May 8, 2019
it’s finals week and everything is b a d
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from South Korea
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Maldives
seen from Germany
seen from Netherlands
seen from Maldives
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Netherlands
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Netherlands
seen from Singapore
seen from Germany
it’s finals week and everything is b a d
some fresh dip
Binary Star
Part I
Pairing: academic rival!Satoru Gojo x reader
Warnings: yandere, obsession, power play, hurt/comfort, no curse au, this series will get darker as the story progresses.
Words: 1.2k
Summary: It has to pay off, he thinks as he waits for the headmaster to finally announce the valedictorian, knowing she is there too, shifting from one foot to the other impatiently. What face is she going to make when his name will be called? Is she going to cry? To yell at him and publicly demand a re-evaluation? Or will she, perhaps, finally admit he's done a fantastic job and won fair and square?
____________
He is really going to get her this time. This is the finish line, quite literally: the graduation; his last attempt to win and emerge victorious from the very last battle between him and her. It has to be it.
If he couldn't win against her for the last time, Gojo would probably have a mental breakdown right in the middle of the ceremony. Geto standing right next to him rolls his eyes to the ceiling over his friend who's shaking from excitement and fear. Of course, Satoru wouldn't admit it even under torture, but Suguru knows better. The girl his friend has been competing with throughout high school isn't just smart: she's completely insane like Gojo and as big pain in the ass as him. Who knows, perhaps she'll really win this round. He prefers not to think of it.
Satoru searches for her in the crowd, standing on his toes despite already being a foot taller than anyone else in the hall. Is she here? This nightmarish woman who has been pushing him to give high school his all because she dared to take away his crown of the best student during their freshman year? When Satoru saw the scores, he thought he might have had a heart attack. There was no way he was no longer #1.
hi-hi <33 i still have the cold ive had for the last few days, still not feeling very well so im sorry again if its not my best (i will say tho i feel like my writing has gotten better since day one so thats great) but love all of you, enjoy & happy reading
The first thing Peter registers is light, too much of it pouring through the penthouse windows, turning the dust in the air into glitter he didn't sign up for. The second thing is that his mouth tastes like he gargled a sock.
The third thing is Tony Stark standing at the foot of the couch with a mug in one hand, a tablet in the other, and the kind of focused frown he usually reserves for killer robots and quarterly earnings "Good afternoon sleeping beauty" Tony says. Peter squints, the couch blanket is heavy, his skin is clammy and the inside of his head feels like someone sanded it "...what time is it?"
"Two thirty four. youve been unconscious since I pried your heroic fingers off your backpack this morning, had to wrestle it away from you, it was embarrassing for both of us"
"I have to email Mr. Harrington-" Peter tries to sit up, the room tilts in protest, his arms trembling, so do his eyelashes "We have a lab write up due tonight, and I have a spanish test tomorrow, and if I dont log into calc by five Ms. Warren locks the assignment"
Tony sets the mug on the coffee table, casually blocking Peters route with one knee "...yeah about Mrs Warrens digital dungeon, I called your school"
Peter blinks "you did... what?"
"Shh. Daddys working" Tony points the tablet at him like a remote "you have excused absences for the rest of the week, unless the fever breaks earlier, in which case we can renegotiate. 'We' being me, because your brain is currently simmering at a low concerning boil"
"I'm fine"
"FRIDAY" Tony says without looking away
A soft chime "Mr. Parkers temperature as of five minutes ago was 101.8 degrees fahrenheit. Pulse 98 resting, oxygen 97%, no respiratory distress"
Peter groans into the couch pillow "...you narked on me to my AI"
"She loves you more than me" Tony says "Which I will unpack with my therapist at a later date" he squints at the tablet "Anyway, your teachers send their regards and their PDFs"
Peter coughs damply into his elbow, the cough rattles "I can do some of it now, I'll just- just a little, like- like the worksheets only twenty problems"
Tony slides the mug into his hands “Pepper made that" Tony says “its full of wholesome intent, disappoint me by not drinking it”
Peter stares at the steam, it fogs his glasses- oh right, hes wearing contects, thats how bad this is "I can drink and do math. I'm multi-task capable"
"you're multi mucus capable" Tony says "it's a niche market, also I was the worksheet, thats not math, thats a legally actionable cry for help, we're doing triage, You: fluids, antipyretics, horizontal. Me: offensive against Midtowns LMS" Peter would laugh if laughing didnt feel like swallowing sandpaper "you're gonna hack the homework portal?" "Peter. I am an upstanding citizen, I would never, besides they already gave us the downloads, I'm gonna categorize your assignments by misery index and then, imagine trumpets, apply Stark Differentiated Suffering Scheduling TM”
"That acronym is.. not good"
"The acronym is a work in progress" Tony drags the armchair closer with one foot and drops into it, crossing his legs in an angle that probably cost his tailor something “okay.. tell me which classes you actually like this semester”
“Chem. Spanish is... fine. Engineering club is-” Peter swallows, the tea burns in a nice way on the way down “Calc is calc.”
“Calc is calc” Tony repeats solemnly, like a prayer for the damned, he flicks to a different screen “Here’s the thing kid, your immune system is LARPing as a snotty tissue, your brain is fogged. I could do the assignments for you, but then you’d learn nothing and we would both be bored. So, alternate proposal: I teach you how to punt”
"I don't punt."
“You do now” Tony ticks points off on his fingers “Rule One: if an assignment’s point value is in the single digits and the teacher’s rubric says ‘completion grade’ that task goes in the ‘fever basket’-which is code for ‘we roll the dice later or skip it entirely’ Rule Two: anything time-boxed that can be extended by a parent email will be extended by a parent email, and yes, I am volunteering to cosplay as your parent, rule Three: you pick one thing you want to do today, and we do that one thing well. Then you go back to sleep”
Peter tightens his grip on the mug, the citrus cuts through the nausea a little “But- if I skip stuff I’ll get behind”
“You’re behind on being alive” Tony says “And before you argue, please note that you tried to brush your teeth with hand soap this morning, you made a face like you were betrayed by capitalism itself"
Peter presses the heel of his free hand to his eye socket, He had wondered why the foam tasted like hotel lobby “Okay, that was a mistake”
“Mm.” Tony scrolls “Chemistry write-up. You get points for making a graph look pretty. This we can handle. Spanish vocab? Could do in a coma, which you may currently be in. Calc” he says, and sighs, long-suffering. “one time I tried to explain L’Hôpital’s rule to a senator and watched a vein in his forehead give up on America. We can let that one marinate until tomorrow”
“Ms. Warren doesn’t do extensions” Peter says, reflexive. The tea is almost tolerable now, he tucks his feet under the blanket “says deadlines are an important life skill”
“I run a multinational company” Tony says flatly “You can quote me: life skills also include knowing when to ignore dumb rules”
Peter almost smiles which cracks a headache open behind his eyes “You’re gonna email my math teacher?”
“I’m going to email your math teacher with Pepper’s name in the CC line”
FRIDAY, traitor that she is, makes a noise that sounds like she’s trying not to laugh. Tony leans forward, elbows on his knees, tablet balanced on the armrest. He studies Peter’s face with an intensity that makes Peter want to squirm “You took your last dose at ten?”
“…ish?”
“Ish. FRIDAY?”
“10:07” FRIDAY says “Acetaminophen six hundred and ibuprofen four hundred, administered by Ms. Potts after Mr. Parker resisted the second dose by attempting to hide under the coffee table”
Peter’s face goes hot in a way that has nothing to do with fever “I wasn’t hiding. I dropped my phone”
“Under the coffee table” Tony says, deadpan. “Where you coincidentally stayed until Pepper promised you orange slices like you were a tiny soccer champion. It’s on the security footage if you ever want to revisit your finest hour”
“I hate it here,” Peter mutters into the mug, and takes another sip
“Good. Hate it hydrated.” Tony swipes “Alright, chem first. What’s the lab?”
“Enthalpy” Peter says automatically “Calorimetry, finding ΔH for-” His brow furrows. “-I know this. Coffee cup calorimeter, q equals m c ΔT, then convert to moles"
“Look at you, doing science. Let’s get you a little spreadsheet action” Tony sends a document to the big TV, columns populate like soldiers marching “You can dictate, I’ll type. Saves your muscles for the important stuff like breathing and... glaring”
“I don’t glare.”
“You do the world’s most tragic puppy-glare. It’s like being bullied by a beagle” Tony flicks his eyes up “Hit me with your masses and temperature change”
Peter closes his eyes and pictures the lab bench, Harrington’s jokes, Ned dropping a stir bar, the sharp smell of ethanol, MJ giving him a look over the rim of her goggles like she knows the answers to things he doesn’t even know are questions, his head feels treacherous but the numbers are there where he left them
He recites, Tony types without looking at the keys, which is the kind of flex Peter would appreciate more if his skull weren’t a drum, They work their way through q and moles and an error analysis that Tony insists on turning into (quote) “a teaching moment about instrument precision that your textbook should be ashamed of.”
At some point Pepper drifts through with a cool hand to Peter’s forehead and the kind of smile adults get when you finish your vegetables. She mouths drink and points at the mug; he obeys because defying Pepper Potts has never worked for any living creature.
By the time the graph is pretty enough to make Mr. Harrington cry gentle tears, Peter has slid lower on the couch. The room still tilts, but not as angrily. The coughs come and go like bad radio.
Tony sends the file and leans back, folding his arms. “Boom. One assignment slain. How do you feel?”
“Like a microwaved burrito” Peter says truthfully “But… thanks. That was the worst one”
“Good. That means we stop”
Peter’s head jerks up “Spanish is easy. I can do Spanish”
“You also said you could walk down the stairs by yourself this morning and then forgot stair three exists” Tony says. “No shade to your cerebellum but the only thing we’re doing next is the patented Stark Rest Protocol”
Peter narrows his eyes “Which is?”
Tony raises an eyebrow. “You’re looking at it. Couch. Blanket. Fluids. One episode of whatever show you kids are rotting your brains on. A nap. Maybe, spitballing here,a shower if you can stand upright, because you smell like the inside of a gym bag that angered a god.”
“I don’t smell,” Peter says, and then stops; his own nose informs him otherwise.
“We all have our truths,” Tony says. “FRIDAY, queue something that won’t accelerate his fever through sheer stupidity.”
“May I recommend nature documentary content?” FRIDAY offers. “The penguin series is soothing.”
Peter frowns into his blanket. “Are penguins… sad?”
“Only if you’re a fish,” Tony says. “FRIDAY, let’s penguin.”
The TV softens into a sweep of blue ice and small tuxedoed birds committing to a lifestyle choice. Peter tries not to care. He fails immediately. Penguins are.. fine. Whatever.
His eyelids droop. He dozes and startles and dozes again, distantly aware of Tony scrolling through emails, firing off messages with the efficiency of a man who could run a war from a breakfast nook. At some point Tony gets up, vanishes, returns with a cold pack tucked in a towel. He doesn’t announce it, just swaps it for the warm pack on Peter’s forehead, like it’s the most obvious thing.
The cold is a relief that makes his eyes water. He swallows the lump in his throat with the stubborn pride of a seventeen-year-old who doesn’t cry in front of billionaires.
“Hey.” Tony’s voice is gentle enough that Peter’s hackles go up on principle. “What was the plan here if I hadn’t been home? Because I’m going to be honest, the text at six a.m. that said ‘running late, everything is fine’ was the least convincing lie you’ve ever told.”
“I was gonna do school,” Peter mumbles. “I always go. I don’t… I’m not good at missing things.”
“Mm.” Tony’s chair creaks. “I used to think that, too. There was a whole period of my life where I thought if I just outran sleep, I could outrun consequences. Turns out the consequences jog. They catch up.”
Peter opens one eye. Tony has that look again, focused, a little far away. Peter knows better than to poke at it when it surfaces. The couch sink is warm. The cold pack numbs the ache at his temples. He wants to argue, and also to close his eyes and let the penguins do their thing.
“You’re not-” He starts, and then the sentence takes a detour. “I don’t need, like, training wheels. For school. I know what’s due.”
Tony huffs, amused. “I’m aware, courtesy of your spreadsheet of doom. I’m not giving you training wheels. I’m giving you a pit crew.”
“That’s… not how bikes work.”
“It is how metaphors work. Look, kid. You’re a genius, you’re responsible to a fault, and your idea of self-care is swapping out a cracked phone screen before it slices a finger off. All admirable. But part of being smart is knowing when to trade momentum for stability. Anyone can plow forward; it takes a better brain to say ‘not today.’”
Peter stares at the penguins. One of them slo-mos into the ocean like a tiny torpedo. He thinks about Ms. Warren’s neatly color-coded calendar, the way MJ raises one eyebrow when she sees him knot himself up over nothing, May’s automatic mom-face when she hands him soup and says want to talk about it? and he says no, I’m fine, and she says okay, when you are, I’m here.
He doesn’t need Tony to break down the biology of fevers. He knows what a hypothalamus is, and he knows what exhaustion feels like crawling along his bones. He knows when he’s ragged. He also knows the little thread that hums under all of it, the one that says if you stop, you’ll drop everything you’re carrying.
The penguin torpedo resurfaces, victorious. It looks smug. Peter can respect that.
“Okay,” he says finally, low. “One assignment today. The rest… later.”
Tony doesn’t gloat. He doesn’t say I told you so. He just nods like they’ve negotiated a trade deal. “Atta boy. We’ll send a couple more emails. Pepper will attach something terrifying in legalese. Then you, kiddo, are off the hook.”
Peter rolls the cold pack against his temple and tries for casual. “You’re really going to email my teachers.”
“I’m going to email your teachers,” Tony confirms, “and I’m going to write the kind of parent email that gets whispered about in faculty lounges for decades. I’ll cc May, and she can add a heart emoji so they know we’re approachable.”
Peter’s stomach quivers, half laugh, half nausea. “Please do not put a heart emoji in an email to Ms. Warren.”
“No promises.” Tony stands, stretches. “You nap. I’ll go press send on some missives, then I’m coming back with soup. Which is non-negotiable. Try to live long enough to regret letting me choose the flavor.”
Peter lets his eyes fall shut. The penguin narration is a low hum. The couch is a boat, drifting. Somewhere in the fog he feels Tony’s hand ruffle his hair, quick, not a big deal, done like it didn’t happen. Peter doesn’t move, because acknowledging it would make it a thing, and he is a cool teenager who does not need things. He remembers, anyway.
He sleeps. He dreams of thermometers that are also lightsabers, of Pepper chasing him with orange slices, of Ned building a calorimeter that looks suspiciously like a MacBook. When he wakes, it’s to the gentle tyranny of soup that tastes like someone boiled a garden and to an inbox with three new messages:
From: Virginia Potts: Feel better, Peter. Extensions approved. P.S. Don’t let Tony near the microwave again.
From: Ms. Warren: Thank you for the update. Peter may submit by Monday.
From: Mr. Harrington: Tell your aunt I said hello! Also: great graph.
Peter reads the last one twice. His chest goes loose in a way that makes breathing easier.
Tony pretends not to watch him reading. “Told you.”
“You bribed them,” Peter accuses, spoon halfway to his mouth.
“With what? Stark Industry pens? Relax. The secret is tone. You say ‘we appreciate your dedication’ and ‘we value rigor’ and then you bury the part where you shift the deadline four days. Pepper taught me.”
Peter takes another spoonful and doesn’t immediately gag. “This is good.”
“I know people.” Tony folds himself back into the armchair, angles his tablet where Peter can’t see the screen. “After you finish that, we’re taking another round of meds. No arguing. Then, hear me out, we’re watching another episode of the penguin show, because they’re doing a heist.”
“Penguins don’t do heists.”
“These penguins absolutely do heists. They’re out there casing the rookery. It’s Ocean’s Eleven with flippers.”
Peter makes a face and eats the soup. By the time the bowl is empty, the headache is a dull glow instead of a flare. The fever fuzzes the edges of the room, but the panic is gone, the clawed thing that had dug into his ribs at the thought of missed assignments, lost points, hovering zeros. It’ll come back. It always does. But right now, Tony is here and the emails are sent and the penguins are, inexplicably, gripping small stones like loot.
Tony glances up, as if he can hear the click of something slotting into place. “Good?”
Peter nods, slow. His voice is hoarse and honest. “Good.”
“Great,” Tony says, and keeps watching the screen, casual as a sin. “For the record, I know you don’t need me to explain basic stuff. I do it anyway because I like annoying you.”
Peter huffs. “You’re very good at it.”
“I have an Oscar for it. Now finish your soup. There’s a big twist coming up.”
Peter sinks into the couch. The cold pack presses cool against his pulse. On the TV, a penguin tucks a stolen stone into a nest and looks around like it’s expecting applause.
“Okay,” Peter murmurs, as his eyelids drag down again, “maybe heists.”
“Maybe heists,” Tony agrees softly.
FRIDAY dims the lights. Somewhere, email servers ping. The city hums. The couch breathes. Peter drifts, a little less worried about everything he’s not doing, and a lot more certain the world won’t fall apart if he lets go of it for an afternoon.
He doesn’t need to say it. Tony knows.
AAAAAAHHHH I HAVE A MATH TEST TMRW
Normally, I’m not so stressed, but I missed class this week (I was skipping shame on me 😭) and I have no clue what’s going on… Me and the math teacher are besties because he’s the coach of the golf team, so I’m scared of disappointing him with my bad test scores.
I also had a long lab in chem this week. It’s really sad because we got bad results even though we ran our trial for over and hour lol. I think it’s my lab partner’s fault because he keeps on putting his crusty fingers all over the cuvettes which is messing up the spectrophotometer. Hopefully he actually writes his part so it’s not another repeat of last year.
- Practice midterms for matrices
- Grade practice midterms
- Write lab report
- Debug binary system simulation
- Work on astro research paper
- Work on program applications
- Finish new deal research
- Finish college assessment
- Email people back 😬
Don’t ask me why we have a midterm in January… I have no clue.
09/18/2025
4:00-5:00 chem flashcards
5:00-5:30 stats quiz review
5:30-6:00 data science lab finish
6:00-7:00 check prior day's to do and calendar, finish up those
7:00-8:00 get ready, stop by CVS to pick up gum
school
dance class
5:00-6:00 meal plan
6:00-7:00 physics lab
7:00-8:00 data science project
8:00-9:00 math homework
9:00-10:00 read, journal
junior year: day 5
9/4/25
switching to statistics was honestly a good choice. it’s so much fun, especially because my favorite branch of math is statistics and analytics :D my schedule feels a lot better now.
stuff i did today:
i had my first stats class! plus i sit next to one of my new awesome friends!
i had my first test of the year in chem ‼️ it was on lab equipment and safety, and i think i did really well! i spent a while studying for it, so i’m REALLY hoping i got a good score. i also won the class kahoot we had to prep us for the test yesterday!
i had some buss ass indian food. literally moaned
what i learned:
nothing really
hours spent studying today: 2
song of the day: old college try by the mountain goats
that’s all for today :)
I'm so fucked a friend got in my head about not doing enough this year (junior year the most important year for colleges) and I got scared and I got my counselor to add ap psych to my schedule last second and I'm really regretting it now. I'm so fucked I'm so fucking screwed. 5 ap classes and I have to study Korean for the aappl for seal of biltieracy I have to study for the psat and sat and act and I have to stock up on volunteer hours and I'll have to study every day for chem because he does surprise pop tests and I'll have to study every day for calc because I suck at math and I have to go to the lab to do my experiment for research even though my professor is fucking ghosting me even though he said he would email me papers to read when I met him in person and I wanted to use the free time I would've had to do honors band and actually practice and do well at solo and ensemble but now I'll have no time probably and I'll be sad and miserable and hate myself and I'm so fucked and I'm going to want to kill myself all year again like last year. I was so happy with what my schedule was why the fuck would I do that. never listen to your bitch ass friends who say you aren't doing enough when they're only in like 3 aps. and my picture on my ID came out so fucking bad the worst of every year so far my hair is fucked and there's glare on my glasses and I look fat as fuck which normally I don't care but it all looks so bad and I was crying like 20 minutes before because my fucking dad didn't bring any money to orientation even though I told him he would need to pay for things so we needed to leave in the middle to get his checkbook and come back and it was so fucking embarrassing and I was so pissed at him and I'm still so behind on my summer homework. Fuck