. No need to do all that.”

You could virtually see an invisible tail start wagging, a pair of floppy ears perking up at your words. You almost wanted to reach out and pet the faultless mop of hair on his head.

“Well, I still want to live up to that good impression! You just got here, right? I mean, I can still see the boxes strapped to the top of your car. Let me help you unpack!” he immediately offered.

“No, you just got here too, that’s really not necessary—” But he was already bounding out the door before you could say no. Not that you were going to run after him and adamantly refuse—some of those boxes were more than difficult just to lift into your car. But you found yourself at his heels anyway, insisting that he take his own stuff in first.

“No, really, it’s okay! It’s just my clothes and some of my weights. Holy shit, you packed a lotta stuff in this tiny thing!”

“That’s what she said,” you immediately shot back. Jayce just lit up.

“That is what she said! And here I was, all worried we wouldn’t get along!”

You popped open the trunk and you began your work. Jayce, naturally, made it look like child’s play with the way he stacked boxes to carry two, three at a time without breaking a sweat. You were content with carrying just the one. Until that one particularly difficult box—filled to the brim with books that wouldn’t fit anywhere else—stared up at you, innocently, from the back of your car.

You didn’t want to look like a wuss, or to even ask your roommate for more help than he had already so graciously offered. So you took a deep breath, got a good grip on the sides, lifted, and immediately began to fall backwards.

“Woah, careful there!”

Your back met the soft cushion of Jayce’s chest. Two huge arms came out to catch you as well, wrapping around your shoulders as he bore your weight and helped you regain your balance. Up this close, you caught a whiff of bergamot and spices—a delicious-smelling cologne he had draped himself in. Of fucking course he wears really nice cologne.

“Here, let me.”

His hand slid to rest on your back to ensure you’d stay upright as he rounded you, only leaving your body to bear the brunt of the box. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and you could feel another rush of blood flushing your face.

“God, thanks. I dunno what I’d do if you weren’t here.”

“Eat asphalt?” he replied cheekily, to which you threw him a playful glare and pushed him onwards to the house.

“Shut up! You’re taking that to your grave!”

“Am I taking the dancing too?”

“Shut up!”

You followed Jayce, sheepish and endeared, as he laughed warmly at your apparent embarrassment.

“Aw c’mon, you’ll be laughing with me about all this by the time we move out!”

You’ve barely known the guy for five minutes, but the thought of going through all of grad school living with him and suddenly moving away made your heart twist sadly. He seemed like a good guy, someone you were actually excited to get to know, someone you’d be happy to spend these upcoming years with. Preemptive grief was a bitch.

“Whatever,” you managed to grumble out, lightheartedly enough for him to not catch onto your overly-sentimental train of thought.

With all your boxes at least inside the house, the two of you looked over the pile that sat patiently at the bottom of the stairs. Your bedroom, of course, was up the flight.

You looked at him wearily. He looked back and smiled.

“Lunch?” he asked.

“Lunch,” you agreed.

Jayce turned out to be a wonderful companion to spend the weeks leading up to classes with. You learned he came from a known engineering family but was here on the word of one of the school board’s council members: Cassandra Kiramman. The name made you raise your eyebrows, but he insisted it was really her daughter, Caitlyn, that made the relationship worth mentioning. He was childhood friends with her and that fact certainly didn’t make jealousy stab green through your chest.

Nonetheless, you and Jayce spent the upcoming days prepping for rigorous mental work. Mostly. There was plenty of studying completed, but you quickly learned Jayce was the type of guy to drag you off as soon as something more interesting made itself known. Movies that you just had to watch, groceries you just had to get right this very second, parties you just had to join—hell, you even met Caitlyn on one of his whims. (You had nothing to worry about between her and Jayce. By the time you were dragging him from the party, she was snogging the face off some girl with a terrible pink undercut.)

It felt weirdly strange leaving the apartment without him. It was your first day of classes and this was always how it played out in your head; but Jayce had a way of tunneling into your consciousness and making you feel as if he had always been there, waking you up with the extra eggs he “accidentally” cooked before he peeled off for the gym, hooking his finger over the top of your phone when he wanted your attention, already recommending books to you left and right.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you tried not to smile. It was all a little obvious, right? He hadn’t mentioned a partner or romantic relationship of any kind and he was being otherwise… overtly boyfriend-ish. It certainly felt like he was courting you.

Your mind wouldn’t allow you the happiness of that for too long. He was probably just super friendly. You saw the way he looked at other girls, treated them just like you—like they were his entire world and there was nothing else he’d rather be doing. That was just it. He was exceedingly kind—to everyone. You weren’t special. Certainly not to someone you only knew for a handful of weeks. It was best to keep your hopes and imagination in check before getting stung. A guy like him was a perfect catch.

You? You subconsciously pulled your finger away from your mouth, refusing to acknowledge the nail you were biting. Or the chipped nail polish you hadn’t bothered to reapply since arriving at your apartment.

You spent the rest of your walk to class consuming yourself with more pleasant thoughts: how nice your room was shaping up, all the new supplies you had splurged on to make studying a little more appetizing, all the new people with similar passions you’d connect with. Your life retook the rose-tinted film again. You were living your dream.

You reached the English building with plenty of time to spare. It was a beautiful sight, inside and out; tall, gleaming windows, masterful stonework, gilded details that shone proudly in the morning sun. You counted your lucky stars ten times over as you opened the main doors and filed in with the other early birds. The interior managed to feel more like a palace than a place of study with the absurdly high ceilings and grand arches, but there were still plenty of nooks where students had taken up reading and crannies where other students were gossiping. You narrowly avoided stepping on a piece of gum.

Ah, a whiff of normalcy in this foreign land of rich kids and rich land. Jayce was wonderful and all, but people born with a silver spoon in their mouth always had a way of being… off-putting to you. They always seemed just a little too nonchalant about life.

You continued on, looking at the map you printed just to make sure you were going the right way. You already knew, from having taken the route preemptively, but it felt good to visualize the arrow you had drawn guiding you along like those little quest helpers in MMOs. You smiled to yourself at the thought and continued until you made it to a set of huge doors leading to the largest lecture hall in the building.

Your first class was with Dr. Heimerdinger, a well-known professor more in physics and engineering than in your side of academia; but he was also well-versed in philosophy and ethics, which was what you were taking to ease yourself into the heavy course load of grad school. There were at least a hundred other students who were doing the same thing, of course, but a much larger portion of them were just genuine fans of Heimerdinger’s work. He had published a great many books that took high-concept math and physics and digested them for the layman, making him not only a spokesperson to the general public for wilder scientific concepts but a beloved figure to those who wished they could take a similar place in society. He was intelligent, charismatic, and flippantly folksy. What wasn’t there to love?

You appreciated his books on the level of language they used, but not much past it. You were here for linguistics, literature; to you, these contained the realm of math—for what would math be if one didn’t have the language to express it?—and were therefore more worthwhile expenditures. Heimerdinger had a few fun interviews that you had enjoyed, but that didn’t push you into the realm of awe when you saw him, also early, when you stepped into the hall.

What did catch your eye was the dark-haired man speaking with him. He was far taller—though, in the case of Heimerdinger, that wasn’t a difficult feat—and leaned casually on a cane; but when his amber eyes caught yours, you couldn’t help the trill of excitement that flashed through your stomach. He was smartly dressed and exceedingly handsome. He had an air of someone who knew he belonged there. All of this expounded the fluttering in your stomach, the blush that rose to your cheeks, the way you scuttled past the desk towards a chair near the front of the hall.

There were a few others who were now dotting the Colosseum-style seats, but you felt the man’s gaze follow you and settle as you did. You met them again, to feel that flash of attraction. You weren’t sure it was mutual, but his hooded eyes lingered on you before returning to your professor.

Now that was a man that could distract you from Jayce. A crush was just about the only thing potent enough to distract from, well, another crush. While one was virtually demanding your attention like a golden retriever puppy, it was equally as fun to burn slowly.

Students began to pour in as the class’ beginning time drew near. You had long set up your laptop and notebook, neatly assigned the date at the top of your paper, had the day-one presentation pulled up on your screen; you were now preoccupied with a worn paperback that had survived both your high school and college years. It brought a comforting slice of familiarity when you needed it most.

But you were mostly just using it to stop yourself from looking at the handsome stranger still chatting with Heimerdinger. His hair defied the laws of physics. In fact, it was making you a little jealous; just how the hell did he get perfect, beachy waves like that?

“Good morning everyone!”

Heimerdinger’s pleasantly squeaky voice earned the immediate, rapt attention of the entire hall. You supposed that was precisely the measure of someone’s power—just how quickly they could command a room.

“I’m so very glad you could all make it! We’ll start class in a few minutes. Make sure you have a notebook and your brains at the ready! Joining us today is my assistant, Viktor. He’s not my TA, so don’t address him as such—he will be contributing to future lectures just as much as I.”

Viktor.

The name immediately stuck in your memory. You gazed over to him, just as you were sure hundreds of other eyes did; but that amber gaze was only returned to you. He held it, just for a moment, before the professor was speaking again and had regained control of everyone’s attention.

You knew day-one classes were going to be a breeze and Heimerdinger was thankfully no exception. He went over the syllabus, his expectations, how this class was situated in the overarching graduate program, and his long, long list of philosophy books that were “recommended” (but totally implied to be mandatory so as to not be the object of his academic ire).

Class otherwise went off with a hitch, though something—other than the man grading papers quietly at the furthest end of the lecture hall—caught your attention. A quote, misworded and misattributed, soiled a slide on Heimerdinger’s presentation. You scribbled it down in your notebook. You doubted you’d have the guts to talk to a master like your professor himself, but…

You mentally smiled like the fucking Grinch.

Class wrapped up, and you virtually skipped down the steps to the front of the hall. While a large flock of freshmen surrounded Heimerdinger, asking for autographs or gushing praise, you were the only one to break off for his assistant. He was already rising from his seat, but he stopped in his tracks when he realized you were beelining towards him, fully intent on starting a conversation.

“Yes?” he asked, voice low and thick with an accent you couldn’t quite place.

“Viktor, right?”

“That’s correct. Who am I speaking to, exactly?”

You babbled your name as you side-eyed your professor, hardly distinguishable from the crowd of awed students. “But that’s really not important. I, uh… I think I caught a mistake in Dr. Heimerdinger’s presentation.”

Viktor’s eyebrows raised dramatically. “A mistake? On day one? You must be very confident to make a claim like that.”

“I am,” you insisted. You opened your bag, fumbled through it to break your notebook free.

“Then speak with Heimerdinger.”

You gaped for a moment, enough for him to start headway towards the exit without so much as a wave goodbye.

“I—Well, hold on!” you gasped, catching up with him as you flipped to the page where you wrote your note. “There’s a reason I came to you. First of all, he has more fangirls than a boy band.”

Viktor let out a quiet chuckle. He wasn’t convinced you were much more than a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed first-year grad student that was attempting to use him to get to his boss. But your comment was funny, he’d give you that.

With his cold exterior melted, just enough to give you confidence, you continued.

“Secondly, I like corroboration. What would academia be if people published journals with zero peer review or references? Little more than fairy tale.” You gestured loosely. “A nice thought, but nothing to hold it down in reality. It also means that the experienced are subject to the same rules as the inexperienced. Basic quote credentials included.”

Viktor adjusted the black frames on his nose, as if he was actually seeing you for the first time. He leaned heavily on his cane as you both stopped before the exit. You assumed he was thinking of something to say until he, with apparent annoyance, tapped the door with his cane.

“Oh shit!” you gasped, pushing the heavy thing open for him as you began to blush. “I’m so sorry!”

When he passed by you, his indignation had warmed to a sort of mischievous smile.

“What was that about being inexperienced?” he teased.

“I—Well, to be totally fair, I was trying to have a conversation! Y’know, a thing that usually happens when two people talk?” You crossed your arms, embarrassed. “I wasn’t really paying attention to walking.”

“I can’t really say the same,” he replied, looking down at his cane. The casualness of his comment caught you off-guard, but it was only a moment before you both shared a laugh.

“See? Nothing to get so flustered about,” Viktor virtually purred at you. You swear it was just his accent, but no amount of justification or explanation was going to make that flash of attraction stop pulsing through you. “I apologize for leaving you hanging. I do believe we share a similar point of view—after all, Heimerdinger hired me as his assistant for a reason.”

You looked at him, a little befuddled. “Just to catch his mistakes?”

“Ehh…” He tilted his head side to side as he searched for words. “That makes him sound bad, and me sound rather useless. We catch each other’s mistakes, no? Peer review, as you said yourself.”

“Why be his assistant then, if you’re on the same level?”

“Because experienced and inexperienced still play by the same rules,” he replied with a knowing smirk.

“...Touché,” you replied, unable to help the smile growing across your face.

“Now, do tell of this mistake you found. I’m more inclined to believe you after that little spiel.”

“That’s a little hypocritical to say, after admitting you’re inexperienced yourself.”

“I’m not a first-year.” He replied with a smile that belied how he was teasing you once again. Neither of you could help the smiles creeping onto your faces.

“Ohhhhh, I see, so there’s a double standard.”

“Mm… yes, exactly. Now you’re starting to get it.”

While you were concerned with mentally keeping up with Viktor and trying to not drown in your attraction to him, a dark figure tagged behind you, clouded in a cluster of students. It carried a book, not to blend in. It was fated to carry this weight.

images used: fanart by wr0wn • star divider • scribble divider

[stsgluver]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄 — geto suguru

synopsis. somewhere along the way, geto suguru had gone from being your greatest challenge academically to your greatest challenge emotionally

wc. 12.4k

tags. college/uni!au, supposed to be academic rivals to lovers but that lowkey became a subplot sorry, friends to lovers, fluff, mention of being sick , happy ending, not proofread, shoko tells you to have sex

a/n. hi!! this is my first long long fic so thank you to anyone who reads. sorry if it seems disjointed at any point, half of it was written several months ago and half in the last week <3

geto suguru was the bane of your existence to say the least.

if you could split your life into two, it would be distinctly separated as life before geto and life including geto. admittedly, you didn’t really remember life before geto – having been only a child – but from ten years old, he’d been a constant in your life. having moved from a small school where it was relatively easy to maintain your status as top of the class, you were suddenly put in a position where you weren’t the only kid with an above average level of intelligence.

so from ten years old, to now, at twenty, you have found yourself in constant competition with geto. scores didn’t matter as long as you beat him. shoko had started keeping track several years ago – a little tally chart in her notes app to record who was the highest scorer after tests. currently, geto was a win ahead of you, something which you weren’t proud to admit but you blamed it on the flu that had meant you’d missed a week and a half of lectures.

“so close yet so far.”

you jumped at the sound of a voice so close to you. it was a thursday morning, the library was relatively quiet and you’d been so engrossed in the sound of the keys as you typed that you hadn’t heard geto come up behind you. you were fully aware of him now though, his hot breath on the back of your neck as he loomed over you to no doubt read the answer you had been writing.

“maybe if i didn’t have someone breathing down the back of my neck, i’d be able to focus,” you countered, grabbing your bottle of water to quickly unscrew the cap and take a sip, hoping that the cool liquid could ease the heat in your cheeks. his hands were on the back of your chair as his eyes skimmed through your answer.

despite your rivalry that had been established on almost the first day of meeting, you and geto had always found yourself in similar circles. now, at university, the two of you were a part of a small quartet with your other close friends, gojo and shoko. both you and geto had majored in computer science (much to your delight), while gojo had majored in business and shoko in biomedicine. so not only were you stuck with him in your group, you two shared almost every single class together too.

he grinned down at you with that annoying smirk that you’d become all too familiar with, “you consider me a distraction?” anyone with eyes would say yes – with his long, dark hair twisted into a half up, half down do and a loose fitting shirt that showed off his toned arms. you didn’t have to fully look back at him to know why girls were constantly asking for his number.

“what i consider you is an annoyance.” brushing him off your chair, you opened a fresh tab. you still had catch up work, plus your usual studies from your small period off, hence why you had been at the library since it had first opened. you only had an afternoon lecture on a thursday so you’d sacrificed your usual sleeping in day to study.

the last thing you needed was geto playing teacher and critiquing your work.

the male in question laughed as he took a seat next to you, bringing out his own laptop that you half wanted to take a peek at. in less than a week, both of you had a large project due that accounted for a large percentage of your final grade for the year. you had the majority completed, but after reviewing your code, you’d realised that in your ill-state you’d made more errors than you’d realised (it would’ve arguably been more beneficial if you had just accepted defeat and done nothing for two weeks instead of trying). 

“i come bearing gifts,” a familiar voice called out far louder than he should have – gojo rarely entered a library, let alone bothered to learn basic etiquettes. the snowy-haired male had pushed his dark glasses up onto the top of his head, cup holder in one hand with three drinks from the local cafe and a white plastic bag in the other.

gojo took a seat on the other side of geto, dropping the bag unceremoniously on the circular table, its contents (sugary sweets plus some pastries) spilling everywhere. he was more gentle with the drinks and you could have kissed him for the iced caramel latte he passed across to you. you were only three hours in and you were ready to flake and go home.

“oh good,” geto grabbed one of the paper bags with chocolate-filled croissants (gojo only knew food associated with sugar), “some of us are going to be here a long while.” there was no subtlety as he nodded his head towards you, something you were willing to throw your half drunk water bottle at him for.

but as per usual, gojo missed the obvious social context cues and stared eyes wide at the two of you. “why? do we have a test?” 

the four of you had decided to take a language class together (specifically german) so even when you got busy during exams you knew that there would be at least twice a week when the four of you would be sitting at the back of a lecture hall together.

“since when did you study for tests?” geto scoffed, leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms out above his head.

gojo giggled at the notion he was there to study. he’d only come to the library because shoko had plans throughout the day and his only other friends in the whole world were you two. “i just need to know what lesson i’m going to skip.” 

his attendance was horrific. he took two weeks off in solidarity with you so you ‘didn’t feel bad for getting the flu’. if he still felt remotely hung over on sunday evening, after attending one of his regular saturday night parties, he would make the decision then that monday was not the day for him to be attending lectures. if he woke up with a ‘bad feeling’, he took that as a sign that he would 100% die in a freak accident if he attended a lecture and skipped. you would kill to have his trust fund to cushion you if you failed university.

“no satoru we don’t have a test,” you laughed at his relieved look and little ‘phew’ as he dramatically swiped his hand across his forehead. to show his gratitude he offered you one of his excessively sweet croissants which you happily accepted. you knew you needed to get a real lunch soon but you just needed to do a couple more hours of real work before you could slack off.

unlucky for you, those couple of hours turned into the rest of the time the library was officially opened for.

you and gojo had taken an hour long break for lunch, before taking back sushi for geto (on gojo, of course). then both you and geto were in a video call whilst gojo played on his phone, attending your lecture online since neither of you were bothered to make your way back to campus just to come back out to the library.

geto had shown you snippets of his project and you were 70% sure that you were slightly ahead of him. but you weren’t about to hedge your bets and slack off – not when you still need at least two points to put yourself on top again on shoko’s chart. gojo had left a while ago once shoko had messaged him that she was back at your shared apartment. 

“are you walking?” geto asked you as he slipped his laptop into his backpack. gojo had been kind enough to take all of the remaining sweets with him so you only had your textbooks to clear off of the table and the empty wrappers he’d left behind. 

you nodded, grimacing slightly at the window. it was dark outside; it wasn’t winter but you hadn’t completely transitioned to spring evenings when the sun wouldn’t set till beyond seven. “my place is only a ten minute walk.” only a ten minute walk in the drizzling rain for which you did not bring a coat. as large as it was on you, you didn’t think gojo’s hoodie would suffice in keeping you warm (he’d forgotten it at yours after a movie night).

“i’ll give you a lift. can’t have you getting sick again.” he teased, chuckling at his own joke as you shot him a faux glare, lightly nudging his arm as you two descended down the stairs of the library. there was no one else in the library at this point, and your footsteps seemed to echo against the cool tiles of the floor.

“fine,” you sarcastically dragged, although you were grateful for the alternative to walking. 

somewhere along the way, the line between rivals and friends had been blurred. for you, the line had only become messier on your eighteenth birthday when the four of you had dressed up in suits and gone to your local laser tag place. as aforementioned, you’d always been aware that geto was attractive but it wasn’t until the close proximity under the neon lights, when you were a duo against shoko and gojo, did you truly see it. a few gentle touches on your waist to pull you back behind a wall, several whispers in your ear where he’d duck down to your height and you were a goner. 

for the most part, you’d been able to keep it to yourself, focusing all of your energy into being statistically smarter than him as opposed to admitting – or even really acknowledging – your feelings. 

“i was right,” you said, slightly out of breath having just run from the entrance of the library to geto’s car (which was parked as far away as it possibly could’ve been because he’d gone to the gym before meeting you). the light drizzle of rain and turned borderline torental in the thirty seconds it had taken you to exit the library. geto gave you a confused look as he pulled his hair out of his half bun, a slight frizz due to the dampness caused by the light rain. “my first answer,” you clarified, “i was right.”

he was smirking again, the same confident know-it-all smirk, “i know. i like instilling a little bit of doubt, better my odds.” 

“you’re an ass.” you huffed, crossing your arms in front of yourself. you’d reread the question three times and rewritten it once, coming to the same conclusion as before, before giving up and checking the mark scheme that had told you you were right all along. 

“i’ll make you pay for fuel,” geto threatened as he turned on the ignition, reversing the car out of the parking space. his hand was on the back of your headrest as he peered out of the back window.

“you can’t make me pay when you were the one to offer me a lift,” you retorted, playing with the strings of gojo’s hoodie and trying to ignore the close proximity between you and the dark haired male next to you. lucky for you, geto’s car was full of distractions for your wandering eyes, memorabilia of the last three years of your lives all around you.

on the dashboard was a dent from when gojo had hit his head after geto had had to emergency break and the former did not have his seatbelt on (there was a little blood and gojo declared that these were his final moments). the jelly belly car freshener that hung from the mirror was the same one that you had bought him as a congratulations for passing his driving test. there was a polaroid of the four of you graduating hidden in the folded mirror above your head, just the corner peeking out. 

each of you had your own designated seats – gojo was usually in the passenger (you could tell by the sweet stash in the door), you sat behind gojo and shoko behind geto. 

the only downside to geto’s car was the fact the heating did not work whatsoever. since getting the car at seventeen, he said every year that he was going to get it fixed but always ended up having to spend money on far more important things for the car. such as the light up gear stick and customised car horn. you shivered lightly as you wrapped your arms further around yourself, but the wet hoodie did little to warm you up.

geto glanced at you from the corner of his eye and nodded his head towards the backseats. “i have a dry jacket in the back if you’d rather that.”

you contemplated it for a moment before ultimately deciding that you would like to spend the next eight minutes warm. slipping off gojo’s hoodie, you turned to reach behind you to grab geto’s black zip up and slip it on, leaving the hoodie behind for your other friend to claim back. he would more than likely be in here the next day anyways.

the rest of the car ride was mostly silent, other than you critiquing his driving on several occasions – which he claimed you were in no position to do since you did not have a licence of your own. you argued you were perfectly within your rights as he’d had to swerve to avoid a stray cat.

“thanks suguru,” you said as you took off your seatbelt and reached for your bag. he’d pulled up just outside of the entrance to your apartment so you’d only be caught in the rain for a fraction of a second. “do you want me to leave your jacket here?”

“anytime princess.” what had started off as a mocking when you were kids had become your designated nickname and you hated how much you now loved it when geto called you that. you could only hope he couldn’t see your flushed skin in the dim lights. “and don’t worry about it. give it back to me another time.”

you thanked him again, waving him off before you scurried inside and up the stairs to the fourth floor where your apartment with shoko was. the two of you had been in separate student accommodation in your first year, but after six months and several awful roommates had both chosen to find a small apartment to share together. both of you had part time jobs to afford it and while it added to the masses of work you already had with school, it was worth it.

it was only small – two bedrooms, a bathroom and an open kitchen and living room – but it was your little home. as of a weekend, it wasn’t uncommon for geto and gojo to be there too. of a friday evening, the four of you would be huddled in your living room with a random board game (usually cluedo) and an excessive amount of vodka.

“where have you been?” shoko asked slyly, laying across the sofa with a pen in one hand and her ipad in the other. there was a picture of a human heart on her screen, her scribbles annotating it messily. 

“library. suguru gave me a lift home,” you called out to her as you dropped your bag into your room, passing shoko as you headed for the fridge to find something to eat. pushing your hair up into a loose bun, you grabbed a fork for the pot of mango you’d picked up. “when did satoru leave?”

“he was only here for twenty minutes. this place is too small for him,” shoko dropped her stuff down onto the sofa, following you to your little kitchen area. she jumped up onto the counter, happily accepting the fruit you offered to her. “so, geto gave you a lift home then?” she eyed your change in hoodie from the one you’d left in that morning.

“don’t start,” you complained, grabbing another fork so she didn’t have to eat with her hands. it had been shoko’s current fixation to over analyse the relationship between you and geto. you’d made it very clear twelve months ago when she’d first come to you to ask what was going on that there was nothing there. nothing tangible anyways.

“no, i just think it’s so sweet and so gentlemanly of him,” shoko tucked her hair behind her ear as she spoke with a mouthful of mango, batting her eyelashes innocently, “don’t you?” 

your refusal to point blank answer the question is enough of an answer for her. “i think it’s late,” you backed away from shoko and dropped your used fork in the sink. you’d sort it out in the morning. “and i have an eight am class tomorrow.” 

“with geto,” shoko called out before you could fully close your door and you could hear her smile in her voice. you rested your forehead on the cool wood of the door and tried not to think too much about how right she was. it was embarrassing – you were a grown adult, not a teenager anymore. it should be easy to pull yourself together and get over your silly crush that arguably stemmed from the rivalry between the two of you.

he challenged you in a way you had never been before you craved the competition. that was what you wanted from him – a challenge, not his toned body or honey-smooth voice.

when she’d confronted you the first time about your feelings from geto, you’d been honest (the woman was a walking lie detector, there was no way you could have lied). told her that yes you had a small crush but that was all it was – a harmless little crush. when you’d continued on as normal and didn’t make any sort of moves or obvious hints that you still liked him like that, she’d dropped it. 

you’d hoped that that was the end of it.

however, her interest had been revived after the two of you had stayed up a few weeks prior after coming home from a party. shoko had had far more than is recommended for the average person alcohol-wise whereas you had mainly sobered up by now. the two of you were curled up under a blanket watching whatever romcom shoko had found whilst you had made two bowls of cereal.

“if you had to sleep with anyone we know right now or you’d die, who would it be?” shoko had asked with a mouthful that you cringed at. neither of you had bothered to change into appropriate attire or cleaned your faces so it was almost comical to see her in her short dress and smudged make-up eating cereal. 

you nudged her arm gently, careful not to cause any spillages, and with a snort asked, “why would i die if i didn’t have sex?”

“shh,” she was messy and unbalanced as she leaned across to press a finger to your lips, “answer the question.”

you hummed, tapping your spoon against your chin as you mulled over her question. you knew the answer – you were sure she did too – but you didn’t want to come across as desperate. “i don’t know…” there was still a buzz in your system, especially as you thought back on your night out and the crowd of other uni students you’d been with. “definitely not naoya.” you pretended to gag after you said his name and shoko laughed.

he had made the first hour of your outing less than fun as he trailed behind you like a lost puppy. geto was away visiting family, gojo was somewhere on the dancefloor, and shoko was getting drinks from someone so you were left alone and the zenin thought that this would be the day you would accept his love confessions. as if two years of hard ‘no’s’ would suddenly become a ‘yes’.

the mere suggestion made you actually want to be physically sick.  

“he is the worst kisser,” shoko complained, staring up at the ceiling like she was reliving a moment you didn’t even know had happened. you stared at her, mouth agape, because in all your years she had never once told you when this had happened.

“why have you kissed him?” not only was zenin naoya renowned for his lack of respect towards women, the girl sat inches from you was a proud, outspoken lesbian who made it very clear she had zero attraction to men whatsoever.

“gojo donkey dared me to.”

“ieiri.” you deadpanned at your best friend as she snickered at your judgement, waving her hand dismissively towards you. 

“you would do it too for a free drink,” she tried to justify and you shook your head. 

“have some standards.”

you could practically imagine how it played out, gojo in fits of laughter and naoya in shock as shoko pulled him into a kiss (he’d mask it up though and use it as evidence that even lesbians wanted him). if you were lucky, gojo recorded the incident but the likelihood that he would have had the forethought is a fifty-fifty if he was drinking. even when he does remember to record silly things like that on a night out, majority of the time the camera is pointing at him instead of the incident.

“you’d kiss geto for a free drink wouldn’t you?”

you almost choked on your own spit at the forwardness of her question.

“i’m just saying, this whole rivalry thing? fuck it out,” she raised her hands in defence at the appalled look on your face. “the tension is unbearable.”

“you’re unbearable,” you flipped her off.

“you’re late.”

you weren’t a violent person but you think that just one little slap to geto’s perfectly tanned face would have made you a slightly happier person. it wasn’t fair that him and gojo looked happy and wide awake at sixteen minutes past eight in the morning whilst you and shoko looked like you had just run a marathon.

which, in your opinion, you basically had.

and now you were at your stupid language class that you didn’t really even need to be taking with no morning coffee to wake you up.

you huffed as you slid into the seat next to geto, grateful that you always chose to sit near the back so it wasn’t too obvious you’d just come in late. nodding your head towards shoko, “someone locked themselves in the bathroom.”

not only had you not woken up to your first alarm so you were already behind in your usual routine, just as you were about to leave your apartment, you heard shoko calling out from the bathroom saying the door was broken. ensue a fifteen minute battle with you both trying to jiggle the door lock open.

“i said it was a sign we shouldn’t show up at all,” shoko shrugged, grabbing out her pouch of tobacco so she could roll herself her first cigarette of the day. neither of you were overly morning people – especially not without your daily drink and cigarette (respectively of course, shoko found coffee to be too bitter and you weren’t a big fan of smoking).

“shhh.” a girl a few rows in front of you turned her head, giving you all a displeased look.

“shh.” shoko repeated back mockingly, not so subtly raising both her middle fingers up at the back of the girl's head. you bit down on your bottom lip not to laugh loudly at her childishness. the brunette on your right then turned her head down towards gojo and geto, holding out her hands, “one of you pass me your notes.” gojo looked over at you both with a grin, turning his laptop screen to face you. on it? a game of online chess. which he was losing.

“genuinely asking, how have you not failed uni yet?” shoko shook her head in disbelief before turning her attention to geto, “cough up, princess.” she mimicked the nickname geto occasionally used for you and you had to fight every urge not to nudge her in the ribs.

“i don’t know how you plan on topping me if you’re not showing up to class on time,” geto tsked disappointingly towards you as he sent the notes from his laptop to your group chat so you’d both have them. shoko slumped back into her seat, ipad in her crossed lap as she downloaded the pdf.

you ignored his jab with an eye roll, pulling your laptop out of your bag to see what you’d missed. it wasn’t much and it was a beginner’s class too so if you were going to be late to a class because shoko got locked in a bathroom, this was the one to be late for. you were glad, though, that geto always typed his notes because his handwriting was terrible. otherwise you would have to accept you lost the first fifteen minutes of the lesson.

halfway through the class, both shoko and gojo left to go have a smoke and get food (again seperately, gojo had tried to smoke once and had spent the next five minutes on the floor coughing and vowed never to do it again). the white haired male had kindly offered to grab you hashbrowns from the small on campus cafe and you’d accepted the offer after your stomach had decided that it was not happy you’d skipped coffee and breakfast.

that left you and geto alone together. well, not really alone since you were in a half filled lecture hall but the point still stood.

“it looks good on you.” geto’s breath was hot against your ear as leaned down and spoke in a low voice as to not disturb the people around you – it was either that or he too was aware of the crush you’d been harbouring for him and enjoyed seeing your flushed expression. for the sake of your sanity, you assumed the former.

you swallowed at the close proximity between the two of you; he was so close you could practically feel the loose strands of his hair brush against you. he hadn’t bothered to tie it up but you know he’d meticulously straightened it this morning. if you turned your head, there would be less than an inch between you and–

is he complimenting you in his clothes?

you’d worn his and gojo’s hoodies an endless number of times before in the past, this wasn’t anything new. you blame your flusteredness on shoko and her constant teasing at the minute. for the last couple years you’d managed to keep yourself in check.

clearing your throat, your straightened up in the uncomfy red seat. “i was in a rush this morning. you can have it back now if you really want it.” you hoped not – once again it was poor weather and you were relying on this to keep you sheltered from the rain since, for reasons that you were not at fault for, you’d left in a hurry this morning.

out of the corner of your eye you could see geto shake his head as he settled back into his seat. you let out a small breath of relief as you finally got your own bubble of personal space back. “don’t worry about it princess.” 

geto wasn’t oblivious to girls being interested in him – he would brush it off with a laugh and a cocky remark – but you hoped and prayed he was oblivious to the fool you were making of yourself. 

after class, the four of you had headed to your favourite cafe – only a five minute walk from campus but it was tucked out of the way in a little alleyway so that it wasn’t as busy as some of the others. you didn’t need to give shoko your order with how often you came here, you all always got your regulars.

“me and tweedle dee here,” shoko linked her arm around gojo’s as she spoke, ignoring the way she forced gojo to slightly bend down awkwardly due to their height difference, “are going to grab food, you two go grab seats.” 

“c’mon,” geto’s hand was on the small of your back as he guided you between chairs and tables and you could feel the heat emanating from his palm through his jacket. for such a small space, there were far too many tables and only half occupied, leaving the rest as a labyrinth to work through.

“where are you going?” you asked with a small frown when he gently nudged you in the direction of the dimly light corner when there was a table for four right in the window still available. despite the initial shower this morning, the sun had begun to shine through.

“i’m going to the seats in the corner. y’know since there is a sofa,” geto added in a ‘duh’ tone like the sofa was the best thing in the world. it wasn’t even like they were that comfy – too low down and squishy in your opinion. 

“it’s sunny,” you pointed to the light pouring in but he gave you an uninterested look, shaking his head.

“rock, paper, scissors.”

you blinked twice up at him and then down to his hands – one held out in a palm and the other in a fist over the top. the silver of his rings contrasted with the warm colour of his skin and you had to force yourself to look back up at him and not stare shamelessly.  

“we’re adults, i’m not playing that with you.” you deadpanned. this was a gojo response – clearly living together meant that his antics were rubbing off on geto.

geto laughed quietly, blessing you with a teasing smile and raised eyebrow as he nudged you with his open palm and fist. kissing your teeth with your tongue, you muttered an insult about maturity under your breath as you mimicked his stance.

“corner seats it is princess,” geto grinned, hooking an arm around your shoulder to lead you to the sofa after you picked paper and he picked scissors. “do you think that counted as another point to me?” the tease in his voice was evident and the smirk on his lips only riled you up more. not even his arm around you could distract you from your sore loser behaviour.

“no,” you said quickly and with a tone that had him laughing to himself. you weren’t about to lose another point over a child’s game that was just pure luck. there was a lot more integrity behind the tally chart titled ‘who needs to go outside and touch grass more?’ (named by shoko, of course).

the two of you sat next to each other, facing towards the counter so you could see as shoko pointed to various things on the menu and pastries on display. you were all too aware of how close you were when geto knocked his knee against yours as he slipped off his hoodie.

“i can pick you up if you’re going to the library tomorrow,” geto offered as he crossed one leg over the other. his and gojo’s apartment was in the other direction of the campus to yours, but you two did share a morning class – assuming he was driving in and not making the five minute walk then it wasn’t out of his way for you.

“are you going straight after class?” you turned your head to look at up, seeing him already looking down at you. in only his t-shirt, there was a sliver of black ink peeking out from beneath his sleeve.

several months after his eighteenth birthday, you, him, gojo and shoko had gone out for the evening and returned with matching tattoos of koi betta fish. his was fully inked in on his upper arm whereas gojo’s was just the outline on the back of his shoulder. your’s was a mixture of the two and on your lower hip whereas shoko’s was on her wrist. initially it had been both blue and black ink but the blue had begun to fade. 

“i need to go to the gym and then i’ll join you.”

the gym where he would most definitely be removing that shirt and not only show off the tattoo on his arm but the larger one on his back too. this one was much larger – a dragon that swirled around the shape of his spine. he always said that in another life, he would be training to become a tattoo artist and not studying computer science. 

“why aren’t we sat in the sun?” you turned away from geto to look over at shoko, the female in question holding a tray as she raised a brow at the two of you, displeased by your choice of seating. she, much like you, hated the sofas and would have much rather been in the window seats.

geto shrugged, pointing at you accusingly, like he wasn’t the one who wanted to sit here. “yn lost rock, paper, scissors.”

“yn,” gojo whined as he dropped into the sofa seat opposite geto, “one job.” he complained, shaking his head in a disappointing manner, like he cared so much where you sat and was not aching to eat his donut with a sickening amount of icing. you grimaced at his tastes.

“who’s going to meimei’s party saturday?” shoko asked once she’d divided up everyone’s orders. a caramel latte and muffin for you, croissant and black coffee for geto and a blueberry muffin and black coffee for herself.

meimei was a couple years older than all of you but since week one of university, her house had been the go to one at least once every couple of weeks. gojo and geto always got an invite – meimei would personally message them – whereas you and shoko showed up as their unofficial plus ones. it didn’t bother either of you, you were there to drink, not to hang out with the slightly odd and promiscuous woman. 

“yeah,” geto nodded, scrunching his nose up at the bitterness of his drink. you heavily judged both him and shoko for forcing themselves to drink a drink they barely liked. “if satoru goes.”

“i am 100% going,” gojo spoke with a mouthful, dark glasses pushed up onto the top of his head, “i need to redeem myself.”

“what after the dance floor incident?” you giggled, earning a kick under the table from the white haired male. after several drinks too many at someone’s house party, gojo had managed to create a circle in the centre of the living-room-turned-dance-floor. it was entertaining to watch him pull people in and out to dance with him… until the drinks caught up to him and he vomited everywhere. this was not at meimei’s luckily, or you don’t think he’d ever be allowed back

“shush! people won’t forget if you keep reminding them,” gojo whined, earning a sarcastic pat on the shoulder from shoko. 

“are you coming?” geto asked you as though the answer wasn’t obvious. when did one of the four of you ever do anything without the others?

nonetheless, you glanced over at gojo who was looking expectantly at you, “am i really getting a choice?”

“nope!” gojo grinned.

“you’ll pick us all up?” shoko smiled uncharacteristically sweetly towards geto who rolled his eyes and nodded. he was the only one with the car but both he and shoko had licences. though he seemed hard done by in his response, he wasn’t the biggest drinker and even less so compared to shoko. he was the unspoken designated driver.

“black is your colour,” shoko complimented as she reached past you for the straighteners. you thanked her through gritted teeth as you held a bobby pin between your lips, attempting to fix your hair with another one in your hands.

the two of you were in the same shared bathroom that shoko had gotten herself locked in several days prior. your sink was covered in the various skincare and make up products you used. the two plug sockets were occupied with your straighteners and hair dryer. it was a chaotic mess that would be tomorrow’s fun activity in your hungover state.

friday had gone by quickly, geto had even showed up at your apartment to take you to your first class before you went to the library together. you’d discussed both of your projects but for the most part you’d worked in a comfortable silence. in your lunch break, you’d gone to your local chinese takeaway and eaten in his car. for a brief moment, you’d indulged yourself in what your life could be as his girlfriend, spending each of your days like this with him. 

sighing, you slipped a bobby pin into the back of your hair. in a couple years time once you’d graduated and started your careers (albeit in the same or at the very least similar industries), your feelings for geto would dissipate into nothing more than the whisper of a memory. it was the competition, you reminded yourself. that was what created the ‘tension’ (as shoko put it) that had led you to believe you had these feelings.

you could laugh at yourself for how ridiculous and pathetic your thoughts sounded.

tonight however, that was not of concern. tonight, the only focus was on getting wasted.

you had dressed up in a tight fitting black dress that stopped midthigh specially for the occasion while shoko had opted for wide leg pants and a butterfly crop top. 

specifically the butterfly crop top that a mutual fashion student friend of yours had made for her.

you raised an eyebrow at her once you felt your hair was securely up, dragging your eyes up and down the top she was wearing, “are you coming back tonight or…?” 

“or am i getting laid by a certain very hot girl with blue hair? i’m getting laid,” shoko blew you a kiss with a grin. “you should try it some time,” she wriggled her eyebrows at you and it didn’t take a genius to know who she was hinting at.

in regards to her activities post-meimei’s, she had been getting closer to utahime over the last few months. you both knew her from high school but she’d avoided your group like the plague because of her strong disliking for gojo. you loved gojo, you really did, but to some he could come across as a bit much to those who didn’t know him well enough. 

at university, however, where there was a bit more space between the four of you (not by much), utahime and shoko had managed to get more alone time. despite her confident and cocky nature, shoko’s soft affection for the blue haired girl was obvious and you had fully encouraged her to ask her on the first date several months back.

“you know that means i’m going to be stuck with dumb and dumber all evening,” you complained light-heartedly as you stepped out of the bathroom to try and find the shoes you’d be wearing. geto would be happy to hear that though – it meant he only had to find you and gojo when it came to coming home.

the four of you had only ever stayed over at meimei’s once. her house was massive and you all took over one of her guest bedrooms which in itself made for a fun sleepover. however, there’d been a group of guys – zenin naoya included – who’d been trying to coax you and shoko with them to a different room. moving on from then, geto had made it a point to almost always drive.

“oh no, is that such a hardship for you?”

you held up your finger to the brunette who was peering around the doorframe of the bathroom to smirk at you. 

“you need to drop this.”

“nope,” shoko slipped past you, reaching into a pile of clothes to grab your silver strappy heels you were searching for. your living room was in just as much of a state as the bathroom with trial outfits and various accessories laid out on the sofa and floors. “i need some sort of fun here.” you scoffed at her reasoning, her fun at your expense, but still thanked her for finding your shoes.

the only clear space was on the small coffee table in front of the sofas where half a bottle of passionfruit vodka sat with two empty shot glasses. as you perched yourself on the edge of the sofa arm to start tying up your heels, shoko took it upon herself to pour the two of you another shot for the night. 

you grimaced as shoko handed you a full shot glass, but interlocked your arm with hers nonetheless. “three, two, one,” she counted down before you both poured the drinks into your mouths. the distinctive after taste ensued and you coughed at the overwhelmingness. 

“that’s nasty,” you stuck your tongue out and shoko snickered at you, having been completely unphased. 

a low rumbling could be heard outside through the open window of your apartment. you glanced at the clock – they were five minutes late. not that it bothered you since you were still struggling untangling the straps of your other shoe. 

“geto’s here,” shoko said, closing the window and pulling the curtains closed. you hummed in acknowledgement, muttering an ‘almost done’ when the vibrating sound of her phone went off. a picture of gojo wearing bright green goggles flashed up on the screen as shoko answered it. “yeah? yn’s just taking forever to put her shoes on.” you gave her a look. “yeah, i’ll tell her. geto told you to hurry up.”

“i am hurrying,” you shot back, tying the last bow. standing up, you pulled the skirt of your dress down so you didn’t flash anyone and did a little spin. “how do i look?”

“hot. we’re coming down now.”

“–and don’t accept drugs from strangers, i’m not dealing with another satoru situation,” geto said as he listed off the do’s and don’t’s for the evening. do’s including make sure you are always with someone you know and don’t’s including speaking to zenin naoya. not that the latter would be a difficult task. 

gojo was dressed in a white fishnet top and he’d opted to forgo his glasses for the evening. instead, he’d decorated his eyes with blue eyeshadow and gems – his usual going out look since he’d watched euphoria. in the drivers seat, geto looked far more casual in an oversized grey top and baggy jeans but it wouldn’t be far fetched to say that he stood out the most out of the four of you. his sun kissed skin and sharp eyes were alluring to anyone who saw him. the most effort he’d put into his appearance was pulling his half back into his half bun, pulling some baby hairs out at the front to frame his features.

you’d caught yourself watching him from your seat one too many times with shoko even nudging your knee once.

“me?” gojo gasped from his passenger seat, looking back at you and shoko like geto had made some outlandish statement.

“don’t you remember that time you took drugs from that girl because you thought she’d let you hit after,” shoko reminded with an unlit cigarette between her lips (no smoking in the car – another don’t on geto’s list). 

gojo cleared his throat, holding up his hands in defence, “look guys, i will be the first to admit it wasn’t my finest moment.”

that was an understatement. you’d been the one to find him after another party goer had recognised you as one of his friends and told you he was having a bad reaction. you almost felt bad when you found him upstairs in a bath, with a shower running all over him.

“you guys weren’t the ones who had to stay up till 4am while he cried in the bathroom,” geto shuddered at the memory and you were just grateful he’d taken over gojo’s care as soon as you’d called him.

“nope but i did have 15 voicemails from him the next day.”

again, gojo’s head snapped back, singling out only you this time, dread on his features. “you’ve never shown me these.” despite probably going out the most out of the four of you, his tolerance for alcohol was pitiful and his tolerance for any sort of substance was ten times worse. if it seemed like he had no filter beforehand, an under the influence gojo had to be supervised so he didn’t say something to the wrong person and ended up in a&e.

“i’m saving them for a special occasion,” you patted the top of his fluffy (and now also glittery) hair. it would probably end up in your annual slideshows you all did for new years eve. an ongoing tradition where each of you picked out your highlights of the year and made powerpoints with them.

once at meimei’s and out of the car, shoko gave you a quick side hug and told you to stay safe. “i am going to love you and leave you all,” she dramatically waved you away with one hand, the other holding a lighter up to the cigarette in her mouth. presumably, utahime was already somewhere around the back of the house waiting for shoko as opposed to inside where there were several dozen bodies already packed. “have a wonderful evening i will see you tomorrow for the debrief.”

the debrief in question being the mandatory coffee session post party to send each other pictures and make fun of how hungover gojo inevitably is.

“yn, come with me!” gojo slipped his hand into yours and dragged you through the sea of bodies out into the makeshift bar that had been set up in the corner of the living room. meimei’s house was massive, this room alone was probably larger than your entire apartment. geto had followed after you but he’d turned towards the crowd, opting to socialise over drinking whatever concoction gojo was about to make.

turning your attention back to the white haired male beside you, you cringe at the amount of liquid in the red cups. it was oddly graceful how gojo opened cupboards and grabbed bottles with no hesitation, haphazardly pouring them into each cup.

“how do you know where everything is?” you asked, leaning over to take a sniff from the drinks. surprisingly, it wasn’t awful, but you put that down to the lemon flavoured mixer he’d just added.

gojo lightly pushed your head back, shooing you away as he held up a bottle of malibu. after taking a neat sip (which you wanted to point out was not very hygienic but with what he was about to out into his body you doubted he cared), he poured in the final addition to your drinks. “look i’m number one meimei hater but i’d lying if i said i wasn’t a regular at this establishment.”

you scrunched up your nose at regularly attending a place like this. it was fun to a certain extent you could admit, but there was only so much of the pounding music and sweaty bodies that you could handle. “you need a life. beyond women,” you added once you caught his eye watching a short-haired ginger girl weaving through the crowd.

“oh honey i do. i dabble in both,” he winked at the pink haired boy following behind the girl and you quickly nudged him in the stomach with your elbow. you wanted at least ten minutes before he got distracted and tried to sleep with the first person that walks past him. gojo pouted, whining quietly, before making a miraculous recovery in order to hold out your drink to you. “try this.”

there was no countdown this time before you both began drinking. the alcohol burned your throat and the odd mixture of flavours had you calling it quits once the red cup was only halfway empty. you coughed twice as you dropped the drink back onto the table, wiping the excess liquid off of your lips. gojo committed to the entire drink, squeezing the plastic once he’d finished.

“delicious,” he grinned, already looking in the cupboards again to start up another mess. this was how he’d get borderline paralytic so quickly on nights out.

looking off at the crowd of huddled bodies ahead of you, it wasn’t difficult to spot geto who stood a head taller than everyone else. meimei had set up multi-coloured strobe lights that danced red and blue across his skin. he looked so effortlessly gorgeous. 

you couldn’t help but feel disheartened as he ducked his head down to speak to the girl in front of him. you didn’t know her but you recognised her from one of your lectures – one that you also shared with geto and there was no doubt in your mind she’d noticed him before. who wouldn’t have?

reaching for your red cup again, you decided that you could wallow in self pity all you want but you were not doing that sober.

“he looks at you like that too.”

“huh?”

your gaze shifted from geto and the unnamed girl to gojo. the male in question had one hand on a bottle of vodka and one hand on his hip as he looked at you accusingly. your face felt hot at the insinuation that you’d been looking at your mutual best friend in a certain way and you tried to take the vodka bottle from his hand.

gojo held it up above your head, easily out of reach from you as he too stood taller than everyone else. “look all i’m saying is that he was not very happy that you were asking nanami kento for advice on your project and not him.”

you frowned at the fact, willing yourself not to overthink what that could mean. nothing, is what it meant. 

you hadn’t even realised geto had still been in class when you’d spoken to nanami as he’d said he was going to the gym. the blond was smart and with you making a mess of your code when you were sick, you’d wanted a fresh set of eyes on it now that you’d somewhat cleaned it.

“why would i ask him? so he can sabotage me?” you countered. this was your chance to even the scoreboard in shoko’s notes.

“you are so smart, yn, so so smart,” gojo patted your head affectionately, arm slipping around your shoulders as he tugged you close to his body. he smelt like shoko, having stolen one of her perfumes the last time he was over. “and yet you’re dumb as fuck.”

“give me that.” you ignored the insult, which was pretty ironic coming from him of all people, and snatched the bottle from him, unscrewing the cap to fill up your cup.

“you can’t avoid it forever,” gojo sung but you were done listening to his unsolicited opinions, opting instead to console yourself with alcohol.

“have i ever told you how pretty your eyes are suguru?”

“you have. several times. all in the last five minutes actually,” geto sighed and you snickered at the two next to you. 

unsurprisingly, gojo was using geto as a crutch (more like he was being dragged along by the latter but it was all the same) having drunk more than his body could handle. you were faring slightly better but only after you’d given up on your heels. the grass was uncomfortably damp beneath your feet but it was better than falling headfirst into the mud. 

“goodie!” the white haired male giggled, almost tripping onto the ground as he struggled to keep up. you were glad you lived in separate apartments –  you did not want to be there when gojo started coming down from the bubble he was in and spent the next several hours with his head in the toilet.

“you take the front seat,” geto nodded his head towards the passenger side, “i’m going to lay him in the back.”

you obliged with a quick nod, skipping to the seat next to his. there was still the buzz of alcohol in your system and you know had it not been for geto calling it a night, you’d still be in the thrum of people dancing. you were shocked that there had been no noise complaints given the crowds of probably hundreds of students and the loud music still blasting despite having gone well past midnight.

you giggled to yourself as you recorded geto struggle to fit gojo into the backseat. he was like a large child; awkward and stiff and too tall for the small space. by the time geto’d finally managed to get the seatbelt around him, he was practically passed out and leaning across the backseats. you sent the video across to shoko.

“have you heard from ieiri?” geto asked as he slipped into the driver’s seat, pushing the key into the ignition but not turning it. your heart swelled at the concern he held for all of you – ever the gentleman. he’d been the one to help you untie your heels and held them in one hand as he held gojo up with the other, and now he was worried about the final piece of your group who’d already been clear she wasn’t coming home with you. it was basic really, a bare minimum one could even argue, but you were drunk and your feelings were already all over the place.

“yep,” you nodded, scrolling to your most recent message that she’d sent to you about twenty minutes ago saying that she was leaving meimei’s. leaning across the console so that there is only a few inches between your face and geto’s, you hold a finger to your lips and whisper, “she’s with her girlfriend but you’re not supposed to know that.”

it wasn’t not not a secret that utahime and shoko were seeing each other but shoko had been trying to refrain from using ‘girlfriend’ because it was still early days and she didn’t want to scare her off. utahime had never been in a publicly lesbian relationship before.

“mhmm. i won’t tell.” you were close enough to smell the mint on his breath (he probably went out for a smoke at one point) and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing down at his lips. they were a soft pink and slightly damp from where his tongue had swiped across. in the corner of his lips was a small hole where he used to have a ring. you wondered what the cool metal would have felt like if you kissed him.

the sound of gojo muttering in his sleep brought you back to your senses, somewhat, and you quickly seated yourself back into the passenger seat. you could only hope that the drunken execution was as smooth as you thought it was in your head as you prayed geto didn’t notice your blatant glances.

you could see geto looking over at you out of the corner of your eye and you wanted to shrink away into the seat. you should’ve let gojo pour you another one of those awful drinks. he opened his mouth to say something but when you remained focused on pulling down the skirt of your dress, he chose to just start the car.

a ping from your phone had you frowning at an unknown number sending you ‘hi’. the follow up ‘it’s todo’ and ‘are you still here?’ had you groaning in annoyance at yourself.

“are you okay?” geto glanced at you, worry flashing across his features. you weren’t sure if it was for you or if he was concerned that you were about to be sick in his precious car.

“i gave todo my number,” you sighed. you could vaguely remember doing it after he’d joined you, gojo and several others for jello shots. after seeing geto with the same girl from your tuesday morning lectures, you hadn’t hesitated when todo had asked for your number. a futile attempt at getting back at the male sat to your right. you were already embarrassed by your actions now, you didn’t want to know how you’d feel tomorrow when you were sober.

if you turned your head, you would have seen the way geto’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, the skin of his knuckles turning white. but you didn’t and his voice was unsuspiciously calm as he spoke. “did you want his number?”

“no, maybe, i don’t know,” you rambled out in quick succession, hands moving in front of yourself as you spoke. you had wanted his number but you didn’t want it because it was his number. maybe this was an opportunity for you to stop with your silly crush. maybe you did want his number. taking half a moment, you continued, “well, i mean he’s not not attractive? but–” i want you. 

“but?” geto repeated when you stopped yourself mid-sentence. resting your head against the headrest, you turned to look at him. you found yourself tracing the outline of his side profile with your eyes – from the stray hairs that had clung to his forehead from sweat due to the heat at meimei’s, his brows that were furrowed as his dark eyes stared on ahead at the quiet roads, the soft shape of his nose down to his lips that you desperately wanted to ki– “you’re staring.”

you glanced at the intersection where you’d stopped because of the red light shining down at you, then back to geto who’s full attention was on you now. his own eyes were wandering across you now but his action seemed one of concern than your blatant admiration.

“do you…” you began, all inhibition foregone as you found yourself leaning across the console again towards him. geto’s hands dropped down from steering wheel to lightly hold your shoulders to ensure you didn’t sleep. it didn’t stop you from moving closer – he wasn’t trying to.

“do i…?”

geto wasn’t stopping you but he wasn’t encouraging you either. you stilled entirely when your faces had only a couple of centimetres away from each other. “would you stop me if i kissed you?” your voice was no louder than a whisper to the point you weren’t even sure if he had heard you.

there was a moment, a moment that you swear was real and not a figment of your drunken imagination, where you think geto was fully contemplating your question, just about to close the gap. the harsh sound of a horn ruined the trance you both seemed to be under and geto was back to focusing solely on the road.

you hurriedly settled back into your seat, running your hands across your face and pushing the stray hairs away from your face. your heart was racing, whether it was from the alcohol, the jumpscare from the horn or the realisation of what you almost just did, you weren’t sure.

“jeez, what did satoru give you?” he muttered aloud, though more to himself than you or the sleeping male in the backseat. his little snores may have been endearing if you didn’t also blame him for everything that just took place. ‘he looks at you like that too’ – he owed you at least a week's worth of coffee and doughnuts for putting the thoughts in your head.

“that was ages ago, i’m clear minded.” you were not clear minded at all. you wished shoko was here. you wish you weren’t.

“sure you are,” geto scoffed quietly under his breath. if he was annoyed at you, you needed to start plotting how you’d avoid him for the next few years.

“satoru said something,” you said when the silence became so unbearable you thought your mind would simply implode. the roads were familiar but you knew you still had a while before you got to your apartment. assuming geto didn’t banish you to the side of the street for trying to kiss him.

geto was frowning again and you wanted nothing more for the lines to disappear from his forehead. he was too pretty to get wrinkles. “what did he say?”

“what did you say?” you spun around in your seat to see the white haired male unceremoniously spread across the backseats, mouth hanging open. absolutely no help, as per. “fuck, he’s still asleep.” you closed your eyes as you thought back to your conversation with gojo when you’d first gotten to meimei’s. “he said you didn’t like i went to kento for help.”

“that means i want to kiss you?” geto seemed almost… amused? his usual confident demeanour seemed to be returning as he shot you a glance, the tension from his shoulders dissipating.  

“no, ieiri said that. kinda.” you chose to leave out the specific explicit detail of what shoko actually implied. the hole was deep enough, you didn’t need to dig any further.

“why aren’t you saying anything?” you asked after several beats.

“because you’re drunk.”

“oh.” what did that even mean?

you picked at the black nail varnish on your nails, willing the minutes to go by faster. maybe if you’re lucky you won’t remember any of this tomorrow and geto will pity you enough to never remind you.

“i would let you kiss me,” geto spoke so quietly you were scared you’d misheard him. you even looked back at gojo for confirmation that he had in fact just said those words. he was, however, still asleep and still useless. with one hand staying on the steering wheel, geto used the other to gently stop you from ruining your nail varnish any further. “would you let me kiss you?”

you were finding it hard not to smile like a little kid. you didn’t care what this meant – geto suguru said that he would let you kiss him. a win is a win. “depends if you’re good or not. i have standards, y’know.”

“of course,” he patted your thigh twice before returning his hands to the steering wheel. if you thought your heart was racing before, it was now running loops at a thousand miles per hour. 

several minutes later, geto pulled the car to a final stop. “this is your place,” he said but you weren’t really focused on that, you were entirely focused on him. the car wasn’t moving anymore and he could look and speak (and maybe even kiss you) without any car horns or other external distractions. 

except you weren’t entirely right in that assumption as your shameless staring was interrupted by a particular loud snore from the backseat.

you forgot gojo was still there.

letting out a quiet sigh, you picked up your shoes from behind geto’s seat and pointed several stories up to your apartment. looking up at geto as pathetically as you could muster, since not even embarrassment would convince you to walk on the pebbled path, you asked, “help me?” 

not another word was spoken between the two of you until you had entered your apartment. geto had lifted you from the car bridal style and you’d cherished the few seconds so close to him. he set you down once you were in the building of your apartment but stayed by your side as you walked up the stairs.

“drink this,” geto handed you a glass of tap water he had poured and you thank him quietly as you sip it. he avoided eye contact with you as he passed by you in the direction of your bedroom. when he came back out several moments later he gestured for you to enter the room. “i laid out some clothes for you and put out some paracetamol, you’re going to have an awful headache when you wake up. so whilst you’re being pathetic here, i’m going to be up bright and early finishing that project. then it’ll be me two up.”

you laughed quietly at the notion, walking past him. “thank you suguru.” tiredness was beginning to seep deep into your bones and you craved the softness of your mattress more than you did his attention right now. 

geto was still stood in the doorway, watching you from afar. clearing his throat, he pointed to the keys in his hand – keys for his car, your apartment, his apartment and the sweet safe he kept hidden from gojo. “i’ll lock the door with my spare key. night princess.”

you were an idiot who was never drinking again – that was your only thought when you woke up.

after taking the paracetamol that geto had left for you and finishing the glass of water off, you waited another ten minutes for the painkillers to kick in and subside your headache and then you just lay there. last night definitely wasn’t your worst but it was far from your best. between unopened messages from todo and a large question mark over your friendship with geto, you just wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

‘i would let you kiss me.’

geto suguru would let you kiss him. was that a confession in itself? you groaned, you wished the world was black and white and that was exactly what was meant and you knew that and didn’t have a voice in the back of your head conjuring up twenty other possible meanings.

you’d skipped your usual debrief with the others, sending shoko a message that you were headed straight to the library. she knew your project was important but she also knew that you’d had closer deadlines and still attended both the saturday night party and following debrief. still, she didn’t push you to come and just told you that you’d talk in the evening when you were both home before offering to grab you something sweet from the shops.

you weren’t lying about going to the library – you just left out the whole geto moment. 

after showering and eating some food, you didn’t get to the library till gone noon. nanami was already down there and you apologised for being late. why you arranged to work with him the day after going out, you weren’t entirely sure, but past you clearly expected you to make a miraculous recovery.

several bottles of water and paracetamol kept you functioning enough that you were able to make good progress on your work with nanami proof checking every now and then. gojo’s voice was in the back of your head – you could be spending your time with geto doing this instead of nanami.

that was no hate to nanami, you thought he was super sweet and helpful, but he wasn’t geto. 

you weren’t sure what had been discussed at the debrief but you had received several more cryptic messages from shoko that had made you put your phone on do not disturb. you were already reliving last night’s car ride home over and over in your head, you didn’t need to know everyone else was too.

with the evening creeping closer and the snacks that nanami had brought dwindled, the blond stood up from his seat beside you and nodded downstairs. “i’m heading down to the vending machine, do you want me to grab you something?”

you shook your head, leaning back in your seat and rubbing your eyes. “i’ll just have whatever you get.”

you wanted desperately to go home and back to your bed to sleep for the next twelve hours (had to be up in time for your 8am close, though) but you were dreading talking to shoko about geto. the conversation would go one of two ways; either she already knew and would inevitably tease you or would have to explain it to her, get her live reaction and then be teased. neither seemed fun. 

the sound of footsteps had you turning your head in the direction of possible food. the library was too quiet for your stomach to rumble.

your smile dropped when you saw who was standing next to you.

“hey suguru,” you swallowed, sitting up straight in your chair and pushing your hair back behind your ears. being nonchalant didn’t matter now and no amount of pretending you didn’t try to kiss him last night would actually make it not happen. 

“hey,” he waved before stuffing both his hands in his pockets. he must have just come from the gym – his hair was still wet and he was in his usual post-gym hoodie and shorts. it was odd, to see geto not sure of what to say or odd, appearing almost out of place. a pang of guilt washes over you – you created this situation.

scratching the back of your neck, you pointed at nanami’s seat next to you on your right, “you looking for help from nanami too?”

you were joking, obviously, geto wouldn’t need his help, and you hoped your weak attempt at humour would at least ease some of the tension. he cracked a smile as he raised a brow at you, “why? you think i need it?”

“all i’m saying is don’t come crying to me when i come out on top,” you raised your hands in defence, smiling with him. geto rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. he pulled out the seat to your left, dropping down next to you. 

that silence settled between the two of you again. geto was hard to read as he looked down at you, his dark eyes searching for something in yours. you swallowed again as you felt your throat dry up.

“are you avoiding me?”

your eyes widened at the forwardness although you tried to play off your shock (extremely unsuccessfully). “why would i possibly do that?” 

geto shrugged, that familiar smirk appearing on his lips, “i told you that i’d let you kiss me and you don’t even want to at least ask me what that means?”

“do i want to know what it means?” you countered quietly. you were glad the library was pretty much empty and you just hoped that nanami stayed downstairs as long as possible. it felt odd to be so publicly vulnerable.

“god," geto looked thoroughly amused as he tilted his head back towards the ceiling and then looked back at you. "you’re dense sometimes.”

you frowned, turning back to your laptop screen with your project. you weren’t here to be mocked. “if you’re here to make fun of me, i’m sorry, let’s just forget this all ever happ–”

geto spun you around, hands on both arms of your chair and suddenly you were back in his car with his hands on your shoulders and your lips brushing against his, “come with me.”

“right now? to where?” nanami was about to return any second, you couldn’t just up and leave him.

“i’ll take you to the sushi place you love,” geto offered, leaning over to close the screen of your laptop. like taking away your access to your project would lead you to the conclusion that going with him was the only possible outcome (as if though there was any outcome in any scenario where you didn’t pick him).

you hesitated at the idea. if he was asking you to go out after saying that you could kiss him it was definitely not a stretch to assume that your feelings were reciprocated.  “like… a date?”

“well princess that’s what girlfriends and boyfriends do is it not?” he posed the question in such a casual and natural manner that you had to bite down on your lower lip to try and control your grin. 

“yeah,” you nodded, interlacing one of your hands with his, “yeah, it is.”

you made a mental note to bring an extra coffee for nanami next lecture as an apology for disappearing.

bonus, several weeks later.

you had come out on top when it came to your project, being only several marks ahead of geto. he hadn’t been all that bothered, saying that he’d let you have the win since you’d had to resort to nanami for help (and he was head over heels for you and would probably flunk every future project and exam if it meant you’d be happy).

you found out that in the debrief that you missed, gojo and shoko practically demanded that geto ask you on a date because they couldn’t allow the two of you to keep going round in circles with each other any longer. needless to say your second debrief with shoko once you came home after your sushi date was a long one that covered both of your current love interests.

for the last few weeks, it had been about adjusting to the new dynamics that a relationship had brought to your group. it was little things like geto picking you up every morning before class and gojo having to decide who to third wheel when it came to parties.

one thing that had not changed was the existence of the list between you and geto.

the german test you had taken the day prior was the first test you’d both completed since your project. this was the deciding test as to who would be on top again.

“wake up, wake up,” you nudged geto’s arm repeatedly, the male in question groaning as he tried to hit you away with a pillow. if someone told you a month ago you’d be waking up in his shirt, in his bed, with him, you would have laughed. 

when your insistent poking didn’t work, you climbed ungracefully across him, your knees resting on either side of his slim waist. that caught his attention and he opened one eye to peer up at what you were doing,

“look,” you practically shoved your phone in his face, the screen too bright for his eyes to adjust to.

“okay?” geto squinted, trying to read the black text unsuccessfully.

you sighed when he didn’t get it fast enough, “it’s our test scores. i have seven more percent than you therefore i am winning.”

“hold on,” he grabbed your wrist as you tried to move your phone away from his face and pointed at the email your lecturer had sent out. “you’re still only second place in the class.”

“yeah wait,” you slipped your wrist from his grip, rereading the email twice as your face dropped in disbelief. 

“what?”

poor geto was wincing again as you spun the screen back to him again, “what the fuck?”

with an almost perfect score, for a class he spent more time playing dress to impress in, was the gojo satoru.

[ktsumu]

FIFTH TIME’S A CHARM

cw: suggestive content, nudity happy valentine's day ᡣ𐭩

This year, for the first time ever, Tooru doesn’t buy flowers for his valentine. You are the only witness to the crime.

His first girlfriend, back in junior high, got roses. She got him roses, too, with a chocolate bar he ended up giving to his sweet tooth sister. They were real, shockingly, smelt good too.

They were discounted, and it’s a basic gift, but he was twelve and had only been seeing her for three weeks.

(And they broke up two weeks later, so he has no regrets about the roses that cost his mom less than fifteen bucks.)

The second girlfriend was a little more serious.

Tooru thinks he might’ve been fourteen for that one. He liked her—she was kind, pretty, had a nice laugh. He remembers holding hands in the hallway at school and their first kiss (well, peck) was surrounded by a bunch of classmates, screaming like it mattered more to them than it did to him.

He forgets how long they lasted, but he’s sure they started dating in November and made it to Valentine’s Day. He bought her tulips, her favourite, and a stuffed bear, because it was right beside it in the store. With his own money, too. 

His second girlfriend—he really, really feels bad about not knowing her name anymore—got him chocolate. He gave it to his sister again, but he kept the card she wrote him, saying she loved him three months in like either of them knew what that meant.

And to be fair, he said he loved her, too. Just not to her face. Many, many times to Hajime, though.

Tooru and Girlfriend #2 broke up in May. He wasn’t even planning on it, either. She just moved to a different country and he wasn’t looking for a penpal, and she said she didn’t wanna cheat on him.

The third girlfriend is where his small list gets serious.

He gave romance a break after the one that got away. He just flirted with people up until his first year of high school, the big leagues, which is when he actually got too much attention.

It’s a huge deal when you’re sixteen and your girlfriend is seventeen. He was crowned royalty of his class, the chosen one. The only one that could possibly score an older girl and act like it’s no big deal, and then proceed to blow her off to watch a game taping or something. On top of the world, and yet so below the standard.

She was pretty good to him. Makki always said he was a moron and she was gonna dump his ass, and Tooru probably knew that, too. Hajime said he was wasting his time, and every time he’d deny it, he’d think about how right he was.

He and the third girlfriend—Hana, he remembers—had one Valentine’s Day together, but it was so close to two that he almost wants to count it as such for the hell of it.

He got her wildflowers because she always said she hated roses and tulips. Basic flowers mean they don’t care, or something like that. He didn’t understand it fully, but he was happy when she leapt into his arms, that was for sure. It felt pretty good when she kissed him stupid and said he was the best, but that high didn’t survive the Spring Tournament the next year. 

That’s how close he was to two Valentine’s Days—January. Fucking brutal.

She dumped him and he swore off girlfriends in senior year; probably even blamed it on something stupid like ‘bad omens.’ He graduated with D1 offers, though, so he counts it as a win.

That tallies up to three successful Valentine’s Days, so far right? Yeah, right—all with flowers. 

The fourth bouquet wasn’t a bouquet at all, it was actually orchids in a pot, left on the kitchen table of the apartment he lived in when he moved. He was twenty, her name was Riko, his first almost everything. First I love you, first time—name it, basically.

He did make it to two Valentine’s Days with Riko, which is something so impressive for him that confetti emojis were everywhere in the groupchat he kept with his friends from high school. Hearts, confetti, eggplants, whatever else.

The first one was admittedly better than the second, though. The second one, he got a really serious offer overseas, and he didn’t even ask about it. He just told her that he loved her, and that he’d be in Argentina by August.

(Safe to say that he was the only one packing for that.)

That was the last time he bought flowers on Valentine’s Day, because it was the last time he consciously celebrated with someone. He sent his friends funny clips or pictures just to tease, taunted them whenever they could keep a girlfriend to celebrate with, but he gave up himself.

(It’s just so much easier to relax—he’d have no problem getting a girlfriend if he wanted one. His issue is keeping them.)

He’s twenty-seven and solo.

Mostly solo, he should say. You come around a lot, stay the nights with him. You typically collect your clothes and leave the next morning with a wave and maybe a ‘text me if you wanna do this again Friday,’ but he hates how he’s lying when he grins and says he just might.

Tooru is so used to being the one to leave, or to sabotage himself until someone else does, that he’s forgotten that it actually sucks when you don’t wanna be left alone.

The whole point of you and him is to keep it casual, but Tooru can barely keep it cool.

He likes to consider himself experienced. It’s why he gets so fucked up when he kisses you for longer than he realizes, or how he finds himself holding back words he thinks might be too much for casual sex. 

You two are functional together, at least. He just puts the system at risk a lot.

When he wakes up today, February fourteenth, he doesn’t even know what day it is. He’s naked, in his own bed at the very least, and he can see his jeans on the floor through the light of the bathroom dripping through the door left open. Dawn peeks through the curtains.

The room is quiet, the window’s open so the birds can talk to him, and to his left, you’re still here. 

“Hey,” he says, yawning.

“Good morning,” you say back, a small smile on your face as you stretch. He can’t help but smile back, with his grin and smile lines, eyes drifting to the hem of the sheets that try and cover you up. Okay, naked too. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Woah.

“It’s Valentine’s Day?” he replies in a hurry, leaning up on his elbow as he grabs his phone. Yes, very much so.

You raise your brows. “What? Got a wife you forgot about?”

“Very funny.”

“I know, I’ve been waiting,” you say. It’s your turn to yawn now, moving to lay your head on his chest, hand pushing him back down into the bed. “What’s the panic, then?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. Just … forgot. It's weird.”

“Hm. So where are my roses, huh?”

Tooru scoffs, glancing down at you as he rests a hand on your waist. “They’re being delivered, obviously.”

“I figured.” You cock your head. “What’s up with Valentine’s Day, huh?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never not gotten flowers for someone when I’ve had them.”

“Are you talking about me?”

“What, I can’t get friendly flowers?” he asks, raised brows and attitude waking up with him. “You’re naked in my bed, that must constitute something.”

The way you pout your lip in thought makes him wanna reach out for your hand. Is it weird to do that? Can I do that? 

(You do it first, but he holds you tighter.)

“No, this is fine.”

“Fine?”

“Better,” you quickly correct. “I’d rather just stay in bed and say it once. I prefer acts of service, anyway.”

Looking at you, laying on his bare chest, the sun creeping in over yours, he doesn’t care all that much about how he’s breaking tradition anymore. Maybe it’s not even tradition, maybe it’s just a cycle he’s breaking; a vicious one, at that.

You’re an unconventional valentine in the sense that you’re not even his, but maybe when the day’s passed and he doesn’t feel it looming over him, he might bring it up again.

“Acts of service, you say?”

You snicker, being pushed onto your back as he looms over you. He’s looking at you like Cupid hit him; bullseye.

“You wouldn’t happen to know of those, would you?”

“Just tell me what you want, already. Let me make up for the flowers.”

You take him by the back of the neck, pulling him down to kiss you like he means it. Tooru speaks in tongues the two of you best understand.

For the first time in four official Valentine’s Days, Tooru doesn’t buy his valentine flowers. But, for the first time in four official Valentine’s Days, it feels so right that it doesn’t even matter he’s doing it ‘wrong.’

(Next time, when you’re hopefully here again, he doesn’t think he’ll get flowers, either. This'll do.)

[ladyloveandjustice]

My Favorite New Manga and Graphic Novels I Read in 2024

I read 114 manga volumes and graphic novels last year! Here’s a link to my Goodreads year in books, which tallies one book from each manga series ( I've arranged it so the manga/gns at the beginning, the novels start with Red, White & Royal Blue) and my storygraph wrap up.  

I have a post for my favorite books of 2024 you can read here! I also have a post on my top 12 anime for 2024 and you can read it here! (Also, since a lot of this is yuri, check out my broader yuri manga rec post here!)

Now let's get to all the new manga, with a little check in on ongoing titles at the bottom!

Love Bullet by inee

When someone who never had the chance to experience love meets an untimely death, they're given a chance to become a cupid. If they help enough people fall in love, they earn the chance to have another shot at life. Koharu meets her end after her best friend, Aki, confesses her love to her, and she becomes a cupid...

Love Bullet is a brand new yuri with fun characters and a cute art style that feels a little charmingly retro. The concept of modern day cupids using firearms and behaving like sharpshooters in an action movie is so fun, but there's also a beating heart behind it. The tragedy of Koharu's life being cut sort and the bittersweet arc where Koharu tries to help her living best friend deal with her lingering trauma over her sudden death...it's touching and well written. All the cupids already have a really great dynamic, and as befitting a yuri, the way the girls approach their jobs is casually queer, with the "targets" often shown to have both guy and girl options.

It's a story with great potential that seems like it could go a ton of interesting places. It's a little different than the rest of this list that it's not officially out in English yet. The reason it's here is because the author sent out an SOS that the first Japanese volume is struggling in sales, and the international yuri community, excited about the awesome story they've seen so far, rose to the challenge and bought out the first volume in Japanese! So far it's been successful! If you end up reading it (you'll have to rely on scanlation but they're easy to find) or even if you just simply want to support a cool story. I really encourage you to do the same. Here's a document on how to buy the Japanese version. Hopefully, the grassroots support will mean we get an official English release soon!

The Summer You Were There by Yuama

All you lovers of tragic lesbians, this is for you. The manga follows Shizuku, a deeply depressed girl who is so guilty about something in her past she's got some serious suicidal ideation going. But when Kaori, a girl in her class, reads her writing and guesses what's behind it, she challenges Shizuku to a bet where she has to write a novel about a romance between the two of them. Now they're suddenly spending a lot of time together, and Kaori is helping Shizuku unpack her guilt. However, Kaori is struggling too. She's actually very sick, and though she hides it, it's getting worse.

The manga is a heart wrenching meditation on grief and redemption. For very different reasons, both girls think they don't deserve love and both girls are shown they're very, very wrong by the other.

I like how Kaori tries to be the manic pixie dream girl who fixes all of Shizuku's problems, but then Shizuku very firmly says "what the hell. no. You need support too" and they're both allowed to be full characters who find solace in each other. Shizuku's backstory is also really interesting, and it hits hard. It's just a very touching, but very sad read.

Barefoot Gen by Keiji Nakazawa

Barefoot Gen is a semi-autobiographical manga by Hiroshima survivor Nakazawa Keiji. Nakazawa said the story is taken not just from his life, but those of fellow survivors he talked to and lived with.

The story follows a boy named Gen, depicting how most of his family were killed by the atomic bomb, and how he struggled to survive in a post-war Japan, while surrounded by the horrible effects of radiation poisoning, economic devastation, and American imperialism.

It sticks out from other animanga I've seen about WWII bombings in that it's very critical and angry at the Japanese government, to the point that Gen even calls the Emperor a war criminal. What stands out even more is how direct it is in denouncing of Japan's war crimes against Korea and China, as well as condemning Japanese racism against Koreans. It makes sure you know that Korean POWs and forced laborers also died and suffered because of the bomb, and that the Japanese doctors discriminated against them, forcing Koreans to wait on receiving medical treatment until every Japanese person was treated.

It does a stomach churning, effective job depicting the horror of radiation poisoning and war, and its message is extremely firm: Its the common people who suffer in the wars while those in power exploit them, that war and violence are an endless vicious cycle we must break free from, and nuclear bombing must never happen again.

Though it puts a lot of blame on the Japanese government for entering the war and on citizens for supporting it, the story is also critical of America's cruelty and imperialism, depicting lot of things America did to Japanese citizens post-war we don't get taught-- like soldiers sexually assaulting Japanese women, like getting Japanese labor activists and protestors removed from their jobs, like literally torturing Japanese leftists, like luring Japanese citizens to treatment centers with promises of medical aid for radiation sickness, only to collect the data and send them off with no help...

Though the manga is brutal, there are moments of comradery and kindness (and a lot of silly humor). Gen helps a lot of people along the way, and his resilience and his message not to give up is the heart of the manga. It's educational and very direct about subjects that both sides don't want to acknowledge-- both Japanese nationalists and American nationalists do not like it (you can learn more about that here). Despite extremely gruesome content, it's aimed at kids, so it's very blunt and direct in its messages and dialogue. But that can be kind of refreshing.

 It can get a little repetitive on occasion and storylines and characters tend to be introduced very abruptly, but it does keep you rooting for and feeling for the characters all the way through. I think it's an essential, highly informative and unforgettable read, and everyone should read at least a little bit. Or at the very least, read this interview with Nakazawa. If you can't handle the gruesome imagery of the comic, he describes his experience pretty in depth here, and there's a lot of other insight.

This Monster wants to Eat Me by Sai Naekawa

Hinako is a depressed girl who survived a terrible trauma and has been searching for death ever since. One day she gets approached by, Shiori, a mermaid who wants to eat her…but the thing is, this monster mermaid is a gourmet who wants her to be as delicious as possible, which means she’s going to make Hinako happy first before she eats her (as apparently that enhances her flavor). In the meantime Shiori has to fight off all the other monsters who want to snack on Hinako.

This is TOP TIER yuri horror and a must read for any lover of monster girls. It was custom made for a freak like me, who thinks a monster girl covered in the blood of her enemies seductively telling the protagonist she wants to devour her is the stuff that dreams are made of.

Shiori, the woman-eating mermaid in question, is a fascinating character right off the bat, always having a hint of menace and inhuman mystery, but showing some potential for genuinely caring for Hinako someday. There's an ongoing mystery of why monsters are so attracted to Hinako that's a good hook, as is the irony of Hinako starting to come alive thanks to a girl who wants to kill her. It's good stuff! And it'll get an anime soon, which I'm praying is worthy of such a cool story.

The Guy She Was Interested Wasn’t a Guy at All by Sumiko Arai

The green yuri! This web manga finally gotten a physical release this year! It tells the story of Mitsuki, a girl who works at a record shop. Her classmate Aya wanders in. Aya doesn't recognize Mitsuki with a face mask and hair hidden by a cap and immediately assumes Mitsuki's a guy. They bond over their mutual love of rock music and slowly start to get closer…and Aya finds her heart is fluttering not only over this mysterious boy, but her female classmate that seems a lot like him...

Despite it's clunky title, this manga makes a premise that could have been painfully cliche and, in the worst case, extremely uncomfortable and makes it work. It never swings into homophobic or transphobic territory imo. It helps that Aya is clearly catching feelings for "girl" Mitsuki along with "guy" Mitsuki from the beginning, subconsciously knowing they're the same person.

The focus of the story is the way their relationship develops through a shared love of Western rock music and it really captures the joy of finding someone who can share your interests and the affection that can spring up for that. The characters are very likeable and cute, the art is absolutely gorgeous, and the story as a whole has this laid back, naturalistic feeling while still developing at a good pace. I just really enjoy kicking back with my green yuri, and it's good reputation is well earned!

Maus by Art Spiegelman

This comic about Spiegelman interviewing his father, a Holocaust survivor, and learning his story (with Nazis being represented as cats and Jewish people as mice) is, of course, incredibly well known to the point it feels almost redundant to talk about it. But I did read it cover to cover for the first time last year, and unsurprisingly it's a great piece of art and an important story for anyone to look into.

The parts recounting the Holocaust were heartbreaking and horrifying as expected, and I'd expected that. But the things I hadn't heard as much about was how much the book explored Spiegelman's complicated relationship with his father, and his anxieties as an artist and whether he was the right one to tell this story. It was fascinating to see him struggle with those things, and it added a lot of layers.

The Moon on a Rainy Night by Kuzushiro

One rainy night, Saki runs into Kanon and is immediately infatuated with the other girl. When she sees Kanon at school, she discovers Kanon is hard of hearing. Kanon is understandably frustrated at the ableism she tends to endure. But as Saki reaches out and gets to know her, Kanon starts to open up. And Saki, having gone through struggles related to her sexuality in the past, starts getting anxious about her feelings for Kanon...

The Moon on a Rainy Night is just... REALLY good. Kanon is just a great character, and as a lover of stubborn, prickly girls I just find her so charming. She has a lot going on with her, like her interest in music and relationship with her family and various quirks.

One thing I really like is how narrative allows her to be frustrated about the stuff she goes through, allows her to have complex feelings about being disabled, and pays attention the little details. She has to clear up misconceptions she can't hear anything, she points out that only 20 percent of deaf people use sign language (but starts using it when she really relates to a movie and the way the cute actor uses it, which is such a teenager thing to do), the lip reading isn't treated as some magic thing, Kanon has to remind people to look at her or she can't hear them, and she misreads things a fair amount.

I'm not hard of hearing, so I'm far from the authority, but most examples of deaf and/or hard-of-hearing female characters I can think of in anime (okay so there's only two I can think of, can't say that qualifies as a pattern) are depicted as shy, super sweet and socially naive, so it's refreshing to have a character who brings some variety.

Saki is also super compelling as she wrestles with her insecurities.I really related when she was learning sign language and got bummed out by the heteronormativity of one sign (using "man" and "woman" for marriage). I also like that Saki finds an adult lesbian who gently supports her and mentors her, it's all very sweet. It's just a fantastic romance and character study, and I hope the upcoming anime does it justice.

Wash Day Diaries by Jamila Rowser and Robyn Smith

Wash Day Diaries follows four best friends and their daily lives through interconnected short stories. As the official summary states: "The book takes its title from the wash day experience shared by Black women everywhere of setting aside all plans and responsibilities for a full day of washing, conditioning, and nourishing their hair".

The comic makes a great use of color to reflect the characters' moods, and the girls are drawn vibrantly and distinctively. The peek into the characters' daily lives feels like getting to know some good friends, and there's a great attention to detail, especially with the comic's beautiful step-by-step depiction of how each woman does her hair and what it says about her.

 The comic touches on topics like depression, dementia, and homophobia. Just like real life, these things aren't neatly resolved, but the story does offer some hope and catharsis. It's a pretty quick read, but it's packed with good stuff.

Magilumiere Magical Girls Inc. by Yu Aoki

I'm going to give myself a little break and just reuse my entry for the anime. (The only difference between them is that the manga flows a bit better than the anime, moving at a faster pace with huge panels suiting the art style and the action!)

Being a magical girl is no longer the domain of teenagers, and has evolved into an actual career dominated by adult women. Kana becomes a magical girl for a scrappy start up company, and tries her best to navigate working life.

It’s the magical girl story about adult women I’ve been craving for years! Magical girl media often explores the struggles of adolescence and growing up, and this show takes us to the next step by using magical girls to explore what it’s like to be a young woman entering the working world. The focus is one Kana struggling to grow her confidence and accept support from her workplace, but it also has a lot to say about companies exploiting their workers, prizing efficiency and growth over actually taking care of their customers, and it shows how the world could be better than what it is right now. Check out my review here for more detail!

I Married My Female Friend by Shio Usui

A pair of best friends enter a platonic marriage they both agreed to with the promise they’ll divorce if one of them falls in love. But one woman has decidedly not platonic feelings for her wife, and is trying to repress them...

This is a sweet, laid-back story from the creator of Doughnuts Under the Crescent Moon. It has a very slice-of-life feel, with the characters feelings and conflicts developing subtlety. There's a focus on domestic life and the compromises and struggles one makes along the way. It's set in a world where gay marriage is legal in Japan, which is cool to see. If you liked Doughnuts, or are just looking for a chill yuri, I'd check this out!

Himawari House by Harmony Becker

 Himawari House follows the story of Nao, a half-Japanese woman who immigrated to America when she was young. She's now returning to Japan and feels a feels a deep sadness from how disconnected she's gotten from Japan's language and culture. While in Japan, she lives with two other girls, Hyejung and Tina, who are from South Korea and Singapore respectively. They form a friendship as all of them struggle to get used to Japan and deal with language barriers.

We get the interconnected stories of all three girls, and all of them are really interesting in their own way. This story does a lot of cool things with language, for example, showing words fading out when someone can't understand them, giving the reader the same experience the character is having trying to understand the language. It was a fascinating experience. The book does an effective job exploring Nao's feelings of alienation from both America and Japan, while having a lot of other interesting plotlines that made all the characters feel rounded and developed, such as struggles with independence and expectations from parents, trying to navigate romances, and dealing with homesickness. The art is beautiful as well. This is a well crafted and insightful story, that you might find especially great if you're interested in languages, cultures, stories about identity, and stories about Japan.

Kiss and White Lily for My Dearest Girl by Canno

Kiss and White Lily follows multiple lesbian relationships, with its main storyline being about two academic rivals, where one is determined to rank first in class, and the other is an effortless genius who becomes intrigued at the possibility of someone beating her.

The main couple have the kind of messy combative sexual tension I wish we’d see more often in yuri because it’s so good. I just love the drama and mixture of rage and attraction. The manga follows other couples too and while some stories are stronger than others, they're all usually entertaining in some way and its fun to watch the characters grow. The art's also very cute and the characters are vibrant. The ending is really strong too, putting a perfect cap on the story of the main couple especially.

However, big warning for some nonconsensual kisses in early volumes, with Kurosawa being especially pushy. There's also a storyline with...well it does leave you a little wiggle room on whether it's actually incest between a minor and an adult portrayed romantically??? but um. the implication is strong. Fortunately, that's mainly contained to the seventh volume--you can just skip any stories about the sisters.

When the manga is good, it's really good, and that makes up for some of the questionable elements for me, even if I wish they weren't there. You might agree or disagree!

Ongoing and ended titles:

Here's a look at some of the ongoing titles I've been following! You can look at this post for breakdowns of what they're all about and why I recommend them.

I Think My Son is Gay and I Want to Be a Wall both wrapped up with fairly open endings but remained good reads over all. I finally got around to finishing After Hours, a yuri about a girl who gets ditched by her friend at the club, only to meet a cool punk girl who introduces her to the world of DJ-ing. It's a very charming three volume tale, and I love the playful vibe and more natural-sounding dialogue, especially for the cool party-girl love interest.

There are several manga that just stay the course as far as being excellent go: Otherside Picnic (which is finally at some of the best parts of the light novels! It's getting real!), Monthly Girls Nozaki-kun, Witch Hat Atelier, A Man and his Cat, How Do We Relationship, March Come in Like a Lion, The Summer Hikaru Died and She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat.

For Yuri is my Job, I have to warn for a intense predatory sexual assault scene between an adult antagonist and one of the underage main characters. It's even ambiguous whether the underage character in question got raped for a few pages (but she wasn't). It's completely framed as a an evil, bad act by the antagonist, but how it was handled was SO intense and kind of weird I'm not sure how I feel about it. Yona of the Dawn has gotten incredibly intense lately and continues extremely slowly but surely approaching the finale. Maybe we'll get it in four years or something.

And that it! I'm going to happily keep reading all these manga, as well as continue checking out some new ones, like Akane-banashi! I hope you enjoyed these recs.

[biblio-smia]

Hear me out…

Clapton Davis with a popular!s/o

i'm hearing you out and i'm seated while doing so.

part two | part three

there is, without a doubt, a social pyramid at grizzly lake.

it's not extreme in the sense that people in different social circles don't interact at all (they do), but you won't find someone like ione foster having lunch with riley jones (although they used to be best friends...).

most students will have a group of friends they've had for years, unwilling to give up the integrity of that group for anyone reason - shutting anyone else out. you can talk to someone outside of your group, but know your place - you're not getting invited to that party on saturday.

as for you? you float somewhere near the top, not quite sure how it happened. you had so many friends you were constantly walking around in a pack of people - people just liked you, gravitating towards you and finding their eyes linger as you walked down the hall.

at grizzly lake, you were untouchable.

it didn't surprise clapton davis to see you in physics on the first day of the school year (he'd had a few classes with you throughout high school). but it did surprise him when your new teacher for the year, mr. kendall, sits you down at a lab table in the back of the room, away from all your friends. you give them a sad smile but take your seat, setting your things down and propping your head up on your hand.

you barely react when mr. kendall points his pencil to the space right next to yours and calls out, "clapton davis."

maybe it's because you know the entire room is watching you that you keep staring straight ahead, looking rather bored, expression unwavering as clapton slides into the chair next to yours.

he does look at you, eyebrows raised and lips upturned in a small smile, but clapton doesn't say anything. he slouches in his seat and eventually joins you in looking straight ahead at the board, wondering if you'd respond or ignore him if he tried to talk to you.

it's not like clapton hasn't thought about it before - he's considering finally working up the courage to go up and start a genuine conversation (or at least ask you for your number or something) at least once a week for the past year (though you've been on his radar for much longer). since freshman year, clapton has made exactly two comments that were directed to you, seven jokes while in your vicinity (four of which you laughed at), and probably over a hundred remarks in classes you shared (which still counted!).

sander thought the tally was against him. sander was also beginning to think clapton was seriously going to try and talk to you. no matter how much sander warned him, clapton insisted you were nicer to outsiders than they perceived.

now was clapton's chance to prove himself right - except the bell has rung and you're slinging your bag over your shoulder, picking up your notebook and meeting up with your friends. clapton can hear your laughter as you exit the classroom, eyes falling to the space you'd just occupied and realizing you'd left your pen.

there really isn't anything special about it (other than that it'd been in your hand), but clapton picks it up anyway, staring at the most common type of pen in the country for a few moments before finally, carefully, placing it in the front zipper of his backpack.

clapton was sure the absence of that pen made absolutely no difference to you; there were probably five pens exactly like that one in your pencil pouch. and yet, clapton made a little bit of a show of returning your pen the very next day. after all, it was the thought that counted, right?

"hey," clapton begins as soon as mr. kendall takes a tired seat at his desk, letting the class attend to each other. he's digging in his backpack and you're looking at him with a confused tilt of your head. clapton comes back with a grin and a pen in his hand. "you forgot this after class yesterday."

"huh?" your lips part and your eyes blink once, twice, three times before you finally realize what clapton is saying. "oh!" you say finally, still not quite recalling ever abandoning a pen. "thanks," you say sincerely, taking the pen from clapton and using it to write your name at the top of the worksheet that had been handed out. at least you won't have to dig another pen out now.

"sure," clapton says easily, though your focus is now on the equations in front of you rather than the boy next to you.

and for the first time in history, clapton is suddenly compelled to do his work. his eyes glance between you and the way your eyebrows furrow in confusion, your paper, and the textbook the two of you have to share. he flips through, eyes falling on an equation that looks pretty similar to #2. he punches a few numbers into his calculator confidently, sliding it over to you. your focus on your paper breaks, eyebrows slightly raised in confusion again (it's a cute look on you). you look at the calculator to clapton, who has one of his famously lazy smiles on, and back to the calculator. your face relaxes into a small smile.

"thanks," you say softly, ready to write down the answer clapton has presented you before you realize it's clapton davis.

"wait," you shake your head, laughing lightly. "there's no way that's right."

"what?" clapton scoffs lightly, arms on the table and sliding towards you to take a good look at his calculation. "that's totally right."

"clapton, you shouldn't even be getting a decimal," you laugh a little harder now, taking the calculator - his calculator - and clearing his answer. you stare at your paper for a few seconds, biting your lip lightly as clapton simply watches, completely focused on the way your bottom lip springs out from the hold of your teeth. he barely realizes you're stuck until his curious eyes wander down to your fingers and see them hovering over the small buttons of his calculator.

"plus 27," clapton offers, reaching over to hit the respective buttons, fingers lightly grazing yours for just a moment. completely bullshitting.

"how'd you get that?" you ask curiously and too sincerely, forgetting who it was you were talking to. but then clapton grins and shrugs and you roll your eyes, hitting that clear button again - but there's a smile on your face.

"are you trying to sabotage me, clapton?" and clapton remembers exactly how you had completely captivated him earlier - of course you knew his name, but he'd never heard you say it before today.

he wanted to hear it more.

clapton shrugs, leaning back in his seat. "retaking physics wouldn't be so bad if you were my partner again." smooth.

"okay, the school year barely started," you laugh. god, why can't you stop smiling?

clapton leans forward again, crossing his arms on the table and setting his head down on top of them. he doesn't move as you reach into his space to flip the page of the textbook, your arm right up against his, but you don't move either. your arm stays there as you read and try to comprehend whatever it is you're supposed to be learning. clapton doesn't even try to pretend to read, his eyebrows raising as he looks up at you.

you feel warm under clapton's constant gaze, suddenly, weirdly self-conscious. your face is warm and you try, uselessly, to use that pen to direct clapton's attention back to the problem at hand.

"clapton."

"hmm?" clapton hums as you look over, not bothering to look away. he smiles instead at how flustered you seem to be when you avert your eyes (as if you'd been the one who'd been caught staring).

"we have to finish this." you're glancing at the clock. there's a little bit of class left, but everyone else is much further along.

clapton tries not to falter when you say we, picking up his pencil and nodding in agreement. he feels your eyes on him as he scribbles out different numbers in each blank space all the way to #10.

"done," clapton smiles, completely satisfied. he slides on his oversized sunglasses, fingers swiping through the music library on his ipod. he's close enough for you to look over curiously, unable to hold in a laugh as you get a peek of clapton's music choice.

"sting?" you're leaning in closer now, the soft scent of your shampoo reaching clapton's nose.

"uh, yeah. they're like the bruno mars of 1992!"

you laugh again, shaking your head.

"what?" clapton scoffs lightly, smile on his face.

"nothing! nothing, that's just... not the type of music i thought you'd listen to."

clapton chuckles, eyebrows raised, body and attention turned completely towards you. he's holding out one of his wired earbuds for you and you decide that physics worksheet can wait.

it takes a lot of explaining afterwards to try and assure your friends that clapton davis walking you to class (and, in turn, being late to his own), earbuds dangling from both your ears while clapton excitedly explained the cultural significance of sting's fields of gold, did not mean anything. they don't believe you, teasing smiles and curious glances making that obvious.

though, you're not sure you believe yourself, either.

hello i got carried away &lt;;3

please let me know if you'd like me to write more clapton x popular s/o + any specific scenarios!! i love love love pathetic loser men &lt;;3

requests are open! | masterlist

[gumballavocadoharry]

Front door delivery:

The days that followed were a blur of relentless pressure. Professor Weaver’s words echoed in Yn’s mind, a constant reminder of the chasm between the person she presented on the page and the person she was in reality. She revised her story, trying to inject the raw, messy truth Weaver demanded, but the words felt flat, controlled, scrubbed clean of genuine pain. The effort was exhausting, layered on top of the gnawing physical fatigue that came from subsisting on the bare minimum.

Harry, true to his protective nature, had started a quiet campaign of care. He didn’t pry directly, didn’t demand explanations. Instead, text messages would arrive, casual check-ins disguised as questions about her day or sharing some mundane detail about the restaurant. Then, small, carefully packaged containers of food began appearing. Sometimes he’d drop them off at her apartment door with a quick text saying, "Just a little something I whipped up. No pressure, but thought you might like it." Other times, he’d catch her near campus and press a warm pastry or a small pot of soup into her hands with that gentle, knowing smile that both comforting and terrifying.

She appreciated it, more than he could ever know. Each gesture was a tiny, fragile bridge across the gulf she felt. She’d open the containers, inhaling the rich, savory scents – a creamy tomato soup, a hearty lentil stew, a perfectly baked scone. For a fleeting second, the craving would surge, a primal need her body couldn’t entirely suppress. But then the familiar anxieties would clamp down, the voice of the illness whispering accusations, tallying the calories, dissecting the ingredients, turning an act of love into a potential threat. Most of it ended up discarded, a gut-wrenching waste that fueled her guilt, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat it. The small amounts she did manage to consume felt like victories, followed swiftly by the familiar need to compensate.

Her writing courses were intense, demanding not just intellectual rigor but emotional vulnerability she couldn't afford. In her Advanced Fiction seminar, surrounded by peers who debated symbolism and character arcs with passionate intensity, Yn felt increasingly detached. Her brain felt sluggish, wrapped in cotton. The words on the page swam, the professor's lecture a distant hum.

The room began to tilt. Not metaphorically, but literally. The fluorescent lights seemed to pulse, then dim. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. Her stomach churned with a sudden, violent emptiness. She gripped the edge of her desk, the wood rough under her clammy fingers. Voices seemed to recede. She tried to focus on the professor, willing the dizziness to pass, but it intensified, turning the room into a spinning vortex. The faces of her classmates blurred into indistinct shapes.

Panic flared, sharp and cold. She couldn't collapse here, not now, not in front of everyone. That would draw attention, questions, concern she couldn't handle. Taking a shallow, shaky breath, she focused all her energy on staying upright, on projecting an image of calm attention. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened them, the world slowly righting itself, leaving her trembling and nauseous. The professor’s voice filtered back in, discussing narrative structure. Yn nodded, feigning comprehension, her heart still pounding against her ribs, the near-miss leaving her shaken to the core. She needed to be more careful. She needed to maintain control.

Dragging herself out of class felt like an Olympic feat. The cool autumn air did little to revive her. She walked slowly, her legs feeling wobbly and insubstantial beneath her. Her apartment felt miles away, a distant sanctuary where she could finally collapse without scrutiny.

Just as she turned the corner onto her street, a familiar figure stepped into her path. Harry. He was leaning against a small, nondescript car she hadn't seen before, holding a container. His green eyes, usually so full of light, were clouded with a gentle concern that tightened something in her chest.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice warm and low. "Thought you might be coming this way. Just finished tweaking this new sauce for the putanesca, wanted a second opinion from my favorite discerning palate." He offered the container, a small fork resting on top.

Yn hesitated. The dizzy spell had left her weak and vulnerable, her defenses lower than usual. The smell wafted towards her – rich tomatoes, briny olives and capers, a hint of garlic. It smelled… real. Grounded. Not terrifying.

"Oh, uh, hey Harry," she managed, trying for a casual tone despite her shaking hands. "That's… that's really thoughtful."

"Just trying to get it perfect," he grinned, though his eyes still held that worried flicker. "Go on, tell me what you think."

She took the container, the warmth seeping into her chilled fingers. The sauce was thick with chunks of tomato, olives, and capers, tangled with perfectly cooked strands of spaghetti. She lifted a small spoonful, her hand trembling slightly. Bringing it to her mouth, she tasted it.

It was incredible. A burst of bright tomato, balanced by the salty olives and capers, with a subtle kick of chili and the depth of garlic. It was vibrant, complex, alive. It tasted of comfort and skill and warmth.

She swallowed. And for a moment, there was no guilt. Just the pure, simple pleasure of a genuinely delicious bite of food.

"Wow, Harry," she breathed, a genuine smile touching her lips. "That's… that's amazing. Seriously. It's perfect."

His face lit up, the worry lines easing. "Really? You think so? I wasn't sure about the balance of the olives..."

"No, it's spot on," she insisted, taking another small, hesitant bite. This one felt a little harder to swallow, the anxieties starting to creep back in, but the taste was still undeniable. "It's really, really good."

He seemed genuinely pleased by her reaction, the chef’s pride evident. "Well, that's high praise from you. Listen," he paused, looking from the container to her face, his expression softening further. "I know you're busy with classes and everything, but I made a big batch tonight. There's way too much for just me. Would you consider… having dinner over at my place? Just a relaxed evening. No pressure, just good food and maybe some terrible jokes."

The invitation hung in the air. Her mind raced. Dinner. At his place. A real meal. The illness screamed a resounding no. It conjured images of losing control, of calories consumed, of shame. But another part of her, the part that craved connection, warmth, and the simple pleasure she'd just experienced, felt a desperate pull. And after the dizzy spell, the terrifying reminder of how fragile her body was, the idea of being in Harry's safe, warm space felt powerfully appealing.

She looked at him, at the genuine kindness in his eyes, the hopeful tilt of his smile. He wasn't asking her to explain anything, just to share a meal, his way of looking after her without making it explicit. It was an olive branch, a bridge offered across the chasm.

Swallowing the lump of anxiety in her throat, she heard herself say, "Yes. Yes, I'd like that, Harry. Thank you."

Relief washed over his face, quickly replaced by that familiar, radiant warmth. "Great! How about… seven? My place isn't fancy, but it's comfortable. And I promise, the spaghetti is even better fresh."

Dinner at Harry's apartment was everything she hadn't realized she was starving for, emotionally if not physically. His place was cozy, filled with cookbooks and art that spoke of his passion and free spirit. The aroma of garlic and tomato filled the air, warm and inviting. He put on some quiet jazz, poured them both glasses of red wine, and the conversation flowed easily.

He talked about his day at the restaurant, funny anecdotes about customers, his plans for new dishes. He asked about her classes, her writing. He didn't probe about her personal life, didn't mention her paleness or the food she hadn’t eaten earlier. He simply created a space where she felt seen, heard, and accepted.

She ate. Not a lot by normal standards, but more than she had in days, maybe weeks. The spaghetti, perfectly al dente, coated in that magnificent sauce, was truly glorious. The wine, a smooth, berry-forward red, warmed her from the inside out, dulling the sharp edges of her anxiety just enough. She felt herself relaxing, laughing, connecting with him on a level that felt profoundly real and deeply comforting.

The evening deepened. The jazz played on. They talked about dreams, fears, silly things, serious things. Harry listened with that intense, gentle focus that made her feel like the only person in the world. His hand rested lightly on hers across the table, his touch sending a ripple of warmth through her. The atmosphere grew softer, more intimate.

The quiet hum of the city outside Harry's apartment window was a gentle backdrop to the jazz that still played softly. Yn’s head rested on his shoulder, the fabric of his worn t-shirt soft against her cheek. His arm around her felt solid, a comforting weight that grounded her in the present moment, away from the swirling anxieties that usually occupied her mind.

“So,” Harry murmured, his voice low and warm, a vibration she felt through his chest. “We talked about spaghetti and restaurant woes. What about the big stuff? Dreams? Fears?”

Yn’s breath hitched slightly. The big stuff. Her dreams felt fragile, her fears immense. She’d poured so much of herself into her writing, into the intense demands of her college courses, partly as a distraction, partly as a desperate attempt to prove her worth in a world that had often made her feel inadequate.

“Dreams,” she said slowly, drawing the word out. “Honestly? Sometimes my biggest dream is just to finish this novel. And maybe... maybe have someone actually read it. And like it.” She could feel the slight tension in her own body, the vulnerability of admitting such a core ambition.

Harry chuckled softly, the sound rumbling beneath her ear. “Just finish it? Just have someone read it? Yn, from what you told me about your courses, you’re tackling heavyweight stuff. Finishing your novel isn't 'just' anything. It's building a world, creating life on a page. It’s huge.” His arm tightened gently around her. “And someone will read it. And they will love it. I already know I will.”

His simple confidence in her was startling, a balm to the persistent self-doubt that often plagued her. She smiled into his shoulder. “Okay, maybe it’s a slightly bigger dream than ‘just’ finishing it. What about you? More restaurants? A Michelin star?”

“Oh, definitely more restaurants,” he said, his voice lighting up. “Maybe one day, a little place by the coast. Fresh seafood, local produce. Super casual, sun-drenched tables. And definitely not chasing stars. Just good food, happy people.” He paused. “But the real dream, I think, is simpler. It’s about connection. Food does that, you know? It brings people together. Feeding people, really feeding them, in body and spirit… that’s the dream.”

Feeding people. The words resonated differently for Yn. She thought about the plate of spaghetti she’d eaten, the quiet relief it had offered, the way Harry had simply placed it before her, no comment, no pressure, just pure, simple nourishment offered with warmth.

“Fears?” she prompted, a tremor in her voice she hoped he wouldn’t notice. It was easier to talk about his fears than her own.

He was silent for a moment, considering. “Hmm. Burning down the kitchen on a Friday night is a recurring low-level fear,” he joked, then grew serious. “Honestly? My biggest fear is probably… losing the joy in it. Letting the stress, the business side, squash the passion. Or… failing the people who work for me. Knowing they rely on me. That’s a heavy thought sometimes.”

His fears felt solid, external, rooted in responsibility and creation. Hers felt internal, insidious, tied to her own body and worth. She hesitated, the comfortable silence stretching slightly.

“What about you, Yn?” he asked gently, sensing her stillness. “Fears?”

She swallowed, the dryness in her throat making her voice scratchy. “Mine are… maybe less dramatic. More… personal.” She shifted slightly, pulling her knees up onto the sofa cushion, drawing herself in. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’m not strong enough. For… for life. For the things I want.”

He didn’t press, just waited. It was a different kind of waiting than she was used to. Not the impatient, expectant silence of someone waiting for an explanation or a confession, but the patient, open quiet of someone simply offering space.

“Fear of not being strong enough?” he murmured. “Yn, you are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”

His sincerity was disarming. She wanted to believe him, to trust the warmth glowing in his eyes.

He smiled, a soft, comforting smile that reached his eyes. “Hey,” he said, lightly bumping his forehead against hers. “Silly things now. What's the most ridiculous thing you've ever done?”

The abrupt shift caught her off guard, pulling her out of the heavy thoughts. She blinked, a watery chuckle escaping her lips. “Silly things?”

“Yep. Balance is important,” he said, winking. “Come on. Spill. Did you ever accidentally dye your hair green in high school? Or try to bake a cake without flour?”

She thought for a moment, the tension slowly easing from her shoulders. “Okay… well, in my first year of college, I signed up for a modern dance class thinking it would be an easy credit. I have absolutely zero rhythm. The final performance… I basically just flailed around in the wrong direction for five minutes. It was mortifying. And hilarious.”

Harry burst out laughing, a rich, joyful sound that filled the room better than the jazz. “Oh my god, I wish I could have seen that! Mine was trying to make a soufflé for a date when I was eighteen. Opened the oven, it promptly collapsed into a sad little puddle. We ended up eating cereal.”

The conversation shifted easily then, flowing between shared embarrassing moments, silly hypotheticals (what animal would you be? what superpower would you choose?), and lighter dreams. They talked about books they loved, places they wanted to visit, the simple pleasure of a perfect cup of coffee.

Even as they talked about silly things, the undercurrent of the earlier, more serious conversation remained, a quiet acknowledgement of the vulnerability they had shared. Harry’s hand never left her, his touch a constant, reassuring anchor.

After dinner, they moved to the sofa. He put his arm around her, pulling her gently into his side. She leaned her head on his shoulder, tired but content in a way she hadn't been in a long time. The illness was still a whisper at the back of her mind, but for now, the comfort of his presence, the lingering taste of the food, the warmth of the wine, was louder.

His fingers tangled in her dark brown hair, stroking softly. He kissed the top of her head, then tilted her chin up gently. His green eyes, warm and searching, met hers. "Yn," he murmured, "you're amazing."

And then he kissed her. It wasn't a passionate, demanding kiss, but soft, tender, full of the same care and warmth he poured into his food and his interactions. She kissed him back, letting herself feel the connection, the longing, the simple rightness of it in that moment.

Leading her hand-in-hand to his bedroom felt like the most natural thing in the world. His bedroom was simple, dominated by a large, comfortable bed. In the soft lamplight, surrounded by the lingering scent of their dinner and the comforting weight of his presence, the anxieties receded further. Harry was gentle, attentive, protective even in their intimacy.

He moved with a tenderness that made her feel cherished, desired without feeling judged. It was beautiful and comforting and deeply human. She allowed herself, for a few precious hours, to just be. To feel pleasure, connection, warmth, safety. She stayed that night, curled up in his arms, the soft murmur of his breathing a lullaby against the quiet roar of her internal battles.

Waking up was like a splash of cold water. The morning light filtering through the blinds illuminated the stark reality. She was in Harry's bed. She had eaten a real meal. She had drunk wine. She had been intimate. The initial flush of warmth and contentment from the night quickly evaporated, replaced by a tidal wave of shame, guilt, and fear. The illness roared back, louder than ever, a furious siren screaming about lost control, about weakness, about impending disaster.

She slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, needing to escape before the full weight of it crushed her, before Harry woke up and saw the panic she knew was etched on her face. She fumbled into her clothes, grabbed her bag, a desperate need to get away propelling her. She scribbled a hasty, flimsy note – Had to run, thank you for everything, call you soon – and placed it on his bedside table.

She practically ran the few blocks back to her apartment, the cool morning air doing nothing to calm the frantic beating of her heart or settle the roiling in her stomach. She burst through her front door, shedding her bag as she went, heading straight for the bathroom.

Leaning over the toilet, body shaking with a mixture of physical distress and emotional turmoil, she purged the warmth, the comfort, the connection, the food – everything she had allowed herself to feel and experience the night before.

Tears streamed down her face, silent and hot, as she emptied herself, trying desperately to regain the sense of control the night had stolen. The messiness Professor Weaver spoke of wasn't just in her writing; it was inside her, raw and terrifying, and for one beautiful, fleeting night, she had dared to let someone see a glimpse of it, only to retreat into the familiar, hollow despair of the aftermath.

[mariacallous]

In early April of this year, after more than a decade of litigation and a $90-million settlement, Mark Zuckerberg sent me forty bucks on Venmo.

To be clear, it wasn’t Zuck personally. That $40.67 was my cut of the payout from a class action lawsuit: the “Facebook Internet Tracking Litigation” case (not to be confused with the “Facebook, Inc. Consumer Privacy User Profile Litigation,” payment pending). Since January, I’ve secured other payouts of $21.65, $20.04 (twice), $14.81 and $12.60 as a result of class action settlements, and there are almost certainly more to come.

If you spend enough time on the internet, odds are that you too have stumbled into the class action expanded universe. You’re not alone: According to a recent defense attorney interest group report, there was $42 billion in class action settlements reached last year, “the third highest value we have tallied in the last two decades, trailing only the settlement numbers from 2023 ($51.4 billion) and 2022 ($66 billion).” Given the proliferation of corporate monopolies, legal cases brought against tech companies will naturally include more and more claimants and bigger and bigger settlements. Ads marketing these lawsuits are popping up on social media and, while most people ignore them, there are Facebook groups, lawyers, and hunters like myself, all dedicated to chasing down these payouts.

On top of that, a change in federal rules in 2018 laid the groundwork to make email the most common class-action notice delivery method—so it’s entirely possible that right now, hiding in a spam folder, there’s an unread message declaring that you’re already part of one. Open the email, enter your class member code, maybe provide some receipts (unless it’s a “no-proof” settlement), and pick your delivery method; they have Venmo, Zelle, prepaid cards, paper checks, direct deposit, etc. After a couple of years, boom! Instant money.

But while applying to get some of that money has never been more convenient, the vast majority of eligible claimants will never see a dime: A 2019 study by the Federal Trade Commission put the claims rate for class actions at an outrageously low 4 percent by weighted mean.

Take cases about data breaches or privacy violations. There were more than 250 million users in the class of those affected by the 2018 Cambridge Analytica scandal—essentially, everyone in the US with a Facebook account. Out of the eligible class size of 250 million, only 17 million valid claims were filed. There’s the spate of recent “social media addiction” cases looking for more class members by (ironically enough) advertising on Instagram, plus the semi-recent class action that chastised the once-mighty Juul for targeting teens, and the very, very recent Lopez v. Apple Inc. settlement, which could give folks $20 per Siri-enabled device if you sign up by July 2.

Many people ignore these messages—assuming they’re a scam, or thinking the payout isn’t worth the hassle. But other people, like April Phelps, are filing claims with gusto.

“I check daily,” says Phelps, a Memphis-based health care worker who estimates she’s received almost $8,000 since 2023 by keeping up with the various postcards, emails, and online advertisements that work to bring eligible claimants into a class action. “Out of a seven-day week, no more than about two and a half hours—probably 30 minutes or so a day—just to scroll through and see if there's been any updates or any new settlements that impact me. I'll check my junk mail too, just to make sure.”

I found Phelps on a 30,000-plus-member Facebook group set up by Top Class Actions, a news site that tracks and offers updates on various ongoing class actions. People in the TCA Settlements & Payouts group help confused first-timers navigate eligibility, answer questions about when settlement payments might come in and post updates about case results. These kinds of sites are what I recommend to people who ask, because since 2021, I’ve become “class action guy,” reminding family members to file claims, check their spam folders, and get that money.

Technically, I was party to my first class action all the way back in 2016, with litigation related to the Aliso Canyon gas leak, which WIRED reported as the “worst climate disaster in US history” at the time. That process was mainly via email and on the phone, and the payout took seven years to show up—but in the meantime, I kept searching for “settlement” in my email.

In 2021, that led me to Mansour v. Bumble Trading Inc., a settlement in California based on claims that Bumble was discriminating against male users by only letting women message first. I signed up, waited for my payout, and after that was Rivera et al. v. Google LLC (Google photos storing face data without consent), plus Sosa v. Onfido (biometric privacy violation), California v. Vitol (manipulated gas prices), even Milan v. Clif Bar & Co. (misleading labels on Clif Bars), and my beloved Facebook Internet Tracking Litigation.

It’s not that I have a personal vendetta against these companies. I still eat the Clif Bars. But by gosh, the law says I’m owed some money, these companies probably did do something wrong (even if they don’t admit it), and frankly, the payout feels a bit like winning in a legal system designed for people to lose. Why wouldn’t I take it?

That’s close to the story I was told by Phelps, as well. She says she’s been on the lookout for class actions since 2021, when she found out she was party to litigation against Blue Cross Blue Shield via a notice hidden in her junk mail.

“More people need to start paying attention, because if you miss a deadline, in some cases, for a $10,000 cheque, you’re going to be upset,” she says. “I wish I was getting $10,000, but some people are eligible to receive that, and they don't take it seriously because they don't do their research.”

Phelps says that the most helpful avenue for staying informed has been the smattering of groups on Facebook, where people answer questions, offer advice, and upload pictures of payouts: Venmo, Zelle, prepaid cards, and paper checks. Phelps says the group helped her evangelize a couple of friends and her mom into class action consciousness.

“It's not like these are poor defenseless companies, right? They committed an error,” she says. “If more people pay attention, honestly, I feel like these manufacturers or these businesses will stop being so quick to offer things to us without doing their research.”

Despite how helpful these groups have been for some people, they’re still a poor substitute for an official government portal, says Amanda M. Rose, a professor of law at Vanderbilt University.

“There’s been a lot of enthusiasm for technology solving these problems, although we see … that it hasn’t necessarily borne itself out,” she says.

Rose adds that a federally run website and support system (ClassAction.gov, say) could help increase claim rates, cut down on confusion, and create a database for researchers looking to make policy suggestions on public oversight of class actions. Without that infrastructure, the void is filled by third-parties (like the absurdly named “ClaimClam,” called out by the DC attorney general last year), who can use AI to identify potential class members in lawsuits and settlements, get them to submit claims via their platform and then take a cut of their settlements. ClaimClam also charged consumers “15%, and in some cases 40%,” of their claim, while also misleading them to think that settlements were guaranteed, and hiding that the law firm they were recommending was also co-owned by the same founder, according to a settlement between the company and the office of the DC attorney general. Even the top aggregator sites, like ClassAction.org or the aforementioned TopClassActions.com, are private companies that can earn referral fees from law firms for offering info on the class actions.

The lack of a federal database also makes it difficult to track down claimants who have changed addresses, determine if the legalese has been effectively translated into plain English, or figure out if the notices are getting past the spam filter—and all of these problems are exacerbated by a glaring lack of data on record. Are the claims settlement administrators who are charged with finding eligible class members doing a thorough job? According to Rose, solving these issues has always been a problem, but no one in particular is keeping track.

“You can't even have an intelligent public policy debate about these matters without having better insight into them,” says Rose.

That argument touches on one of the core pillars in American jurisprudence supporting class actions—as a type of public service in the form of a deterrent.

“At least in our legal culture, we have decided that we should make it possible for people with small value claims to bring them all together,” says Deborah Hensler, professor of dispute resolution at Stanford Law School.

“Perhaps a large number of people have claims, but the claims are worth fairly small amounts of money. Maybe they lost $25 each? A corporation could make a lot of money by collecting lots and lots of $25,” she says. “But individually, going to court for $25? Forget it.” Thus, class actions.

According to Hensler, class actions in one form or another have been part of US law for centuries. A dispute in 1820 over the estate of a deceased general, West v. Randall, is widely considered the first, though Brown v. Board of Education, which ended legal segregation in 1954, is probably the most well-known example. She considers their prevalence to be a function of an American court system that has fewer barriers to entry than many others, including much lower court filing fees, the option for lawyers to advertise, and legal representation on contingency (which is widely regulated or outright disallowed in many other countries).

“When you have a system that is so law-oriented, and you have a lot of lawyers and you have a way for people to find lawyers, even if they don't have very much money, then you have a way for lawyers to make money by taking people's cases,” Hensler says. “Then when some issue arises—like Facebook privacy—there are some lawyers who say ‘That’s interesting, maybe I could bring a class action.’”

Because the legal precedent is so complex, Hensler says there are many laws on the books allowing class actions to be brought for everything from the aforementioned privacy violations to the spate of recent class actions with wide political implications, like J.G.G. v. Trump, where a judge ordered deportation flights of Venezuelan men to be turned back, an order the Trump administration ignored.

“The current cases are on behalf of people who are claiming they have been improperly, illegally treated by the Trump Administration,” Hensler says. “They're trying to get the courts to say ‘Stop doing this,’ not just for one person, but for all the people like them.”

Aside from their use in recent immigration cases, class actions as legal tools are actually in a bit of a hard place. The Class Action Fairness Act, signed into law by the Bush administration in 2005, made it easier for defendants to shift their cases to federal court from the state level, a move that ultimately made class actions harder to certify, slower to resolve, and more expensive to pursue.

Instead, plaintiffs’ lawyers have shifted toward mass torts, mass-claim litigation, and multidistrict litigation—approaches that involve coordinating large numbers of individual claims, rather than trying to certify a single class. In the pre-internet era, coalescing that many claimants would be Sisyphean; in 2025, it’s almost smooth sailing.

“The underlying issue is that modern society produces mass injuries, mass complaints, mass everything,” Hensler says. “We've done a pretty good job in this country of trying to come up with procedures for dealing with this ‘mass claim’ phenomenon—a better job than virtually every other country in the world—but we haven't figured it out yet.”

Something that shouldn’t be hard to figure out is that regardless of the particular legal avenue, the class or mass action notifications are just going to keep coming—so people like Phelps and I will keep scanning social media and checking our spam folders. Maybe in a couple more years, I’ll get a notification about another forty bucks. And until then, I’ll keep scrolling, filing, and quietly cashing in, because if corporations can profit off our data, habits, and mistakes, the least we can do is get paid back when they screw up.

It’s not justice, exactly—just the version we’re left with in a system where accountability is slow, flawed, and monetized. But until something better comes along, I’m not leaving free money on the table. You shouldn’t either.

[ultrone]

all eyes on you !

jealous!perv!nat spies on u through the gym’s surveillance cameras and gets jealous of lottie ҂ smut with plot; stalking, masturbation, jealousy, clothed fingering, cum-filled strap-on use, angry fucking, dirty talking, creampie. . .﹙2.9k wc﹚

last month, natalie found herself in another serious predicament—her chronic tardiness had struck once again, with a tally of nine late arrivals in just a single month. the patience of her program's coordinator was wearing thin; nat's disregard for detentions had begun to frustrate her professors. her coordinator was on the verge of giving her an ultimatum: complete a minimum of 60 hours of community service before the semester came to a close.

however, the situation took an unexpected turn when the person responsible for monitoring the gym's security cameras during the third block suddenly quit without any explanation. coincidentally, natalie had a free block during that exact time slot. the coordinator saw this as a chance to teach her a lesson, as this particular block was when nat often hurriedly left campus before her lunchtime and returned late for her next class. it presented itself as the perfect chance for intervention. so, they offered her a deal: instead of getting in trouble, she could take over the job of the person who left, at least until they found a replacement.

at first, nat didn't like the idea. she thought it was dumb and a waste of time. plus, the fact that she wouldn't be getting paid for it bothered her. but she realized that if she got suspended, she was fucked, as it could ruin her scholarship. the only reason she got accepted into university was because she had a scholarship for playing soccer. so, she decided to agree to the deal and take on the job, even though she didn't want to.

however, her resentment and lack of interest in the job vanished the moment she took charge of the camera system during her first shift. a realization struck her: you were there. you happened to have gym class during that same block. the instant she caught sight of you through the camera feed, clad in that tank top and those notably short shorts, she promptly stowed away the sleeping bag and sleeping mask she had managed to sneak into her backpack. her focus shifted entirely to observing you.

the two of you were close. maybe not best-friend level, but definitely close enough to exchange texts almost every day and hang out pretty much every weekend. you’d probably be best friends if it wasn’t because of lottie, you’d be hers if it wasn’t because of fucking lottie. she seemed to always be around you, attending the same classes and sticking by your side during soccer practice. it felt as though natalie was receiving the leftover moments lottie didn't claim when she wasn't with you. yet, what irked her the most was  lottie’s obvious crush on you. the lingering gazes, the tender way she said your name, the subtle touches—they all fueled nat's frustration. the only thing keeping nat from beating the shit out of lottie was you; she dreaded the idea of you hating her.

today was like any other day. after finishing her second block class, nat proceeded to the security office located on the gym's second floor. positioned at the far end of the hallway, she quietly shut the door upon entering before settling into her chair. with a few clicks, she activated the surveillance cameras, and there you were—as beautiful as ever. by the moment you started stretching, nat was already unbuttoning her pants, slipping her hand inside almost instinctively. she was wearing a strap today, but didn’t feel like taking it off. instead, she maneuvered her hand beneath it and started touching herself. she observed the way you massaged your sore thighs from the previous day, the way you would bend down and display your ass to her, only her. her fingers started circling her clit faster and faster, and she started moaning out your name.

right when nat was about to reach climax, lottie unexpectedly entered the frame of the screen, giving you a warm hug. in no time, your hands yielded to lottie's as she took over the task of massaging your back. as her fingers skillfully worked to alleviate the tension in your shoulders, you tilted your head back, closing your eyes at the feeling. meanwhile, nat observed the scene with a puzzled expression on her face.

“fucking bitch,” she quietly muttered, withdrawing her hand from her pants and zipping them up, frustration and disbelief evident in her expression.

this event turned her off completely, so she directed her attention toward her phone, as she wasn’t even able to look at you right now or she would combust in anger. she got so immersed on her phone that she didn’t notice the coach pulling you aside and telling you something. it wasn’t until she looked back at the surveillance that she realized that you were gone. she checked every angle of the gym, every hallway, you were nowhere to be found—and neither was lottie. right when she was about to slam her phone against the floor, she heard a knock on the door, and then someone twisting the doorknob open.

“hey, nat!” you said enthusiastically. “how are you?” you asked her.

“i’m good,” she replied colder than usual. she was kind of aloof by nature, but she was always nice to you, so you found it a bit weird.

“uh, okay. i’m glad,” you responded, “coach lost his stopwatch, he said you have more in here?” you asked her.

"first cabinet," she remarked nonchalantly, her gaze returning to her phone.

opting not to address her peculiar behaviour, you simply went on to search for the stopwatch. you opened the initial cabinet of the desk where nat had propped up her feet and sifted through its contents until finally locating what you needed. "found it!" you exclaimed as you retrieved the stopwatch and shut the cabinet.

"i'll see you later. enjoy your security endeavors," you added, a playful smile on your face.

"sure thing," she replied, her tone casual. "and you... have fun with lottie," she added, her words laced with a subtle sarcasm that was hard to miss.

curiously, you asked, "what do you mean by that?" her tone leaving you slightly puzzled.

“nothing, i mean, you two looked pretty close in there,” she began, her gaze finally meeting yours. “rubbing your back like that and all.”

a bit taken aback, you explained, "well, you know that lottie and i are really close friends, so i'm not sure where you're going with this. and why were you keeping tabs on us anyway?"

nat rolled her eyes and scoffed, "please, spare me the innocent act. you know exactly what i'm talking about. and besides, lottie's not exactly the most trustworthy person, is she?"

you felt a surge of irritation rise within you. "what are you talking about? lottie's been nothing but a good friend to me."

"look, i'm just saying," nat defended herself, "lottie has a reputation for being flirty with everyone. you don't want to be just another name on her list."

disbelief coursed through you. "that's ridiculous," you shot back. "lottie’s just a friend, and i trust her. you're just jealous."

"jealous?" nat scoffed. "why would i be jealous? i have no interest in you like that."

"then what's the problem?" you demanded, a hint of frustration in your voice.

"problem? there's no problem," nat retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "i just care about you, okay? maybe a bit too much, considering it's none of my business who you're cozying up to."

you felt a mix of frustration and confusion. "nat, you're acting really strange right now. what’s wrong?"

"oh, so now you're the expert on how i'm supposed to act?" she spat out, her voice tinged with a sharp edge. she suddenly stood up, her chair scraping back, and before you knew it, she had you cornered between her body and the desk. her eyes, which were usually warm and inviting, now held a fiery intensity.

“well, watch this,” she said, closing the distance and pulling you into a violent kiss. the suddenness of her actions left you stunned for a moment, but as her lips pressed against yours, you couldn’t help but reciprocate the kiss with the same urgency. her lips were fierce, full of both frustration and a deep, hidden longing that you hadn’t acknowledged before.

your mind raced to catch up with the sudden shift. her lips were demanding, pressing against yours with an almost bruising fervor. her hands found their way to your waist as she pulled you closer, and her tongue caressed yours, sending tingles of pleasure up your spine.

finally nat pulled away, both of your breaths coming in ragged gasps. she searched your face for a reaction, as if unsure of what she had done or what to expect from you—but you could see the desire and confidence in her eyes.

“i bet you didn’t see that coming,” she remarked with a smug tone, her expression maintaining a serious demeanour as her gaze lingered on your lips once more.

“or this,” she whispered, her face descending as she placed a kiss along your jawline. her hands glided from your sides to the edge of your shorts in a tantalizing manner. “or this,” she continued in a hushed voice, her lips planting fervent kisses on your neck. all the while, her fingers delicately explored the border of your shorts, gently caressing and tugging; your response came in the form of a soft, involuntary groan escaping your lips.

but then, as abruptly as it began, she paused, lifting her lips from your neck. raising her head, she fixed her gaze intensely into your eyes.

"or..." her voice trailed off as her hand ventured beneath the fabric of your shorts, fingers sliding in ever so slowly.

she held your gaze for a lingering moment. with your consent apparent in your eyes, she wasted no time, delicately resting two of her fingers atop your clothed clit. in deliberate, almost torturous movements, her fingers traced delicate circles, her touch sending a shiver down your spine. her face drew nearer, nuzzling against your cheek, warm breaths mingling with the sensitive skin of your neck.

involuntarily, your hips responded, aching for more friction. yet, the closer you drew to her, the gentler the pressure of her touch became, evading your attempts to intensify the sensation, leaving you yearning for more.

"harder," you groaned, your voice finding her ear.

"no," she murmured, her fingers tracing an exquisitely gentle path along your already damp cloth-covered folds.

“please,” you begged, your hips twitching as your arms reflexively grabbed around her torso, attempting to get her closer to you.

“y'want me to fuck you?” she questioned, a sharper edge to her tone compared to before.

“y–” you started, only to be interrupted.

“you want me to fuck you, just so that you can close your eyes and pretend it’s lottie, don’t you?” she asked, the pressure on your clothed center increasing, her eyes aflame with a fervent blend of anger and desire, a side of her you had never seen before.

"no, that's not—" you began, confusion etched across your face.

“yes, you do,” she said matter-of-factly, her voice husky. “but i’ll prove to you i’m better,” she declared, determination evident in her gaze.

in a swift motion, she withdrew her hand from your shorts, abruptly turning you around. her nimble fingers hastened to unfasten her jeans and underwear, letting them fall to the floor. with equal speed, your shorts and underwear followed suit.

she slowly placed her hands around your torso and drew you closer, her strap resting right against your slit. she slipped a hand beneath your shirt, one encircling your waist as the other ascended to your throat, exerting a slight pressure as she drew your body tightly against hers.

she began to give hot, wet kisses to the exposed back of your neck before slowly moving on to your ear and nibbling on it. you could only groan in response, your fingers clutching at her forearms on top of your shirt.

amid her nibbling, she shifted her gaze to the surveillance cameras, and noticed lottie giggling in the background. her hand that had been tightening around your throat now withdrew, granting her more freedom of movement. she directed your face toward hers, claiming your lips in a demanding, almost bruising kiss. her teeth sank into your lower lip with fervor as her hips ground against your slick, moist center. it wasn’t until she tasted the blood flowing out of your bottom lip that she pulled away.

“i want you to look at her while i fuck you,” she commanded, turning your face toward the monitors by gripping your jaw.

“what? no way,” you retorted, swift in your refusal.

“i’m not asking you,” she snapped, her hands propelling your body against the desk, the monitors now in clear view. "is that clear?" she asked, her fingers tangling in your hair, tilting your head to face the monitor displaying lottie. you remained silent.

her free hand descended to her own strap-on, teasingly pressing it against your throbbing entrance. lowering her body onto yours, her heated breath whispered against your ear. "i asked, are we clear?" she repeated, her voice measured and stern.

“y-yes,” you gasped, the slight contact of her length against your slickness causing your senses to spin.

“good,” she murmured, nipping your jaw gently before rising, her hand sliding to your waist and gripping it firmly, while her other hand continued to hold your head in place. without further due, she slammed her entire length inside you, bottoming out and deliciously stretching your tight walls, which were too tight for the the size of her girth.

“shit, y/n, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” she groaned as her rhythm started to build. sliding in and out of you, her thrusts made your walls clench around her with each movement. you moaned as you felt the tip of her cock repeatedly stimulating your g-spot, prompting you to arch your hips backward in an attempt to take her even deeper.

“g-go rougher,” you pleaded, your attempts to go deeper falling short of your expectations.

“rougher?” she asked, a hint of challenge in her voice. “i’ll give you rough, then.” she released her hold on your hair, her hand finding its place on your lower back. with the other hand, she lifted one of your legs onto the desk, anchoring it there as she began thrusting with renewed vigor, burying her cock deeper and faster into you, the change in angle allowing her to.

“oh— ffuck, s’ fucking good” you moaned, your words pouring out in a rush as the sensation of her girthy cock gliding against your inner walls consumed your senses.

“lottie could never fuck you this good,” she declared as she increased her pace, the sound of wet slaps reverberating against the walls of the room. “could she?” she asked, the grip on your leg tightening enough to leave a mark.

“n-no, no, she could never,” you babbled out, slurring your words as you tried to answer coherently, barely processing her words. your moans grew louder as you felt her hand travel from your thigh to your clit, skillfully stimulating it while maintaining her deep thrusts.

“fuck, nat, m’ gonna cum,” you cried out in pleasure, pushing your body closer to her as the climax built within you. twisting your swollen clit between her fingers, she maintained her fervent rhythm, pressing you further towards the edge. her hand traced your waist, reaching your jaw, ensuring your teary gaze remained locked onto lottie.

she began to suck fervently on your neck, her thrusts growing more urgent. “i want you to cum while you look at her,” she commanded, prompting a whine of response from you.

“tell me i’m better than her,” she commanded, her hot breath teasing your neck as she marked it. “say it,” she insisted, pressing her fingers harder against your jaw while intensifying the pressure on your clit.

“you’re… you’re better,” you stammered, nearly incapable of coherent speech, a tear of pleasure tracing your cheek.

“better than who?” she teased, intensifying her suction on your neck.

“than lottie— better than lottie,” you finally admitted. that was all she needed to hear before sliding her tongue into your mouth and kissing you roughly, her tongue exploring your mouth deeply. her thrusts grew more aggressive, and as she reached her peak, warm streams of cum filled your tight walls, making you cry out in pleasure. your walls clamped down so tightly around her girth, that it was nearly impossible for her to continue thursting.

she remained there, her cock resting inside you as you both regained your breath. several minutes passed before she rose, removing her cock gently from within you and smoothly pulling up her pants, fastening them securely. at the same time, you managed to straighten up from the desk, struggling to steady your shaky legs as you pulled up your shorts.

"enjoy your time in p.e.," she playfully taunted, her gaze fixed on your wobbly legs and flushed cheeks as she settled back into her seat, an air of satisfaction surrounding her.

"will do! i'm sure i'll enjoy my time with lottie," you teased, well aware that your words would stir jealousy. with a mischievous grin, you snatched up the abandoned stopwatch and dashed out of the room.

"you'll regret saying that!" she shouted after you as you made your escape.

"i doubt it, joe goldberg!" your distant voice retorted, your footsteps fading into the distance.

[audiodramayearbook]

Audio Drama Yearbook, Class of 2023

What even is this?

The Audio Drama Yearbook is a listener-submitted, completely non-definitive collection of audio drama podcasts, plus Most Likely Awards, including shows aired this year as the Class of 2023, and previously-aired shows as alumni.

How does it work?

Anyone can submit a show to the yearbook. Just fill out the linked form.

Yearbook submissions will be open from January 1 - January 31, 2024

Anyone can also nominate for the Most Likely Awards, featuring categories for Shows, Actors, Writers, Characters, & Editors/Sound Designers.

Nominations will be open from January 1 - January 15, 2024.More about the awards can be found here.

Stuff gets submitted & nominated, then what?

Every show submitted to the Yearbook will be included, complete with quote and link to homepage or feed.

For the Most Likelys, after the nomination period closes, the results will be tallied up. The top four show/actor/creator/candidates will move on to the voting phase, conducted via Tumblr poll on this account.

How does voting work?

Voting will be done via Tumblr poll, over the course of the week of January 29 - February 2, 2024. The polls for one category will be posted each day. (Voting dates updated!!)

What do they win?

The winners get a dedicated page in the 2023 yearbook, and bragging rights!

The yearbook itself will be available on the website and as a downloadable PDF in mid-February, 2024.