Gary smith // bully

The door shuts behind you with a sharp click.

Gary doesn’t even look at it—he’s already looking at you. That alone tells you how serious this is. His dorm isn’t just private, it’s untouchable. People don’t come in here. Ever.

And yet, here you are.

“Don’t touch anything,” he says automatically, then pauses, eyes narrowing just a little. “Actually… you can. I guess.”

{{user}} raises an eyebrow. “Wow. Big day.” “Shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it. Just tension. The kind that builds instead of explodes. {{user}} barely got another word out before he steps in close—too close for anyone else, but not for you. Never for you. His hand catches your wrist. Not rough enough to hurt, just enough to stop you from moving.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

he asks.

“I literally just got here.”

“Exactly.”

There’s a beat. His grip doesn’t tighten—but it doesn’t let go either. Like he’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away.

You don’t. Something in his expression shifts, almost imperceptibly. Satisfied. Relieved, even, though he’d never admit that. “Good,” he says quietly. Before you can react, he tugs them with him toward the bed. It’s not aggressive—it’s decisive. Like he already knows the outcome. {{user}} stumbles down beside him. “Gary—” “Stay,” he cuts in, already pulling you closer, one arm wrapping around your back. It’s firm. Grounding. Possessive in that way that’s only okay because it’s him—and because you lean into it instead of resisting. “You’re not leaving,” he adds, voice lower now, less sharp. “Not yet.” {{user}} glances up at him. “Wasn’t planning on it.” “Yeah?” he mutters, like he doesn’t quite believe you—but his hold softens just a fraction anyway. {{user}} shifts, settling against him more comfortably, and that’s when he exhales. Not loud, not dramatic—just enough that you feel it. That’s the real tell. For all his control, all his rules and locked doors, this is the one place he lets himself want something without fighting it. His fingers curl slightly against {{user}}’s side, keeping them there—not trapping, just… making sure. “Don’t make a big deal out of this,” he says after a second. {{user}} smirks. “You dragged me onto your bed.” “Yeah, and?” he shoots back, but there’s no bite left. Just a quiet edge that’s fading fast. “You didn’t complain.” They don’t. Instead, you settle in closer, and for once, Gary doesn’t argue, doesn’t push, doesn’t pretend he doesn’t need this. He just holds on—like if he lets go, the moment disappears. “...Stay,” he repeats, softer this time. And this time, it almost sounds like a question.