Vitzi9 - 🇵🇸i Write Sometimes And Stand With Palestine🇵🇸

It's just for me, I'll put the stories I really loved. I post it to empty my drafts. Don't mind it.

Captain hook

Hello, my name is Asala Al-Mashni, I am 28 years old, and my daughter Alia Salama is 3 years old. I lost my husband at the beginning of the war 💔 and my only daughter lost her father. Now we are alone😞. We ended up in a tent with a group of people after our house became uninhabitable. please. I do not want to lose my daughter as well. She is all I have left in life. We want to survive and escape together to safety. If you cannot donate🍉🇵🇸, share our story.🙏

Donate here, thank you.👇

https://gofund.me/1878a56c

https://gofund.me/1878a56c

Could you do a story but with male reader pleasee <3

Come out, come out

Creepy!Ethan Landry x Male!Reader

Masterlist if you want to read my other things.

CW/TW: Phone-sex, sub!Ethan, AMAB Reader, stalker Ethan, dirty talk from Ethan (like really), reader has a dick and has he/him pronouns, FILTHY

(put me in jail)

Been dead for months and came back to life for some smut, what a life man (I do not respect myself)

I didn't know if you meant male reader as in AMAB or else so I post this and I'll probably do others where reader's genitals parts are not specified.

05/05/2024 (3147 words)

Your relationship with Ethan was not the easiest. He was hard to understand, for anyone really. You’ve known each other for a few months, been really close as well. Chad, his roommate, was often absent. Whether working or out with friends. While Ethan was calmer, learning his lessons and globally just more insecure to go out that much.

Of course you’d offer to come to his place when he was bored or wanted to hang out with you. You met in class, you were paired together for a project and became good friends ever since. Ethan and you spent almost every afternoon after class at his place, talking, working or watching movies. He wasn’t an open man, for example, he categorically refuses you to enter his room. Though Chad, who you stumbled upon one day before he left for his girlfriend’s, assured you he was forbidden to enter as well.

Ethan was a private man, you did not know anything about his family or love interest, you did not even know whether he liked you or not, as you sure started to like him. How could you not ? He was kind, nerdy, smart and handsome. Sadly, you believed he never thought about you that way.

Until one night, after a movie session that exhausted you both, you found yourself cuddling on the couch, dizzy and half conscious.

It started when two men on screen start getting closer and closer to each other. You know how there's more gays showed on TV, sometimes you hate it because people look at you weird when this shows up, like you're the one who fucking put it in the movie.

But tonight, you hated it even more because your crush was here.

The worst is not knowing if Ethan is gay or not. Straight men love to laugh about gay sex, (why, you don't know but maybe it's funny) it's possible for him to start saying things like "Aha gay funny and weird aha peepee in the ass" or some shit. But Ethan's finger, who was on the cushion between you, inches towards your thigh. Confused, you tried to read his face but his eyes were solely in the screen, cheeks burning red.

It escalated quickly from there, he pulled you onto his lap, his hands were groping your ass, your lips on his, you touching his chest, his tongue against yours. You did not have sex with him as Chad came back in the middle of you humping his roommate, interrupting you and forcing you to separate from each other. You also did not have sex with him seeing as the next day he avoided you like the plague. You never actively told him of your attraction for men, but never hid it either. You left clues, small interactions when you’d mention finding someone handsome, never speaking about women you find sexy or, whatever straight men usually talk about. But you think you showed it enough that night.

Ethan, on the other hand, kept his love life pretty secret from you.

He never mentioned any crush or exes, whether it was men or women. Ethan could be friends with anyone, yes, you know that gay men could be friends with men as well but you were getting desperate to find out what he really was so you were taking what you could. What if he has a crush on Chad ? It was possible, after all. Or maybe he was talking to men online, you never know. But he could also very well talk to women online, and have a crush on a girl somewhere.

Ethan is cute, he’s sexy, even. Of course you’d be devastated after your kiss. He ignored you ! You read online of straight men trying things with men only for the thrill of it, to know how it is and everything but you never experienced it for yourself. Ethan isn’t like that, right ? Has he even had any partner before ? You don’t remember it.

It's dragging your own feet that you enter your apartment. Shoulders tensed and legs burning. Taking out your keys out of your pocket, you inch them towards the door only to let them drop on the ground. You sigh, feeling your nerves on the edge of exploding.

You crouch down, picking them up before putting it in the keyhole only for the key to be stuck. You frown and, confused, you push the door. It opens with no resistance.

What the... ? You didn't lock the door ? What crossed your mind this morning ! In such a crazy city no less ! But as there's no signs of any intruder being here or having been here, you simply unprepare yourself in the bathroom before enjoying a shower.

Drying up quickly, you realize having forgotten your pajamas in your bedroom. Towel around the waist, you search tiredly in your closet for any clothes you can sleep in. Seeing none, you question yourself about where you last put them. Did you put them in the washing machine ? You don't remember. Then where are your damn pajamas ? At one point, you grab a simple shirt before going back to the bathroom.

You place the towel on the heater for it to dry up but in doing so you take a look at yourself in the mirror. You frown.

What's that ? That's not your t-shirt ? You take it between your index and thumb, creasing the fabric. When was the last time you invited someone over ? Did it belong to one of your exes's ? You can't seem to remember.

You sniff it for a second, even if the odds were low, that maybe the person's smell would still be there. It's not, well, you don't think it is anyway. It smells clean, not a perfume, more like simple laundry.

As long as it's clean ! And nobody ever asked you to give it back so... Guess it's yours now. Before leaving for the kitchen, you check the pile of dirty clothes in your closet, learning with surprise that a lot of your supposed clean clothes are in it.

Okay, you're definitely going crazy to forget such things.

You rub your face, trying to wake you up before finally going to the kitchen. Phone is discarded on the counter while you search for anything good in the fridge. But a ringing followed by numerous vibrations grabs your attention away. Dragging your feet to your phone, you're confused at the sigh of a number you previously erased, waning to forget it.

Ethan Landry.

Ethan is calling you, you know it because you memorized his number. You let the ringtone pass, hoping he would give up. When your vocal messaging informed him to leave a message, you thought he would finally send you a text and let it go. But he called again, and again. Until you pick up, after the third call.

Only to be greeted by utter silence.

Great, he harasses you by phone and doesn't talk. What is wrong with him ? He better have good excuses.

“Ethan ? you ask, confused. A throat clearing on the other hand of the call is the only proof of his presence.

-Uh, hi, man. How, uh, how are you doing ? he asks, more awkward than ever. He’s out of breath.

Weird, why is he talking like that ? You check the time with a frown, he’s probably still in public transport, hence his breathless state. It’s Wednesday, the day he goes for errants. That’s probably where he was.

-I’m fine, man." You insisted particularly on the last word. "How are you doing ? Why the late call ? " It’s not that late by any means, it’s only 7PM (19h) but it’s confusing coming from him, especially after his long absence.

-I was just… Checking, I guess. It’s been a while.

Of course it has, he’s the one who ghosted you.

-Right, that's not really my fault though…” Awkward. What's he going to say now ? What does he really want ?

-Yeah, I kind of panicked, I guess. Sorry about that." And that's it. His sole excuse is "I panicked". Great. Nice. He clearly cares for you a lot ! How could you crush on this guy ?

You’re able to hear crumplings on his side, which makes you ask yourself whether he is really in transports or already home. Though, there is no way you’ll ask him directly, that’ll make him believe you still think about him and remember his week’s schedule. Which you do, you still think about him and know his damn schedule. Ethan takes a deep breath, as if to instill courage into himself.

“It’s gonna sound weird, I’m aware. He pauses, preparing you (or himself) to his next words. Can you just talk to me ? You can tell me anything, really.

-What ?

-I can't sleep.

Is that a good or bad thing that he thought about you before sleeping ? You’d say bad, as he ignored you for weeks before, visibly, deciding he needed you enough to come back.

-Wow, I’m flattered you thought about me to fall asleep. You say ironically. Am I that boring ?

-No, you’re not… You’re not boring. He gulps his saliva. Just talk to me, please. I like your voice.

Something’s wrong with his voice. It’s like he remains out of breath. Maybe he’s running ? He’s a strong man, he’s probably doing a marathon or something. Wait, what are you talking about, he said he needed to sleep. He’s not running at all. Then what the hell ?

-Ethan, are you sure you’re okay ? You sound weird. What are you doing ?

-Nothing, he says, but you clearly hear him exhaling a long puff of air out of his nose. I think I’m a little sick.

-Ethan ? you ask again, resulting in him coughing after, you guess, badly swallowing his own saliva.

-Just talk to me, okay ? I’m on the edge of sleeping. Particular choice of words, Ethan.

-I don’t have anything to say, honestly. I worked today, that’s all.

-Tell me all about it.

You’re a cashier, there is literally nothing interesting enough to brag about. People are mean to you, others are nice. Being a cashier is long and boring.

-Helen, you know the girl with short hair I told you about, you start after seeing he wouldn’t let go. Ethan simply hums. She dropped the big pile of canned goods at the entrance and it fell on an old woman. She threatened to sue us.”

After this, you simply told him all about your day, even the most boring stuff. It was nice to have someone listening to you after a long day, on the other hand, it was Ethan you were talking to. Never had he interrupted you, only sometimes humming at your words or letting some kind of throaty sound out, making you aware he was still awake.

Sometimes as well, he would inhale, or exhale, louder, as if falling in and out of sleep.

But most of the time, his sheets would crease under him due to his constant movements. You don't know, but he seems agitated. Maybe he had a hard day ?

“...but he told me it was my job to clean after him ! I’m a cashier, not a slave. I told him I’d call the manager and, of course, he got escorted out. Seriously, people are so impolite, why do they think it’s okay to look down on me ? He did not answer, did he finally fall asleep ?

-Ethan ?” you ask, almost whispering.

He’s not sleeping, you realize. You clearly still hear his frantic breathing, he’s talking, too. You can’t quite understand but it looks like curses. “Ethan ?” you call. Putting the call on speaker, you listen carefully to each sound coming from him. What the hell is he doing ? Your ear catches another sound, lower, distant but very much here. Confusion paints your face, you approach your ear on the screen hoping to hear better.

Faint, swift wet sounds paired with his frantic breathing create an image of Ethan you never thought you’d hear. You can only think about one thing, him laying on his bed, jerking off talking to you.

This can’t be real. Ethan, it’s Ethan on the phone. He’s not a creep. He’s a shy man, and most of all, he’s straight. Ethan can’t be attracted to you, right ? Your heart is pounding in your rib cage from panic, stress, excitation; everything at once.

“Ethan are you fucking touching yourself over me right now ? he quietly moans.

-Yes, yes I am. Please don’t hang up, just… Just wait a little bit, please." His phone hits something, probably his chest, because now all you hear are the wet movements of his hand on his member.

Is it you or is it getting kind of hot in there ?

You stare at the wall, completely lost and overwhelmed by the situation, eyes not wanting to close. Ethan is jerking off on the phone, right now. He’s moaning, having stopped hiding by now. Is it a red flag ? It’s sort of weird to masturbate on the phone with someone not even aware of it. Ethan mutters something sounding like a question, you gulp, regaining your senses and asking him to repeat.

-I need to suck your dick really bad.

Oh !

Heat spread throughout your whole body in a generalized shiver at his words. You were absolutely burning from the inside. It’s now necessary to choose or you won’t be able to later. Are you really turned on or are you just missing being desired ? Are you excited by Ethan or do you just like the idea of him finally returning your affection ? You wouldn't have been turned on if your ex told you he's been touching himself and not even listening to you, in fact, you would have got angry and humiliated. But it's Ethan and you won't meet a man like him ever again.

-Face-time me, he pleads.

Taking your phone away from your ear, you click on the camera icon without thinking. Immediately, his clothed legs appear as well as his dick, your eyes going as wide as saucers. His jogging pants are soaked, it’s sticking to his skin through the fabric. Your member twitches in your pants, one of your hands quiver closer to it.

-Look at me, he whispers.

How many times has he came already ? And was it on the phone ? You didn’t even hear him ! His dick is shiny with cum, his hand is sliding on the tip, holding it firmly. His sighs only grow louder and louder. Backing against the counter, you start rubbing your dick through your pants, enthralled by the scene before you.

All of this, just for you ?

-I’m sorry, he whimpers, I’m sorry. I… His hips move against his hand to follow the movement but he moves so fast that his dick slips out of his hold, resulting in a frustrated sigh leaving his lips. Seeing him acting so desperate has you putting your hand in your pants immediately.

-I shouldn’t have ghosted you. He mutters, fueling your ego by finally obtaining remorse from him. It’s bad, but you’re so damn horny right now you’re drinking his words. We should’ve fucked that day…

-Yeah, you sigh dreamily, we should've.

-Let me see it, let me see your dick. With such hungry words, you can’t do much but oblige. You lower your pants enough to take out your cock, pointing the camera at it. Ethan moans, his hand going down to play with his balls. Knew you’d be sexy.

Fuck, the effect he has on you was almost worrying. You were so down bad for him, glad he’s in the same situation. Knowing he thought about you like that for a moment as well was so sexy you could burst in your pants.

Blinking slowly with eyes hazed by desire, you notice his legs moving to the side, spreading open. You now realize, even if it’s logical, that he’s in his room and that you’ve never seen it before. He displayed lot of posters on his walls, it's dark so it's hard to see what is it. Looking haphazardly around him, your eyes widen in confusion, curiosity replacing horniness for a brief moment.

Something caught your eyes in his room, you did not notice it until now as his dick was honestly more important than anything, but a book is on his bed. Your hand slows its movements on your member, utterly unhinged by its content. It’s not a book but a photo album, it’s disgustingly stained with cum and the picture in it is well too familiar for your liking.

-Ethan, is that…

My face ? you thought, not having enough strength to end your sentence.

-Yeah, he moans, so sexy like that. You’re so sexy when you don’t know I’m here. So handsome. My man, mine, so sexy.

What ?

-Want you to cum on my face like I cum on yours. His hand rubs frenetically at his dick. I’d... I'd swallow it all for you, he sighs. Want to be all yours. Forever. He ends his sentence on a shaky note, making you believe he was on the verge on coming.

His movements gained speed, wet sounds invading both his place and yours. You were second guessing everything really hard.

-Want to be your cumdump for you to use when you want...” Getting chill from his words, you hang up on the spot, throwing your phone on the counter before you. Looking down, you stare at your semi soft member, suddenly feeling disgusted by what you did. You get dressed up again, putting a hand on your tummy as if to prevent you from throwing up.

What the hell was that ?

Since when did Ethan… How did he… Why… He was jerking off to pictures of you ? What is wrong with him ? At one point, Ethan must have finished his business as your phone vibrates on the counter. You send daggers at it, not wanting to look at it one bit. But somehow, you do anyway, only to regret it instantly after. He sent you a photo.

A photo of that damned book, your head close-up full of his cum with his dick on the lower part of the screen, followed by a smiling emoji. You stare at it for a while, asking yourself at which point were you supposed to guess that Ethan was a psychopath. After some seconds, he sends you another text, one you almost shiver over.

“What do you think about coming over tomorrow ?“

step on me

pairing(s): chad meeks-martin x fem!reader

summary: chad feels the need to prove to ethan that you’re his and what better way than to finger you on the couch right next to him.

warning(s): 18+ content, fingering, jealous chad, ethan isn’t ghostface in this he’s just a normal nerdy guy, chad fingering you while ethan is sleeping and unedited work

© msgorillagripcoochie , do not steal, post on third party sites or translate my work

Chad liked to believe he was a respectable man, he tried to be the kind of guy you’d wanna take home to your parents. He usually was, he wasn’t ever too handsy in public and he’d always wait till you guys were alone for anything but today was different.

Tonight was your movie night which was usually just the two of you but then stupid Ethan had to tell you some fucking sob story about how he’d be alone tonight and you were always too sweet for your own good so you had offered for him to hang with you guys.

He knew Ethan wouldn’t be alone tonight, he had a study date with Ruby from Chemistry but he also knew about the huge crush Ethan had on you. It was obvious to everyone except you, you thought he was just being nice but Chad knew the truth.

Chad saw the eyes Ethan gave you, he recognized them as the same ones he often gave you, now Ethan wasn’t usually a problem but lately Ethan had obviously been inching his way deeper into your life.

Chad hated it.

And now Ethan was sitting on the other side of you on the couch Chad had planned to ravish you on. Chad rolled his eyes as Ethan made you laugh, again.

Chad had his arm protectively thrown over your shoulder making sure Ethan kept some distance between himself and you. “You’re actually really funny, Ethan.”

“Thank you.” The boy blushed “Can we just watch the movie?” Chad huffed not bothering to glance at Ethan but you raised your head “What’s wrong?” You speak quieter but Chad doesn’t bother hiding the conversation from Ethan “I just wanna watch the movie.”

“We don’t usually watch the movie anyways.” He looked down immediately seeing your sweet eyes and he softened until he heard Ethan’s nagging voice “What do you usually do?”

Before you get to respond Chad does “We usually fuck.” He raised his head glaring at Ethan who’s face was turning red.

“Chad!” You scolded him not really knowing what had gotten into him “I’m sorry.” You apologized to Ethan before the three of you decided to focus on the movie.

By the time the movie finish Ethan had fell asleep on the other side of the couch while you had gotten up to get water.

Chad couldn’t help but glare at Ethan’s sleeping body, he wouldn’t be surprised if this was apart of Ethan’s plan so he can stay the night with you.

All Chad wanted to do was take you upstairs and you fuck you so hard that Ethan could hear you moaning from down here and maybe Ethan would finally get the message but then a thought crossed his mind and he smirked when he saw you walking back towards him.

He could do one better.

You gasped when he pulled you in his lap, your back pressed against his chest as he kisses you roughly his hand on the back of your head.

You tried to keep up with his fast movements, your hand holding onto the couch cushion as he pulled you impossibly closer like he was afraid you’d slip away from him.

“Chad.” You moaned against his lips when he gripped your breast through your thin t-shirt. His tongue pushing against yours and his hand began to slid your shirt over your breasts but you stopped him just before he could “We can’t.” You whisper, he can hear your breathlessness in your voice.

"He's sleeping." He promised as you looked over your shoulder to where Ethan was sleeping, you could hear his snores and his head was turned towards the tv.

You turned back to Chad with a raised brow "He's a heavy sleeper I swear." He said playing with the material of your shirt but Chad’s lying, now if he knew something it was that Ethan was a light sleeper. Ethan slept like he was always watching his back.

You don’t seem convinced.

"One time I fell, it made a loud thud and guess what? He stood sleeping like a fucking baby." He twisted the story remembering the way Ethan had jumped up like someone was trying to murder him.

But he needed Ethan to know you were his and what better way than to fuck you on the couch right next to him.

"Maybe he didn't want to embarrass you." You replied but you let him slide his hands under your top squeezing your breasts in his hand "You're so paranoid babe." He hummed pressing a kiss to the side of your neck and you moved your head a bit so he could have better access.

“I wish you’d be more paranoid considering that we’ve been almost murdered before.” You argue as he pulls the shirt over your breasts. As he rolls his nipple between his finger he shrugged “I choose not to dwell.”

"Choose not to dwell my ass, you almost punched that guy in the ghostface mask when we first moved here." He lifted his head from where he was focusing on kneading your breasts to look at you with a scoff "Hey, hey that dickhead was taunting you, I was protecting your honor."

You laugh at his words shaking your head "I think you were just scared." You teased cupping his face letting your thumb trace his skin leaning your head against his "Whatever." He said with a pout but you raised your head a bit pecking his lips.

"It's okay, if Ghostface comes back, you can hide behind me." He smiled at you, catching your lips one more time as he began slipped his hand under your shorts.

He let out an exasperated moan just to bother you when he felt you had no panties on.

“Shh." You shushed him but he didn't respond his finger rubbing your clit in small circles and the sudden pleasure catches you by surprise as you thrust your hips up but he wraps his other arm around your waist to hold you against him.

You bit your lip to bite back a moan your hand wrapping around his wrist but it only encourages him more.

“Raise your hips.” He muttered and you follow his instructions embarrassing quick raising your hips so he can slide your shorts off letting them drop to the ground.

He lets out a happy hum spreading your legs again. He dragged his fingers through your wet folds, his middle finger teases your opening pushing just the tip in before pulling it out “Chad.” you whine leaning your head back trying to move your hips against his hand but it’s hard with his strong arm holding you down.

“Hm, what’s your wrong baby?” Chad asked throwing glances behind your head to where Ethan laid “Want me to touch you?” His voice is louder but you don’t catch it.

“Please.” You turn your head looking at him and Chad could never really resist your pretty eyes.

“Anything for you.” He says pushing his thick finger inside you a small gasp escaping yours lips, he moved slow at first pressing small pecks to your lips before you deepened the kiss.

Your hand slid to the back of his neck moaning against his lips when he shoved another finger inside you. Your tongue pushing against his before you sucked lightly at the tip of his tongue causing him to groan Chad’s fingers moving faster inside of you.

You pulled away moaning rather loudly, Chad smiled leaning his head against yours. You were so lost in yourself you had forgotten Ethan had even been sleeping at the end of the couch. Chad had always had that effect on you, you knew how to make you forget everything you were thinking.

He loosens his arm around your waist letting you move yourself against his fingers “Yeah, fuck yourself on my fingers.” He kisses your cheek watching as you fucked yourself on his fingers, the sound of your wetness was almost embarrassing.

And just as your felt the band almost snap, Ethan had shifted on the couch. “Chad.” You moan as he still thrusted his fingers inside you like he hadn’t noticed.

“We should stop.” You tell him through labored breaths turning your head to him and Chad pouted “He’s sleeping babe.”

“But what if he wakes up?”

“This’ll only take a second baby, you’re almost there aren’t you?” you gasped his fingers thrusted hitting your g spot “Chad, please.” It’s almost too much and you don’t know if you’re begging him to stop or keep going.

He throws a glance towards Ethan watching as Ethan visibly tenses up, obviously now awake. Chad smirked “You’re mine right baby?”

“Mhm.” You squeezed your eyes shut “Say it for me” he whispered in your ear.

“I’m yours Chad.” you whimpered “Only yours.” he kisses your temple as you unravel on his fingers. He fucks your through your high, a smile on his face “You did so good.” He pulled his fingers away from you having no shame as he pushed his fingers in his mouth sucking on them with a dramatic groan.

“Chad!” you laughed covering your mouth to try and hide it “You’re a freak.” he chuckled as well “Go upstairs for me, I’ll meet you in a second.” He told you tapping your thigh lightly.

“Oo for what?” you played coy but you couldn’t hide the excited smile on his face “So I can fuck you into the bed.” He pecked your lips and you giggled climbing off his lap before stopping.

“What about Ethan?” you whispered looking between your boyfriend and the boy “I’ll wake him up.” He promised before you scurried off up the stairs he waited a moment before waking up the boy who he knew was already awake.

They played dumb to each other for a moment acting like nothing had happened “Do you need a ride home? I can call you an uber.” Chad offered as Ethan grabbed his jacket. “No.” Ethan cleared his throat shaking his head “I’ll walk.”

Chad nodded leaning back on the couch watching as the brunette moved towards the door “Ethan?”

“Yeah?” Ethan turned back towards his friend who smiled at him “Stay the fuck away from my girlfriend.” Chad’s voice is soft like there isn’t an underlying threat in his words.

Ethan nodded quickly his eyes widened “Yeah, yeah of course man.” he promised “I would never mess with Y/N.”

“Just making sure Ethan.” Chad squinted at the boy before smiling again “I’ll see you tomorrow.” he waved as if he hadn’t just threatened his friend.

“I-I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ethan stuttered before leaving carefully closing the door behind him. Chad stood there for a moment tapping at the arm of the couch .

“Chad!” You impatiently called after your boyfriend causing him to laugh jumping up from his seat “I’m coming! And you better have your damn clothes off!”

“When do I ever have my clothes on?!” You called back making him shake his head as he climbed up the stairs skipping a few steps to get there faster.

“God, I fucking love you.” he muttered underneath his breath.

a/n: this isn’t proofread so there’s 100% grammar errors and im sorry if this sucks but if you like it feel free to request and tell me what you think.

Not me rewatching Manlybadasshero's playthrough of the beta because he's a little too good at voice acting

*reading a fic for x reader with no warning of physical descriptions*

“slim figure” “turned red” “[insert some texture/color/length] hair” “pale as snow”

y’all it’s not x reader if you have descriptors that exclude people, especially when it’s cutting marginalized groups from enjoying it.

if it’s an oc with no name say that.

He is very polite

paul dano isn’t just some white boy of the month to me he’s my friend

he's kinda weird ngl :/

I'm speechless, the talent is immaculate

love in the margins | t. iida

a short, slow-burn library romance, ft. one blueberry muffin, exactly zero jokes, and a boy who takes flashcards way too seriously. (4597 words)

you meet tenya iida under circumstances that can only be described as tragically collegiate: a peer-led study group in the furthest, quietest corner of the campus library, surrounded by half-dead fluorescent bulbs and the palpable despair of students on the brink of burnout.

it's the third week of the semester, and you're already floundering.

you hadn't intended to be. in theory, you were going to stay on top of things—read the chapters early, color-code your notes, maybe even start a study group of your own. but somewhere between sleep deprivation, an avalanche of discussion posts, and the mysterious black hole that is the university's online portal, you fell behind. hard.

introduction to public policy has been your academic nemesis from the start. the textbook reads like legal jargon swallowed a thesaurus. the professor talks in dense, circular metaphors. every quiz is a minefield of trick questions and ambiguous phrasing. you are, in every sense of the word, academically drowning.

so when a brightly colored flyer promising a "collaborative review session" caught your eye on the bulletin board outside the lecture hall, you didn't think twice. you showed up. desperate. caffeinated. terminally underprepared.

and now you regret everything.

the room smells like dry-erase markers and nervous sweat. a whiteboard at the front is covered in illegible graphs. someone has already spilled a latte on the floor. the guy leading the group talks fast and loud, his explanations full of buzzwords and gestures but lacking anything remotely useful. you suspect he's just regurgitating the study guide at a slightly faster pace.

the other students seem to agree.

one by one, they start to trickle out. a girl leaves with the excuse of "office hours." a guy mutters something about dinner. another just quietly packs up and disappears, not even bothering with a pretense.

by the end of the hour, only two people remain: you, clinging to a futile hope of salvaging your gpa... and him.

he sits across from you with the kind of posture that makes your back ache just looking at him. tall, composed, and absurdly polished—like someone who writes essays three days early and carries a spare pen in case someone forgets theirs. his navy-blue sweater is wrinkle-free. his glasses catch the dim library light. his notes are not just color-coded—they're thematically organized, annotated with footnotes and marginalia in tiny, immaculate handwriting.

he hasn't spoken once. he hasn't needed to.

he radiates competence like it's a moral obligation.

"you're still here?" you ask, more surprise than judgment.

the boy looks up, blinking as if surfacing from a well of deep concentration. he adjusts his glasses with a practiced motion.

"yes," he says, voice clipped and oddly formal. "you are as well."

you arch an eyebrow. "no offense, but... are you actually getting something out of this?"

his expression doesn't change, but he tilts his head slightly—almost like he's assessing you.

"of course," he replies. "engaging in structured group review enhances cognitive retention and contextual understanding. it's an effective method for consolidating knowledge prior to a high-stakes assessment."

you blink. "so... yes?"

he doesn't hesitate. "yes."

you snort—audibly. it escapes before you can stop it. and to your surprise, a faint smile flickers across his mouth.

"i'm tenya iida," he says, extending a hand across the table with the kind of precision reserved for formal introductions at university mixers.

you stare at his hand for a moment, then take it. his grip is warm. steady. confident in a way that makes you sit up a little straighter.

"y/n," you say.

his smile grows just slightly. "it's a pleasure to meet you, y/n."

he releases your hand and immediately pulls out a second set of flashcards from his folder. of course he has a second set.

"would you like to quiz each other?" he asks, dead serious. "alternating questions could be a mutually beneficial method of review."

you stare at him.

he stares back.

something about him—the earnestness, the posture, the complete and utter lack of sarcasm—disarms you. it's like he's the living embodiment of academic sincerity. you're not sure whether to laugh or agree.

you do both.

"...sure."

you don't know it yet, but that's the beginning.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don't plan on seeing him again.

it's not personal. it's just that study groups are the social equivalent of jury duty—temporary, miserable, and best forgotten. you assume tenya iida is one of those hyper-dedicated overachievers who only exist within the academic ecosystem. he probably recedes into a cloud of flashcards and moral fiber as soon as the library closes.

you are, however, proven categorically wrong the following wednesday at exactly 8:03 a.m.

you enter the campus café half-awake, mildly hostile, and fully dependent on the idea of caffeine as a substitute for sleep. the plan is simple: grab something with enough espresso to make your eye twitch, stare blankly at your phone for fifteen minutes, and pretend the crushing weight of institutional learning isn't slowly hollowing you out from the inside.

but fate—or perhaps syllabus-based divine intervention—has other plans.

because when you step inside, there he is.

same posture. same glasses. same stupidly crisp button-down like it didn't just come out of someone's laundry but graduated magna cum laude from it. he's seated at a table by the window, surrounded by highlighters arranged like soldiers, reading the textbook that has been your personal tormentor since week one.

and next to his coffee?

a single blueberry muffin.

you hesitate, caught in that weird space where it's too late to pretend you didn't see him, but also too awkward to walk past without acknowledging him.

before you can make a decision, he looks up—and smiles.

not just a polite, "ah yes, i recognize you" smile.

a real smile. brief, but sincere. like he's actually glad you're here.

he waves you over.

you hate how quickly your legs respond.

"didn't expect to see you here," you say as you slide into the seat across from him, instantly aware of how tired you look in comparison to his perfectly combed hair and terrifying punctuality.

"i study here most mornings," he replies. "the ambient noise level is consistent, and the natural lighting is optimal for focus."

you blink. "that is... alarmingly specific."

he inclines his head. "i find that consistency breeds productivity."

you want to tease him, but the truth is, it's kind of admirable. alarming. but admirable.

he gestures to the pastry between you.

"would you like half?" he asks. "it's fresh. and i believe we have, at this point, established a cordial enough rapport to justify the sharing of breakfast items."

you stare at him.

"do you always offer muffins to people you've only studied with once?"

he doesn't even flinch. "only when they look tired enough to deserve one."

your mouth twitches.

"you've been saving that line, haven't you."

he looks mildly offended. "no. though i could annotate it in my planner if you'd like."

you laugh—genuinely this time—and accept the muffin. it's warm, sweet, and annoyingly perfect. just like him.

you don't pull out your flashcards. not immediately. you sit there in companionable silence, splitting the muffin and sipping your drinks like it's something you've always done. like this is normal.

you tell yourself this isn't a date. obviously.

it's too early in the day for romance. you're both clutching textbooks like weapons. he hasn't even made a single joke. (you're not sure he knows how.)

and yet—

when he leans in to show you a section he highlighted—carefully annotated with footnotes and marginal notes that are somehow neater than your typed essays—your shoulders brush. you don't pull away.

he doesn't, either.

later, you realize that you don't even remember what chapter you reviewed.

but you remember the sound of his voice as he quietly explained it. the way he passed you the last bite of muffin without saying anything. the way his fingers curled ever so slightly when he set his pen down between you.

you remember thinking, with a strange flutter in your chest: this could be something.

not yet.

but maybe.

⋆˚✿˖°

you tell yourself this is still just about school.

you repeat it like a mantra as you meet him at the library every tuesday and thursday without fail, settling into your now-permanent seats by the windows like assigned partners in some ongoing group project that no one else remembers being assigned to. his bag always lands on the table first, followed by a reusable water bottle the size of your emotional baggage. he brings extra highlighters now—plural—and starts leaving a green one near your elbow like he’s not even thinking about it.

you, in turn, stop pretending to study anywhere else.

because the truth is, you don’t concentrate better when he’s around—not even a little. he’s distracting in the worst possible way: tall and tidy and terminally composed, with a voice like a podcast host and a smile that you pretend not to notice every time he glances over at you with something like pride in his eyes.

and the worst part?

it’s working.

your grades are going up. you understand policy terminology now. you caught yourself referencing a case study unprompted in another class, and the look your professor gave you made it feel like you’d just been knighted.

you’d thank him for it—sincerely—if he didn’t look so smug every time you nailed a quiz.

“you’ve clearly been applying yourself,” he says one evening, looking over your annotated notes like they’re some kind of sacred text.

“i’ve been applying your study methods,” you reply, then instantly regret it, because the smile he gives you in return is devastating.

and that would be fine—annoying, but fine—if it weren’t for the fact that he’s started sitting closer.

not drastically. not inappropriately. just... close.

close enough that when you both lean in to look at something on the same page, your shoulders brush. your knees knock. his hand lingers near yours when he passes you a pen, and he doesn’t move away quickly. sometimes—and this is particularly evil—his thigh rests against yours under the table for minutes at a time, and you’re too proud (and too panicked) to say anything.

you’re not flirting. not really.

you’re both too stubborn for that.

but something is happening. you just don’t know what to call it.

one thursday afternoon, the sky is gray and heavy with the threat of rain. the windows in the library fog up slightly, making the whole room feel smaller, softer, somehow more intimate. your shoes are damp. your brain is fried. you’re barely holding onto your focus.

but he’s already there, sitting at your usual table with a mug from the downstairs café and a folder labeled “legislation review: week 5.” there’s a muffin. of course there’s a muffin.

he looks up as you approach. smiles. “you’re early.”

you blink. “so are you.”

he shrugs. “anticipation is efficient.”

“what does that even mean?”

he hesitates, like he’s genuinely considering it. “it means i enjoy this.”

your heart does something stupid.

you take your seat before your face can give you away.

thirty minutes in, your brain stops processing information entirely.

you’re trying to focus. really, you are. but his leg is pressed against yours and you swear it’s getting closer every time he shifts. it’s not even the contact itself that’s distracting—it’s the fact that he doesn’t seem to notice. like it’s just normal. like this is how he always studies with people.

(does he?)

(no. he can’t.)

“y/n?” he says, and you jolt like you’ve been electrocuted.

“hm?”

“i asked if you’d like to walk through the case brief again. you seem... distant.”

you clear your throat and try not to sound like someone whose brain has just been wiped by a thigh. “yeah, no, i’m fine. just tired.”

he nods solemnly. “understandable. your coursework has been particularly intensive.”

he says it like he knows your schedule better than you do—which he might. you’ve seen his planner. you’re pretty sure he’s memorized the entire academic calendar, national holidays included.

you try to return to your notes.

you fail.

eventually, you lean back in your chair and exhale.

“okay,” you say. “i need to ask you something.”

he looks up, immediately attentive. “yes?”

you glance around—no one’s within earshot— and lean in slightly.

“this thing we do.”

he blinks. “studying?”

“no. i mean yes, but no.” you gesture vaguely between the two of you. “this. the muffins. the flashcards. the... sitting so close i can smell your laundry detergent.”

he goes still.

“i’m just trying to understand if we’re, like...” you hesitate. “is this just a really intense academic friendship or are we... flirting?”

he doesn’t speak for a long moment.

then, carefully: “i hadn’t realized my proximity was making you uncomfortable.”

“it’s not!” you say, too quickly. “it’s just... confusing.”

“confusing how?”

you fidget with the cap of your pen. “because we do things that feel... date-adjacent. and i don’t know if that’s just how you are with people or if i’m—” you stop yourself before you can say not imagining it.

his brows draw together, faintly perplexed. “i apologize. i didn’t mean to cause confusion.”

you blink. “so you are flirting?”

his ears go pink. just slightly. “i wouldn’t define it as flirting. but i do enjoy spending time with you.”

you squint at him. “that’s not a no.”

he hesitates. then, quieter: “it’s not.”

oh.

you stare at him. he stares back.

and then—like the universe can’t stand unresolved tension—your knees bump again.

but this time, he doesn’t shift away.

and neither do you.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don’t call it a date.

not out loud.

not even in your head, really—not technically. because you’re not dating. you haven’t kissed. there’s been no confession. there’s been no moment of clarity where either of you has stood dramatically in the rain and said i think about you all the time, which, honestly, is a bit disappointing.

but you still change your outfit three times before meeting him for coffee on saturday.

you still hesitate in front of the mirror, adjusting your sleeves and second-guessing your hair, muttering get a grip under your breath like it’s a prayer.

you still pause at the door to the café, one hand on the handle, and remind yourself—again—that this isn’t a date.

you’re just meeting up. casually. like friends.

friends who sometimes sit with their knees touching under library tables. friends who share muffins and steal glances and somehow always find reasons to linger a little too long in doorways.

friends who, if they weren’t so emotionally constipated, might’ve figured this out already.

but you push the door open anyway, and the little bell overhead chimes bright and familiar.

he’s already there.

of course he is.

tenya iida is punctual to the point of pathology. if you told him to meet you in the afterlife at 3:00 p.m. sharp, he’d be there early, holding a clipboard and a fully prepared powerpoint.

he’s sitting near the window, back straight, hands folded politely in his lap. his hair is a little messy from the wind outside. his sweater is navy—clean, simple, a little oversized in a way that makes you stare longer than you should.

he sees you and stands immediately, which is both adorable and completely unnecessary.

“you’re early,” he says, voice warm.

“so are you.”

he doesn’t reply, but the smile he gives you is soft around the edges.

you order something with too much caffeine and not enough nutritional value. he offers to pay, like he always does. you decline, like you always do. it’s a silent tradition now, a ritual of stubbornness. he lets it go with a quiet nod, but not without giving you that look—the one that says i was raised right and this physically pains me.

you find a booth in the corner, a little more secluded than the rest. the sun spills in through the window in soft golden streaks, and for a moment, it feels like you’re somewhere outside of time.

“i’ve never seen you wear that color,” he says as you sit down.

you glance at your shirt. “yeah? too much?”

he shakes his head immediately. “no. it suits you.”

your mouth goes a little dry.

you recover quickly, leaning back and sipping your drink like it doesn’t mean anything. like the warmth crawling up your neck is from the coffee and not the compliment.

“so,” you say, clearing your throat. “what’s on the agenda for today? rigorous academic analysis? philosophical debates about economic ethics? impromptu pop quizzes?”

he tilts his head. “i thought we might take the day off.”

you blink. “from... studying?”

“from everything.” he shrugs, a little sheepishly. “i realized we’ve never spent time together without a textbook between us.”

your heart does something strange.

“you mean like... just hang out?”

“yes.”

“like friends.”

he hesitates. just barely. “yes. like friends.”

the words hang in the air between you—awkward, uncertain, but not unkind.

you nod, slowly. “okay. yeah. we can do that.”

and you do.

you talk. not about school, not about deadlines or group projects or the upcoming midterm. you talk about dumb childhood stories and weird food preferences and the fact that he once tried to start a recycling initiative in his middle school and was very upset when no one followed the sorting chart correctly.

you tell him about your obsession with terrible reality TV. he listens with the seriousness of a man taking notes for a thesis.

he tells you about his older brother, and how much he looks up to him. you tell him about the stray cat that used to follow you home in high school, even though you never fed it.

he laughs—really laughs—when you tell him about the time you broke your nose in gym class trying to dodge a volleyball and ran straight into a bleacher.

“i’m sorry,” he says between gasps. “i don’t mean to laugh at your pain.”

“no, you do,” you say, grinning. “and it’s okay. i would too.”

at one point, your knees bump under the table again. this time, neither of you pulls away.

it’s later than you mean it to be when you finally leave the café. the sun is dipping low, the sky tinged with lavender and orange. the street is quiet, and the wind bites just enough to make you zip your jacket up.

you walk together. not toward the library, not toward another class—just aimlessly. like people who have nowhere else to be.

it’s peaceful.

and weirdly... intimate.

you’re not talking. not really. the silence between you is comfortable now, lived-in. every so often your hands brush, and you wonder—wildly, stupidly —what would happen if you just reached out.

but you don’t.

because this isn’t a date.

it’s not.

except maybe... it is.

“this was nice,” you say, when you finally reach the crosswalk where you’ll part ways.

he nods. “i enjoyed it.”

there’s a beat of silence.

“we should do it again,” you say. casually. like it doesn’t mean anything.

but he looks at you like it does.

“i’d like that,” he says. and then—“you’re very easy to be around.”

your breath catches.

you want to say something. you’re easy to be around too. i think about you when we’re not together. i don’t know if i’m imagining this but i hope i’m not.

instead, you say, “you’re weirdly charming, you know that?”

he blinks. “i—thank you?”

you grin. “it’s a compliment. mostly.”

he laughs. soft. pleased. “i’ll take it.”

he takes a small step back, like he’s about to leave —but then pauses.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“if this had been a date...” he clears his throat. “would that have been... agreeable to you?”

you stare at him.

then, slowly—carefully—you nod.

“yeah,” you say. “i think it would’ve been.”

he smiles. it’s small. tentative. but it lights up his whole face.

“then maybe next time, we won’t pretend.”

you feel like you’re floating.

“deal.”

he nods once. then, with a strange, lingering sort of hesitation—like he’s not ready to go yet—he turns to leave.

you watch him go.

and for the first time in a long time, you feel... hopeful.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don't know what you're expecting.

when he texts you the next morning—same time tuesday? not for studying this time. if you're free.—you stare at it for a good ten minutes before responding. not because you’re unsure of your answer (you’re not), but because the implication hits like a freight train.

not for studying.

not as friends.

just you. just him. again.

this time, it’s a little different.

this time, he’s calling it what it is.

you don’t overthink your reply (for once). you just type yeah. i’m free and throw your phone face-down before your heart can beat out of your chest.

and when tuesday rolls around, you are twenty minutes early.

you tell yourself it’s because the weather’s nice and the walk was shorter than usual and you didn’t want to cut it close. but the truth is, you’ve been ready since noon.

you’re wearing the sweater he said he liked once, months ago, after a study session where he handed you a highlighter and your fingers brushed and you both paused like the world might end. it’s not even your warmest or your nicest sweater. it’s just... the one he looked at a little too long.

you don’t want to admit what that means.

you sit in your usual seat by the window. a small table, worn edges. your coffee in hand. no textbooks. no flashcards. just the sound of the café around you and the low simmer of anticipation in your chest.

he walks in three minutes early, which is basically scandalous by iida standards.

you glance up, and the second your eyes meet, he smiles.

it’s not his usual polite, committee-appropriate smile.

it’s something else.

something softer.

he sits down across from you like he’s been doing it his whole life.

you stare at him for a second too long.

“you’re early,” he says, like it’s a fact worth noting. his voice is gentler than usual.

“so are you.”

“a rare occurrence.”

“should i be concerned?”

he laughs—quietly, warmly. “i thought you might say that.”

you both go quiet.

not awkward quiet. just... full.

full of everything you’re not saying.

you sip your drink and hope your heart doesn’t explode.

twenty minutes in, you realize you’ve forgotten what time it is.

again.

you’re talking about something stupid—a professor you both silently hate but never speak ill of in class—and he’s mimicking their voice in a whisper, hand shielding his mouth, and you’re laughing.

like genuinely, honestly laughing.

like you don’t have a hundred things weighing you down.

he always does that. makes everything feel easier. lighter.

it’s dangerous, how much you like it.

how much you like him.

you haven’t said it. not out loud. not even to yourself.

but the truth is: you’re in trouble.

deep trouble.

because tenya iida has the power to wreck you in a way no one else ever has.

not because he’s dramatic. not because he’s charming (though he is, in that annoying, understated, golden-retriever-with-a-perfect-credit-score kind of way).

but because he’s steady.

because he means things.

because when he looks at you, it’s like you’re someone worth understanding.

and you’ve never been loved gently before.

not like this.

you walk out together.

neither of you mentions how long you stayed. it’s dark out, but neither of you cares.

you walk close, side by side. your hands brush once, then again. his fingers twitch toward yours, and you pretend not to notice—not because you don’t want it, but because you’re not sure what happens if you reach back.

you talk about nothing. and everything.

he tells you about the time his older brother accidentally dyed his hair blue with a shampoo prank and how no one in their house was allowed to mention it for an entire year.

you tell him about the time you accidentally set off a fire alarm trying to microwave leftover curry in a dorm that very explicitly prohibited strong-smelling food.

“you’re a menace,” he says, laughing.

you bump your shoulder into his. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he glances at you. “i didn’t say that.”

you both stop at the crosswalk—the same one where you stood days ago.

the same one where he asked if this had been a date...

you’re not pretending anymore.

and yet.

you don’t know what to say.

you just look at him, the wind brushing through your sleeves, your fingers cold where they’re shoved into your pockets.

he looks at you.

longer than before.

long enough that your heart stumbles.

and then—quietly—he says, “can i ask you something?”

you nod. “of course.”

his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it. careful.

“why me?”

you blink. “what?”

“why... this?” he gestures gently between you. “i know i’m not the most exciting person. i’m not particularly funny or... spontaneous.”

you frown. “iida.”

“i’m just trying to understand,” he says. “why you keep showing up.”

you want to say because i like the way you talk when you’re tired, or because your laugh makes me want to listen to every dumb story you’ve ever told.

you want to say because i’ve never felt so calm next to another person in my entire life.

instead, you say, “because when i’m with you, i don’t feel like i have to be anyone else.”

his expression shifts.

his jaw tightens. his eyes soften.

he takes a step closer.

“i don’t want to mess this up,” he says.

“you’re not.”

“i don’t want to misread it.”

you exhale, a laugh escaping despite yourself. “you’re not.”

his hand lifts, hesitates—then lands gently against your cheek.

you stop breathing.

“may i kiss you?” he asks.

you nod before your brain catches up.

“yeah,” you whisper. “you may.”

and he does.

it’s not rushed.

it’s not fiery or desperate.

it’s patient. reverent. like he’s memorizing the feeling. like he’s been waiting for the right moment and this, finally, is it.

his lips press softly against yours, and your hands lift automatically to his jacket, holding on, grounding yourself.

when you part, he leans his forehead against yours.

you’re both quiet for a moment.

then he says, “i’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

you smile. “i could tell.”

“was i too obvious?”

“painfully.”

he laughs, arms sliding around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“this is still new,” he says. “i know that.”

you nod.

“but i’m willing to take it slow.”

“okay.”

“i’ll be patient.”

“okay.”

he pauses. “and i’d like to take you to dinner. an actual dinner. with reservations and menus and probably overpriced appetizers.”

you grin. “are you asking me on a real date?”

he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“yes,” he says. “i’m asking.”

“then yes,” you reply. “i’m saying yes.”

you walk home hand-in-hand.

you don’t have to say anything.

it’s not pretending anymore.

and for once—finally—that feels like enough.