#they go through like three buildings

[kopykunoichi]

This scene lives rent free in my head

[thatone-churro]

chat i am NOT appreciating the stares i got from walking across campus to cvs in my hoodie and sweatpants as if we didn’t just sit through ANOTHER hurricane like chill man i didn’t sleep well let me get my monster to finish my logic homework in peace 😭

[starakex]

Sonic Cosplay Build Log

Time for another cosplay Build Log! Last log was for the Wurmple partial, and while there were some other projects in between, they didn't really have enough crafting involved in my opinion to make for an interesting blog post.

This time around, I wanted to fulfill my childhood dream of being a Sonic character, but like. THE WHOLEASS WAY. So Sonic Fursuit it is! I hesitated between Shadow or Sonic, but I ended up going for Sonic so I could be silly with it.

Lots of fun things learned during this build, so let's buckle up and get through it!

PART 1 : The Head Base

First things first, I grabbed some reference photos online of the model I wanted to replicate (Modern Sonic, mid 2000s) and scaled them up to print so I could have an idea of how big I'd have to make the head for it to stay in proportion with my body. My goal was to stay generally mobile in this costume and only need help from a handler in big crowds, so I didn't want to build the body up like the current official Sonic Mascots do. Therefore, scaling was a little more done on vibes than accurate measurements.

Once I got the head scaling down, I started on the head base. Sonic characters have orbular heads, so I used Danny McFly's Foam Sphere Calculator to help make a sphere pattern to the size I needed and got to work assembling it. Unlike my last fursuit/mascot build, I splurged and got some Spray Adhesive this time around to cut down on hot glue drying times and it was a GAME CHANGER. Bonded foam within a minute, it stayed strong from edge to edge, and it didn't get in the way of carving foam like hot glue typically does. I personally used 3M's Super 77 Spray Adhesive as it's locally available for cheap. Outside of a few cases, this is the adhesive I used throughout the entire build.

With the sphere base assembled, I began building up the muzzle and carving out the eyehole. I built a test eye... eyes?... Let's call it an eyeplate... I built a test eyeplate out of 3mm thick Sintra (a brand of solid foam PVC board) that I shaped using a heat gun. (Wear a respirator folks! Heated PVC fumes are NASTY. Protective gear is COOL, lung cancer is CRINGE) It wouldn't be the final eyeplate, but having it around was indispensable as the plate itself shifted the foam around quite a bit when in position; a paper pattern wouldn't have cut it in terms of support and proportions would have probably shifted around. It was trimmed over time throughout the build and became the pattern for the final version of the eyeplate. I also added some aluminum wire to the inside of the "eyebrows" to help keep their shape close to the eyes and prevent them from flipping up during the crafting process.

After getting the facial features blocked out, I moved on to the quills! Modern Sonic's head has six quills of various sizes. I started by building out the top quill first, as it was the easiest starting point using the side profile as it was the least distorted one from the perspective. With that first spike glued together and pinned to the head, I made the two other "top row" quills using the same pattern I drew up for the middle top quill, leaving some extra material where they connect to the head so I could trim them down before pinning them down as well.

With the top quills done, I shortened the pattern significantly and used that to make the bottom quills, which were also trimmed to fit. For the bottom quills on either side of the head, I added a bit of foam to cap the holes closed and help them rest of my shoulders more comfortably.

Once Sonic's Sick Haircut was properly glued to the head, I finished carving his facial features by adding some much needed eyebrows. I also carved some ears, though they weren't attached as they would be covered in fabric separately before being added to the head. With everything in place, I finished sculpting the head, shaving down some of the rough patches where the quills connected to the head and building up some zones with extra foam.

I used some leftover lycra from a previous project and made a lining for the entire inside of the head. As the inside is still just a sphere, I simply reused the sphere pattern from the foam base and added some seam allowance to it. (Once again, I absolutely suck and forgot to take photos of this step.) With the base done, I moved on to furring... er, fleecing the head.

Part 1.5 : The Head Skin

In order to get that Smooth Hedgehog Look, I decided to use fleece for this suit. I had been properly prepared for it to be kind of a mess (Fleece does NOT forgive), but all in all, it went pretty smoothly. For the most part, the head was mostly hand-sewn using a mix of ladder stitches and blanket stitches, with upholstery thread to make sure it'd be as solid as possible. I didn't make pattern pieces; instead, every piece was done by draping the fabric over the head, pulling it taut and pinning it down, then cutting loosely where I could hide seams (usually under each quill). I spent a sizeable amount of time watching GOMAJEOSSI's videos for inspiration on how to go about it; they had invaluable advice which I took inspiration of for some parts of the build, particularly for the muzzle and ears. I started by putting spray adhesive on the forehead to secure the main piece that would wrap around the sides, then pulled and pinned, cutting and sewing whenever I reached the back of a quill and stitching them closed with a ladder stitch. Earlier while making the base, I left a 2cm edge on each side of the muzzle unglued; that way, I could slide the fabric of the head under the muzzle for a seamless look. (Thanks, GOMAJEOSSI!)

I then draped the tan fleece over the muzzle and repeated the process, making sure to have plenty of extra fabric to tuck inside the head past the edge of the eyeplates. With the adhesive, I also made sure to really push the fabric into the slit I carved for Sonic's puzzling side-smile (Another certified banger idea from GOMAJEOSSI). To finish things off, I switched to hot glue for more precision and tucked the muzzle fabric into the open space on either side. This gave the muzzle a very nice, defined shape, which stayed just as clean after a ladder stitch between the muzzle and head fabric for a solid, permanent bond.

With only the details left, I used the same "unglued edge" technique for the ears (where the edge" is the inner connection between the tan and blue piece, gathering all the loose edges at the bottom. Once everything was bonded securely, I glued them to the head using Contact Cement for a super-strong bond (RESPIRATOR FOLKS), let them cure for a few hours, then ladder-stitched the ears to the head for a clean look. Lastly, I re carved another nose, covered it in black lycra, then glued and attached it to the muzzle using the same technique as the ears. With everything assembled, I mixed up some fabric paint into a nice dark shade and painted it into the mouth to really help define the look.

SONIC GOT THROUGH ACT 1 (phew!). We'll be revisiting the eyes later on, so it was time to move on to something else while I was waiting on some materials.

PART 2 : The Shoes

Sonic's shoes were the scariest part of the costume going in, but honestly they turned out to be a lot easier than I expected. In any case, I need shoes as a base for these for a couple reasons (the most important one being, y'know, walking an entire day with no foot support on convention cement flooring is BAD). Time to sacrifice an old pair of shoes for the shoe-ception build. I needed a strong flexible base, so I took a sheet of High Density EVA Foam (Lumin's Workshop Hard-lite), covered the bottom of the shoes and the foam in contact cement, then stood up on it for half an hour.

Once the bond between the shoes and foam was solid, I took off the shoes and built the "body" of each shoe (The upper) out of upholstery foam, just like I did with the head. I traced the shape of the soles on the EVA foam as a guide and then glued the uppers to the EVA Foam base using the sole line as a guide. Once that was done, I trimmed the excess EVA foam down.

With the base of the shoes done, I got to work covering them in red fleece the same way I did the head, with the seam located on the back of the heels. I cut the excess off and glued them on the inside and bottom of the shoes.

Once the shoes were covered in fabric, I tackled the details. The white bands were made out of white tech neoprene; it's a stretch fabric with a soft 2mm foam core, which gives it a look that was perfect for the gloves; using it for the shoes to match all white fabrics together was a no-brainer. I cut some buckles out of the EVA Foam leftovers and covered them in yellow fleece, and did the same with the rim using grey fleece. I cut out the little divot on the back of the heels before applying the fleece. In both cases, I left the backside of the EVA Foam exposed to make it take adhesive better.

Just like with the soles, I glued all details on with contact cement; shoes are going to take an absolute beating, and the long cure time is a perfectly acceptable trade-off to make them as indestructible as possible. Even with the respirator, open windows and a fan pushing it all outside, I ended up just letting them cure in the backyard just to not be haunted by The Smell once I was done.

The next day (once everything stopped smelling like toxic garbage), I sewed up some tubes of white neoprene on the sewing machine and then stitched them up by hand to the shoes to create the socks. Lastly, I bought a slab of white shoe sole material, traced the bottom of each shoe, cut it to size and cemented them on the underside to make the shoes outdoors-ready and, hopefully, truly indestructible. And with that, the shoes were completed relatively quickly!

SONIC GOT THROUGH ACT 2! The most time-consuming parts of the build are now behind us. Things are picking up as we move on to the bodysuit!

Part 3 : The Body

So Sonic's body is pretty simple, as far as fursuits goes. In my case, I skipped body padding for comfort, so doing a Duct Tape Dummy would be overkill. Fleece isn't forgiving on complex shapes like a fursuit head, but it's pretty stretchy, which makes it more forgiving on straight lines like, say, arms and legs. I used NDLWrkshop's Jumper Pattern, printed and cut it matching my selected size, and got to work assembling the base following the instructions. I cut the front and back pieces out of blue fleece and the sleeves out of tan fleece. The only major change to the pattern I made was installing the zipper on the back of the suit instead of the front.

With the base done, I went back to the upholstery foam stash, grabbed the quills pattern, and made two back spikes. I also carved a tail out of foam, and covered everything in fabric using the same drape and hand-stitch method as before. I then ladder stitched them to the bodysuit's back, double-sewing it for good measure since I predicted I'd probably accidentally smush them pretty often whenever I try sitting down.

As you might have noticed, I also took a moment to tailor the arms and legs to fit closer to my body. It's not a completely tight fit, but there's only so far you can go for a fleece bodysuit without padding; if fleece picks up the details of a fursuit head base when it's not completely smooth... I didn't really want Sonic to accidentally end up with big naturals, so the slightly baggy "mascot" look was acceptable to me. After attaching the spikes, I hemmed the arms and legs and added two straps on the arms, one for each side. Their function is to keep the sleeves down into the gloves later while moving around, and it makes them much easier to put on. I then cut the stomach out of tan fleece, pinned it on the bodysuit, then slowly cut a hole in the bodysuit matching the stomach piece, carefully re-pinning the right sides of the suit and stomach together so I could machine sew them together for MAXMUM STRENGTH. I still ended up giving Sonic boobies by accident despite my best efforts but it's nothing a good compression top can't fix... Hopefully.

SONIC GOT THROUGH ACT 3! Did somebody mention gloves?

Part 4 : The Gloves

Sonic's gloves aren't super complicated compared to the rest of the build. They're the reason I picked Tech Neoprene for the white fabric. That way, I could make them slightly oversized and have them keep their shape without having to add stuffing and lining to them and make them look... Mickey-ish. Mickey hands make you need a handler and if I'm at a con I'm going to be grabbing my phone every 5 minutes.

You might have noticed a fucked up black glove in previous photos. The truth is, the very first thing I actually did for Sonic was make a mock-up of the gloves using some leftover black tech neoprene I had lying around, so I could immediately buy the white one alongside all the fleece if my plan worked out. I drafted up a couple patterns tracing my hand on paper and adjusting finger width. I ended up making three gloves before I got a good mock-up, then I assembled a test cuff to confirm all pattern pieces.

Since the mock-up guaranteed that my plan would work, I sewed up the real gloves last so I could focus on everything else, melt my brain troubleshooting issues, then have something easy to sew last. So when I got to the white gloves... It was a pretty uneventful step, really. Except for the sewing machine REFUSING TO SEW THIS FABRIC PROPERLY. After an hour of fighting every setting and trying everything I could think of, I realized Upholstery Thread and Tech Neoprene fucking hate each other. I just swapped back to regular thread and double sewed everything and just moved on with my life.

SONIC GOT THROUGH... ACT 4... God I hate how temperamental sewing machines can get. At least it didn't spit out needles this time (WEAR. PROTECTIVE. GEAR. If you sew bastard fabrics I beg you)

Part 5 : Inside the Head

So we've got a completed Sonic, albeit eyeless and innards...less. Well actually he's got innards (I'm innards), but he's missing some QOL features inside his head. Let's remedy that by finishing up the head first. First up: The eyeplate. When I had a final shape for the eyeplate post-head completion, I measured the size of the pupils on my mock-up, drew some eye designs on Clip Studio Paint, And sent the files out to OtterHalfCostumes to be printed on mesh. That way I could thoroughly wash the head in the future without worrying about the eyes getting damaged. I checked the sizing on my test eyeplate when I received the mesh and got some promising results!

With everything properly tested, I finally cut out my second eyeplate out of Sintra, this time using the digital eye design to accurately cut and sand the holes to the exact shape. Like last time, I heat formed the eyeplate to create the right curve, and once everything fit right, I hot glued the eyemesh onto the plate. Finally, I very carefully glued the Sintra eyeplate into the head using a bunch of E6000 glue. It has a CRAZY STRONG BOND, but the cure time it also super long. It's the part I was most worried about breaking however, and it was the best choice for this specific use for a couple other reasons. I ended up with a strong, practically invisible bond for a clean look!

Now that the outside was COMPLETED, I needed to furnish my battlestation. The inside of the head is massive and wobbly and the addition of the eyeplate makes it a sauna. This is NOT a head type with good ventilation. I got to making the padding first. I tried a few shapes of padding throughout the build to test things out, but I ended up settling on a donut shape that would stabilize it like a hardhat would. I cut my donut out of upholstery form, cut a hole in the middle and carved the top diagonally to rest into the head proper, then covered it in fabric. The side resting on my head is lycra, to wick away sweat, while the side resting on the inside of the head is fleece so that it has some grip to stay in position. This allows the padding to be adjusted, and removed for washing.

FINALLY, for the very last step in this journey, I installed the fan system. It's a three-fan system with an intake and outtake fan at the edge of the neck hole, and a little fan blowing on my forehead for comfort. I added some velcro so that every fan could be removed for washing, got the battery pack pocket sewn up in the top above where the padding would usually rest so it's out of the way, and snuck the wires into the empty space above my head where they'll be out of the way.

SONIC GOT THROUGH ACT 5! It's done the build is completed holy shit

Level End Jingle

I cannot overstate how proud I am of this cosplay. It's a culmination of a bunch of bullshit crafting methods, a bunch of new techniques, a couple materials I hadn't gotten to try before. The whole thing took almost a month to the day, and it feels surreal to finally wear a costume I'd been dreaming of ever since I learned what cosplay was like 15 years ago (There was another childhood dream cosplay I completed during the pandemic, from that one series with the little green elf guy that I don't wanna clog the search page for. And it was fulfilling to make! But seeing my regular human face on a character with a stylized human face feels like the definition of the Glamour Failure trope sob) But then I look at this costume and my brain gets tricked by the overall look and it feels just right. We'll see how comfortable it actually is and if anything falls apart on the con floor in a few months, but nothing can really dampen the simple joy of being Sonic the fucking Hedgehog.

[krayt-girl-tail]

Abandoned my garage base save, it was pretty much as good as it was going to get, plus I re-activated a couple mods that needed a fresh start, so now I'm doing Tower Shit

I forgot the build limit was so short.

[ratinasoupkitchen]

GRAHHHH IM SO NORMAL IM SO NORMAL IM SO NORMAL(<- relearning animation so they can make a strawberry crepe cookie animatic)

[excelsior9173]

every time i read a romance or “romantasy” (because let’s be honest, i’m not the slightest bit interested in love unless there’s dragons or something involved) i have to half ignore the descriptions of the love interests physical appearance because in every book i’ve ever read like this the man is always described as mouth-wateringly well muscled, buff as shit, “rippling abs” and such.

and i have to ignore those descriptors because there is literally nothing more unattractive to me. i find no pleasure in ogling a guy who’s absolutely shredded. toned and strong? sure. but the whole hollywood muscly look? gross. i’d rather see light definition, a softer stomach. i guess just an overall softness to their bodies rather than rock solid muscle everywhere

[comeththenight]

Wild that one day you can just look at a coworker who you're well connected with and realize you can really see them as your parental figure

[iamyounicorn]

I really should post more about fantasy story [placeholder name] but I often don't know what to say. I feel like i'm repeating myself. which is fine when other people do it, but is not fine for me to do. everyone should just read my mind and immediately understand the fictional universe that lives in my head

[cosmogyros]

.

[b-blushes]

chill Saturday night u know how it is but the past couple of days I’ve been trying to work out how I’m feeling and what I’m thinking about and I can’t really crystallise it. But one sentiment I have put together is that one thing about getting better and wanting to get better is that part of the process is Realising that things have been/are uhhhhhh. Not Good. And I will be honest that is a challenging thing to force to occur in myself. Connecting with discussing really bad pain in my neck/back/shoulders with drs for over a year and then seeing a specialist who was like ‘well obviously you have chronic spinal pain’ and although it was very obvious to me and I had in fact been talking about it intermittently for a very long time I also had not particularly internalised this until then. There’s some leaps between ‘well I know things are happening and maybe I can even explain those things’ and also really really Knowing those things and I don’t know what the deal with that is or how to explain it. And then a step after that which is like fully feeling it with and in your whole body and feelings I think. But that’s the progress I’ve made so far 👍

[moe-broey]

Got any music you listen to for any FEH characters? Be it for vibes or brain animatics?

WAH.... I'VE BEEN......... SITTING ON THIS ..... mostly cause I worry my answer might be a bit lacking 🧍

I have. A small handful of songs that make me think of Alfonse! Some are silly, some not! In no particular order:

I Earn My Life - Lemon Demon

> THIS ONE..... IS SO FUNNY TO ME...... but it is so painfully Alfonse-core........ to me. Esp lines "I learned it from my father and my father never lied" and "I wouldn't be so worried if I wasn't always right". Biting him. Killing him, even

Devil's Train - The Lab Rats

> Not a direct one-to-one (it is a specific ass situation song and I love it for that) but! This one is so Book 3 to me... if any of these are animatics in my brain material it's this one! Esp if it's following the Alfonse who would become Líf... I also think it captures the generational cycles that are present with Alfonse, Gustav, and Grampa Askr as well!

Ghost - Mystery Skulls

> Some are more Líf leaning tbh LMFAO but! Speaking of! I've mentioned it before, but Lewis was actually a huge inspiration/reference for me when learning How To Draw Líf -- sorting out how to simplify him, get him to fit more w my cartoony style, and how I want him to look body-type wise (big broad guy!)

Also the way I emphasize heart motifs on Líf is very inspired by Lewis! While also trying to simplify the shapes/taking creative liberties and running with them LMFAO

So Ghost is like. Yeah I think the lyrics can fit! But there's Deeplore here too LMFAO

Sex With A Ghost - Teddy Hyde

> This one is very just vibes/up to interpretation. It also feels like a companion to Ghost LMFAO

Cupid - Jack Strauber

> THIS ONE. IS ANOTHER SILLY ONE. BUT. Hear me out. I get such a strong mental image when I listen to it. Bruno just dumped him/ghosted him. Alfonse is face down ass up laying flat on his bedroom floor. He's been playing this song on repeat for at least an hour. Sharena tentatively checks in on him very "Are ya winning, son?" but she knows he fucking isn't. I think it also captures the feelings of heartache and regret of letting someone in and getting hurt for it. AND AND it's because of THE CIRCUMSTANCES. Lamenting The Circumstances -- "Cupid, how could you be so cruel?"

Fist Bump - Sonic Forces themesong

> SONIC THE HEDGEHOG JUMPSCARE‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ It is. So fitting though. I am ALWAYS thinking of him when listening to it...........

This December - Ricky Montgomery

> This one..... is so him...... it makes me soft. If you check out any of these I def recommend this one!!! And Devil's Train, both are also just so fun to listen to in a Music That Sounds way (I like the flow!)

I could have SWORN I had more but........... I never made a complete collection...... honorable mention to The Black Parade and a handful of MCR songs tbh (This Is How I Disappear feels very distinctly Líf, I Don't Love You honestly could be either depending on the circumstances, Famous Last Words feels a little more Alfonse-leaning). I think if you introduced Alfonse to MCR it WOULD rearrange his brain chemistry, it Would be the closest thing he's had to therapy. And in addition to music I would introduce him to personally, I think The Wonder Years is another good one (but all of TWY's stuff feels so deeply personal... like diary entries and poetry.... cannot be entirely Blorboified. To me)

[radioactive-worm-on-string]

All I’m saying is that it’s tragic how very intelligent students are forced to drop out and made feel stupid because some professors feel the need to make their courses so intense that one needs to study 50-60 hours a week, while they just need rest to function, but would have no problem understanding the material if they just had to study 40 hours a week, the actual fucking guidelines for what full-time studies should be.

[a-rebellious-waffle]

Not only am I back on my bullshit, I'm back on my "extremely realistic interpretation of a planetary liberation campaign" bullshit

This isn't even the full thing btw this is like half

Anyways. Once I finish up Vow, writing Covenant should be fun, especially because I won't be restricting myself to four chapters; hopefully the crew of the Ghost returning to Lothal will be good fun to read and write

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[pagesofkenna]

maybe if i start a THIRD digital spreadsheet trying to catalogue my TTRPG library, this one will work and I'll know where to find games I own

[fushitoru]

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.

warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork

a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away. 

2+2=5.

You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.

You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.

"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake. 

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.

He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.

"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.

Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.

"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."

You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”

Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”

“Digimon.”

“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”

You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt. 

Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo. 

Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board. 

But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that. 

You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.

As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool. 

Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t  learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.

Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.

 When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.

The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps. 

Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?

There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.

When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.

As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves. 

From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.

“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”

You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.

“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”

Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.

You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”

“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”

“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.

“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”

“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense. 

“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.

Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”

Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”

You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”

“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.

Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.

You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”

But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”

Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.

It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.

“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.

“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.

Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.

“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”

You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.

Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”

“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.

With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.

Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.

“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.

“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.

You freeze.

It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.

You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.

“I wanted to.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—

Damn him. Damn him.

Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.

You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—

But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”

You pause.

He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.

So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.

You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”

But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.

It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommate’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.

You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching. 

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.

The two of you don’t speak.

It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.

You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—

He’s just really there.

You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.

You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.

The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.

For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.

Cutie.

What?

The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.

Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—

You pull away.

Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.

You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.

Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.

It’s that you care.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.

You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.

Gojo is here.

You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.

You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.

You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—

You’re so screwed.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—

—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.

Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.

Your stomach twists.

This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.

It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.

He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.

Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.

Not you.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.

The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.

"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."

You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.

Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."

You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.

“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.

But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.

He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.

Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."

The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all. 

But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.

You’ll never be his equal.

You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."

Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."

You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.

The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.

Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.

You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.

But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.

“Whoa—”

Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.

“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.

Shit.

You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”

“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”

Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.

Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.

So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.

There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.

"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.

He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”

Oh. Right.

You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."

Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.

A beat passes.

"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."

Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"

"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”

“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”

Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.

"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.

And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”

You swallow.

Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.

"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."

Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”

Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.

“You really don’t know?”

“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”

“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."

Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”

"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.

Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.

"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."

You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.

Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."

Your breath hitches.

He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.

Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”

Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.

"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."

You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.

Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”

Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.

And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.

It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.

You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.

When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.

“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.

You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”

“Maybe I’m into that.”

“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”

His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”

You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.

“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”

Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”

“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.

“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”

But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”

He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”

You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.

When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.

You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”

He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.

He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”

“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”

You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want,  he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”

You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.

He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.

With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly. 

He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”

“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”

“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”

Silence.

When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”

The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.

general masterlist

a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever

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