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lovelivision · 2 months ago

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‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎.❝ SAY MY NAME ❞

･ ⟢ ⋮ summary. . . running into your childhood friend you'd lost touch with just when you were in need of a roommate was super lucky for you, too bad living with and getting close to him has you feeling things you probably shouldn't !! just how exactly is he feeling about this arrangement ??

.pairing ﹒ꕀ . gojo satoru / reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎wc. ⁀ ⊹ 12.6k

warnings.ᐟ.ᐟ 18+ only, smut, university au, swearing, dirty talk, cunnilingus, thigh fucking, big dick gojo, p in v penetration, unprotected sex, praise kink, creampie, fingering, cumplay (not really), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, size kink (if you squint), gojo is down bad, reader is scared of horror films, f!reader, she/her pronouns used, i think that's all !!

Having a roommate is great! You pay less on rent, split utility bills, there’s usually someone home if you get locked out or have to go away for a couple days. There’s many benefits, which is why you wanted one in the first place but when it comes to your reality… it’s a different story. Especially when your roommate is some guy from one of your classes that suddenly needed a roommate when you started looking.

Okay, some guy is a little harsh, you’ve known each other since you were kids, you just grew apart as you got older and have only really gotten back in touch during university. It was surprising to see him on campus but not unpleasant. He was a familiar face on a day where you had no friends in a new environment. It’s embarrassing to think back on it now, with how you practically clung to him the whole day.

Your childhood with him was nice, there’s a lot of memories there. Thinking hard, there wasn’t even an inciting incident to your growing apart. It was natural and happened slowly. Still neighbours but he’d gone to a different high school, and you’d stayed where you were. You don’t really know or remember what happened that you stopped hanging out all together and you were too shy and nervous to just walk those few steps next door.

He was the boy that walked home with you after school, who held his hand out to you when you fell over, who told kids off for picking on you. He was a good friend and always made you smile, losing a friend like him hurt. It hurts more that there isn’t any obvious blame to be put anywhere, it’s not like you guys had a fight or anything.

The fact that your paths had diverged and met again feels bizarre and puts you on edge. Easily falling into step with him before realising you’ve not seen each other in years, a familiarity you feel like you shouldn’t have but is there regardless. Often talking like you’re close before correcting yourself because despite being the same people, you’re completely different.

“Your thinking is disturbing me,” his voice comes from behind you.

The sudden sound gives you a start and you jump, “Geez Gojo,” you turn to look at him, his head tilted and smile lopsided as he leans on the back of the couch you’re seated on, “How long have you been there for?”

He shrugs before throwing his leg over the couch and stepping onto it from behind, flopping onto his ass and jostling you with his movements, “I dunno, a few minutes or more?”

You only hum noncommittally at him, your train of thought completely gone. It doesn’t matter, you have a feeling you’d gotten distracted from the point you were trying to make to yourself anyways.

“You’re gone again,” he pokes at your cheek and you slap his hand away.

“Stop it, I was thinking about something and now all my thoughts are muddled and useless.”

Gojo sinks further into the couch, spreading his limbs out far too wide, “Must not have been all that important then.”

A sound of disagreement from you, “I was thinking about my childhood…”

“Ah…” he sighs, “Must’ve been thinking about me then,” his lashes flutter at you.

And just like that, you remembered what you were initially thinking of. Having a roommate is good in theory and not practice because now you’re living with the single most annoying person on the planet. Only he manages to press all your buttons and you can’t tell if he’s just like that or if it’s because you knew each other as kids.

You choose not to answer him, he bugs you and a part of why he bugs you so much is because he doesn’t even seem a little bit bothered by your past friendship. He’s comfortable around you and is quick to bring up the past, you’d wondered at first if he felt the same sting over your lost past together but his attitude towards you had that line of thinking dropping quick.

Maybe moving in with him was stupid but you needed a roommate and you knew him, it was the better choice but you’re questioning that logic a little bit now. “Do you feel uncomfortable that I’m living with you?”

His head shoots to look at you and his brows pinch, “No.” When you don’t say anything more, he asks, “Are you uncomfortable living here… with me?”

Your eyes meet and you can tell he’s concerned which wasn’t your intention, “No, don’t worry about it… I was just thinking out loud.”

“Wanna know what your problem is?”

Whatever he’s about to tell you is going to be stupid, “No. Not really.”

He gives his answer despite yours, “You think too much, always in thought worrying about things that don’t matter nearly as much as you think they do.”

“Maybe you just don’t think enough,” your retort is quick, not enjoying captain state the obvious over here.

He exhales while shaking his head, like he’s showing you pity, “I suppose you can’t help it; you’ve always been an overthinker.”

And it’s true… you’ve always had a tendency to overthink and for some reason the fact he still remembers that about you makes you feel funny. It’s like you’d half expected him to forget everything about you but time and time again he reminds you that he remembers a lot. More than you’d think he’d have noticed about you as kids.

“Hey, you okay?” His tone isn’t the same from before, no longer teasing, “You seem down lately.”

You brush him off with a smile, “I’m fine, we just have a weird friendship.”

He pouts, “I think our friendship is normal.”

“Of course you’d think that,” you roll your eyes lightly, “What I mean is, it feels weird to go from being so close to strangers back to friends again.”

“Maybe but I personally feel pretty good about it,” he smiles big, “Seeing you on campus was crazy luck and then you were so nervous you wouldn’t leave my side the whole day, it was cute. Reminded me of when we were kids.”

A groan leaves you, starting to feel warmed by your embarrassment, “Shut up.”

“I’m glad we’re getting close again,” his hand rests on top of your head and pats a few times, “Stop thinking so much about the past.”

You don’t have any problems with the past, it already happened, it’s what’s coming that has you feeling so unsettled. Gojo’s hand on the top of your head slides down to the side of your face, his hand caressing you. He grabs you and pulls you closer as he leans in, always so quick to invade your personal space like it’s also his.

He simply utters, “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” You nearly sputter at him, the proximity and intensity of his eyes making you nervous.

Those eyes narrow at you in response, “Worrying.”

You change the topic, “You need to stop getting in my personal space.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he exaggerates, “Am I in your personal space?” He moves in closer, his cheek pressing to yours, the hand on your other cheek holding you still.

You’re laughing before you have a chance to stop, struggling against him and breathlessly telling him to stop, “You’re so annoying! You��re no better now than when we were kids!”

A gasp pulls from you when you both slip in your struggle, your back meeting the couch seats. You’re expecting the heavy weight of Gojo falling on top of you and wince in preparation but when it doesn’t come you squint your eyes open. He’d caught himself with a single arm, hovering over the top of you with a large grin on his face.

The position is suggestive and has you flustered; your eyes wide as you search your brain for the right thing to say. Gojo isn’t bothered in the slightest, smile unfaltering, “It’s adorable how easily flustered you get.” He bops the tip of your nose with his free index finger.

Quickly, your expression drops, brows furrowing, “Get off me.”

Gojo can’t seem to help himself when it comes to you though, faking deep thought at your command. Eyes scanning up and down your body, “Hmm, and if I don’t?”

“I’m gonna hurt you,” threatening through clenched teeth.

It’s almost like he lights up, always enjoying going back and forth with you like this, “Promise?”

“Gojo,” you warn.

He whines at you, “Why do you still call me Gojo, use my name… like you used to.”

You’re a little taken aback by his request, you’d been trying to be polite. Your brain shuffles through the things you could say right now, something smart or funny or just giving into his request. His eyes on yours are imploring, waiting impatiently for you to call to him.

“I’m not gonna do that,” your head turns from him to avoid his gaze, having decided on defiance.

Dropping to his forearm, his head follows yours so he can stay in your line of sight. He’s pressed too close to you now; you’re getting embarrassed by his shamelessness. Your palms move to his shoulders to push him back but he’s holding steady.

“Come on,” he draws out his words, “Please, just once. Please. Please. Please. Please.”

He’s so annoying, he repeats his pleas over and over while you shake your head at him.

He changes his methods, seeing he’s not getting far with begging, “I’m not getting off you until you do.” Hand reaching for your face again, manoeuvring you so he can pull you to look at him better.

The way he’s looking at you makes your heart flutter, a pleasant feeling that upsets you. If he keeps looking at you like this, you might go insane. Against your will, your eyes flit to his lips before quickly snapping back to his eyes that are now crinkled with his too big grin.

You pout at him, “I feel like giving into you here doesn’t bode well for me.”

So obvious in how he looks to your lips, slowly tracing your features before locking with your gaze again, “That could be true but not giving in here might not bode well for you either.”

Maybe letting him win will be easier in the long run, you don’t want him becoming more difficult than he already is, “Just once…”

His eyes light up at your acquiescence, suddenly waiting so patiently for you to continue. Just as you’re about to open your mouth to hesitantly utter out his name, your apartment door swings open. Ieiri and Geto kick off their shoes and stumble into your living room. Gojo only groans and drops his head to your shoulder. Disappointed by how close he was to hearing you call to him.

You stutter and fumble over yourself at how he’s dropped onto you, your hands pushing at him, “Gojo get off me!”

“If you’re gonna invite people over maybe don’t try fucking right before,” Ieiri sighs at Gojo like his disappointment is his own fault.

Quick to dispute the accusation, “W–we weren’t doing that! He’s just all in my personal space like usual.”

“Satoru, get off the poor girl,” Geto rounds the couch and pulls Gojo up by the back of his shirt, “Don’t you put her through enough already?”

“You guys have the worst timing,” he grumbles back at him.

Geto lets him go and shrugs, “You’re the one who invited us over, maybe don’t give us a key next time or plan your flirting better.”

“I think you guys have great timing,” you smile at them both, grateful for the save. Especially since the situation was quickly slipping from you. You can’t believe you almost gave into Gojo; he’d absolutely only get worse if you had.

As you sit up properly, Ieiri comes up behind you and strokes the top of your head soothingly, “Would you like us to kill him?”

You laugh at her suggestion, “Thanks but I still need him for his half of the rent.”

Geto and Ieiri are kind and you like them, you’re still a little uncomfortable around them since they’re not your friends. They’re Gojo’s friends that he made in high school and he tends to have them around plenty enough that you’re friendly with them but not much more than that.

As you get off the couch to leave them, Gojo’s hand grabs your wrist, “Where are you going?”

“What? I…” You’re confused, “I was just gonna go to my room and leave you guys to hang out?” He pulls you back to the couch and you collapse into it. Pulling your wrist free, you slap at him, “What the hell?”

He’s unphased by your slaps of admonishment, “You’re gonna watch a movie with us.”

“Do I get a choice?”

He beams at you, “Nope.”

The other two just sigh at Gojo and his antics, moving to get comfortable on the couch themselves. You try to get up again but Gojo is quick to pull you down by the back of your shirt. “I just wanna get a blanket,” you pout at him.

The expression he makes is sheepish and cute, “I’ll get it… sorry.”

Without him in the room you feel nervous and uncomfortable, the silence between the three of you unbearable, “Uhm… sorry about earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it, living with him must test your patience daily,” Geto smiles in a way that eases your nerves slightly.

Ieiri looks around him to look at you, “What the hell was he even doing to you?”

“Ah…” you falter slightly, not sure how to tell them he was tormenting you into saying his name in a position that had suggestive undertones. Maybe overtones is more appropriate here.

“I didn’t do anything to her,” Gojo defends as he comes back into the room, “I just wanted her to say my name instead of always calling me ‘Gojo.’” He flicks the blanket out and places it down over top of you gently, “You guys ruined it though.” Grumbles coming from him as he sits down beside you again.

“You harass her too much, you don’t deserve to be rewarded for that,” Geto rolls his eyes before looking at you, “Don’t reward him for his bad behaviour.”

“I try not to,” you pointedly ignore Gojo’s sounds of offence from beside you.

Geto’s eyes sparkle with something devious as he calls you closer as if to tell you a secret. He whispers into your ear and it sends an involuntary shiver down your spine as you try to focus on his words. As you take in what he’s saying, an evil smile breaks out across your face. Gojo’s quick to get nosy, a hand on your shoulder pulling you back.

“What did he say?”

Chirping back at him, “Not telling.”

Gojo continues to hound you for a bit before Ieiri speaks up, “Can we pick a movie? I have other plans tonight you know?”

Geto agrees with her, “What genre?”

And just when you thought you’d have the upper hand for a bit, Gojo slaps you back down, “How about horror?”

The other two go along with it easily, fine with watching something scary. Apparently a newer film has just come to streaming and they’re all interested in it but while they talk about how good it seems, you’re semi spiralling. You look to Gojo, wondering if he remembers how much you can’t stand horror movies and by the shit eating grin on his face, you’re guessing that yes, he does remember this about you.

Ieiri must pick up on your hesitance, calling your name softly, “If you don’t wanna watch something scary we can watch something else.”

Geto turns to look at you, noticing your apparently obvious anxiety, “I’m cool with whatever.”

You feel awful, they came over to hang out with Gojo and they all want to watch this movie. Even though evil man next to you swayed it this way you don’t doubt they’d probably have watched it anyways if you weren’t here.

“No, it’s okay! We should watch it,” you give your best smile and they both seem placated by it, relaxing back into the couch.

A tug on your sleeve draws your attention back to Gojo, his joking expression gone. His voice lowered so the others can’t hear, “If you really don’t want to, we can watch something else… I was just teasing you.”

“I wanna watch it, I’m not a kid anymore,” you brush him off. They’re his friends and it’s his time with them, you don’t want to take that away from them.

He squints at you sceptically but jokes, “If you get scared you can always sleep with me tonight,” he winks and you dislike the way it makes you feel.

Scowling, you turn away from him but he only chuckles, pleased with your reaction. Then he’s starting the film, looking over to you a few more times before seemingly settling in his spot.

Scary movies themselves aren’t so awful, you can get through them, it’s the going to bed at night that’s less pleasant. It’s not like you think any of the monsters are real, it’s just that some small, irrational part of you has you feeling an awful dread. Laying in your bed at night and not opening your eyes for fear that something will be there looking back at you.

It's silly and something you wish you could say you grew out of but irrational fears aren’t known for being rational, the opposite in fact. It’ll be okay though, for a bit you’ll be a little scared of the emptiness of your room during the long hours of the night but that will pass.

The further into the film you get, the more antsy you become. It’s doing a good job of building tension and unsettling you and every moment that’s meant to frighten you, does. And while this is true for you, everyone else seems completely fine as they watch.

You’re actively fighting against yourself to not jump at the parts you’re meant to jump at, sufficiently scared and embarrassed over it. Nibbling at your lower lip as your eyes squint shut at a particularly loud part.

Something brushing against your hand has your eyes popping open, startling you. Looking down, you can see Gojo has slipped his hand under your blanket and blindly reached for yours. Once he’s found it, he takes your hand in his and squeezes once, his larger hand giving you a small amount of comfort.

The action doesn’t go unappreciated by you, relaxing slightly as he covertly holds your hand, hidden away from the two sitting by your side. Now every time you’re frightened, you grab at him and he simply brushes his thumb over your skin soothingly. It’s intimate and makes your heart flutter like it did earlier when he was on top of you. The movie is easier to get through like this but you can’t help but feel like your relationship with Gojo is on a precarious ledge.

When the movie is finished, your hand slips from his and you can’t help but notice his hesitance in letting you go. After that the night doesn’t go on for much longer, the four of you ordering dinner and eating before Ieiri and Geto are being walked to the door by both you and Gojo. Ieiri is ready to leave, eager for her other plans.

The way Geto looks at you reminds you of what he’d whispered to you before the film, a look of realisation crossing your features as you smile at him and Ieiri, “I had fun, bye Ieiri… S–” you hesitate before pushing through, “Suguru.”

Geto’s smile is huge as he returns your name, “Have a good night.”

Ieiri’s chuckle is quiet but doesn’t slip your notice and when you look to her, you see she’s looking at Gojo whose expression is dumbfounded. It’s like he’s an old computer slowly booting up, “Hey! Hey, what the hell!” He points between you and Geto.

Geto acts like he has no idea what’s set him off, “What?”

“We’ve known each other way longer!” Gojo whines at you.

You’re staring blankly at him, “Gojo, you’re being weird…”

“No! No, you’re being weird,” his hand clasps your shoulder, pulling you to face him instead of Geto. His other hand points to himself, “My name, say my name.”

You blink at him, “Gojo.”

He groans back at you, his shoulders slumping as he falls into you. His head sagged on your other shoulder as he laments this turn of events.

Ieiri adds fuel to the fire, “Call me Shoko.”

“Shoko,” you smile bright back at her, whether she offered just to further Gojo’s torment or not doesn’t change how happy you are to get a little closer to her.

“Oh!” She smirks at you, “My heart just skipped a beat,” she pinches your cheek, “You’re cute but I gotta go, bye.”

You wave awkwardly at her as she shuffles out the door, still being clung to by Gojo. He’s wallowing, “You have to call me by my name now, you have to.”

Geto pats Gojo’s back, you can’t tell if he actually feels bad about what he’s done or if he’s mocking him. He smiles politely at you, “Have fun with this!”

“Right… bye Suguru,” you wave him out too, now alone with a depressed Gojo who won’t let go.

Maybe you should’ve thought this through… the blowout feels like Gojo is about to get much more annoying and you’re the only one who has to live with him. “Would you get off me?”

“You’re so awful to me,” he fake sniffles.

“It wasn’t my idea, blame Suguru.”

“You’re even still calling him Suguru,” he collapses further into you, maybe he should’ve majored in theatre… since he’s so dramatic.

You sigh and stroke his hair soothingly a few times, hoping to calm him. “I’m sorry.”

He pulls back slightly to look at you through his lashes, “So you’ll call me Satoru?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He stands to his full height again, looming over you, “Why not?”

“Because you want it so bad,” a half truth, the other half is that it feels so intimate, especially now, especially with him.

“So, if I say I don’t mind, you’ll say it sooner?”

“Would you mean it?”

Thinking on it for a second before he decides, “No.”

“Then no,” you shrug and walk away from him, going to get ready for bed.

⁀ ⊹ ₊ “

The room is so silent and the dark is all consuming, you’re staring at your plain bedroom wall trying to work up the courage to roll over. The irrational fear that someone is behind you nagging in your brain, you thought since you were in such a good mood earlier that you’d forgotten about the movie but the unease is still deep in your bones.

Taking in a breath, you move quickly and roll over, flinging your legs over the side of the bed as fast as you can. Scuttling out the room, you find yourself at Gojo’s bedroom door. His offer earlier had definitely been a joke, you’re certain of that much but your room is scary and it’s worse because you’d only moved here a little while ago. It’s not like your familiar childhood home, this place still feels weird, specifically during the night.

Everything feels different at night and less recognisable and it’s made worse by how alone you feel. When something like this happened as a kid you’d at least feel soothed by the sound of someone up late watching television or the rattling of someone searching the fridge for food. This is unfamiliar and lonely and you wish you didn’t feel like this but since you do, you’re going to wake Gojo up and force him to hang out with you until you’re too sleepy to be scared.

Quietly you slip into his room, approaching his bed with light steps. His form is all spread out, making full use of his bed with his whole body, much like how he spreads out wherever he’s sat. It shouldn’t be an endearing quality but you can’t bring yourself to hate this about him, especially since he’s a fairly big guy.

He looks cute, you wouldn’t say it’s a peaceful sleep since he keeps pinching his brows as his lips move just slightly, like he’s speaking in his dream. But he looks cute, distinctly him. Staring at him like this is becoming creepy so you reach your hand to him, trying to wake him as carefully as you can.

Your touch is gentle but it wakes him easily, he’s always been a light sleeper. He rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, making sleepy noises of confusion at you.

“I need you to wake up,” is all you say, like it explains why you’re in his room this late.

Gojo grunts at you, “What for?”

His voice is deeper than usual, words lazy with sleep. It makes your head fuzzy, enjoying how he sounds too much. Pushing aside your stupid feelings, you murmur, “I can’t sleep…”

A noise of unsurprise leaves him, eyes squinting up at you, “You should’ve just said you wanted to watch something else.”

“I was fine with watching it though.”

“And that’s why you’re waking me up? Because you’re fine?”

“I just need you to stay up with me until I’m too tired to be…” You trail off, not finishing your sentence.

Gojo finishes it for you, “Scared?”

“Will you just stay awake with me? Please?”

“No,” he slides over to the side of the bed furthest from you, “But my earlier offer stands,” he pats the empty side of the mattress.

He cannot be serious, “I’ve seen how you sleep; I think you’d suffocate me.”

Your name leaves him in an exasperated groan, “Just get in the bed, scaredy cat.”

It’s either this or go back to your empty room and as much as this feels like a bad idea, he’s making you feel better. “Stay on your side.”

“It’s my bed, the whole thing is my side,” he argues back.

Crawling onto his bed and getting under the covers you mutter, “Just don’t try to kill me with your stupid long limbs.”

“I promise nothing,” he stretches his arms up with a yawn.

A few moments of quiet pass and you assume he’s gone to sleep, his back now facing you. He’s so broad, looking at him like this makes him seem like a giant. Without really thinking it through your hand reaches for him, grabbing the material of his sleep shirt with your thumb and index finger.

Gojo mumbles, you can’t tell if you’ve woken him again or if he’d still been awake, “You good?”

Withdrawing your hand as you mutter, “Yeah… I’m just sorry… for waking you.”

He turns to face you, puff of breath leaving him when he flops onto his other side, “Don’t worry about it, I knew you didn’t handle scary movies well when I suggested one.”

“You knew I didn’t handle them well when we were kids, I’m an adult now,” you counter.

A low hum comes from him, “You’ve not changed very much.”

“You have,” he’s undeniably changed from when you were kids.

His interest is piqued, “How so?”

“You’re more annoying now,” you poke at his chest, “And meaner.”

He denies, “I am not mean.”

You look away in thought, “Hmm… maybe not mean but you’re cruel.”

“That’s worse.”

“You’re a tease,” you settle on.

He’s willing to concede, “I can’t deny that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“You get it the worst though,” he reaches for your hand poking at him, fingers unfurling yours and taking them in his.

Ignoring the way his touch makes you feel you sigh, “I have a feeling I knew this already.”

“I can’t help it; I like teasing you.” He smiles, “Your reactions are cute.” He uses his hold on your hand to tug you in closer to him, your front nearly colliding with his.

Suddenly, you’re nervous, “What are you doing?”

“Teasing you,” he answers easily, like it’s obvious.

You’re avoiding his eyes, looking to his throat, his chest, anywhere but his face, “Could you not?”

“I could,” he pauses, “but that’s not as fun.”

You’re so close to him, you rest your forehead onto his chest, “Gojo… if you’re not careful, I’ll start mistaking your teasing for flirting.”

“You wouldn’t be mistaking anything,” he half laughs, “If anything… you’d finally be catching on.”

Did you suddenly drift off or something? You pull back to look up at his face, “What?”

“I’ve been flirting with you the whole time,” he blinks at you, “to be honest I’m really surprised by how long it took you to realise that.”

Can it even be said you realised that? All you did was warn him of possible consequences, “I…”

“I’ve been laying it on thick too you know, I’m a little embarrassed for you,” he’s looking at you with faux pity.

Is he still teasing you, he might still be teasing you. Squinting sceptically at him, “I don’t know if I believe you.”

“Seriously?” He looks actually shocked; he leans down to level you with his gaze.

You frown back at him, “Stop looking at me like that.”

“I like looking at you.”

Okay, that one you could tell was flirting, “Gojo–”

He returns your name in the same tone, cutting you off. It’s tense, with your eyes locked and the now known fact that he’s been flirting with you for who knows how long. You should leave his bed but you don’t really want to. You’re so close now, not even having realised just how close you’d both moved to the other.

Gojo leans in as his hand leaves yours to instead hold your cheek, his lips pressing a soft peck to yours, once, twice, three times. When you’d caught on with his third kiss and kissed him back, he moves impossibly closer, his lips kissing you more. Feverous in how he pursues your mouth, becoming desperate in how he kisses you.

It’s making you dizzy and it’s hard to keep up with him, your hands reach for his shoulders and hold on. His hand moves for your hip, pulling at you, his lips insistent. Kiss messy and wet, his tongue licks into your mouth and you let it happen. Small noises leaving you at how good he’s making you feel from just this alone, he barely even parts to take a breath.

The hands you have on his shoulders push back; your breaths panted as you struggle to say what you want. “W–we should stop…”

He whines at you, disappointed, “Why?”

You stumble over your words, “Because it’s late and you’re sleepy and not thinking straight and–”

“–If you wanna stop that’s fine but don’t take this moment from me because of those reasons,” there’s something almost pathetic about him right now, “I’ve wanted to kiss you forever, don’t make me stop because you think I’ve not thought this through.”

His answer is surprising to you, taken aback by how needy he’s coming across. Instead of saying anything, you press a light kiss to his lips like he’d done to you. He’s quick to return it, lips demanding. His kisses are full and making you feel tingly all over, pulling a gasp from you with how he sucks your tongue into his mouth. This might make you crazy, you’re turned on and delirious.

Pressing your thighs together as slyly as possible, not wanting him to know just how worked up you are. The hand he has on your hip plays with the band of your pyjama pants, tugging them just slightly to dance his fingers along the exposed skin. Not moving any further than that, only gripping at you before sliding his hand back up.

The way he’s kissing you is breathtaking and yet also feels like he’s holding himself back, his fingers tapping against your skin as he refrains from exploring your body further. When he moves back, he nips at your lower lip and small moan slips from you. The sound pulls a visceral reaction from him, a soft groan leaving him as his head collapses onto your shoulder.

His breath tickles against your skin, “Please let me touch you.” He sounds so pitiful even to his own ears, words laced with desire.

For a moment you’re not even sure you heard him right, “What?”

He licks at your neck, shiver running down his spine, “You’ve gotta be so wet, just let me touch you, please.”

You stutter out, “I– I’m not having sex with you like this.”

Tone whinged back at you, “Fine. That’s fine, just– let me touch you.”

If you were surprised by his need before then you don’t know how you’re feeling right now, “Okay, you can–” your words are lost when he rolls you onto your back, his hands shoving your pants off. “Gojo, c– calm down.”

Eyes barely glancing at you, “Can’t.” He’s far too eager, skin buzzing with his excitement, Gojo could almost swear he’s still asleep and dreaming.

Reaching over clumsily to flick on his lamp atop the bedside table, he needs to be able to see this. Oh, and he feels breathless at the sight of you in your panties, like the wind has been knocked out of him. Lower half dressed in innocent white with a pastel little bow on the front. Almost feeling like it’s his birthday and this is his new favourite present he’s yet to unwrap.

“This what you’re always wearing under all those cute skirts?” He mutters out at you.

You’re not even sure you’re meant to have answered until his eyes flit to yours, clearly waiting for you to reply. “Uh, not– not always.”

“Gonna have to show me,” he smirks at the thought, wanting to see you in and out of every pair of panties you own.

Large hands trail up your thighs, landing at the edges of your underwear and just when you think he’s going to finally tug them off, he pulls up. Your panties moulding to your pussy obscenely, leaving nothing to the imagination with how he’d forced them up. Gasping indignantly at him, hands flying to grip his, your legs squirming. His lecherous gaze greedily eating up the view of you like this, delighting in how you’re wriggling. Beyond embarrassed at his actions, somehow feeling more exposed like this than if he’d just taken them off.

“Gojo!” You whine at him, hands clawing at his when he pulls just the littlest bit more on the material.

He bites his lip, not even gracing you with eye contact, too busy to, “What’s wrong?”

“You– you’re such a– a…”

He mocks your stumbling, “A– a– what?”

“A pervert,” you settle on.

Small, dazed giggles leave him, “Yeah, yeah I am,” a hand moves off your hip. Instead, slowly dragging an index finger through your wet slit over your panties, a low growl leaving him at just how slick you are. “Just for you though, sweetie. I’m your sick pervert.”

Your breath catches in your chest, not expecting him to be so depraved, “Could you please– hah– stop teasing.”

“I thought I made it clear that– oh fuck– I like teasing you,” in awe at just how much wetter you got when he started talking, “Hmm… I think you like it too.”

Pouting back at him, “I’d like it better if you touched me.”

“But I am touching you,” he singsongs back, barely there touch dancing around your clit.

“I was ri–right earlier,” your hips shuffle desperately to try and get him to touch where you so badly need it but he expertly avoids your movements.

Hand on your hip pushing you down flat into the mattress harshly, “About what?”

“Hm?” Your brain feels foggy and it takes you a second to remember what you’d started saying, “You are cruel.”

A breathless laugh leaves him, “Sweetheart, you got no idea.”

The devious smile he gives you has you believing him, no doubt in your mind that he could be worse than this. Regretfully, you use your trump card, “Hah– if you ma-make me cum– ah!– if you can make me–”

He takes your phrasing personally, “Oh, I can make you cum, don’t even–”

You cut him off but every time you try talking he taps lightly over your clit with two fingers, “If! Y-you can make– hng– mee~ cum, I’ll say your name.”

That gains his interest, offence gone at the promise of hearing your lovely voice murmur his name. He crawls over your body, face meeting yours, “Promise?”

Nodding your head lazily back at him, “Promise.”

“Gotta seal it with a kiss,” smile dopey as his eyes drop to your lips.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you press your mouth to his in a debauched kiss. Tongue pushing into his mouth to lick against his own, his chest vibrating with a sweet moan. Gojo feels fucked and stupid at how you’ve kissed him, not fully expecting you to press your lips to his like that. He doesn’t even want to part, mouth moving against yours effortlessly.

Realising his complete unwillingness to pull back, you do it for him, parting with a wet pop that makes his spine shudder. Gojo’s unable to help the small sound of yearning that leaves him, he would’ve been happy to die from suffocation if it meant you were kissing him like that the whole time.

“Gojo?”

Your voice shocks him back to his body, he’d been staring at you all dazed, “Now I just gotta make you cum, right?” His canines show in his grin, confident in himself.

Nodding at him, “Please.”

He snickers, “Such sweet manners, pretty,” Already shuffling back down your body, his new favourite place coming into his line of sight. Cruelly, he blows cool air on your heated core, enjoying the way you twitch at it.

Big hands pressing between your thighs and pushing them apart, making room for his large frame between them. Feeling indecent in how wide he spreads you open, even more so when he lets out a low whistle at the messy state of your panties. You’re about to admonish him for purposefully embarrassing you when he’s getting comfortable between your thighs and pressing his face into your covered cunt.

Large gasp pulling from your lungs at his shamelessness, skin growing so much hotter when you hear just how deeply he inhales. Deep groan reverberating from his chest, a sound so gutturally pleased that it makes you shy. Legs fighting against his palms, wanting to hide yourself from him and his salacious actions.

Your hands push at his head, “Oh my god, Gojo?! Could you be any more shameless?!”

He doesn’t pull back, speaking into your pussy, “Sure I could.”

Immediately following up with an example, tongue lolling out of his mouth to press up against you. Drooling onto your underwear, already wet material growing slicker. More moans tumble from his lips at the taste of you, enjoying this so much that you’re shocked by how aroused he’s making you.

“You– you’re embarrassing me.”

Only humming back at you happily, words muffled, “You’ll get over it.”

You’re not sure if you believe him, feeling so self-conscious by his brazen desire and not seeing that changing any time soon. Feeling twitchy by how turned on he’s got you from it, you shouldn’t be this into it, you shouldn’t be this into him but you are and you need him to do more to you.

Gojo feels insane, salivating over the taste of your cunt on his tongue through your panties. Poking his tongue into your hole, stopped by the material separating him from you. Simultaneously frustrated and so horny, enjoying this much more than he probably should.

Voice coming out pitchy and bitten back when you call to him, “Please– hng– take ‘em off.”

“Someone’s needy,” he accuses like he’s not about to start humping the mattress below him. Your hips wiggle down into him and he stifles an amused laugh, “let me savour this a bit longer.” And then he sucks on the material of your panties, saliva thoroughly drenching the already sopping wet garment.

Relishing in the shocked squeaks you let out at his action, finding something so addictive about all the sounds and faces you make when you’re flustered and embarrassed. All at once he grows far too impatient, the taste of you on his tongue nowhere near enough anymore, not when he knows you’re leaking divinely and honeyed sweet for him.

Hands rushed and frantic as he pulls your panties down, quickly realising that he’ll need to move to pull them off properly. He’s completely unwilling to move further than he has though so he simply tears them from your body, chucking them over his shoulder to let them fall in tatters.

“Gojo! Those were one of my fav– ah!–”

Not even bothering to listen to your full complaint, immediately diving in to slurp obscenely at your gooey cunt. His eyes roll to the back of his head when he finally tastes you directly, cock twitching in his pants as he moans. Tongue wasting no time slithering into your tight heat, feeling out of his mind as you throb and whine for him.

Why couldn’t you have realised he was flirting earlier? He could’ve been doing this so much sooner and the thought he’s been missing out makes him feel devastated. How many nights did you touch yourself while he was one door down and why is he suddenly jealous of your own hand? His tongue moves inside you and your back arches, a shaky hand reaching down for him which he takes in his own – he doesn’t want you moving him because he’s pretty sure he just found your sweet spot.

Repeating his movements just to get the same huffed moan and full body reaction he got the first time, a lazy smile on his face at the realisation. He has you wrapped around his finger now, sending you wave after wave of pleasure but never enough to make you cum. No, he’s having too much fun teasing you right now and he also knows that as soon as you cum this is over and he’s not ready to part with your gushing pussy just yet.

God, he’s like a fucking animal as he licks and sucks on your cunt, frenzied but lazy look in his eyes every time your gazes meet. He’s got you feeling like a real mess, head dizzied and heavy with the pleasure that’s soaking into your bones. Beyond turned on and so so ready to cum, at first your foggy brain thought maybe he didn’t know but now you know he’s just toying with you.

His deft tongue hitting all the right spots just until you’re about to finish only to start being evasive enough for the high to slip from you all too soon. It’s absolutely intentional and it’s hurting your feelings, why won’t he let you cum? Why does he like teasing you so bad?

Pleasured mind taking it all too personally, eyes wet and glazed when you whimper down to him, “Gojo– hah!– please– hng– please let me cum– mmph–” your voice hitches with your words, “I– I thought you wan– wanted to hear me– ah!– say your name?”

Gojo feels his dick leaking into his pants at the pitiful way you whine at him, finding it all too endearing that you’re this worked up over him. It makes him want to tease you a little more but he’s nothing if not pathetic for you and he’s all too quickly giving in to the cute sounds of you begging him to let you cum. He really could make out with your pretty pussy forever though.

Humming at your continued whimpers and pleads, trying to give reassurance that he’s about to be oh so nice to you but the vibrations have your thighs shaking so much more. Hips fighting to grind down into his face only to be steadied by his large hand on your hip, frustrated sounds leaving you at his continued resistance to help you get off.

Instead of trying to get you to understand, he’ll simply tongue fuck you until you climax. Focusing on that spot he found earlier, pressing his nose into your clit, loosening his grip a tiny bit so you’re able to grind down into him. Fuck, he might die if he lets you ride his face, to be used by you for pleasure could have him cumming untouched.

It’s perfect, it’s so perfect he just needs to not move. You try to tell him as much, “Don’t!– Don’t fffucking– I’m so– hnng!– ah!–”

You’re not even able to finish any of what you attempted to say, orgasm hitting you out of nowhere in the middle of trying to talk. Vision going dark as you shake and shiver through your climax, cunt pulsing around his tongue, desperate to be stuffed so full. You’re struggling to breathe through the best orgasm of your life, hand gripping onto Gojo’s tight as he keeps lapping at your achy pussy.

Gojo is in love with how creamy your delectable cunt is, he’s pussy drunk and feeling like he can’t stop. At least he wouldn’t be able to stop if it weren’t for the raging hard on he’s got, so hard it almost hurts. Reluctantly, he’s pulling back from your pussy and if you were just the tiniest bit more aware of your surroundings you’d feel bashful about how messy Gojo’s face is.

Not even bothering to wipe his face, tugging his shirt over his head quickly before slipping his hands under yours, not taking it off but pushing it up to expose your tits. Big hands groping at you, lightly pinching your nipples when he asks, “You still with me?”

“Uh huh,” nodding lazily back at him, limbs heavy and head buzzing. Watching him and the thinly veiled feral expression on his face as he palms your tits has you stifling down a moan.

There’s such an adorable look on your face, stupid and satisfied. Gojo’s barely holding onto his last thread of sanity, he wants to fuck you so bad but he said he wouldn’t, so he won’t. Resting a hand on the mattress he leans down closer to you, lips brushing the skin of your cheek before kissing your mouth sloppy.

You’re holding onto him, fingers digging into his shoulders. Unable to stop the small sounds he’s drawing from you, the effect he has on you sinful and unfair. Thighs rubbing together as his tongue licks at yours, low rumbles pulling from his chest. Still so horny for him but far too embarrassed to ask him nicely to fuck you.

Lips parting the smallest amount so he can ask, “Where’s my prize for making you cum?”

And now you’re remembering what you had promised if he managed to make you cum. Maybe if you were in your sane mind you’d try and wriggle your way out of it but considering he made you cum so hard you can’t even compare it to anything else, you’ll say it.

Taking a quick breath in and averting his gaze, you mumble, “…Satoru.”

His body reacts a whole lot more to that single call of his name than he thought it would, shiver running down his spine and dick twitching in his too tight sleep pants. Slumping down into you and whining, “Your voice is so pretty.”

Turning his head to the side, he latches onto your neck. Sucking a love bite into your skin, teeth nibbling at you before pulling away and licking over it.

He’d caught you off guard with it, gasp leaving you, “mmph– Gojo–”

He singsongs back, “–Satoru.” He nips at your skin lightly, “Say it again.”

His gaze on you feels heavy, watching your mouth carefully to see how the word forms, “Satoru.”

Eyes falling shut as he groans, savouring this for a moment before pulling from you and leaning back on his knees, “Sweetheart…” Large hands holding your thighs together by the knee as he asks, “can I fuck your thighs? Please?”

That was one of the last things you had expected him to ask of you, his straightforward request making you feel shy. It’s not even like you’re going to say no but you can’t have him thinking you’re too weak for him, “Aren’t you being a little greedy?”

He smiles big at you, like he already knows you don’t fully mean it, “I don’t think I’m following, pretty.”

“I agreed to say your name and that was it and now you’re asking for more…”

“I asked so nicely though,” he points out.

“You’re still being greedy.”

“Mhm,” he hums noncommittally, clearly he’s stopped paying attention. Already lifting your lower half off the bed and throwing both legs over one of his shoulders. “I’ve still not heard an answer from your pretty mouth yet.”

He’s holding you up so effortlessly, strong forearm holding onto your thighs. Free hand reaching down for the waistband of his pants. His eyes look to yours, eyebrows lifting in question, “Where’d your words go?”

“Okay,” you nod at him quickly, suddenly all too distracted by the sight of his slowly lowering pants. Happy trail far too enticing for you to even think of delaying this much further.

His hand stops moving, “‘Okay’ what?”

“Okay you can…” your eyes flit back to his hoping he’ll settle for you not having to say the whole phrase but with the expression on his face – patient and waiting – you can clearly see he’s not going to, “Yes… you can… fuck my thighs.”

He groans, pleased with your answer, “Fuck, thank you so much.”

Pants pushed down just enough for his cock to be freed. He’s so hard it looks aching, flushed a pretty shade of pink and leaking precum from the tip and down the sides. His hand squeezes the base of himself a couple times, taking deep breaths.

Tapping on your leg lightly to catch your distracted attention, “Open your thighs just a bit.”

Doing as he asked without questioning him, legs still over his shoulder as you give him room to move. He slides his cock between your thighs, resting between your cunt so wickedly that it has you fidgeting. The hand that had guided his dick grabs the outside of your leg and pushes, your thighs closing around him.

Gojo’s head tips back as he fights to keep his senses, your skin so warm and soft that he feels a little crazy. Pussy still so wet and messy for him that he can’t help but feel that go straight to his ego, you want him and that makes him feel all giddy.

Below him, you start writhing impatiently. The underside of his cock is pressed up against your clit and now you feel like you’re throbbing with the need for him to actually fuck you open. The moans that leave him are so pretty and you want to hear more, trying to move a little bit more in search of added pleasure but he’s quick to stop you.

The muscles in his arms bulge as he restrains your lower half, head dropping forward to look down his nose at you. The look he gives you makes you feel small, hole twitching at it. You need him to move right now and you need it bad, every part of you screaming for it.

“Move?” your lashes flutter up at him, “I need you– ngh– to move.”

Exasperated but all too amused breath leaving him, “You’re so needy. It’s making me dizzy.”

Frowning at his words, “I am not– ah!–”

But he’s quickly drawing his hips back and dragging his big cock through your folds before slamming forward, the whole length of him driving you insane. Between your thighs feeling so soaked, brain melting all at once.

“Fuck, fuck fuck, fuck– this is– you’re too– hnng–” Everything Gojo is trying to say is cut off by either moans or a brand-new line of thought.

With every thrust he makes you feel a little less like a person and a whole lot more desperate for him. It feels good, really good, so good that you want more. The fact that you’re aware of the fact he’s not even inside you and you’re feeling this good has your brain short circuiting. Fingers digging into the sheets, attempting to ground yourself and completely failing.

Your pussy is positively weeping for him; to be filled by him and it’s taking all of his strength to ignore the way your hole is borderline begging for his dick. Brows furrowed as he focuses on slamming between your thighs, already feeling so pitifully close to cumming like this. How he’s even held on this long is a wonder to him, too close to cumming earlier when he was tongue deep in your cunt.

Hitting your breaking point, you whimper out to him, “Gojo– hng– just put it in– hah!– you can put it in,” nodding your head desperately at him.

Chuckling breathlessly at your whining, “I thought you didn’t– fuck– didn’t wanna have sex with me like this?” He recalls your earlier assertion.

“Hnn– I– ah– changed my mind?”

Biting his lip to stop his moans enough to speak, “You’re talking outta your pussy, sweetheart.”

“I’m not, I’m not– hah!– please put it inside, please.” Worried that you’re not swaying him enough but you want it so fucking bad, insides aching for him, “Satoru, please.”

Well that’s just playing dirty, a small whine slipping from him at your use of his name, stuffing it down just so he can seem composed when he replies, “Well, when you beg me so sweetly like that how could I ever say no?”

Dropping your lower half onto the bed makes you mewl at the loss of friction and he can’t help but laugh airily at your despair. Opening your thighs obscenely just to drag his cock through your sloppy cunt, shivering at how messy you are. Little hole shuddering for him, the sight of it makes him tut.

“Are you even gonna be able to take me, hmm?” he wonders aloud to you.

You’re already nodding back at him, “You can make it fit…” eyes wet and fucked when you address him, “can’t you?”

You may as well have just shot him fucking dead, “Of course I can.” Eyes glinting in the low light of the room, “‘Course I can.”

Slowly pressing into you, opening you up so lewdly on just the tip of his cock. Your hands already reaching for him and gripping onto the hands on your hips. The amount of control he needs for this is astounding and you’re not helping with how twitchy and worked up you are. Every time you show just how much you’re enjoying this, how much you want him, he gets just that littlest bit closer to cumming prematurely.

“Sweetie,” he calls to you, words barely bitten back, “I need you to relax for me.”

“I’m trying, you’re just so–” Your eyes drawing down to where he’s picked you up and started working you open, “–big.”

Involuntarily, his hips drive forward, the tip of him finally slipping into you. The both of you let out moaned sighs, you’re fighting the urge to kick your legs, already feeling so good and nowhere near close to taking all of him.

“You’re gonna kill me, you’re trying to kill me,” he huffs out, feeling like the snug fit of your cunt might actually kill him dead right now and his only regret would be not being balls deep already.

His words are rushed and pitchy at the tail end, like he’s so close to whining about how good it feels. The soft flush on his skin is pretty, expression all twisted in so much pleasure. Looking at him is making you feel too many things, overwhelmed by his cock and how attractive he is. Bringing your hands up to cover your eyes, hiding him from your view.

Your name rolls from his tongue in a soft moan, “What are you– hah– doing?”

His slightly trembling voice has you clenching down on him, “I can’t– I can’t look at you right now.”

“Hmm? Why not?” The smile he’s definitely sporting can be heard in his tone. “Am I turning you on too much,” he taunts.

Replying hesitantly but honestly, “Yeah…”

Gojo was not expecting that from you, his ego growing tenfold from the idea alone, the confirmation only serving to make him even more unbearable. Small giggles leaving him, “How embarrassing~”

Your arms drop in exasperation, going to frown at him but as soon as your hands are off your face, he’s sliding into you a few more inches. Your brain no longer capable of thinking of anything at all, its sole purpose now registering the immense pleasure he’s giving you. Moans broken and shocked at his unexpected move, if your hips were on the mattress you have no doubt that you’d be trying to buck up into him just to take him all.

“Want my whole dick, sweetie?” He hums at you, thumbs rubbing soothingly on your hips from where he’s holding you up.

Your eyes feel wet, vision blurry, “I– hah!– want it, all of it.”

“‘Course you do,” he smirks, “so turned on just by the sight of me.”

Future you will be cursing horny you for admitting that to him so easily, he will absolutely be reminding you of this later. “Sh– shut up.”

“You sure you want me to?” A single brow quirking in your direction, “I think you like my voice, pussy squeezes me so nice when I talk to you.”

And then he’s slowly sinking into you inch by delicious inch, taking care as he does, cautious of how your tight, little hole swallows his cock. Drooling at the lewd sight of your pussy bulging around him, small and bitten back noises leaving him as he pushes into you.

You’re taking him so well, wrapped so perfectly around him, sinfully wet and soft. Cunt so greedy in how you suck him in that he might pass out, trying to focus so hard on filling you completely before he blows his load.

Damn near whimpering when his pelvis hits yours, struggling so bad to hold completely still, softly grinding into you. His whole body feels like it’s buzzing, ears thumping as his blood rushes in his head. Completely elated to be so deep inside you, even more so to see the way you squirm under him.

Your eyes already look so fucked out and dumb, lashes fluttering, struggling to keep them open. Everything feels raw and exposed, mind numbed and complacent, “Move– hnng– you need to– hnn– move.”

“Wait,” he groans, eyes closing to control his breathing, whines still trapped in every breath he takes.

“But–”

“–So cute, you’re so cute– hnng– and you feel fucking fantastic, too good that I need– hah– a moment to breathe before I cum inside you, okay?” He rushes out, words tumbling over each other just so he can adequately warn you that he’s certain this will end early if he starts moving any more than this.

That was cute of him, his bitten back words and grit teeth followed by soft sounds of feeling just so good has your heart jumping in your chest. Struggling so hard to be patient right now, beyond worked up, pussy absolutely throbbing around him. So slick and only getting wetter, especially when he’s admitted to feeling so good from sitting balls deep that there’s risk of him cumming before he wants to.

Maybe distracting him will work, “I’m glad… we got to get closer again.”

“Oh, we’re close alright,” he snarks, looking down at where he’s fucked so deep inside your pussy that it should be criminal.

“You’re such a pervert,” you complain, “I was trying to help.”

Leaning down, he rounds his arms under and around your body, hugging you flush to him. He doesn’t let go of you even as he rises, cock pulsing so hot inside you as he kneels on the bed. You’re clinging onto him so tight, praying that he doesn’t drop you.

“You’re gonna drop me,” you worry.

Nuzzling his face against your cheek, “I wouldn’t do anything to risk losing the tight heat of your pussy, sweetie.” Planting a sloppy kiss to your cheek and then your lips, “Just make sure to hold on tight.”

“You can’t drop me,” you assert.

He soothes, “I won’t.”

Lips locking with yours again, the urge to kiss you sitting too heavy in his chest to ignore. Tongue licking against your own languidly, kissing you so softly, taking his time. Mouth hot and wet as his lips smack against yours, his cock jerking inside you at how it feels to have his lips on yours.

Every part of you is buzzing, his kiss much more gentle and caring compared to the frenzied and needy way he had kissed you earlier. It’s making your heart feel weighted, this shared moment where he’s so deep inside you and kissing you so sweetly feeling so tender that it almost hurts.

Keeping his mouth on yours as his arms move from behind you to grip your thighs, he’s not even sure you register the change, still kissing him back so devotedly. And all he can think about is how bad he’s got it for you now, nipping at your lower lip to make you gasp before kissing you full again.

Hips pulling back, the slow drag of his heavy cock making your spine shudder. Keening into his kiss, lips dropping from his to moan.

“You’re so pretty,” he compliments low to you just before he slams back into you all at once.

The breath you’d had in your lungs exhaled so fast it makes your head spin, pathetic and whingey mewls the only thing leaving you. The compliment he’d given you making you feel a sickening kind of gooey fondness, feeling bashful at his sincere words. His kindness juxtaposed by the harsh way his dick is fucking into you.

Soft and delirious giggles leaving him, “You liked that~” He purrs, head dipped so his lips drag against your collar bone, “I’ll remember that.”

“D– don’t know– hnng!– what you’re talking about,” you babble back.

He coos at you, “I’m talking about– hah– how you liked being told– fuck– how pretty you are while I’m stuffing you oh so full.”

And you really wish you could lie to yourself about how much you like it, but your body is betraying you so severely, cunt gripping him tighter and gushing that bit slicker. Wet sloppy sound of him fucking you hard filling the room, squelching messy and lewd and embarrassing. So turned on that it doesn’t even matter, barely managing to garble out his name, moaning it over and over like a chant.

Back to being so horny and out of your mind that you can’t bring yourself to care about how needy and desperate you’re coming across. Hanging onto him for dear life as he thrusts so fast and deep that you’re seeing stars. His grip on your hips using you as if you’re a toy for him to fuck.

Tip of his cock hitting your cervix with each re-entry, hitting against every delectable inch inside you so completely and effortlessly that you’re starting to drool. “I– You’re so– ah!– deep!”

“Am I?” He stops thrusting, sitting as deep as he can go inside you, single hand drawing up to your stomach, “That means you can feel me here?” and then he’s pressing down.

You grip onto him tighter, clinging desperately, nodding fervently, “Mhm– yes– yeah–”

“–Already close, huh?” He notes. Your reaction so visceral, cunt pulsing around him rhythmically.

“Keep moving?” You rest your head on his shoulder, speaking into his skin, “Please, ‘Toru.”

Evil, that nickname for him on your tongue is so wicked and he doesn’t even think you realise you’ve just called him that. “You’re sending me to an early grave,” he mutters.

Hand back on your thigh in no time, lifting you with ease to keep fucking you breathless. Feeling absolutely devastated by how adorable you are, by how needy you are. Cunt positively creaming around him, saccharine sweet as your pussy begs for him over and over.

Tongue lazy in your mouth at you stutter out calls of his name, starting to have trouble holding onto him effectively. Gojo is the only thing stopping you from slipping back onto the bed, drooling onto his skin. Mindlessly, you press a soft kiss to his shoulder, and you just barely hear the mewl he lets out because of it.

He’s so close to cumming, your loving kiss on his skin causing everything inside of him to go weak for you. “Sweetie, you feel so good– hnn– so so soso good,” he’s drawing in a shaky breath, “and now I need you to cum so good for me, yeah?”

Practically begging for you to cum on him, needing to feel it but you’re so out of it that you can’t reply coherently. Every word a sputtered whimper that you couldn’t stifle down without a hand on your mouth. You’re a complete mess and he feels so much overwhelming pride over the fact that he’s done that to you.

The only sounds you can hear anymore are the soft and sighed whines of Gojo holding back his orgasm, the lewd slapping of skin against skin, and the pleasant thrumming in your ears. The noises you assume you’re making not even fully registering to you, much preferring to hear Gojo’s anyways.

So close you can taste it and when he starts giving little rutted grinds of his hips every time your pelvises meet, you’re done for. Crying out broken moans as your cunt pulses hot and wet around him, cumming so hard you lose focus, vision dark and hazy and fucked so stupid.

You’re gripping him so tight, pussy trying to desperately milk him of everything he’s got. Veins in his cock throbbing against your walls so sinfully. Feeling so fucking sensitive with how he’d been holding back from cumming pretty much since he put his mouth on you.

Urgently, he gets your attention, “I’m gonna fucking– hnnn– cum, I need to– hah– I need to put you down so I can pull out.”

You only cling onto him tighter and shake your head, legs closing around him firmer, “Cum like this.”

And even if he wanted to argue with you a little more… he couldn’t. The lazy way the words formed against his skin and the cute way you’re drooling on him as him cumming so suddenly. Forcefully slamming into you a final time, dumping all of his cum so deep inside you and painting your walls an obscene creamy white. Hands gripping your thighs so hard that he thinks he might leave bruises of his hand prints behind. That thought alone making his dick twitch even more.

Feeling so boneless as he very carefully lays you down on the bed, his breaths coming fast against your skin as he reels from his own orgasm. Staying like that for a moment, pressed so close to you while you both come down from your highs. Aware enough to hold himself up by an arm so he doesn’t crush you under his weight.

As he goes to pull away he quickly realises you’re not about to let him go, “Gotta let me go, sweetheart,” he mumbles.

Brain taking a second to catch up to what he’s just said and the fact that you’re still clinging onto him, “Hm?... oh… m’sorry.”

His heart seizes in his chest, and he can’t help but press sweet kisses to your lips over and over, humming happily against you. Your grip loosens on him, and he fights against himself to pull back, there’s something he really wants to see.

Sitting back just to watch as he pulls out of you, his seed leaking from your gooey hole as he does. Shuddering at the view of it, his lecherous gaze lighting up at how much he’d cum inside you. As if on autopilot, his fingers collect what’s leaking from you and stuff it back inside, stroking against your inner walls.

His intention far from innocent, perverted touch making you twitch and whine. So hypersensitive from everything he’s put you through, one of your own hands reach down for his and grab at his wrist, trying to stop him.

“What’s wrong?” He asks through a smile.

You whimper at him, “Too sensitive, ‘Toru.”

Oh and there’s that nickname again, the one that make his heart skip a beat. “You’re okay, sweetie,” he hums as praise, “doing so well for me, you can cum one more time can’t you?”

You shake your head but your grip loosens and his grin grows wide on his face, he’s never forgetting how reactive you are. Still, he’s careful with you, he knows he just fucked you within an inch of your life, touch gentle as he fingers your pussy full of him.

Scissoring his fingers and gently rubbing circles into your clit with his thumb, “Your pussy is divine.” He continues cooing at you more, “Took me so well, so greedy for me, hm? So wet and tight, had me feeling like I was going crazy…”

You want to tell him to shut up, that he’s so embarrassing and shameless but your words won’t come. Mouth too occupied with letting loose the scandalous cries of pleasure you’re feeling, damn near pornographic in nature.

Back arching meanly only to be pushed right back down by his hand on you, trailing it from your sternum down your torso to just over your lower stomach. Lustful and plotting grin on his face when he pushes down, more of his cum leaving you only for his fingers to pull out to stuff it all back in.

It’s like he’s playing with you, getting a sick kind of enjoyment out of watching you squirm and leak with his seed. Already you’re so close again, barely having come down before he started finger fucking you, sensitive and dopey.

“Someone’s getting close,” he singsongs to you, the clicking sounds of him playing with your sopping wet cunt making your skin hot with shame.

Gojo puts effort into focusing in on that one spot he found earlier when he was tongue deep in your pussy, stroking you over and over, elated by the shocked and fucked look on your face. Body fighting so hard against its own pleasure and yet still greedy and begging for more.

Eyes rolling to the back of your skull as you cum yet again, struggling to breathe through it, whining out Gojo’s name over and over like how you did earlier. Twitchy and high strung and so so sensitive, thighs closing around his hand as you shake through your orgasm.

Forearm covering your eyes as tears slip from your waterline, everything feels so raw and electric and hot. Unable to even hear properly with how your head is rushing, all your senses dulled and simultaneously on edge.

Gojo tickles his touch up the outside of your thigh and you jerk at it, “Atta girl, did such a good job,” he compliments.

“I died,” you huff out.

“You didn’t die,” he wipes his fingers on your thigh, before crawling up your body.

You continue to complain, “You killed me.”

“I would never,” pulling back the arm hiding your face from him, “I like you far too much for that.”

Your only response back are begrudged grumbles that you don’t really mean. It’s hard to play angry at him well when you’re so high on your pleasure, body buzzing so pleasantly and head still dizzyingly content.

He smiles fondly at you before kissing you sweetly, lips lingering for a moment and then stating, “I’ll be back.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re left on the bed swimming in the relaxed and satisfying feeling thrumming through every inch of your bones. He shuffles around his room for a moment, changing into a clean pair of pants before scuttling out the door quickly.

Semi confused on where he’s gone until he comes back with a glass of water and a towel in the other, “Can you sit up for me?” You lay still for a moment, and it prompts him to check, “You can’t?”

“I’m thinking,” you don’t really want to get up, but you do, slowly dragging you body up to rest against his headboard.

He hands you the glass, motioning for you to drink while he sits down by your legs. Using the towel to gently wipe between them, careful not to touch you where you’re too sensitive. you finish the water and set the glass down on his bedside table where his lamp is lighting up the room.

Glancing down you quickly realise your shirt is still rolled up over your tits haphazardly, it suddenly feels dirty, you want a new shirt. “Gojo, can you grab me a shirt from my room… please?”

“Hmm?” He looks up to you and shamelessly stares at your tits, to which you cover them with your arms and frown, “I’m wiping my cum from between your thighs but you’re suddenly too shy for me to look at your tits?”

It’s not logical but that’s exactly how it feels, “Yes.”

Playfully, he rolls his eyes but gets up, discarding the towel in his hamper. He doesn’t go to your room though, simply tugging a shirt from one of his drawers. Walking back over to you with it in hand, “Arms up.”

Thoughtlessly, you do as he asks without question, arms raised up and waiting. Of course he takes the opportunity to blatantly stare at your chest, “Hey!” Your arms drop down.

An unapologetic giggle from him, “Sorry, sorry. Raise ‘em up again.”

You pout but you do lift them again and this time he actually takes your shirt off, it gets chucked over with the towel and the fresh shirt he grabbed is pulled over your head. It hangs off your frame and is clearly not your size but it’s comfy and soft and it smells like him.

Suddenly you’re feeling sleepy, eyes blinking slow as you struggle to keep awake. Something that changes when Gojo simply picks you up off his bed and starts walking out the room with you.

Yawning as you rest your head on him, “Where are we going?”

“To your bed, someone made a huge mess of mine,” he grins.

“And whose fault was that?”

Quirking a brow at you, “I’m pretty sure it’s yours.”

Feeling bashful as you pointedly look away from him, “Shut up…”

You both get into your bed beside each other, and you can’t help but snuggle into him, he’s so large and warm and it’s not even like you could avoid it because he was quick to wrap an arm around you and pull you snug to him.

Yeah… this friendship was definitely on a precarious ledge, and you tumbled right over the edge of it…

𝒂.𝒏. meow meow meow i hope you enjoyedddd,, this had been sitting in my writing folder since the middle of january and i couldn't wait anymore. i needed it finished and it's technically not because i had so many roommate gojo ideas that i couldn't add :< anyways !! THANKS FOR READING ILY❕

[⚠︎] — 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision

#visionwrites #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #satoru x reader #satoru x reader smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru x you smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #jjk x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you smut

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savvient · 1 year ago

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oopsiedaisydeer · 2 months ago

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use me ...in which matt lets you use him on your period

smut, period sex, dry humping, mutual masturbation, friends with benefits, consent, needy reader, cum in boxers, messy, vulnerability

word count - 1.7k

It’s past midnight when the credits roll.

You’re curled up against Matt’s side, cheek pressed to his shoulder, legs tangled under the covers. The heating pad is long cold, cramps dull but still lingering, your body heavy with that warm, needy ache that always sneaks up on day two. You’re sore, yes, but also so, so needy. Everything feels extra sensitive. Your thighs rub together every time you shift, and the soft drag of your pad is just enough to make you clench.

You’ve been subtly rocking your hips, chasing that perfect pressure, but Matt notices.

His hand shifts on your back. “You alright?”

“Mmhm.” You nuzzle closer, embarrassed. “Just… can’t get comfortable.”

He pauses. You can feel him thinking. Then, quietly, he asks, “Is it cramps or…?”

His voice trails off, cautious.

You open your mouth to respond, but then stop. Swallow the rest. You don’t want to say needy. Don’t want to admit the way you’ve been rocking down into every little flicker of pressure, how warm and swollen everything feels, how your brain’s fuzzy with it, full of this low, rolling kind of want. But he already knows. Of course he does.

“God. Is it that obvious?”

His hand stays where it is. “A little.”

You sigh, frustrated and turned on and breathless as you shake your head.

“It just… feels good,” you mumble. “The pressure. I don’t know. I get weirdly horny on my period.”

He clears his throat, fingers curling lightly against your hip as he speaks softly. “I don’t wanna make it weird, but… if it helps to, like, move a little… you can. I don’t mind.”

You blink up at him. “Like… how?”

He shrugs one shoulder, careful not to jostle you. “I don’t know. You could use my leg? Or, like, if you wanted to be on top of me, I wouldn’t, like, not in a weird way, but I’d let you.”

Your stomach flips. You stare at him for a long beat, your heart fluttering in your throat.

“Really?”

He nods, eyes soft. “Whatever you need. I mean it.”

And god, you need it. The ache between your legs is unbearable now. You shift, moving to straddle him carefully, your thighs snug on either side of his hips. The pad presses right against your core, right against him.

“You’re sure?” you ask, breath catching.

He looks up at you like you hung the stars. “Yeah.”

So you move. Slowly at first, grinding your hips in tiny circles, letting the pad catch against the soft fabric of his sweats, and fuck, it’s instant relief. The friction, the heat, the weight of him under you. You moan without meaning to, forehead dropping to his shoulder.

He exhales sharply when your hips stutter, when the soft, wet sound slips between you. Matt’s hands hover before settling on your hips, not pushing, just there. Steady. Supportive.

“You okay?” he asks, voice tight.

You nod quickly. “It just… feels good.”

You rock against him, a little faster now, and you feel it. Him. His cock thickening beneath you, twitching in his boxers with every pass of your hips. You’re grinding on him now, properly, your body pulsing with each drag of fabric on fabric.

“Is that—?”

“Yeah,” he says, quiet, almost guilty. “Sorry.”

You glance down. His cock hard against you, thick under the soft fabric of his sweats.

You press your forehead into his shoulder. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

He groans, like it physically pains him to hear you say that. “You’re on your period.”

You nod. “Still want to feel good.”

Your hips roll again, higher, this time. You’re not on his thigh anymore. You’re grinding against him now. Right against the thick line of him, clothed and leaking and tense.

He lets out a low, wrecked sound. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m just… really sensitive. It’s all I’ve been thinking about. All day.”

“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathes, eyes squeezed shut. But he doesn’t stop you. If anything, his hands grip your hips tighter, guiding you as you grind against his cock.

It’s messy and hot and desperate. You’re both still clothed, but the slick sound of your soaked underwear is unmistakable. You can feel how wet you are, feel the way his cock twitches beneath you every time you whimper.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Really didn’t mean to get you…”

“I already told you. Don’t apologise,” he breathes, hands tightening slightly. “Feels good. You feel…”

He groans when you roll your hips harder.

“Fuck, baby. You feel amazing.”

The nickname slips out, and it sends a thrill straight through you. You whine, soft and high, picking up pace until you’re panting, chasing the friction like it’s oxygen. His cock’s pressed right against your core now, and you swear you could come just from this, just from the pressure, the stretch, the way the pad drags slick and wet between you.

“Matt,” you gasp, “I think. Fuck, I think I’m close.”

His hands hold you tighter, rocking his hips up just slightly, helping you ride him. “That’s it. Just like that. Come for me.”

His hands are steady on you now, grounding you, letting you move exactly how you need. His cock is thick and hard beneath the layers of fabric, and the pad only adds to the pressure, the extra tension. The way it presses perfectly into your clit each time you roll down. And everything’s so sensitive. So warm. The ache that’s been sitting low in your belly all day finally finding its outlet.

You grind down one more time, sharper, and your whole body locks up, toes curling, legs trembling, a gasp torn from your throat as the orgasm washes over you. It’s sharp and pulsing, like your nerves are fluttering right under your skin. Your stomach tightens, hips stuttering as you ride it out, and you swear you can feel it through your entire core, heat and wet relief and the bittersweet release all tangled together.

Your clit throbs, oversensitive already, but you don’t want to stop. You don’t think you can. You keep moving in little desperate pulses, chasing the last waves, whimpering into Matt’s neck as your thighs twitch uncontrollably.

After a beat, you murmur, “That was…”

“A lot,” Matt finishes, brushing your hair back. “But… in a good way?”

You nod, cheek pressed to his heartbeat. “In a really good way.”

You sit for a moment, breathing against him, as a comfortable silence settles between you.

Your head’s still buried against his shoulder, breaths shallow, skin flushed and buzzing, but you realise he’s hard beneath you. Still. You can feel the weight of him, thick and hot against the damp press of your pad, and something about that makes you throb all over again.

You shift your hips slightly. His breath catches.

“Sorry,” you murmur, but your voice sounds more curious than apologetic. “You didn’t…”

Matt shakes his head, quick, breathless. “No. I mean, yeah, I’m fine. You don’t have to…”

“I want to.”

You lift your head, look down at him, and he’s already looking up at you like you’re the sun.

Your thighs are sticky with sweat and heat and the faint mess of it all, but the weight of your body over his, the way you’re still straddling him, it feels natural. Like something you’ve done a hundred times and somehow never done at all.

“I just…” you bite your lip, rocking gently against him, slow and shy. “You’re so hard, Matt. You let me, fuck, you let me use you like that. I wanna make you feel good, too.”

His hands flex at your hips, and you feel the twitch of his cock beneath you.

“You already do,” he says softly. “You, Jesus, you have no idea.”

You smile, dazed and drunk on the way he’s looking at you. Then you roll your hips again, slow and deliberate, and this time it’s for him. Your pad is soaked now, warm and slick, and it makes the friction that much heavier, deeper. Your clit still tingles from before, and each grind sends tiny electric sparks back through your body, but you focus on him.

The way his jaw clenches. The way his eyes flutter shut. The stutter in his breath when you drag your hips forward, pressing your heat right against his cock.

“You like that?” you ask, voice low, velvety with afterglow.

He nods, brows knit, eyes squeezed shut. “Too much.”

You keep moving, your rhythm messy now, more instinct than control. Every time your core drags over him, you feel the thick line of his cock push against you, just right, and it makes your stomach flutter. Your pad squelches faintly, soaked through, but Matt doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it makes him groan deeper.

“Can’t stop thinking about it now,” you whisper, almost to yourself. “How you’d feel inside me. When I’m like this. Full and sore and warm and so, so…”

“Fuck, baby,” he chokes out, fingers digging into your hips. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You lean down, kiss the hinge of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. You’re both damp with sweat and heat and something heavier that neither of you can name.

But it doesn’t need to go further. Not yet.

You slow your hips, still pressing close, drawing little circles against the hard ridge of him. You can feel he’s close. His whole body’s gone tense underneath you.

“You can come like this,” you murmur, lips brushing his ear. “Just like I did. I want you to.”

And he does.

It happens fast, his hips bucking once, then twice, and then he’s gasping into your neck, breath ragged as he spills into his boxers, the warmth of it blooming between you. He clutches you tight like he might float away otherwise.

You both go still. Just breathing. Your heart racing where it rests against his chest.

After a minute, he laughs, soft and stunned. “Holy shit.”

You giggle, pressing a lazy kiss to his cheek. “Yeah.”

He hums, thumb brushing your back. “Did you mean it, when you said…” He trails off.

“Yeah,” you say again, smiling against his skin.

“Next time, then.” He says quietly, and you nod, neither of you moving to get up. You just stay there. Wrapped in each other, warm and messy and underwear soaked.

credits to rose for the dividers!! @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: i need to dry hump matt on my period it's state mandated

main taglist: @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturns-mermaid @shortnsweetsturnz @cowboylikenat @camzeecorner @courta13 @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @shadowthesim237 @emely9274 @sturnberries @bluestriips @lovergirl4gracieabrams @chrisslut04 @tezzzzzzzz @strnilolover @vanteguccir @chrislova @riasturns @sturnsblogs @darksturnz @httpssturns @mi-co-uk @ribbonlovergirl @lovesturni0l0s @grace-sturnz @auttysturnz @kier-with-a-k @malsmind @edu4rd0ss

till next time!!

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dismalflo · 2 months ago

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can't help myself

Sirius Black x reader who aren't great communicators ✩ 6k words

summary: you and Sirius sleep together for the fun of it. no strings. you decide to call it off when it all becomes too much and the cons outweigh the pros. and maybe you have some feelings.

cw: allusions to sex, friends with benefits with feelings, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, accidental wingman james

“Hello?” you call, letting yourself into the Potter’s house, frowning a little when it seems oddly quiet. James had insisted the first warm day of the year called for a proper get-together—and really, who could say no to seeing all your friends in one place?

You’d pulled on your sweetest summer clothes, ready to soak up the sun and laugh until your stomach hurt.

James’ head pops around a doorway, curls a messy halo around his face, and he grins the moment he sees you—that big, eye-crinkling kind of smile that makes it impossible not to smile back.

“There you are,” he says. “You look very nice.” He nods toward the back door. “Everyone’s in the garden. Want a drink?”

“I’m alright for now, thanks,” you say, walking toward him.

You give him a quick hug—though, he turns it into a full-body squeeze—before he leads you outside.

The garden’s full of chatter and laughter, warm in every way. You give out quick hugs, a few hellos, before settling into a fold-out chair next to Lily.

“God, you look like you're ready to pop,” you say, leaning in to give her forearm a friendly squeeze.

You haven’t seen her and James as much lately, with the baby on the way and everything. It makes these little moments feel even more special. They’re glowing, both of them, like love has settled around them in something soft and golden. It twists at something in your chest—not jealousy, exactly, just a strange ache. Being loved like that, freely and without question, is… unfamiliar.

“I feel like it too,” Lily says with a groan, glaring half-heartedly at her belly. “Still a few months left.”

She lets her head loll back against the sun-warmed chair, eyes fluttering shut as she exhales dramatically. “Swear to God, if one more person tells me I’m glowing, I might hex them.”

You snort, reaching for the lemonade on the little table between you. “You are glowing, though. Like. In a glowy, magic-sunbeam sort of way. Sorry to say, it’s very annoying for the rest of us.”

Lily cracks one eye open, smirking. “You’re just mad I outshine you.”

“Always have,” you agree easily, bumping your knee against hers. The two of you smile at each other for a beat, and it’s one of those soft, warm silences that doesn’t feel like anything needs to be said.

James appears again, this time with two sweating glasses of something stronger in hand. He passes one to Remus and drops into the grass next to Lily with a content sigh, resting his chin on her knee like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

They start whispering lowly to each other, and even though you know them both incredibly well, you still feel like you're intruding. So instead you turn to eye up the buffet spread, covered in cling film, spying what you might like to eat.

Just as you ready yourself to move, a ring clad hand holding a plate moves into your field of view and suddenly it's being placed in your lap. You look up squinting against the sun, ready to say thank you, but Sirius shifts to solve your squinting problem and the words dry up in your mouth.

“Eat that, please.”

“I was just about to get up for some.” you say, dumbfounded.

“Almost like I can read your mind, babe.” He replies, winking at you. “Eat.”

He flops down next to James and they start talking about something you don't care to listen to. When your eyes meet Lily’s, she gives you a knowing look that you choose to ignore, staring down at the food on the plate instead.

You and Sirius have, for lack of better words, been fucking for a while. It started after a drunken night out and it continued from there. It's fun. Casual. But the more you’ve thought that recently, the more it feels like you're trying to convince yourself. The lines are starting to blur and it doesn’t really feel like two friends shagging for fun anymore. Or it doesn’t to you. You can never tell what's going on in Sirius’ head.

You’re jolted from your thoughts by Sirius gently shaking your knee, his hand warm where it rests. You blink, realizing James and Lily have disappeared. Embarrassment flushes hot in your chest—you hadn’t even noticed.

“You okay?” he asks, eyebrows pulling together with quiet concern.

“Yeah. Yes.” You nod quickly, offering your best smile.

He studies you for a moment, like he’s not entirely convinced, but then relaxes with a little huff of relief.

“You’re coming home with me, yeah?”

You hesitate—just for a second—but you nod again. Of course you do. You can’t help yourself.

When you arrive at Sirius’ flat, it's a well rehearsed routine. He offers you a drink or something to eat, because he’s sweet, and when you decline a switch is flipped. Rather quickly, your mouths are moulded together in bruising kisses, tripping over yourselves as you make your way to his bed. Or his couch. Or twice, his kitchen.

Tonight it's his bed.

Despite the exhaustion rolling over you, you get up to pilfer one of Sirius’ band T-shirts before crawling back up the bed toward him. It always shocks you how comfortable he is in his nakedness. He lies there like he owns the world, stretched out and unbothered, utterly bare. There's nothing coy about him. He’s the very picture of ease, of indulgence.

He should be that comfortable, you think. He looks like a man sent by the gods to cause your damnation. His tattoos stand stark against his pale skin, and his sharp features are magnetic. He’s beautiful.

When you make your way back to him, he pulls you quickly into his side, intent on closeness. You’re grateful for the small barrier of fabric between you then. It makes it feel less real. He starts talking—properly, about little things that have happened since the last time you saw him. You listen, your head tucked under his chin, fingers idly tracing the lines of the tattoo curling over his ribs. His voice is low and warm, somewhere between storytelling and confession, and you let it wash over you.

It’s a strange thing, how this always happens—how easy it is to fall into this rhythm with him. Just bodies. Just convenience. Just friends.

“I missed this,” he says eventually, like it’s nothing. Like the words don’t lodge somewhere deep in your chest.

You shift, propping your chin on his chest so you can look at him properly. “You missed getting laid? I saw you a week ago,” you tease, your tone playful.

But Sirius just looks at you, his expression unreadable for a moment too long. Then he huffs a laugh, brushing a thumb over your shoulder where the shirt has fallen slightly. “That too.”

You laugh, the sound low and comfortable, and brush your hand through his messy hair. "You know, you're impossible," you say, rolling your eyes before resting your head back against his chest. You can hear his heart beating beneath the skin, steady and calm.

He shrugs, his hand drifting down your side, tracing the curve of your waist with lazy circles. “Like you can talk,” he murmurs softly.

You lift your head to retaliate, but his gaze catches you off guard, and the need for space becomes overwhelming.

You pull away from him, sitting up and swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “I should go,” you murmur, voice softer now. Your fingers curl around the hem of the shirt, readying yourself to change back into your clothes. Something about leaving feels necessary.

Sirius watches you, his eyes tracing your movements with an unreadable expression. You grab your shoes, your phone, your scattered things, but before you can make it to the door, he speaks again, his voice quieter this time.

“Stay.”

It’s a simple request, a command almost. You hesitate, your hand still on the doorknob, and glance back over your shoulder.

“Why?” you ask, not unkindly. He’s done this a lot recently—asked you to stay when he shouldn’t. Usually, you’d stay without a second thought. It doesn’t help the scrambled thoughts flying through your mind, so you need to know why.

His gaze is intense, his lips parted slightly as if he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I don’t want you to leave,” he admits, the vulnerability creeping into his voice in a way you’re not used to hearing. It catches you off guard.

You could leave. You should leave. But you also know, without a doubt, you want to stay.

The way he said it lingers in your mind, replaying over and over, keeping you awake long into the night. You find yourself staring at Sirius’ sleeping face, running the pros and cons of this arrangement through your head. Quickly, the myriad of negatives outweigh the few positives.

The biggest one is that, despite the closeness of it all, you feel lonelier for it. A deep, gnawing sadness tightens around your chest every time you think about it. There’s doubt too. You wonder if there’s something wrong with you—something wrong for him to want you this way and no other. To know you, and to think that a good fuck is all he’s ever wanted. To know that you’re feelings won't be reciprocated.

The morning light creeps in through the blinds, pale and soft, casting a hazy glow over the room. It’s quiet, except for the faint sound of Sirius’ breathing beside you. You try to focus on the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair falls messily across his forehead, but all you can think about is the conversation you know you need to have.

You try to ease out of his arms without waking him, but his hold tightens around you, instinctual, almost possessive. For a moment, you just lie there, tangled in the sheets with him, eyes closed, wondering what it would feel like to simply stay. To keep pretending this is all fine—that you can keep moving like this: no strings, no complications. But the gnawing feeling in your chest is louder than the silence in the room. It’s impossible to ignore anymore.

Finally, you gently disentangle yourself from him, sliding out of bed and standing still for a moment at the edge, watching him sleep. He looks so peaceful. So at ease. It’s a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

You move quietly to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face, taking deep breaths, trying to pull yourself together. When you return, Sirius is awake, blinking sleepily, his messy hair even more disheveled than before. He reaches for you without saying anything, just a simple gesture—a pull toward him.

You hesitate, then sit down at the edge of the bed, wringing your hands together, unsure of where to start. Sirius notices the change in your demeanor immediately, his brow furrowing in concern as he sits up beside you, the sheets falling around his waist.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice rough from sleep. “What’s up? You okay?”

You want to say something flippant, something easy to brush it off, but it’s not that simple. You can't make this easy for either of you anymore. You exhale slowly, gathering the courage to speak.

“I think we need to talk,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You don’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the floor, suddenly acutely aware of the space between the two of you. It’s too much now. You know what you need to say.

Sirius sits up straighter, his hand instinctively reaching for yours, but you pull back slightly—not enough to be distant, but just enough to let him know this is serious. "What about?" His voice is tinged with uncertainty now, the light teasing that usually lingers in his words gone.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your heartbeat, but it feels like it’s skipping in your chest, pulsing painfully with every word you know you have to say. “I think we need to stop... sleeping together,” you say finally, the words hanging heavy in the air. "I don’t think we should do this anymore, Sirius."

His expression falters, confusion flashing across his face like a wave. He blinks at you, his lips parting as if he’s not sure he heard you right. "Wait, what? Stop? Why?" His voice sounds a little too light, like he’s hoping you’re joking.

Your heart races, and you pull your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your knees for comfort. "I just... I don’t think it’s working for me anymore. This—us. Sleeping together, I mean." You shift uncomfortably, trying to find the right words, but they feel inadequate, incomplete.

He leans back against the headboard, running a hand through his dark hair in frustration. His voice drops to a quieter, more serious tone. “I thought we were having fun.”

Your chest tightens at that. Fun. It’s all he ever thought it was, wasn’t it? To him, it was just easy, simple. The word "fun" sits there like a wall between you both.

“We were," you say, your voice softer now. "We are. But I think... I just don’t think I can do it anymore.”

Sirius stays silent for a moment, his eyes watching you with a mixture of confusion and something deeper—something you can’t quite place. The playful charm is gone, and you feel the weight of your words settle between you like a thick fog.

You turn to face him, trying to meet his eyes, but it’s harder than you expected.

Guilt creeping up your spine. "I just can't keep doing this." you repeat.

Sirius doesn’t respond immediately, but the silence between you thickens. His brow furrows deeper, eyes scanning you as if he's trying to decipher a puzzle he doesn’t quite understand. It makes the pit in your stomach grow. You thought you had been clear enough, but the confusion in his gaze says otherwise.

Finally, he speaks, his tone low and edged with frustration. “You’re not making any sense,” he says, his voice rougher than before, as though it’s hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that you’re pulling away.

You want to explain, want to make him understand, but it’s like the words are stuck in your throat. You feel like you’re standing on the edge of something, unsure if jumping is the right move, but knowing you can’t stay on the edge forever.

“I just… I can’t keep doing this, Sirius,” you say again, but your voice wavers, and you curse yourself for it. “I can’t keep pretending this is just fun. Because it’s not. I can’t… feel like this, every time, and still act like nothing’s changed.”

He looks at you for a long moment, his face a mixture of confusion and something else—something raw, like he's hurt. The weight of it presses on you, and you wish you could take the words back, or at least make him see how much this hurts you too.

“This is what you want?” he asks softly, leaning forward slightly, still trying to figure it all out.

You nod, though it feels wrong, like your heart’s trying to convince you otherwise. “I think so,” you whisper.

He leans back, running his fingers through his hair again, his lips pressed tight. You can see the frustration building, feel the distance stretching between you, even though you’re sitting right next to each other. His eyes flicker to yours, searching. “I don’t get it. We’ve always been… like this. What’s changed?”

You shake your head, unsure yourself. "Maybe it was always too much. Maybe I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. It’s just—" you falter, trying to put it all together. “I’m not sure what I want, but I know I can’t keep doing this with you. Not like this.”

For a moment, the silence feels endless. He watches you, his face unreadable, his hand still resting on the sheets. Finally, he speaks again, softer this time. "Are we… Are we still friends, then?" The question feels tentative, like he's afraid of the answer, as if that one word—friends—might fall out of his reach.

You take a deep breath, the weight of his words sinking in. You’re not sure how to answer. Your own heart is unsettled, but you know deep down, this isn’t something you want to lose.

"Of course, we are." You manage to force the words out, even as they feel fragile

You’ve started to think that you and Sirius don’t know how to be friends without all the extras anymore. Maybe you never were just friends to begin with. You can’t remember. That much is painfully clear in the three weeks you’ve spent avoiding him.

And you've gotten good at it—dodging group plans, slipping away without drawing too much attention. Until Remus catches on in less than five minutes when you meet up for coffee.

“Are you coming to Lily and James’ this weekend?” he asks, casually sipping his drink.

Another get-together in their garden to celebrate their anniversary. You want to be there—you love your friends, and you love seeing them so happy together—but the thought of facing Sirius for the first time since you called things off feels like swallowing glass.

“I can’t. My cat’s at the vet, y’know how nervous she gets.”

“You used that excuse for the pub quiz on Wednesday,” he replies, blunt as ever. You feel your face flush, caught.

“Yeah, well… she’s very poorly.”

“No, she’s not. You’d be a wreck if she were.”

“How would you know, Lupin?” you shoot back, defensive. He gives you a knowing look, his eyes narrowing slightly, and you deflate under his gaze.

“Fine. She’s not.”

For a brief moment, Remus looks victorious before his expression softens into something more serious.

“Has someone upset you?” he asks, his tone quiet and gentle.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you reply quickly, nodding a little too hard. “I’ll be there.” He doesn’t believe you—he’s too good at reading people for that—but he lets it slide, for now.

That’s how you end up wedged between Remus and Lily on a sofa that’s far too small, trying your best to ignore the weight of Sirius’ gaze from across the room. It’s strange—you're trying so hard not to look at him, but every time you do, your eyes lock. Sirius gives you a shy smile, and you can’t help but return it, even though it stings more than it should.

The party hums along as it always does, the sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and soft music in the background. You find yourself slipping into the familiar rhythm of the evening: catching up with friends, teasing James about his terrible taste in music, and joining in on the lighthearted bickering about the best way to cook some dish. For a moment, you almost forget about the ache that has been gnawing at you these past few weeks.

The evening passes quickly, the hours slipping by in a haze of friendly conversation and the occasional awkward silence when your eyes meet Sirius’s across the room. But as the night deepens, you realize you’re starting to feel more comfortable—like maybe you can be around him without everything falling apart. Or at least, you tell yourself you’re starting to.

Lily is standing now, announcing she’s about to make another round of drinks. "Anyone need a refill?" she asks. You wave her off, content with the drink in your hand. You’re already nursing it as much as you can, using it as an excuse to avoid conversation and, more importantly, Sirius.

You take a deep breath, pushing yourself off the sofa, silently grateful for the chance to escape the moment. "I’ll be right back," you murmur, heading toward the bathroom. The warmth of the room suddenly feels too much, and you need a space where you can breathe.

Before you can make it far, James appears in front of you, dragging you by the arm to the nearest unoccupied room.

“Do I need to go get your wife, prongs?” you joke as he shuts the door behind you.

“What's going on with you and Sirius?” The tact that Remus had skirting around the issue is nowhere to be seen in James Potter. To be fair to him, he looks distraught and you can't tell why.

“Nothing, why?” Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Come off it, L/N, did you fall out? Have you stopped shagging?”

“You knew?” you mutter, your confusion only growing. As far as you’re aware neither of you had told anyone you were fucking. But it was never a rule, so you suppose Sirius telling James is probably quite likely.

“Everyone knows, you’re both bloody obvious. All smiley goo-goo eyes when the other isn't looking.” you can imagine yourself like that, sure, but Sirius? Never. Not over you anyway.

“Then, yes, we’ve stopped sleeping together.”

James lights up then, triumphant.

“I knew something was wrong with him, he’s been moping around for weeks. Weeks!” James rambles on, his words so fast you struggle to take them in. “I knew it had something to do with you too since he’d stopped mooning over you. I thought you might’ve just rejected him and it was taking a while to get over all the pining, this makes more sense.”

You’re stunned to silence at that. What does he mean ‘all the pining’? It’s more the other way around surely. When you look back at James’ face he’s got a hand covering his mouth, and regret covering his face. He’s told you something he wasn't supposed to.

"James," you begin, your voice quieter than you'd intended, "What exactly are you talking about?"

James winces, looking incredibly sheepish, as if he realizes the weight of what he’s just let slip. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze.

"Well… I didn’t mean to—shit. You didn’t know, did you?" he mutters, sounding almost guilty

You stare at him, trying to piece everything together. “Why didn’t he tell me?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and your chest tightens uncomfortably.

“I don’t know, but he’s miserable, Y/N,” James says, his voice softer now, like he's trying to be delicate. “He tried to play it off, but I’ve never seen him this down. It’s not just because of the… whatever you want to call it between the two of you. It’s because he really liked you. And I think he thought it was more than just a casual thing.”

The words hang in the air like a cold draft. You swallow thickly, feeling suddenly dizzy. He can't be right. That's exactly why you had ended it, too scared of feeling something more than casual for him. Too scared knowing that he doesn’t want more, not with you. Or at least he didn't.

James freezes, the words hanging in the air for a long moment. His eyes widen slightly, and his mouth opens and closes like he's trying to figure out the best way to proceed. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, weighing his next words carefully.

“Maybe you should speak to Sirius, yeah?” He says softly, pulling you into a steady hug, hand sweeping across your back.

You nod, pulling away trying for a smile, landing on a grimace.

“I need to think for a bit, I’m gonna go home.”

You don’t remember getting home, not really. The rush of thoughts, the confusion, the words James said—they're all spinning in your head in a dizzying circle. You pace your room, your fingers tapping against your phone like you're trying to ward off the silence, but it only amplifies the questions in your mind.

The uncertainty, the back-and-forth, had always been there, but you’d convinced yourself that it was just... something casual. Nothing more. But what if you were wrong? What if everything you thought you knew about Sirius, about what you two had, was actually completely backwards?

You pick up your phone, stare at it for a moment, before unlocking the screen. Taking a breath, fingers hovering over his contact name. It’s late, but what else do you have to lose at this point?

You press the call button before you can talk yourself out of it, your heart hammering in your chest as the phone rings. You count the seconds, but when he picks up, it feels like the world tilts.

“Y/N?” Sirius’s voice is low, groggy, and it makes you pause for a second. “It’s late. What’s up?”

You hesitate, unsure of what exactly you're asking for, but all you know is that you need something. You need to see him.

“Can I come over?” you ask, the words falling out almost too quickly. “Please.”

There’s a long pause, and you hear a faint rustling on the other end of the line. “Uh… I don’t know,” he murmurs, clearly still trying to piece things together, just like you. “It’s late, Y/N. I don’t know what’s going on. What do you want?”

You swallow thickly, the uncertainty creeping back in. But you push it aside, determined. “I need to talk to you.”

He’s quiet for a moment longer. “Alright,” he finally says, voice softer now.

You don’t reply, just hang up and grab your coat, your mind racing faster than your feet as you rush to the door.

When you arrive at his flat, you don’t bother knocking—you simply open the door, your pulse pounding in your ears. He’s standing there, pacing, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. His hair’s messy, his shirt slightly wrinkled, but it's like seeing him in this state makes him look more human, more real.

He glances up when you step inside, his expression unreadable. His lips press together in a tight line, his eyes flicking to the floor for a moment before landing back on you.

“What are you doing here?” His voice cracks slightly. “I thought you didn’t want me—this.”

The question is simple, but it feels like he’s asking something deeper.

You take a step toward him, your throat dry, but your voice is steady. “I never said I didn’t want you, Sirius,” you reply, your words firm but quiet, like you’re testing them as much as you’re saying them.

His eyes widen, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features, and he opens his mouth to say something but pauses. The air between you crackles, charged with everything that hasn’t been said.

You swallow, your gaze flickering down to your hands before looking him in the eye again. “James said something this afternoon. And I need to know if it’s true.”

Sirius freezes, a hesitant breath escaping his lips as he shifts on his feet, his brow furrowed. “What did he say?” His voice is almost cautious, like he's afraid of what you might say next.

You take another step closer, your heart beating louder in your chest. “He said… he said you liked me. More than just… whatever it was between us.”

The silence that follows is thick, heavy. You can see the muscles in his jaw tighten, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to process your words. His fingers twitch slightly, but he doesn’t reach for you. He doesn’t move at all, except for the way his chest rises and falls with each breath.

“I don’t…” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to find the right words, but everything feels tangled. “Y/N, I—"

"You don’t have to say anything," you interrupt, your voice quieter this time, softer, even though your insides are a storm of confusion and uncertainty. "I just need to know. I need to know if it’s true."

Sirius looks at you for what feels like an eternity. His eyes are wide, and the way he shifts on his feet makes it clear he’s struggling to find the right words. You can see the conflict in him, the way his mind races through possibilities, each one more tangled than the last. And you can feel the same confusion mirrored in your own chest.

"I—" he starts, his voice rough, but he stops himself. The weight of the question seems to sit heavily between you, like a physical thing pressing on both of you.

“I’m not sure how to explain it," he says finally, the frustration evident in the motion. "It’s not like I set out to fall for you. I didn’t even want to, if I’m being honest.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a second, you don’t know how to react. You want to respond, but it feels like everything inside you is twisting.

Sirius continues, his voice softer now, as if he’s carefully choosing his words. "But I did.”

The honesty in his voice is raw, unexpected. It’s not what you thought you’d hear. And, for the first time in weeks, you feel the tight knot in your chest loosen just a little. Maybe you were wrong.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he admits, eyes flicking to the floor, then back up to meet yours. “I didn’t want to ruin everything we had… I thought if I said something, it’d mess it up. So I kept quiet.”

“You thought I didn’t want you?” The question feels almost ridiculous as it leaves your lips, but the confusion is still fresh. “I—I was scared too, Sirius. Scared of wanting more, scared of what it meant. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I pushed it away. But… I thought it was just me.”

Sirius looks at you, something raw in his eyes, like he's waiting for permission. You see the hesitation in him, but you also see something else. Something familiar, something that makes you take the final step forward, closing the distance between you. Your hand finds his, and for the first time in weeks, it feels right.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice hoarse now, his thumb brushing against your hand. “That I made you think all I wanted from you was a fuck. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to make it work.”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of it all finally begin to lift. “We’re both a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” you say, trying to lighten the moment, but your voice trembles just a little.

Sirius chuckles softly, the sound bringing some relief. “Yeah. Definitely.”

You both fall into a silence that isn’t uncomfortable, not really—it’s just… full. Full of everything unsaid, everything finally surfacing, finding its place between the two of you. His thumb keeps brushing over the back of your hand, soft, hesitant, like he still can’t quite believe you’re here. Like he’s afraid if he stops, you’ll vanish.

Your heart thuds loud in your chest, but something inside you is steadier now, like the ground beneath your feet isn’t shifting quite so much. You glance up at him—he’s watching you, eyes dark and unsure, but softer than you’ve seen them in a while.

You take a breath, then another. And then—quietly, almost like you’re afraid of scaring the moment away—you say it.

“Sirius?”

He hums in response, eyes locked on yours. There’s something nervous in the way he looks at you now. Like he knows something’s coming, but doesn’t dare hope for it.

You press your lips together, cheeks warming as your voice dips into something almost shy. “Do you… do you want to be my boyfriend?”

The words hang there between you, fragile and small.

Sirius blinks. Then blinks again. You watch as something shifts in his face—like whatever wall he’s been holding up finally cracks, just a little.

“Are you serious?” he asks, lips twitching like he’s trying to stop himself from smiling too fast, too much.

You nod, heart hammering in your chest. “I mean… yeah. If you want to be.”

And then—finally—he grins.

It’s a real grin, wide and crooked and full of disbelief, like he can’t quite wrap his head around what you’ve just said but doesn’t want to waste another second trying to overthink it.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, pulling you in before you can even blink. His arms wrap around you like they’ve been waiting to do that forever, holding you close. “Yes. Yes, I want to be. I thought you’d never ask.”

You laugh, a bit breathless, as you bury your face in his shoulder. “I almost didn’t.”

“Yeah, well, lucky for me you’re braver than you look,” he teases, but his voice is thick with relief, with something tender. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Your hands are on his chest now, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palms as he holds you there, forehead to forehead, like neither of you knows how to pull away. His grin is lopsided, all teeth and scruffy warmth, and you’re laughing, really laughing, the kind that bubbles up from your chest like champagne, unstoppable and a little giddy.

Sirius pulls back just a little to look at you properly, but he doesn’t let go. His hands stay right where they are—one at your waist, the other brushing along the curve of your jaw like he’s trying to memorize it. “God, you’re really here,” he murmurs, and there’s so much wonder in his voice it makes your breath catch.

“You’re really mine,” he adds, quieter.

That makes your cheeks burn in the best way, and you duck your head a little, suddenly shy under the weight of his gaze. “I’ve kind of always been yours,” you mumble.

That gets a full-blown, slightly shocked laugh out of him—deep and real—and before you can say another word, he tilts your face up and kisses you.

It’s warm and a little clumsy at first—like he can’t quite believe it’s happening, like he doesn’t know where to start—but then you’re kissing him back, and it clicks into place.

And when you both pull back, a little breathless and a lot smiley, his thumb still brushing lazy circles on your hip, you don’t let go of each other.

“You taste like toothpaste,” you whisper, nose wrinkling in amusement.

“Wow. Rude,” he says, grinning as he bumps his nose against yours. “I brush twice a day like a responsible adult.”

You giggle, the sound escaping before you can stop it, and he just stares at you for a second like he’s completely and totally ruined. “God, I’m so screwed, I always was,” he says with another laugh, and then he’s kissing you again—this time slower, gentler, like he’s savouring it.

And you let yourself melt into it, into him, your fingers curling into his shirt like maybe if you hold on tight enough, this will never end.

There’s laughter between kisses—stupid, breathless laughter when your noses bump or when Sirius makes a ridiculous sound at the back of his throat just to make you snort.

“You’re insufferable,” you murmur against his lips.

“You’re obsessed with me,” he counters, barely pulling away.

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “Maybe a little.”

“Good,” he says, pressing another kiss to your cheek, then your nose, then your lips again, like he can’t help himself. “Because I’m definitely obsessed with you.”

You kiss him again, just to shut him up. And he laughs into your mouth.

masterlist <3

#flo'sfics #marauders au #marauders fics #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fic #sirius black angst #sirius black drabble #sirius black #sirius black fluff

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tonycries · 1 year ago

Text

Wanna Do Bad Things To You

Synopsis. He fucks you like he hates you. You didn’t mean to fuck your old friend-with-benefits - truly - it just kinda happened.

Pairing. Multiple x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Reader, hate sex, ex-friends-with-benefits, slight angst, he’s still in love with you, unprotected sex, jealous sex (from his side), choking, marking, pet names (my love, sweetheart), swearing.

Word count. 1.5k

A/N. Ummmmmmmm yeah. Art by @_3eam on X.

He fucks you like he hates you.

“Shut the fuck up, you little slut.”

“Do it then. What? Scared he’ll do it bet-”

Cut off by a pathetic gurgle - his large hand around your throat. Ringed fingers tightening right above your pulse, the cold metal digging into your searing skin.

Your vision is bleary, blood roaring in your ears as he leans down, muscled front against your back. His breath is hot against your face as he whispers lowly, “Running your mouth a bit too much, my love. You do the same with him as well?”

Shivers run down your spine - all the way to your cunt, pulsing and clenching furiously around his throbbing tip. Teasing your dripping entrance. Unmoving.

Your walls burn, struggling at the stretch of his thick head, yet still wanting the bastard to fucking move. Such a fucking tease. He was always like this - even back when you two were together, but that’s a story for another time.

Turning to glare at him over your shoulder, “So what if I do? Who are you to tell me what to do?”

You’re either an idiot or a mastermind.

Maybe both. Because you feel his achingly hard cock twitch animalistically inside you, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across those kiss-bitten lips you knew too well. You hated how much you wanted them on yours right now.

“You’re right. I’m not anyone to you.” he murmurs venomously, swiftly capturing the tender skin of your exposed neck, sharp teeth digging into you. Branding you.

You keen, hips bucking uselessly against his bruising grip on your hips as he pulls away. God, you felt so used - and it made your walls flutter around him so desperately.

Two long fingers reach up to squeeze your cheeks together mockingly into a pathetic pout, forcing you to look at him. “But I’m gonna ruin you for everyone. Including that little prick you’ve tried to replace me with.”

Your eyes flutter open in shock - you didn’t even realize they were scrunched up - getting lost in the ones boring into yours, half-lidded and pupils blown ferally. Electricity jolts through your body at the pure lust and rage whirling in his intense gaze.

You two were going to be the deaths of each other.

You two were always going to end up like this.

You’ve barely even finished the thought before his flushed tip is kissing your cervix so painfully good.

“Hah- Oh, fuck. Fuck you.” Eyes rolling to the back of your head as he sheaths himself completely in you. A low hiss leaves his swollen lips as he pulls out agonizingly slow, inch by inch, prominent veins dragging along your g-spot.

“Fuck, you sure you hate me? Because this pussy seems like she can’t get enough of me, hm?”

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue is cut off by his rock-hard cock bullying its way back into your snug cunt. He fucks you animalistically, heavy balls stinging your pussy as his cock rams in and out of your hole over and over at a relentless pace.

Strangled mewls of ah! ah! ah! leave your swollen lips as large fingers presses tight circles into your clit at a merciless rhythm matching the cadence of his hips.

You mindlessly writhe against him, you felt so full - so split open on his cock. It was too much to handle. He was always too much to take.

“Now now, don’t hah- run away from me, my love. If you’re going to act like such a fucking slut then take it like one.” he purrs, lip curling into a smug smirk that you wanted to smack off his pretty face. You couldn’t stand him - but you couldn’t get enough of him either.

“I’m not the hah- o-one that runs away. And- hngh- I’m not your ‘love’” you grit, because God forbid you go down without a fight - even when you’re falling apart completely under him.

What else could he have even expected? You always did see through him.

God, did he love that bitchy mouth of yours.

Huffing out a surprised laugh, he wraps a strong arm around your waist pulling you deeper onto his throbbing cock - grip hard enough that he knows you’ll have marks to remember him by. Not like he planned on letting you ever forget him in the first place.

“You always did know how to push my buttons, huh, my love?”

“Could say the same for you, sweetheart.”

Fuck that stupid fucking petname. How is it that even after years of not hearing it, his heart still lurches the same as it falls out of your mouth? That annoying, nagging part of his brain wonders if you call him the same thing.

And maybe you could read minds - he wouldn’t be surprised - because you open those pretty lips to say “Though, you’re not my sweetheart anymore, huh?”

Unexplainable anger seethes under his skin in a way that makes him want to claw it off.

“Fuck you.” he hisses, turning your face so his mouth clashes with yours. It’s all bruising urgency and teeth clashing at the breathless dance of your tongues.

His cock speeds up it’s abuse on your cunt, fucking you with impatient, harsh thrusts that have his leaking tip kissing your cervix. Had it not been for his firm hand around your throat, you were sure you’d have been slammed into the headboard creaking in protest.

“You drive me fucking insane. Fuck you.”

He hates the whines of his name falling from your kiss-bitten lips, and how it’s his favorite song.

He hates the tears clinging to your lashes in a way that makes him want to burn down anything that made you cry. Including himself.

He hates the way your cunt clamps down on him as if it hurts to part - he wishes you felt the same.

He hates the way he can’t let you go.

You were perfect, so perfect. Too perfect for him. He was probably better for you - all stability and reassurance where he is nothing but a whirlwind of change.

In one, fluid move, he’s pulled out of the snug heaven of your dripping cunt - flipping you onto your back to stare into those beautiful eyes that haunt him every night.

"Let's forget everything else, if just for tonight."

And with those words, he’s back inside you again, ramming into you with purpose. Though his thrusts are as unforgiving as ever, something about the air feels charged with something different. A rawness that both of you would have shied away from.

“Th-this doesn’t hngh- fix us, y’know.”

“I know, my love.”

His low words muffled as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, kissing the bite mark with a tenderness that doesn’t translate into his hips. And you can’t overthink it - because your head is only filled with him and the way your cunt is milking his thick cock so good.

And later you’ll probably blame your foggy thoughts for the reason why your hands subconsciously wrap around his muscled shoulders, pulling him so impossibly close until you can feel his heartbeat thundering under your touch - in sync with your own. One. Two. Three.

“Ah! Shit. Doing so good, cunt made jus’ f’me. You’re made jus’ f’me.” choked moans leave his throat as he pulls away ever-so-slightly to look into your fucked out eyes.

“Perfect f’me, my love.”

Maybe at his words - or maybe at his predatory, blown-out gaze - you buck your hips to desperately meet his. Breathless moans of his name leaving your bruised lips.

With a final, purposeful thrust of his cock, he pulls you once more into a familiar, searing kiss that sends you both over the edge. You see stars as you cum, mind barely registering the thick ropes of his seed that fill your quivering cunt.

A low groan leaves him as his cum forms a thick, white ring around his base, dripping down your legs and onto the bedsheets that he knew were your favorite. It was feral - and at least for this moment, it made him feel like yours.

Some carnal part of him keeps bucking his hips into you as if on instinct, letting you ride out your highs together. Fucking his cum deeper and deeper the way he would as lovers, his strong arms wrapped around you to keep you from moving away. But he didn’t have to, because right now you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Keeping you close. As if he never wanted to let go - both of your bodies a mindless whisper of what your minds craved.

A delicate intimacy that only your bodies could bring rings in the sex-filled air. And when he finally stops, body collapsing onto yours - he whispers a secret. Meant for only the two of you in this quiet world.

“Fuck me like you still love me.”

Because by God was he in love with you.

- Gojo, TOJI, SUGURU, Atsumu, SUNA, Tsukishima, SAKUSA, EREN

A/N. Maybe I’ll do some fluff next week to make up for this…

Plagiarism not authorized.

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pathologicalreid · 4 months ago

Text

shelter from the storm | s.r.

in which your son comes to your room in the middle of the night seeking the safety of his father's arms.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: fear of storms, spencer reid dilf agenda, boy dad!spencer word count: 1.07k a/n: need to give this man a baby immediately oh my god it's so bad the voices

Spencer woke up first; the very first hint of a rumble caused his eyes to flutter open before he even heard the patting of the rain on the window. He glanced at the clock, only for it to read just past two in the morning, grabbed his glasses from the nightstand, and tried to nudge you awake.

He was a much lighter sleeper than you; years of being conditioned to wake up to the slightest vibration of a phone had caused that. While he’d gotten over his own fear of storms, Spencer always kept an eye out for them, knowing it was a trait that your toddler had acquired.

“Hmm?” You responded to his nudge, stuck between being asleep and being awake. With your eyes open only slightly, you saw the flash of lightning peek in through the blinds and immediately sat up. “Jamie?” You whispered your son’s name while Spencer flicked on the lamp on his bedside table.

The two of you shared a knowing look when you heard the pattering of bare feet on the hardwood floor. You left your bedroom door open just a crack, so all he needed to do was push the door open and peek his head inside. “Mama?” He whimpered just as softly as you’d whispered his name.

Jamie’s glasses were crooked on his face, thick black frames that surrounded his brown eyes. Sometimes, when Spencer looked at his son, it felt like he was looking at a reflection of his past—something he’d never experienced until he was born. Jamie clutched a stuffed teddy bear in his hand, wearing matching glasses you’d affixed to the animal so the two of them could match.

As soon as your three-year-old saw his parents sitting up in bed, his little face crumpled in relief. “Daddy,” he called this time, and before he knew it himself, Spencer was getting out of bed to gather his son in his arms.

“Hey, lovey,” Spencer cooed, crouching so he could pick Jamie up, adjusting the way the stuffed bear—named Garcia, after his godmother, and affectionately nicknamed Bearcia—rested so no one was being crushed. “It’s raining really hard out there, huh?”

Wrapping his arms tightly around his father’s neck, Jamie held on while he was brought over to the bed. Once he was within reach, you rested a gentle hand on his back but made no move to take him into your arms. Knowing that he could comfort his son when he was scared reassured Spencer; it told him he was a good dad. He never would have gone to his own father for protection, and that’s all he’d ever wanted to be as a dad—dependable, protective.

You hushed Jamie when thunder cracked again, “Oh, my poor baby.” Moving over on the mattress to rest your head on your husband, giving you the range to press a soft kiss on your son’s forehead.

The feeling of tears as they seeped through Spencer’s t-shirt broke his heart; it almost made him wish he could control the weather to his benefit. Instead of forbidding the storm, he craned his head back to meet Jamie’s red-rimmed eyes, “’s okay to be scared,” he assured him.

Jamie squeezed his teddy bear for comfort and looked at your bedroom window; the blinds were still closed to prevent the eventual morning light from getting in. The toddler mumbled something unintelligible about the rain before sniffling. He used the sleeve of his dinosaur footie pajamas to wipe his face before resting his head against his father.

Getting up from the bed, Spencer walked Jamie over to the window and opened the blinds so he could see the rain, hoping that taking the mystery of the storm away would take away some of the fear. “When the lightning goes again, if we count the seconds until the thunder goes, we’ll know how far away the storm is,” he explained to Jamie, smoothing the toddler’s hair from his forehead and swaying gently while they waited for the flash of light.

“Woah,” Jamie breathed when the lightning struck, childlike wonder lighting up his features while Spencer started counting. “Two,” Jamie joined softly, “Three, four, five, oh!”

Thunder rumbled, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile to himself when Jamie curled into his side for safety. “We counted five, and if we divide by five, that means the storm is one whole mile away.” He didn’t expect the three-year-old to understand the mathematics, but he knew Jamie liked to have things explained to him.

At some point, you’d crept out of the room, and Spencer didn’t notice until you were tiptoeing back in, holding Jamie’s blankie and setting it in the middle of your shared bed. “One,” Jamie started counting on his own at the next flash of lightning, “two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine!” This time, he smiled proudly up at his father when he finished counting, “More!”

Spencer nodded before closing the blinds once more. "That’s right; it means the storm is moving further away from the house.” He brought Jamie back to the bed, laying him down on his blankie with Bearcia in his tiny clutches. “Now we have to go back to sleep, and the storm will be all gone by the time we wake up.”

“Promise?” Jamie asked, big, brown eyes stared up at his dad as he sought reassurance.

He knew he might’ve been putting too much faith in the meteorologists, but nonetheless, Spencer nodded, “I promise.” He carefully took Jamie’s glasses off, setting them on his bedside table and turning on the nightlight you kept in there for nights like these.

Jamie settled into the big bed and cuddled his bear close. “Love you, daddy.”

A two in the morning wakeup call didn’t seem so bad when it ended like this. He finally found his way back to bed, pulling the covers over you and your baby, and once he took off his glasses and turned off the big lamp, Jamie curled into his side, resting his head on Spencer’s shoulder.

You poked your head up from your pillow, your smile glowing under the soft nightlight. Spencer could almost hear what you were thinking, imagining your voice as you cooed My boys.

Silently, so as not to disturb Jamie, Spencer mouthed I love you.

In response, you leaned over to press a goodnight kiss to his lips, and to Spencer, it was the same thing.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid dilf agenda #written by margot

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l1tw1ck · 4 months ago

Text

Consummation

Bottom!FTM Mydei x Top!Masc Reader

☆ Word Count: 1,370 ☆

Mydei finally fulfills his duty after his marriage to you

AFAB Language Used | Royalty AU

CW: Dubious Consent, Aphrodisiacs, Cunnilingus, Virginity Loss, Riding, Oral Sex, Cum Swallowing

“Don't forget that our union is merely for the benefit of the people.” Mydei pulls away from your ear and closes his eyes, giving you a small peck on the lips to fulfill his duty as a husband.

“Don't worry.” You turn your head and smile at the crowd of people.

“Now that you've been crowned, don't you think you should spend more time here? You have other things to prioritize over your bloodlust.” You watch Mydei remove his clothes. He doesn't feel any embarrassment about you seeing his naked body, he doesn't have any fear that you’ll touch him.

“Your job is to take care of those things for me.” He ties his hair up.

You follow him into the bathroom. “There's still a lot you need to do yourself, Mydeimos.” You stare at him as he bends over to adjust the water temperature. “One of those being, the consummation of our marriage. You’ve been stalling.”

It's true. He’s been going out to avoid that. “Does it matter? It's foolish to have children now.”

“The purpose isn't necessarily to have children, you know. Our marriage will be voided otherwise. You know it's the only reason you’ve been crowned. Am I the only one who has to care about our people?”

He growls and steps into the bath.

“It’s just one night. What are you so afraid of? I’m sure you’ve had plenty of time to practice.”

He growls again. “Fine. Just get it over with.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, now.” He crosses his arms and turns to you. “Hurry.”

You quickly remove your clothes and enter the bath. He stares at your cock with his brows furrowed. He turns and presses his hands against the wall as he bends over. You gently touch his cunt. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making sure it doesn't hurt.”

“It's not going to hurt.” He says, protecting his ego. “Do it.”

You sigh and slowly pump your length before entering him. He bites down on his lip. You gently rub his back. “You're too tense, I can barely move any further. I told you–”

“You're not trying hard enough.”

“Just relax your body, okay? Take a deep breath for me.”

His ears tinge red. He moves himself away from you. “We’ll do it tomorrow. You're annoying me.” He doesn't make eye contact.

“Okay, if that's what you want.”

“Mydei?” You walk into the room, surprised that he's laying in bed instead of sleeping against the corner of the wall. He's only wearing a robe.

“Do it..” His voice sounds soft. He moves the robe apart so you can have access to his body. “Hurry and get it over with.”

“You sound different.”

“My aide…gave me….” He sighs and spreads his legs. “Come on, you HKS…!”

“He gave you an aphrodisiac? Seriously?” You chuckle. “You know, it wasn't my fault. You didn't let me do anything.”

His cheeks flush red. “Then do it now.”

You climb onto the bed and bring your face close to his cunt. “You're already so wet, were you touching yourself before I got here?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Calm down, sweetheart. You should've been. I can't imagine how needy you must feel now.”

“I’m not needy—Fuck~!” He moans from the feeling of your tongue sliding up his folds. He bites down on his lip and looks down at you as you start to eat him out. You look like you're enjoying yourself. He subconsciously wraps his legs around your head. He does his best to not crush your skull. “I– wait—” He throws his head back as he orgasms, his walls fluttering around your tongue. He shoves you away with his foot.

You get off of the bed and wipe your face. You watch his body subtly twitch and his chest slowly rising and falling. His eyes are wide. “Tell me when you're ready.” You remove your clothes.

“When I’m ready?” There's a slight growl in his voice. “I'm always ready!”

“Mydei–”

He shakily gets up and shoves you onto the bed. He crawls on top of you and positions himself above your cock.

“Wait–”

“Look who's scared now.” He grins, lowering himself onto you. He throws his head back as his pussy stretches to fit you. It feels a little easier now but it's still painful.

Mydei lets out a sigh as his cunt fully absorbs you.

“Mydeimos..” You gently rub his thighs. “Don't move.”

“Why not?” He slaps your hands.

“Because I want you to. Your duty as my husband is to listen to me, right?”

“I’m the king. You're just a consort!” He tries to raise his body but gasps as his sudden movement causes him to realize why you didn't want him to in the first place. Having something inside him is too foreign and you seem to know your stuff. “Fine. I’ll listen to you. Only for tonight.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” You gently stroke his cock.

“I didn't— mmh- give you permis—iuh~” His eyes roll back as he comes again. “Again–”

“Yeah? You want me to make you come again, sweetheart?”

“Don't toy with—” He shudders as your hand returns to his cock. “Yes— yes~!” He groans, rolling his hips. Having your cock inside him feels amazing now. His pussy just keeps fluttering around your cock. He grabs your wrist and forces you to keep touching him.

“Does that feel good?” You coo. “I feel good.”

“Of course you feel good, I’m amazing.” He moves your hand away and calms down. “Is that it?”

“Technically, no, but I’m sure all the servants outside our quarters can attest to our consummation.”

“Then what is technically it? I finish what I start.”

“May I show you?”

“Fine.” He allows you to hold his waist. His mouth hangs open in surprise as you lift him upwards. He didn't think you were strong enough. You slowly move him up and down before ascending to a faster pace. He starts moaning again as your cock hits all the right places inside his sensitive, creamy walls.

His lips curl into a smug, blissed out grin. He already feels his peak approaching.

“Huh?” He furrows his brows as you lift him off of you. “What do you think you're doing?”

“You don't want kids yet.” You look at his pissed off expression. “I’ll finish on my own..”

“What?!” He gets up and grabs you. “Do you think I’m not good enough at this?”

“Calm down. This isn't a competition or a display of strength. I'm just respecting your dislike towards me.”

“I…I don't dislike you.” He tugs you closer to him. He stares at your throbbing length. “Just…Just tell me what I have to do.”

“Well…are you gonna hit me if I tell you what I’d prefer you to do?”

“I won't.”

“Promise?”

He sighs dramatically. “I promise. But if it's weird you have to do that again. Deal?” He points at his cunt. It's still tingling.

“Deal. So…can you get on your knees?” You ask sheepishly. He raises an eyebrow but kneels anyway. You comb your fingers through his hair. “Can you open your mouth?”

His ears turn a fiery red. It’s a good thing it blends in with his hair, his pride is still intact. He opens his mouth and lets you slide your cock inside it. He pushes aside his embarrassment and maintains eye contact.

“You're so pretty..” You mumble, slowly thrusting into him. “Just a little more..”

He feels the heat from his ears travel to his cheeks. Heat from a different source fills his mouth.

“You can—” You’re interrupted as he swallows your cum.

“Eh.” He isn't sure how to feel about it. He stands up. “C’mon then.”

You smile and kneel, once again flipping your positions. Mydei stares down at you with curiosity and soon understands as your lips wrap around his cock and your fingers slide into his cunt.

“Fuck yes-” He groans. “Good boy.” It only takes a couple seconds for him to come again. He shivers as you clean up his thighs with your tongue. “You're not so bad.” He crosses his arms.

“I’m honored to be not so bad, my king.”

#wicks🕯works #top male reader #male reader #ftm character #dom male reader #male reader smut #tw dubious consent #mydei x reader #mydei x male reader #mydei smut #honkai star rail x male reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut

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soangelbaby · 5 months ago

Text

thinking about giving clark the sloppiest head ever because i don’t see it enough on here ??

“you sure about this?” clark asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. you had offered your throat to him, for him to use and abuse for his own benefit, to make your mouth his own personal fleshlight. it’s not like you hadn’t thought about it—and you know he did, you knew he was afraid of hurting you, but you didn’t care, this was about what you wanted and what you were going to give.

“yes clark, i’ve never been more sure about anything. don’t hesitate now, you had all day to get ready for me.” you sink down to your knees in front of him, his back against the foot of your shared bed. his hands were making patterns on your chin and down your jaw, as if he was savoring how pretty you look before he completely ruins you. he doesn’t respond, he just tilts his chin up, eyes locked on yours and begins undoing his belt. and you can’t help but grin, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. finally, you thought, he was finally going to fuck your face, ruin your pretty little mouth—you could already feel him, the sensation of his nut coating the back of your throat.

“if it’s too much—or i hurt you at all, at any moment, you let me know okay?” he says, his fingers looping into the waistband of his pants as he tugged them down along with his boxers. his dick sprung free, brushing against your lips as it hit his stomach. you immediately reached up to grab him, slowly taking his tip into your mouth. he hisses at the feeling of your soft, warm lips around him, shifting slightly against the bed, his eyes fluttering close and his head tipping back. you knew he was shy, wasn’t used to this, but needed to see how far you could push him, to see if he would completely crumble for you. “can you look at me?” you murmur, before taking all of him into your mouth. clark’s head shot up, his hands flying immediately to grip your hair that was falling in front of your face. “fuck, yeah—yeah baby, i can look at you, you know you look so pretty for me huh?” he pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he wraps it tightly around his fist, tugging slightly.

“mhm—” you moan against him, swirling your tongue around the underside of his dick, feeling the thick veins throbbing as you bob your head up and down. clark pulls your hair tighter, his eyes half lidded as he watches you suck him off with ease, too damn easy, he thought. now, he almost wanted to punish you for it, punish you for getting him here, for taking him so well, he wanted more. his hands slowly traveled to the back of your neck, still gripping your hair around his fist, slowly pressing your head further down onto him. his hips bucked instinctively into your throat and he moaned loudly, “just like that baby—fuuck” you gagged around him, his full length hitting the back of your throat, tears welled up in your eyes, your body heaving forward.

your hands shot up to grip his thighs, pulling back as you tried to catch your breath, “that’s what you wanted right?” clark pants, his hand moving down to wipe the spit pooling at your glossy lips, you nodded quickly—too quickly, although you were taken aback, you hadn’t expected him to just go for it—let alone without a warning, but it was what you wanted, needed from him, to throat fuck you like there’s no tomorrow, like it was his last chance to prove himself. he snickered leaning forward slightly, both of his hands tangling in your hair, “you should get back on there then.” he guides you back down onto him, your plump lips wrapping back around his glistening dick as you took in the sight of him. his crinkled white tee, his pink lips curled into a lazy smirk, his pretty eyes low, his fluffy hair disheveled—gosh, he looked too fucking good, you could feel the feel the wetness pooling between your thighs, soaking through your panties. clark stands up fully, his height insane as he looked down at you causing your breath to hitch in your throat, definitely enough for him to feel it, your throat clenching around him.

“not gonna hurt you baby, but i’m sure you’d love it if i did hm?” clark teases, brushing your hair back out your face. you could feel your lashes flutter at his towering frame over you, you almost looked away—his gaze so piercing and intense, “it’s tempting… you take my dick so well you know that?” he groans, his hips shifting slightly, you hum in response to him, your mouth still working, your head still bobbing, stifled sounds of spit gushing around him. “can’t help but to wanna shove it down your throat, see how much you can really handle…” you take that as a challenge, blinking a few times before taking his throbbing shaft completely down your throat again, but this time clark took control. he didn’t let you pull back immediately, instead he held you there, deep-throating him entirely as you gagged uncontrollably, “shit-shit-shit—” he hissed, his eyes squeezing shut, your nose grazed the hairs at the base of his hips, and you felt him twitch in your mouth, seconds later his cum shot down your throat. you couldn’t swallow—hell, you could barely breathe, you tapped his thigh hopefully hard enough to knock him out his haze, and he perked up like a dog, his eyes wide as he let you go. you immediately gasped, hand shooting up to catch the spit trailing your chin and chest.

“fuck baby, i’m sorry—you know how i get when i—” clark started but you cut him off, “no, it’s okay, i…like it..” you murmur, sniffling a bit, smirking up at him as you sat back on your heels. clark’s cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red at your words and he scoffed shaking his head, reaching down to cup your face, giving you a deep kiss, “then round two?” he grinned mischievously, a dark glint in his eyes. and you didn’t know if you’d regret this in the morning, but you had a feeling it’d be worth it…

★ rini’s note ; this took me unnecessarily long to finish so the endings a bit rushed HA but grrrr need his dick down my throat bad AND NOT ON NO GENTLE SHIT like damn kill me boy 😒 anyway hope yall luv itt likes + reblogs are so sexy btww

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godmadeaterribleerror · 6 months ago

Text

Hold You Tight In My Mind

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, blowjobs, kinda fingering), soft angst, injury, hurt/comfort, demon possession, friends-with-benefits to lovers.

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have an agreement. Best friends who have sex, no strings attached. But when a case goes south, you learn a few things about Dean, specifically his thoughts on the arrangement.

Maybe you won't have to love him in silence after all.

Author's Note: Kinda request from @brtodd!! Nothing I love more than a good old love confession, enjoy!

Title from Terrance Loves You by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 8.5k

That’s a lot of blood. You’ve spent nights in motels stitching wounds and lost yourself on the side of the highway shouting for help, your guts half spilled on the pavement, but you’ve never seen that much blood.

“Son of a bitch, that’s a lot of blood.”

Dean, apparently, hasn’t seen this much blood either.

“Should we, um,” you scan over the tile floor, your nose slightly scrunched. “Should we take a picture for Sam?”

“Yeah, he should see this shit too-“

“No, Dean,” you give him a flat look. “For the case. To help him figure out what the hell this thing is.”

Dean gives you a bright, boyish grin and nod of approval. “Good thinkin’, in case he gets mad at us-“

“Gets mad at you,” you correct, moving to stand at Dean’s shoulder as he takes the photo. “I’m not a part of this. I just wanna go home.”

Dean shrugs. “We all wanna go home, Sweetheart. Hell, I’ve got a wife and kids- Shit-“

He doubles over slightly from your elbow in his ribs, and you roll your eyes.

“You have a fake wife and kids. And your fake wife,” you jab your thumb at your own chest. “Doesn’t want her fake brother-in-law to kill her.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Dean’s never allowed to have fun.” He mutters, rubbing his side. “And Sammy wouldn’t kill ya’-“

“He’d kill my fake husband.” You pout at Dean, placing a hand over your heart. “And that would kill me.”

Dean chuckles, rising back to his full height. “I love it when you pretend that you care about me. Makes me warm and fuzzy.”

You roll your eyes, hoping he can’t see the low flush on your face. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know.” He shrugs. “You’re into it, though. C’mon, we gotta see if there’s actually a body in here, or Sam’ll kill both of us.”

Dean trudges off through the lake of blood, and you have to shake your head slightly to clear it. This case is going to kill you. This is so fucking gross, and the longer you’re here—in this room, in this town, on this case—the sicker you feel.

And it’s not just the blood. It’s all of this. It’s the haughty country club patrons who are downright impossible to properly interrogate, it’s the extra fancy clothing you have to wear for the investigations, and the shitty little tea cakes that the club serves. Tea cakes that you can feel your stomach growling for, because you haven’t had a chance to eat all day, and that only makes you feel worse. As every hour passes, you only feel more and more sick. You only spiral into starving mess that needs either food or Dean.

And that just makes you ill. Every time you look at Dean and hear him say wife, you want to strangle him then kiss him and it’s exhausting. Because you’d walked into this stupid fucking country club with a plan that would’ve worked fine—Sam’s your driver because he drew the short stick, Dean’s your bodyguard, you’re some fancy heiress looking to spend some money—and everything went sideways the moment the front desk asked how many household members, and Dean said four. Dean said that he was your husband, and you have kids, and that he knows he’s punchin’ above his weight class, but damn him, he can’t feel bad about it.

You want to hate him for that. You want to throttle him for how he’s treating this like it’s casual and easy, like every time he says wife it’s not so quietly cruel to your heart. How it flutters and glows before withering, because you’ll never have that. Dean always says wife with a teasing voice and nudge of your shoulder, and you can only grin at him like it’s not killing you, reminding you of what you can’t have.

But you can’t hate Dean. You don’t really know how to hate Dean. And he doesn’t know that this is like torture, because he really thinks you’re happy with this. Not just the fake wife thing—because you are playing into it, trading the same taunts and jokes and grins—but the very real, no-strings-attached fuck-buddies arrangement you have. Have had for fucking years. The one where you’ll follow him to the ends of the earth and never, ever look back to see what you’d left behind, but all he’s asking is that you stay in his bed and let him fuck you when he asks.

It’s not a bad arrangement. He’s a sex god, he gives as good as he gets, and you’re technically exclusive, but it’s still not what you want. Crave. Desire more than you’ve ever desired anything.

Because you really just want all of Dean. Something he’s never offered anyone‚ will certainly never offer you, and you’re going to chase until it kills you. You’ll warm Dean’s bed and touch his body for as long as you’re allowed, and cling to these small deaths of maybe this could be real until they all finally catch up to your heart. You’ll gather small offerings he drops in your lap without knowing—you’re the only person he looks at, and his eyes don’t seem to stray, and he’s the one who decided you should be fake married—and build a shrine to him along your ribs he’ll never be allowed to see.

But his voice still haunts your dreams with words you feel over your skin where he’s touched you before. Words you’ve heard a million times—so pretty, sweetheart, good girl—and words you’ll never hear. Words that circle your brain and bang on your skull all the fucking time, even in this disgusting, haunting mess of blood. Words that make some small part of you spark whenever you hear Dean’s deep, strong voice say your name, because you’re a little pathetic and you can’t stop praying that he’ll say them. He won’t. He never does.

He calls your name, and that spark kicks up your spine, and he still doesn’t say them.

“I got it!” He sounds so proud, and you hate that it makes you smile. “We’re looking at a demon!”

You turn, pushing through the blood to join Dean at where he’s standing at a fireplace, running his finger over the mantle with a twisted expression of disgust.

“Sulfur?” You ask, stopping as close to his side as he can manage, and he shoots you a grin, holding up a bloodied—but blackened—finger.

“Bingo, Sweetheart.” He winks, obviously missing your open, wanting gape at him as he looks back to the mantle. “Nasty son of bitch, though, I’ve never seen one of those douchebags do this.”

Dean gestures around the room, and you hum an agreement.

“So we’re good?” You ask, standing slightly on your toes to survey the sulfur buildup. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’m gonna call my wife, tell her I’ll be home for dinner-“

You whack his arm, and he laughs like a handsome, cocky fucking asshole you still can’t figure out how to hate.

“Your wife is starving, and tired of standing in blood.” You kick your foot through the mess, wrinkling your nose. “Can we please go?”

“I dunno, I think this is kinda romantic.” Dean gives you a shit-eating grin, and you swallow. “I mean, this is freakin’ gross, but it’s just us and all these guts, I think we could waste some time-“

“Shut up.” You shove him, and he doesn’t stop grinning at you. “Haul ass, Winchester, or you’ll be in the fake doghouse.”

He chuckles, rebalancing in a second. “You’re being a little dramatic, kid-“

“Don’t kid me, Dean Winchester, I’m your fake wife. I gave birth to your fake kids-“

“You’ve got some good points,“ Dean drawls your name, pulling you right against his chest, and suddenly the smell of metallic blood is nothing compared to the leather and whiskey and gunpowder of Dean. The sticky heat of the room is overtaken by the heat in your core, the heat of Dean’s breath as he lowers down to kiss right behind your ear, his voice dropping to a deep, teasing growl. “And I’m gonna real fuck you when we get back to the motel. But I gotta call Sam and catch him up, can you-“

You nod, reaching into his pocket to grab the keys, and force yourself not to look back as you leave. You wince slightly as you lean into the Impala—starting the car before rising back up and leaning against the door—but it’s not like she’s never been covered in blood before. This just… a lot more blood than usual.

Dean takes a year to join you, and when he walks out of the building he’s smirking, spreading his arms in a wide aren’t you happy to see me? gesture.

“Sam’s workin’ it.” He stops right in front of you, too close and never close enough. “Can I buy a pretty lady a beer?”

“You can buy her some food.” You cross your arms, grinning up at him. “I saw a drive-thru down the road, we shouldn’t go inside looking like this.”

“Smart.” He places his hand on your lower back, guiding you around the car and into the passenger’s seat, and just being so fucking impossible as he opens the door and helps you inside. “Greasy fast-food for me and my girl, comin’ right up.”

You have to learn how to hate him. You have to learn how to flip Dean off and mean it, how to not flush and giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush under his attention. He doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t know how to mean it, but it still makes your lower gut warm and your face split into a wide, stupid grin when he calls you my girl, drawls your name in the car, and rests his hand on your knee as you pull through the ordering window. When he parks in the lot and you laugh together, his eyes rarely leaving yours and his smile never falling from his face.

Even when he gets out to use the bathroom—promising he’ll be fast and try, somehow, not to draw attention to how he’s soaked in blood—Dean still grins and winks at you, and you can’t figure out how to shove his chest and shout that this is mean. That he’s mocking you and stringing your heart up on wires to play with, and he can’t be expected to know that but this is so fucking mean. He needs to stop smiling at you, and stop saying wife all the time like it’s real when it’s not. It won’t be, it can’t be, and now that’s going to haunt you forever.

You sit there for long, lonely minutes while Dean’s gone, trying get as little blood as you can on the upholstery, because Dean had already started grumbling about how much work this is gonna be to clean up and you can’t bring yourself to make anything harder for him. You spiral through the sound of Dean calling you my girl and promising to fuck you, sit in the ghost of his big, warm hand on your body and his chest pressed right against your breasts. The gleam in his eyes that was full of promises, and the fantasy of all the plans he might have for that aforementioned fucking.

Then you hear his phone ring, and you frown. Dean almost never forgets his phone in the car, even if he’s just getting beer or paying for gas. It’s a hazard, to not have it. To not be able to reach you or Sam if he needs to, for you and Sam to not be able to reach him.

And he’s been gone a while. Long enough that your throat starts to form a small lump, and—when you pick up the call—your voice is a little unsteady, your attention on where Dean had disappeared into the building.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, hey.” Sam says your name through the speaker, his tone a little surprised. “Where’s Dean?”

“Bathroom.” You frown at the building, desperate for Dean to just appear, and soothe this horrible twisting in your gut. “What’s up?”

“I figured out what we’re looking at.” You can hear some papers shuffling on Sam’s end, his words slow and careful. “Special kind of demon that feeds off of lustful blood, which explains why he’s been going after all those rich people. Like, ten ladies and five dudes have tried to sleep with me this week, and I know you and Dean got that, uh, offer-“

“Sam.” You mutter, your eyes still on the building. “Can we exercise it?”

“Kind of. We can’t use the normal one, because it’s not a normal demon, but there is a way. And these guys seem to be capable of being injured, more dependent on their vessels or something. So-“

“If we find him we can knock him down,” you mutter. “Hold him until we figure out how to flush him out.”

“Exactly. And I’m trying to work on the flushing part,” Sam sighs, and you can picture his sheepish expression. “But I don’t have it yet. Are you-“

“We’re coming back soon. Do you want us gone a little while longer, so you can focus-“

“No, Dean told me about all the blood. Sounded gross.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “It was. But-“

“I’ll take the car, need to stop at the library anyway.” Sam says your name through the phone, and there’s a sound of pity in it that makes you curl slightly into yourself. “You and Dean can shower, relax, do, uh, whatever you do-“

You sigh. “Please don’t give me permission to fuck your brother, dude. It’s weird.”

“Yeah.” Sam chuckles through the static. “Sorry. I just know he’s been trying to get you alone-“

“He’s always trying to get me alone.” A dumb smile takes over your face as Dean reappears, and he’s fine. Still covered in blood, but grinning at you with a dizzying joy and gleam in his eyes. “I’ll tell him what we’ve got, and text us when you’ve got the exorcism.”

“Will do. Call me if you need anything, or if, uh, I should stay away longer-“

“Suck my dick.”

You end the call as Sam laughs, and look up to find Dean tapping on your window with a smirk. You blink at him, because he might be covered in more blood than before. There’s a bruise on his forehead that wasn’t there a second ago, his shirt is on backwards, and his jacket is drenched, but he’s look at you like he won the lottery, and you’re not sure what the hell is going on.

“Dean,” you frown at him as you roll the window down, your brow furrowed as he braces an arm on the roof of Baby. “Are you-“

He cuts off your words by ducking down, grabbing your chin, and pulling you into a long, mind-numbing, sloppy kiss that leaves you gaping and dumb. Your fingers curling in his shirt, his low chuckle rolling through your body as he pushes his tongue down your throat, the taste of Dean—lingering burger and sweet soda and salt for your food, plus something innately Dean that’s heady and always leaves a perfect aftertaste on your tongue whenever he kisses you—overtaking the taste of blood just enough override your sense of this is kinda gross, and make you pull him closer.

When Dean pulls back—leaving you starting at him, your breathing ragged and heart trying to escape your chest as he grins at you—he grins at you, his voice a gravely promise.

“You ready to head back, darlin’?”

You blink at him. He’s never called you darling. Darling doesn’t sound like a Dean word. “Uh, yeah, but are you feeling okay? You were in there a while-“

“Food didn’t sit right,” he shrugs, drawing back up with a last wink. “Trust me, Sweetheart, it ain’t gonna be an issue anymore. I’m all flushed out.”

He rounds the car, and you watch him move with a frown. That’s the Dean swagger-walk, but it’s longer, with almost no urgency. Dean always walks with a least a little urgency, and he calls you Sweetheart but not darlin’, and something is still squeezing around your throat and telling you something’s wrong, when Dean’s right here. He’s winking at you from the driver’s seat, driving with the same cool ease Dean always has behind the wheel, and talking to you like he always does. Like your every word is fascinating and amusing, and you could say the grossest thing in the world but he’d still call you adorable.

You hate that he does that. It’s perfect and painful, feeding that shrine over your ribs, and almost enough to distract you from how weird he’s being. How he doesn’t seem at all interested to hear about the blood demon, how his first clarification is so Sam’s gonna leave us in the motel, and how he’s growing bolder with his hand on your leg. Trailing fingers lazily up your thigh and grinning when he brushes over the apex of your thighs, chuckling at your small gasp.

“Think we’re ready for that fuckin’, Sweetheart?” He drawls, pulling into the motel lot. “You sure seem real needy-“

“We’re not having sex, Dean, there’s a demon on the loose-“

“A demon Sammy’s handlin’.” He shrugs. “And I’ve been tryin’ to get you alone all freakin’ week. C’mon, we deserve some time together.“ Dean leans forward, smirking at you. “And I know you want it, babygirl. I bet you’re real fuckin’ wet for me.” He reaches up to your face, running his thumb over your lower lip. “So pretty, darlin’-“

There it is again. Darling. Darling, and the excessive drawling, and the slow walk, and the glint in his eyes you’re only now noticing. It’s colder than how Dean ever looks at you. It’s shallow and crude, like he can’t see anything past a pretty face and body, when Dean is—above all else—your friend. When there’s always a shining light when he looks at you that—both amazingly and awfully—reminds you that you’re more than just a body, and he mostly sees you as the best friend he’s ever had. The one he can do this with, because you care about each other too much to complicate things, and who he’ll always respect.

And this doesn’t feel respectful. It doesn’t feel like Dean. His hands are touching you, but there’s something off about them. Dean would be tracing his fingers over your inner thigh, not moving any further until your either grabbed his hand and moved it for him, or downright pleaded for him to touch you. He’d be disgusted by keeping your bloodied clothing in Baby for even a second more, and choose to back you against the motel wall instead of whatever this is. He’d let you get a word in, for your mock sparring and teasing that he always seems to win.

He would’ve worked in a joke about wanting to fuck his wife, because she can be a real brat when he neglects her. And you’d have smacked his chest, and he’d have laughed, raising his brows and saying see? She gets all bitchy and dramatic when I don’t fuck her right.

But Dean’s not doing that right now. And when you reach over the seat, trailing your hand up his chest in a pretend gesture of need, you feel it.

Warm, sticky blood that’s fresh, and seeping through his shirt. Pouring from a wound you can feel the dip of, that somehow doesn’t make him flinch when you press slightly on it.

A wound right over his anti-possession tattoo.

You move before the demon—not Dean, this isn’t Dean, and you feel fucking ill—can register what’s happening. You pull one of the Impala’s random guns out from the glove compartment, thank a God who’s obviously not listening that it’s weighed and heavy, and ram the butt of it into Dean’s temple. Not hard enough to kill him—you do want your Dean back after this— but hard enough to knock him out. To buy you enough time to grab his by the neck of his jacket and drag him out of the impala. You kick open the motel room door, scream to Sam for help, and haul him into a chair. Sam ties him down, while you take long, deep breathes, and your words are soft and short when you finally manage to speak.

“He’s possessed.” You whisper, starting at the floor. “They carved through the tattoo.”

“Shit,” Sam starts to pace, and there’s a ringing in your ears that makes it hard to hear him. “It’s-“

You nod. “The blood demon.”

“Are you good to stay here?” Sam marches over to the table and shoving his laptop into his bag. “I’ll go to the library, find what we’re looking for, and call you when I’ve got it. Okay?”

You nod, trying not flinch at Sam’s sympathetic pat of your shoulder, and stare at Dean as Sam leaves. You feel vile. That’s not Dean, but it’s Dean’s body. Dean will still be injured when you get this piece of shit out of his body. He’ll still be covered in bloody, disgusting clothing, and he’ll remember you knocking him out. He’ll ask questions that you’ll have to answer, about how you knew. And you’ll have to tell him that you just did. You’ll leave out the part about how you have every piece of him memorized to worship, so that even if the demon had tried a little harder to pretend to be Dean, you probably still would have caught on. You’d recognizes Dean’s bones in the grave. You’d recognize his voice in space. You’d recognize him just fucking near you if you were being waterboarded and flayed alive. And you’ll have to look him in the eyes and say the painfully basic and obscuring answer of I just did, and that will hurt.

But you have time to practice. The demon’s still knocked out in Dean’s body, and Sam’s taking too long to figure this out, but you don’t have anywhere to be. You can tug Dean’s jacket off his body with a mumbled apology he can’t hear, and busy yourself trying to clean it. You can’t stop looking at him—battered, vulnerable, his face so painfully slack—and the warm, soap-covered cloth isn’t enough to keep you from spiraling. From flinching as the blood, Dean’s blood, becomes red bubbles, and trying to convince yourself that this isn’t going to be so impossibly horrible. That, maybe, the demon just won’t wake up, and you won’t have to do anything but clean Dean’s jacket until Sam gets back

But you’re not that lucky.

Pretty, green eyes that are but don’t look like Dean’s flutter open, the demon drops any pretense of playing pretend, and your skin begins to crawl as it speaks.

“Good mornin’,” it leers at you from the chair, pulling slightly on the bonds. “Aren’t you a pretty sight to see after some forced shut eye.”

You start to scrub on the leather to a degree that can’t be helpful, your knuckles white.

“Knockin’ us out wasn’t very nice to your friend in here, Sweetheart. He’s awfully torn up about it. Feelin’ like he failed you, beggin’ me not to hurt you, hates that I was able to get the up on him and touch you at all. But can I tell you a secret,” the demon says your name, and your blood curls in your body. “He really wants to touch you himself. You’ve got a real dirty minded fellow on your hands. Who woulda thought the great Dean Winchester’s weakness would be a smart-mouthed bitch-“

The demon seems to choke on that last word, and when your gaze shoots up Dean’s body looks like it’s in pain. He’s curving into himself—his eyes screwed shut and sweat forming on his brow—and you’re moving before you know what’s happening. Jumping out of your seat and grabbing his face between your hands, your voice high and frantic over the blood pounding in your ears.

“Dean?” You run your thumb over his cheek, and he twitches, like he can’t figure out if he wants to flinch away or lean into your touch. “Shit, Dean, I need you to talk to me-“

Dean’s eyes snap open—that foul glint still rooted deep into them—and he laughs as you jerk away like he’d burned you.

“I’ll give ‘im this.” The demon says, the words still slightly strained. “He ain’t an easy ride. Keeps tryin’ to break out and talk to you, tell you not to listen to me and go find Sammy.” The demon laughs again, and it might be the worst sound you’ve ever heard. It’s Dean’s laugh, but inverted. Cold and hateful and wrong. This is so fucking wrong.

“Shut up.” You mutter, taking an unsteady step back, and the demon raises Dean’s brows.

“Well, darlin’, you’re just breakin’ poor Dean’s heart. Hurtin’ him, tellin’ him to shut up, tyin’ him up-�� The demon cuts himself off, twisting Dean’s face into a smirk. “Well, that one’s a funny little case, ain’t it. He’s too much of a pathetic little bitch to admit it-“

You scowl, standing a little taller. “Dean’s notpathetic-“

The demon pushes on as if you’d said nothing at all. “But he’s kinda into this. Likes the idea of you havin’ some fun with him however you want, pleasin’ you however you like, or,” the Demon’s grin grows mocking and crude. “Switchin’ places. Keepin’ you down to find out if he can make you scream louder than when he does that thing with his tongue, see if he can get you beggin’ all pretty. Nothin’ gets him goin’ more than when you beg-“

“Shut up.“ You hiss, grabbing your phone off your bed. “I don’t know what your fucking angle is, but I’d recommend you get out of my-“ you catch yourself, taking a short breath before plowing on. “Out of Dean-“

The demon caught it, though, and his smirk grows. “Your what? He ain’t your boyfriend, darlin’. But Jesus, he hates that too. I don’t think you’d keep indulgin’ this asshole if you could spend a second in here with ‘im like I am. He’s fuckin’ obsessed with you, it’s goddamn pathetic-“

You clench your jaw so hard you might break teeth, your movements rough as you scroll for Sam’s contact. “I said shut up-“

“He thinks he’s fuckin’ poison.” The demon sneers, and you can’t look at Dean’s face—can’t see it cruel and filled with hate—or you might start crying. “And shit, darlin’, he’d like to poison you. He’d like to do everythin’ to you. Fuck ya’ and buy you flowers and marry ya’,” the demon cackles, and you feel a little dizzy. “’S why he’s been doin’ this stupid fuckin’ charade all week. He wants to bruise ya’ and bite ya’, then whine and bitch about how he’s so disgustingly in love with you-“ The demon hacks a slight cough, and shakes his head with a mocking grimace. “Makes me fuckin’ sick, how needy and weak this piece of shit is-“

“I said,” you cross back to the chair, fisting Dean’s blood-covered shirt in your hand and yanking him up with cold words and words you hate on your tongue. “Shut the fuck up. And get out of him, before I fucking kill you.”

The demon just laughs at you, spit covering your face. “You ain’t gonna kill me, Sweetheart. Not while I’m in your precious Dean’s body. Not while you got me here, tellin’ you all the nasty things he’d like to do to ya’, how he worships the ground your fuckin’ walk on and dreams about you sayin’ you love a pile of trash like him-“

You tear off your own jacket, bundle up the sleeve, and stuff it the demons mouth. You don’t fucking care if it’s trapped in Dean’s body until Sam gets back, you can’t keep listening to it. Listening to it fucking lie and rip you apart with only words, watch it eyes gleam as it puppets Dean’s mouth to torture you. Why the fuck would it say things like that. It can’t be to hurt Dean, because all he’ll have to do is tell you when this is over that he’s sorry about what the demon said, and that it’s all just lies. And the demon doesn’t know—can’t know—that it just ripped your heart out of your chest and ran it through a meat-grinder. It doesn’t make any fucking sense, and you feel like your skin is trying to fly off your body, and Dean’s still covered in blood and it’s horrible-

Your phone buzzes on the floor—slightly cracked from being suddenly dropped—and it’s Sam. When you pick up he doesn’t wait to hear you before he launches into frantic words, practically shouting into the speaker.

“Found it!” He sounds a little out of breath, and you wouldn’t doubt that he’s been running back to the car. “Can you put me on-“

“Yep.” You press speaker, ripping your jacket out the demons mouth and turning the volume all the way up. “Go.”

Sam starts to recite a long, fancy string of Latin words, and you can’t bear to see Dean’s body thrash and roar and fold in pain, but you need to make sure the demon goes. That when Sam finishes and Dean’s eyes start to flutter, it’s safe to thank Sam, hang up the phone, and fall to your knees at Dean’s side.

“Dean,” you cup his jaw, angling his head slightly back. “Shit, Dean, please say something-“

He moans your name, and you almost start crying in relief, dropping your head carefully onto his leg.

“I, shit-“ Dean’s voice is hoarse as he pulls slightly at the bonds around him. “I’m happy to see you too, Sweetheart, but I kinda need you do untie me-“

“Fuck, sorry-“ You scramble with the ropes, scanning over his body as you do. “I’m gonna go get Sam’s medkit, can you take your shirt off-“

“Well, I’d usually make you but me some dinner- shit-“ He’d already started to pull his shirt off, his whole body shuddering as his arms tried to raise up.

“Dean-“

“Gimme three, I’ve got it-“

“No, you don’t. I’m cutting your shirt off, just-“ You move to your feet, pointing a stern finger at him. “Stay.”

He raises his hands, flinching slightly at the movement. “Yes, ma’am.”

Neither of you speak for a long while. You throw yourself entirely into his stitches, tossing the bloodied rags of his shirt into the trash and stealing small at Dean’s handsome, exhausted features. He’s watching you the whole time, his mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something but it’s sure where to start. When he finally clears his throat, you hum, keeping your hands steady on the stitches.

“This fucking sucks.” He grumbles, and you huff a dry laugh.

“Yeah. It really does.” You pull another stitch through the gash, and Dean winces. “Shit, I’m sorry-“

“Don’t apologize.” He mutters. “I should be apologizing to you.”

You frown up at him, your hands coming to a still. “Why?”

“I let that asshole get one up on me.” He grunts, refusing to meet your eyes. “Couldn’t get a hold over him, either. Let him say all that shit to you-“

Something cracks in your heart, but you just shrug. “That’s not on you, Dean. Demon’s lie, you don’t have to explain it-“

Now Dean’s frowning at you. “What?”

“The demon,” you mumble, your face flushing slightly. “What he said. I get it, it’s what they do, you don’t need to-“

“The demon didn’t,” Dean coughs, his face redder than you’ve ever seen it, his voice almost nervous. “It didn’t lie. He was a dick about how he said it, but he didn’t lie.”

“I, um, I don’t-“ You gape at him for a long second, trying to figure out if he’s joking. This isn’t something Dean would joke about, but that just means you must have heard him wrong. The demon said Dean loved you, and Dean didn’t love you—you haven’t even allowed yourself to entertain the thought outside of secret fantasies and feverish dreams—so the demon lied. The demon lied. The demon had to have lied, but why would Dean-

He says your name, tone cautious and features soft when you blink at him. “Lost you for a second, Sweetheart, are you-“

“I’m okay.” You mumble, refocusing on the stiches. “I’m probably just tired, I thought I heard you say-“

“That I love you?”

You swallow. There it is again. “I-“

He says your name again, careful fingers brushing hair from your face. “Look at me.”

You can’t. You don’t know what’s going on, and there’s still so much blood.

Dean hand moving under your chin and guides your gaze up, you lips parting slightly as your eyes meet his. He’s scanning over you, a slight furrow to his brow, and you can’t stop your hand from moving up and wiping a little blood off his cheek.

“Dean-“

“Never mind.” He mutters, shaking his head slightly. “Thought that we, uh, never mind.”

When you finish the stitches—your hands shaking slightly, your head spinning with confusion—you force him to shower first. It gives you time to spiral down, down, down, your brain turning desperately to figure out what that was. Why Dean would say that, why he’s acting so strange, why the demon would say that, why Sam’s being such a dick and insisting that he’s getting a second room, because Dean would—allegedly—rather have you here as the three of you had already been rotating through the floor, couch, and bed.

Which means you’re stuck with alone Dean for the night. And he’s not fully looking at you when he exits the shower, and you’re mostly just mumbling to each other, and he doesn’t love you but he looks like a kicked puppy. He picks up your own blood-covered jacket, helps you carefully out of your seat, takes the soapy rag from your hands, and flat out refuses to sit until you move to the shower.

And the water doesn’t help. You feel cleaner, but the steam makes your head spin all the more, and you can’t stop picturing Dean’s fallen, almost pained features, and playing the demons words over in your mind.

Dean’s disgustingly in love with you. He worships the ground you walk on and dreams about you saying you love him. And you do love him, but he doesn’t love you, and it’s dangerous to hope that he’d love you, and-

And he still looks so beaten down when you exit the shower. He barely looks at you as you cross the room, his attention wholly on your jacket, and when you drop on the bed and clear your throat, you could sworn he pales.

“Are you,” you swallow, forcing your voice to be stronger. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yep” He mutters, still not looking up. “Stitches are fine, Sweetheart. Good work.”

You flush slightly, but push on. “And your head?”

“Pounding like a bitch, but I’ve gotten through worse.” He shrugs, and words start to creep like vomit up your throat. “We’ll grab Sam in the morning and get goin’-“

“What did you mean?” You blurt, and Dean freezes. “When you said the demon wasn’t lying?”

Dean sighs, and drops the rag, running his hands over his face before turning to you, his voice low and elbows braced on his knees. “What I said.” He grunts, his eyes now refusing to leave yours. “He didn’t lie.”

“About-“

“All of it.”

Your breathing is shallow, your voice barely a whisper, but you have to ask. It will ruin everything, but you need to ask.

But you’re a coward, and you ask the wrong thing.

“Why did you tell the country club we were married?”

Dean lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “Because I thought it would be fun. I’d get to call you my wife and see you blush all freakin’ week, and this case was gonna be shit so I thought what the hell.”

“Oh.” You whisper, unsure what to make of that. “Okay.”

Dean still doesn’t look away. If anything his eyes sear into you as his voice drops lower, his expression darkness and unreadable. “How’d you figure out I was possessed?”

You’d practiced this. You just did. You just knew it wasn’t him. That’s all you have to say, and you can’t. Something grabs your tongue and all you can say is the truth.

“Because I know you.” You mumble, unable to break his gaze. “And that wasn’t my Dean.”

“Your Dean,” He chuckles, shaking his head like he doesn’t believe you. “Wasn’t sure I was your anything, kid-“

“Well, I didn’t think you loved me.”

You say the words before you can actually think them through, and time freezes. Dust seems to the hanging static in the air, red water still and motionless on the table, the hum of the bathroom fan stuck on one long note, and you and Dean both trapped in place. Neither of you strong enough to speak, but not weak enough to run, and why did you say that, Dean doesn’t love you-

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear it.” He’s searching over your face, words low and whole body tensed. “And I’d try to take it back for you, but-“

“Don’t take it back!” You almost yelp, and Dean’s eyes widen slightly. “I don’t want you to take it back, I just- I don’t-“

“You don’t believe me.”

You nod weakly, wishing he would look away. Wishing Dean would just let you curl into yourself and hide for a million years, until this ends. Until this sore heat of shame over your skin and blooming warmth of hope that Dean might, maybe, really, possibly love you both die a quiet, easy death.

But he doesn’t look away. Dean pushes himself out of the chair with a grunt, walks on unsteady legs to stand before you, and takes your face between his hand, his words deep and firm.

“I love you,” he says your name, lowering his face to yours. “And I know it’s not what you want, but I do. I won’t apologize for it, but if you’re done messing around with me because of that, I’m never gonna make you pretend you love me back-“

You’d been sent into a daze of Dean loves you, he’s saying it himself and it’s the truth and he loves you, and that snaps you out of it. You close the last breath of space between your lips without effort, and this is a long, lazy, peaceful kiss that people without blood and demons would have. It’s cementing, steeling it fully into you that Dean loves you. You’ll never have to try and force yourself to hate him, because it’s shit work to hate Dean Winchester and there’s no point it anymore. He loves you, and it’s impossible to doubt that he loves you when he’s kissing you like this—not invasive but deep, not demanding but still dragging small moans and happy sighs from your throat, holding your cheek with one hand and cupping the back of your head with the other—so it’s not a war with yourself push him back a little and finally say words that have been stuck in your throat for years.

“I love you too.” You smile at him, and his eyes flash. “I don’t have to pretend, and this is what I want, so please,” you take a shaking breath, moving your hand to hold his against you. “Please don’t apologize for this. And please,” you lean a little further forward, bumping your nose with his as he continues to stare. “Keep messing around with me, Dean. I love you, so I’d-“

You cut yourself off with a squeak as Dean pulls you back into a kiss, this one heavier and sloppier, leaving you with ragged breath and puffed lips. Your hands curl into his shirt as he drops onto the bed at your side, hauls you over him with only a low, slightly pained grunt, and looks up at you with a slight frown on his face.

“That son of a bitch kissed you.”

“I thought it was you,” you mumble, tracing a small patten on his chest with one finger. “Sorry-“

“I’m not mad at you,” Dean gives you an amused look, pressing another, smaller kiss to your lips. “I’m mad at that douchebag, for trying to get with my girl.”

His words are mumbled against your lips, settling deep and warm in your stomach, and you can barely manage a hum of, “Oh. Okay.”

He chuckles, his hand moving under your shirt to run up the skin of your waist, your body shivering with pleasure at the touch. “I’d like to fuck you,” he mutters your name, his eyes on yours so attentive and dark that you might agree to jump off a cliff if he asks. “But my doctor said I need to take it easy-“

“I’m your doctor,” you gasp, dropping your brow to Dean’s as he brushes the underside of your breast. “And I think that- shit, Dean-“ He’s adjusted you in his arms, settling your core right over the obvious, proud bulge in his jeans. “If we take it easy, and you promise to let me stay on top-“

Dean shakes his head, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. “That’s gonna be a real hard,” he ruts up into you, and you whimper. “Promise to keep, babygirl-“

“Well it’s that,” you lean back, giving him a stern glare. “Or nothing, Winchester. Your choice.”

He gives you a look of mock disbelief. “I can’t believe I fake married someone so freakin’ mean to me-“

“I can.” You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, your own lips curling up slightly. “What’s it gonna be.”

Dean narrows his eyes at you, his hand trailing down your stomach to cup you right over your pussy as he drawls. “I think you should make that choice, Sweetheart. Tell me exactly how you want me to fuck you.”

“I-“ You lean forwards, burying your face in his neck to try and stifle your moans. “I already-“

“You said you stay on top, but that can mean a million things,” he mutters your name, kissing right under your ear. “I can fuck up into you, or you can ride me, or,” Dean starts to rub you through your pants, his thumb drawing rough, taunting circle over your clit. “I can finger fuck this pretty pussy until you cum all over my fuckin’ hand.”

“Dean,” you moan against his skin, your nails digging into his back. “Fuck, I-“

“This,” he moves his free hand up, playing with the waistband of your pants. “Seems to be getting in our way. Take it off for me.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. You almost scramble to pull off your clothing—still manage to shoot Dean a glare for his low, teasing wolf-whistle when you’re fully bare before him—and almost throw yourself back onto him before you freeze. He’s still dressed—you can see the outline of where his pants must be becoming painful—and he’s still hurt. That’s why you had to stay on top in the first place. Dean won’t say it, but he’s in pain, and that’s more important than sex. You’re aching for him between your legs, you whole body whining to be pressed to his, but you can’t let him injure himself.

So you drop to your knees, help him out of his pants and boxers—feeling Dean track your every movement, remaining silent as you work—and swallow as his cock springs into view. You’ll never get tired of the sight of it. Big and meant to fit so well inside of you, pretty because it’s Dean’s, and he’s not really capable of being ugly.

Dean grunts your name as you take him in your hand, your fingers trailing over his strong thighs as you start to pump him slowly.

You smile up at him, raising your brows. “Do you like that?”

“Of course I fucking like that-“

“Do you love me?”

You say the words innocently, squeezing your hand lightly, and he blushes slightly, throwing his head back as he groans. “Shit, Sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me-“

“I do,” you whisper, pressing an open mouth kissed to the broad, red tip of his cock. “You do it to me too.”

“’S not-“ You take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and letting him bump against your throat, and he cuts himself off with another groan. “Fuck, ’s not the same-“

You pop off of him with a frown. “It is. I love you too.”

“I know, pretty girl.” He mutters, moving hold your cheek, his cock twitching in your hands as you lean into the touch. “But you don’t gotta do this for me just cause you love me-“

“I like doing it.” You shrug, licking a long stripe up his shaft to prove your point, savoring the grunt it draws from his chest, the way his hand moves to fist in your hair. “I might love you, Dean Winchester,” you grin at him, replacing your mouth with your hand as you speak. “But I also really just like sucking your cock.”

“Son of a-“ Dean’s voice is a growl, his eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something. “You’re- fuck it.”

You squeak as he pulls you up, back to his lap, and impales you on his cock in one smooth motion.

“Dean!” You try to gain a little power over your mouth, your fingers running over his fresh stitches. “Your doctor did not, fuck-“ He rolls his hips, and you bite your tongue to stop your moan. “Winchester, your doctor did not approve picking heavy things up-“

“You’re not that heavy.” He shrugs, kissing your shoulder as his arm braces you against this chest, his words teasing and low. “And lucky me, my fake doctor is also my fake wife, and they’re both,” he moves his mouth back over yours, muttering against your lips. “Begging me to fuck them all pretty.” His other arm wraps around you, starting to guide the rolls of your hips, his eyes on yours so soft for how he’s splitting you open and bumping against the deepest places inside of you. “And get them to cum all over my fuckin’ cock.”

You moan, throwing your head back as you start to grind down on him, and you’ve done this a million times before, but it feels different. You’ve fucked Dean enough that you must have covered every base—rough and fast and soft and slow and teasing and desperate and angry and blissful—and it’s the same to your body, but different to your mind. Dean’s hands still ignite fire on your skin as he holds you as close as he can manage, but you’re not worried about how they might drop away. He’s still kissing you everywhere he can reach, but there’s nothing turning in your head about how he might not like what he tastes. He’s doing it all right—he always does it right—but it’s so much more.

You squeeze around his cock and he moans your name, almost pinning you into his laps as he latches his mouth to your upper chest. Sucking and nipping you where people can see. He’s always kept his small habit of marking you to where it won’t be visible, where people won’t jokingly ask you who got messy. But people will see this, and he knows that, and it seems to spur him on. His mouth crashes back into yours, his hands keeping your rhythm on him steady as his mouth and cock unravel you above him.

“You gonna cum, Sweetheart?” Dean growls down your throat, and you just nod frantically, swiveling your hips around him.

“So close,” you whine, trying to find just a little more friction. “Please, Dean-“

He starts to slam up into you, holding you steady with one arm as he leans back, bracing himself on the bed. His stitches are somehow still closed, he’s looking at you like you’re all the world gathered for him to hold, and his mouth is lowering to pull your nipple between his teeth. Keeping you right on the edge as his thrusts grow uneven, his hands bruising on your skin in the best way.

“Fuck, you wanna cum with me, babygirl?” He groans, flicking your nipple with his tongue before pulling you down to him, dragging you into a kiss of spit and need and pure fucking desire. “Think you can ask me real pretty-“

“Please. Please, Dean, please.” You gasp, your clit starting to rub against his abdomen, your whole body so close to bursting into flames. “So fucking close, need it so bad-“

He bites on your lower lip, smirking at your high whine. “Good girl.” He jerks up into you one last time, the movement rough and uncontrolled, and groans into your ear. “Cum.”

You might have screamed, but everything goes blinding and loud and holy like a hymn you only know in the language of Dean, and you never want to stop singing for the rest of your life. You can hear him shouting your name as he spills up into you, but you’re so high on your pleasure— on the smell of Dean everywhere around you and his lingering taste on your tongue—that it’s distant and only a rush of good. Dean feels good, and he’s muttering in your ear that he loves you, so you think everything might be really good.

And it is. This isn’t blood or work. This is Dean’s cock still buried inside you, his hot, warm cum running down your thighs, and your hands tracing over his warm skin to check that his stitches are still together. This is your face pressed into the crook of Dean’s neck, his hands combing through your hair, and a priceless sense of peace. It’s always lingered before, but it would wash away as you both left the bed, and drift into nothing as you wandered back into the real world. It feels more certain now. It feels more set into your bones, and you know you’ll see more blood and stitch more wounds, but this is going to stay. Dean is going to stay, and you have all of him. And that’s welcoming this sense of peace that’s so finite and rare, you’d have to be insane to let it go.

So you won’t. And you won’t have to cling to him, because Dean isn’t foolish enough to let you go either. You’ll keep all of Dean, he’ll do the same for you, and he’ll keep igniting a spark in your gut by saying my girl that you won’t ever allow to go out.

End Note: Look! A Rare Dean Winchester dealing with his own emotions! Spotted in the wild! And I am physically incapable of writing a short one-shot, and I'm very sorry about that.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature

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alfascorpiionux · 2 months ago

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Things to focus on/develop ~ astro observations ✨

Moon in 8th house - emotional self-sufficiency; being your biggest emotional support; letting go of old resentments, attachments and learning to move on; learning to channel your emotions through art/journaling/cooking etc.

Gemini Sun - being constant, reliable, true to your word;being honest and not lying/twisting facts; being there physically and emotionally for people you love; less over-explaining and quarreling;

Libra Moon - learning to make decisions by and for themselves; so many times I see these people always asking for advice on what to do or struggling to make decisions even when it comes to important things in their life; also learning to speak your mind instead of letting emotions build up inside you and acting all passive-aggressive; it’s okay not to agree just let us know;

Leo ascendant - and always wanting to appear polished, put-together, perfect. Lots of emphasis on being clean, well-dressed and having nice hair. Sometimes it’s okay to tone it down a notch. Many imperfections about yourself are only in your mind, very few if anybody at all notices them; also you know what diplomacy is, I guess? Sometimes it’s better to reach an agreement/compromise than to relentlessly pursue your point of view. It’ll attract enmity on the long term and people finding subtle ways to put you down behind your back, just saying.

Virgo Mercury - learning to talk about how you feel and don’t always fret the small print; being vulnerable is not a weakness;

Stellium in 11th house (especially in air signs) - accept yourself first and foremost and stop trying to fit in with crowds; some people will always judge you and not like you. You’re good at being a social butterfly and it likely brings you benefits but don’t lose yourself in always gaining other people’s approval. It’s better to walk alone than constantly clinging to people who bring you down or are just not right for you.

Ascendant square Mercury/Mercury retrograde/3rd house Mercury(possibly) - take time to improve communication skills, it’ll serve you big time in the future. Don’t hurry when you talk and think it through before you say something. Don’t just blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind; it might come out messy. Don’t butt into conversations or try to dominate them. People won’t be more interested in what you are going to say, it’ll just reflect poorly on you.

Lilith-Venus aspects(especially the square)/Lilith-Moon hard aspects - don’t blindly trust women; this aspect is said to attract both admiration and jealousy from women. It adds extra charm to your appearance but can also spark enmity/bad intentions in others. Beware.

Moon-Jupiter aspects (especially square) - take care of your weight!! Make sure to eat healthy food and exercise regularly. There could be a tendency to put on weight. You’re a connoisseur of life and very curious person by nature so it makes sense you would like to try out new delicious food/beverages, but don’t give in to excess.

Sun opposite Moon - this aspect suggests a conflict between the Ego(Identity) and the emotional life of the native. Sometimes these people have zero clue what they are feeling and if you ask them they might just shrug. Or they might suppress their emotions in favor of their intelect/rational side. This can lead to big internal turmoil, crisis and even depression later on. My advice: don’t ignore what you feel. Speak about it or write it down. It’s important to at least be conscious of what is going on with your emotional life. Is it sadness/annoyance/boredom maybe a sense of relief? Whatever it is, write it down. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.

Sun in 5th house - you cannot make up your mind about who to be with, am I right? Many people attract you and make your heart flutter for different reasons. Your interest may be short-lived. You definitely love a nice figure, beautiful clothes and an “expensive-looking” appearance. Personality-wise you like a good sense of humor, a beautiful smile, solid social skills and if the said person is desired by many others, it might awaken your interest even more! My advice to you: make up your mind. Who is the person you truly want to be with? What is their personality like, their values, interests, life-goals? Will they align with yours? How will you be supporting each other along the way? Solve the conflicts that would arise? Don’t get too picky or cocky though. Just as your chosen person will try to be the best they can be, you shouldn’t succumb to laziness, complacency either. Nobody is perfect. We got to do the best we can with what we have.

Virgo Moon - you’re way better and more than you ever give yourself credit for. Be proud of your accomplishments and all those times where you persevered when everything seemed to be going wrong and you couldn’t see the light. You’re a hard-working, very resilient and pragmatic person. You likely always help those in need especially your family/friends/acquaintances. They’ve always got somebody they can rely on to give them a car ride for example or cook them delicious food. Life is not always black and white and you’re certainly not the loser you might sometimes think you are. If only you could see the beauty I and other people can see in you!

Chart ruler in 12th house - oh boy, this one is quite annoying at times. People might just simply ignore your presence and not willingly. It’s like you somehow manage to blend into the background. Not one time have I heard people going “You’re here? I really haven’t noticed.” And it is not said with bad intentions. Your presence is calm, a little mellow and blends in easily with any crowd. Maybe you could be a spy? Just saying XD

The point with this placement (especially if you have many aspects to your Mercury, particularly the square) is to be patient! Do not raise your voice or butt into conversations you are not welcomed in. Wait to be invited, stay silent or better yet: leave. If it’s done repeatedly by the same group of people it’s not longer unintentional.

Also - protect your energy and make sure you sleep 8-10 hours. It might be that you tire easily, are susceptible to other’s energy, feel it when somebody is ill or suffering. You’re sensitive and probably empathetic to boot (regardless of other positions in your chart). Make sure you don’t overexert yourself or let others take advantage of your sensitive side.

Chiron conjunct Midhaven - it might actually be healthy and recommended for you to work! Especially if it’s the kind of job that suits you and that you find satisfaction in. With this aspect it’s possible that not having a goal/career will make you feel aimless/confused/irritated. This aspect suggests an ambitious, driven and hard-working individual that might find much more in their career than satisfaction, purpose and money. They might also find healing. These people are likely to work in healthcare and dealing with other people’s ailments and emotional wounds. But instead of bringing them down, it is where they actually find their place. Especially in the sign of Capricorn, these people don’t wish to lead easy/privileged lives, but meaningful ones where they leave a legacy behind.

People typically trust them because they sense they are trustworthy and share their problems with them.

Venus in Aries - this is not talked about nearly enough. These folks are courageous and very devoted to their loved ones, to the point where they would do almost anything for them! Venus is not just about your love life but also about your feminine side, your values and self-worth, your sense of aesthetics, creative expression, wealth&comfort and social harmony. It’d be silly to narrow it down simply to one domain: your romantic life. Sure, it plays a significant role when it comes to the way you express and accept love, what appeals to you most but it not all that it is!

A Venus in Aries person makes a dynamic and gutsy friend somebody that would go on almost any adventure with you. They could be blunt but you can be sure they will always tell the truth. They will speak up for you when needed and they could be plenty generous.

The point with this placement is to not get carried away or be too pushy. Many people are simply not ready to be as bold and honest and unapologetic as you are. They might just be unsure, more skeptical, or have a different way of expressing their attention/affection. Don’t always put demands on them or assume dishonesty at the slightest disturbance.

Edit-completion to Venus in Aries.

Hope you guys enjoyed reading my post!! Please tell me what you think and let’s have a discussion 🤗🌟

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miange1 · 16 days ago

Note

can you make a patrick bateman and male reader?

like reader is a suck up(aka good boy) for patrick and always wanting to please him?

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍 — suck up

tw: manipulation, toxic relationship, 'friends' with benefits, office sex, scratching, cock stepping, kneeling, somewhat pet play, light use of good boy, collaring substitutes, choking, Patricks ego, some of y'all lowk didn't watch the movie

note: chat im flopping so hard

you were annoying to him. just another person getting in his way, gawking over him like a fruit fly suckling for juice.

you were always fluttering by him, buzzing like a bee. 'do you need anything Mr. Bateman?' , 'oh, i can get that for you, no worries!' , 'anything you want Mr. Bateman'

it was killing him, felt like you were constantly nagging and poking at the inside of his brain for God's sake couldn't you ever leave him alone?

but sometimes, he couldn't stand when you took days off. sure, everyone always got on his ass but he preferred when it was you. the way you'd perk up like a little dog when he called for you or even when you saw him.

that big smile you put on your face, you may as well stick your tongue out and breathe heavily like a dog. though, it wouldn't be as great as your heavy breathing close to his ear while your legs spread up in the air.

the way your feet would curl and the way you'd claw along his chest needily, your head shaking from side to side as if you were trying to clear your head from the overstimulation.

or the way you'd actually stick your tongue out when you were beanath his desk, his shoe stepping on your cock as it was hard and leaking through your black suit slacks.

when you'd melt at his small praises. "like this? do you like it like this?" your voice breathy and little tiny whimpers mixing in with your questions needy with validation. all he needed to say was you were being a good boy and you wouldn't let up.

you were surprisingly good at riding him, only issue was you broke his chair once.

he'd always make a habit of harshly grabbing at your waist, crescent shaped nail indents digging into your skin which would only make you speed up and chase more of that sickeningly sweet touch he gave you.

your head thrown back, obscene and obnoxious moans and grunts echoing off of his office walls. your button of slipping off your shoulders with that cock drunk expression on your face.

every single- "Mr. Bateman, Mr. Bateman!" was better than the music he'd constantly drown himself in.

sometimes he would make you crawl on the ground and put papers in your mouth and give them to him, and he'd only keep your tie on and tug it harshly. he'd enjoy looking at the way you'd gasp, that lovesick look in your eyes.

you were crazy, stupid, weird in his eyes. but you fueled his needs so desperately, and you probably didn't even know how high of an ego boost he got from you.

too bad you weren't in. such a shame—

"sorry im late Mr. Bateman, i promise i'll make it up to you." luckily you never, ever broke your promises.

#bottom male reader #bottom reader #male reader #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman x male reader #american psycho #american psycho x reader #american psycho x male reader #patrick bateman american psycho #x male reader #male reader smut #x reader #yandere x reader

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menelausblues · 26 days ago

Text

tuesdays.

꒰ your roommate xavier is odd and quite specific. ꒱

𖥔 ݁ 12.5k. no evol, roommates to lovers au. video game developer x student mc/reader. xavier is a shy guy. rafayel cameo as your quirky neighbor. xavier and mc cook together. somewhat slow burn? domestic fluff. misunderstandings. jealousy. light angst. humor. ❀ ݁ this is old, very old. n i've re-written it for several fandoms atp but it belongs to xavier now n this is the last time i'll put it out there lmao.

mdni.

having xavier as a roommate doesn’t necessarily cause you any problems in your everyday life, but boy is he a rather peculiar man from time to time.

sharing space with him is an overall easygoing and even enjoyable experience due to his reserved and borderline reclusive nature.

he’s quiet, rarely has guests, and doesn’t pester you. he’s also quite domestic, which seems to indirectly benefit you. his areas are well-kept and consistently clean. he stays on top of household finances and shopkeeping. he enjoys cooking and often feeds you.

when you’re gone for the entire day from morning until night, either at work or shuffling through campus, you come home to an extra serving waiting for you. though, he’s never anywhere in sight. ( admittedly, you did eat his extras without permission the first time, but now, he delegates them to you in space-themed bento box you think he’s had since he was a boy. )

considering he sleeps quite early in order to wake up at the first breath of every morning, and you finally consume your second meal of the day alone in the dimly lit kitchen at 11:30 pm, there’s never an appropriate time to thank him. so, you instead leave a sticky note that reads, ‘thank you for the food. i ate well!’ on the coffee machine, the first place he looks each morning. you know this because every day, promptly at 7:15 am, you’re roused from your slumber by the pleasant aroma of coffee brewing and clinging to the air, seeping through all the walls. it’s a habit of his that cultivates comfort, a sense of home. you don’t even like coffee, but his routine is oddly like an alarm, a signal to your body that the day is beginning and rising with him. shortly after his brew begins, your eyes flutter open, humming contentedly as you take in the scent and stretch the sleep out of your limbs. xavier is kind enough. he doesn’t make many demands of you and asks for a reasonable amount to rent his spare room. of all the people and places you could have secured last-minute housing for university, you’re quite fortunate to end up with xavier.

he’s a simple guy, not one for many words, communicating in mostly happy hums, gentle sighs, and soft nods ( when you actually see him come slinking out of his bedroom or enter quietly from wherever he spends his day, that is. ) but despite being mostly pleasant and tolerable, he still has these oddities that make you quirk a brow at him, utterly perplexed. firstly, he nitpicks the number of paper towels you use at once. on one of the rare occasions you mutually linger in the common space other than tuesday, you have the audacity to wash your hands in front of him — dry them, no less. naturally, like any other, you grab paper towels to dry, and you feel his eyes locked on your side profile, watching diligently from the dining table. his eyes, little seas you can drown in, shamelessly bore into you. he analyzes you carefully — judges you.

you meet his eyes slowly, unusually nervous. you feel as if you’re being heavily and thoroughly scrutinized. his displeasure pierces the air with terrifying persistence.

“uh…is everything okay?” “you use a lot of paper towels at once.” he notes quietly, never tearing his gaze from yours. “it’s pretty wasteful.” he admittedly didn’t state it with malice, only moderate concern at best. when he says it, you look down between your palms where a bundle of paper towels are bunched.

you can admit it’s more than you actually needed, but it’s such an odd thing to want to observe and take note of, such a specific behavior to apply feedback to. you look back up at him, blinking slowly. “sorry?” you offer half-heartedly. “is there a certain amount you’d like me to use at a time?” you try your damndest not to let the severity of your bubbling agitation show, but you hear it slip in the way you offer him a careless apology and defensive inquiry about a solution. to your dismay, xavier only hums, ignoring your attitude and seriously considering your notion. “ideally, paper towels should only be used for spills and messes, so as to not permanently stain our cloth towels. considering there are two hundred and eight sheets in total, at an average cost of five diamonds per roll, making each sheet worth just under two-point-five gold, it’d be objectively more cost-efficient and environmentally friendly if you…placed a cloth towel there specifically to dry your hands and include it in your laundry cycle regularly. that’s what i do. it’s…the most reasonable option.” “uh…huh.” you say it slowly, trying to wrap your mind around why it took a boy who hardly ever speaks so many words to arrive at a simple conclusion: put a hand towel there instead. “i’ll put a towel there. i’m sorry for being wasteful.” he nods, his hard gaze softening and moving back to previous stimuli. “thank you for acknowledging my concern.” in truth, you don’t even get a chance to add a towel. xavier does it himself. the next time you’re in the kitchen, you notice he’s left an additional towel hanging right next to his, identical. the sight of it causes you to shake your head and chuckle to yourself, lips tilting into a grin.

peculiar boy.

coupled with his obtuse observational interests is xavier’s odd attachment to tiny, mundane instances inside his routine. specifically, everyone coming home on time. every tuesday you only have a single class in the morning, and you also have a day off from your part-time job. so, you usually stroll back into the apartment by mid-afternoon. xavier is never there when you arrive, and you don’t know much about what he does with his time during the day. at most, you know he’s already graduated university. you know he must make decent money considering his capacity for keeping the entire house’s basic needs met. you figure he has to do something during the daytime.

that, or it’s nepotism.

what it is? you’re uncertain, but he always carries a backpack stuffed full, and his laptop is always tucked securely under his arm within a protective sleeve. xavier is a habitual creature through and through, dancing in the spaces of predictability with perceivable glee. he arrives back home by 4:30 consistently. by that time, you’re usually engrossed in a book, spread out on the living room floor studying, or curled up on the couch watching dramas whenever he finally arrives. you never make eye contact or redirect your attention from what it’s already fixated on, but you do always absentmindedly greet him the same way each time: “welcome home.”

he always gives you a small hello and immediately retreats to his room without another word. sometime around six, he emerges from his room and comes to the common space to ask if you want dinner. tuesday evening is the only occasion during the week you’re able to try the things he makes fresh, rather than reheating them. and you both sit in an incredibly comforting, idle silence while you eat. there’s never expectations to entertain one another or engage in meaningless small talk. you compliment his meal, thank him, and tell him you ate well. it’s never a lie. xavier is an exceptional cook. but on one particular tuesday in question, he comes stumbling into the apartment at 2:45 pm, significantly earlier than usual, and he’s in an evident frenzy. he comes in, kicks his shoes off at the door with little regard ( entirely unlike him ), and moans begrudgingly as he shuffles back toward his room, defeat loud and palpable.

“welcom—” the greeting dies on your lips, hearing his long string of audible dread and looking after him as he scurries down the hall. “xavier?” you call after him. you watch his tall figure pause and turn back towards you when he hears you, his cerulean eyes round and wide with apprehension and fear. “yes?” “rough day?” you ask him softly, trying not to overwhelm him even more. “you’re home pretty early and you have this distinct look of terror.” you try to joke lightheartedly, but he sighs in response, looking down at his feet. “it is a rough day and it’s only going to get worse. i don’t know what to do.” “do you need help with something?” “i…i think so? i have friends coming over. i’ve never had anyone over here. i don’t…do that. i’ve never made that much food. i feel like i won’t be able to get done in time and clean myself up.” “you seem really stressed out about this. how many people are coming?” “…two,” he answers sheepishly. “but additional mouths to feed means more time and honestly, i don’t have any time. i left work early so i could try to make this happen, but now it means i’m going to be behind on the schedule i put together for my project and this is…it’s…it’s fussing up my routine. that's making me stressed. i’m sorry. i’m sorry . i know i’m just blubbering and prattling right now.” “xavier,” you say softly, giving him a sympathetic smile. “it’s okay. i get it. i hate when my day gets thrown off, too. i’m not doing anything particularly important if you want help with making dinner. are there things you need from the store or anything? i can take care of that while you wash up and relax for a bit.”

he’s quiet for a moment as if he doesn’t know what to say. he just stares at you with an unreadable expression, nods once — quite curtly — and turns back toward his room. you don’t take it any kind of way, knowing he often responds pretty similarly. you figure he just isn’t used to requesting or receiving help, but it’s fine. you can and will follow through. xavier doesn’t realize what a load he takes off your shoulder by providing you with regular meals. in your mind, the least you can do is eat well, be mindful of your paper towel use, and offer helpful hands when applicable. later when the two of you are prepping dinner and simultaneously trying to make the apartment feel ‘guest ready’, you keep noticing him glance over at you, but he doesn’t speak. actually, he hardly says anything at all the entire time you work together. it’s such a strange contradiction. he presents himself as shy and reserved because he simply dosen’t speak, but when he does speak, he seems to talk a mile a minute or be unnecessarily long-winded at an average speed. there isn’t really an in-between thus far, and you’d lived with him for nearly a year. unable to endure any more of his silent but blatant gazes, you snap your head to him, a little curious and also frustrated. “why are you staring at me? did i do something again?” “no,” his head shakes as he blinks, seeming a bit taken aback by your tone. “i was…thinking that i’m really grateful that you were willing to help me with this. i don’t have enough time to finish all my work. i don’t have enough time to see my friends or have dinner with them. i don’t have enough time to spend with myself. but i’m trying to do it anyway because…it matters, you know? but i was…in a panic earlier. i get really stuck on my routines. inconsistencies just make my brain itch. i was feeling really overwhelmed and your offer to go gather the things i needed just so i could shower and breathe for ten minutes…meant…a lot to me. so…thank you. also…i’m sorry…for staring. i have this really bad habit of not knowing what to say, so i say nothing or… everything.”

to his apparent surprise, you giggle. his eyes widen a bit at the sound. “yeah, i noticed that about you, actually.” you place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “no problem. we’ve been here together for a while now, yeah? it’s only natural that sometimes we need to rely on each other. it’s kind of like how you leave me your extras from dinner for when i get home. i…otherwise would only eat once a day most days. i move around a lot. i forget about it, and by the time i get home, i’m too exhausted to make food. i’m grateful for how you’re willing to help me, too.” you didn’t expect to see his face flush red or for him to look down as if staring at his feet will make the bright, rosy tips of his ears disappear.

“yeah…no problem. i guess you’re right.” “so…what is it that you do for work? what’s so time-consuming that you essentially have no life outside of it?” you ask. although you’re curious about his line of work, you ask him for his benefit, so he doesn’t feel embarrassed for feeling flustered after your exchange. you’re starting to figure out that although xavier appears and presents as if his lack of social involvement is a personal preference and choice, being a loner is not just a stylistic choice but an inevitable outcome.

he’s clearly socially inept. when you guys eat in thick silence, it’s not because he’s wading in an endless sea of comfortable notions and doesn’t feel the need to speak. he doesn’t know what to say, so he opts for absolutely nothing. small talk is likely not something he’s familiar with or perhaps even cares about. he has to be coaxed out of his fretful foundation just to express that he needs help. he communicates in grunts, nods, and sighs because it’s easier than navigating a flow of back and forth in conversation. “i’m a video game designer. i…work on actions and movements mostly. the physics of it all. when characters engage in combat or how they interact with certain parts of the environment in open-world games? i’m part of the team that goes behind creating things like that. we give the characters life and motion. it’s…pretty cool considering it’s been my dream job since i was young, but it’s a lot of hard work. we’re working on a really important game right now. it could put our team on the map with. so, i have to do my best. i can’t let my team down.” you hum, impressed. “that’s actually really cool. i kind of figured you were a nerd in some capacity. you’re a cool nerd with a cool job.” he laughs then, light and quiet but saccharine sweet. “i wouldn’t say i’m a nerd. i have a deep understanding of my personal interests. it doesn’t make me nerdy. just knowledgeable.”

you nod in agreement but hum in protest. “no, it doesn’t make you nerdy, but telling someone they use too many paper towels and proceeding to itemize the cost of a single sheet on a whim is…not, not nerdy.” you explain, clicking your tongue. he pouts. “i thought that information was relevant to helping you understand my stance.” “i would’ve understood even if you didn’t explain, xavier. it’s your apartment and you buy all the paper towels. it’s not wrong for you to, without explanation, tell me to be mindful of my excessive use.” xavier looks you over, his expression contorted by perceivable perplexity, lips pursed and eyes just staring at you while blinking blankly. “but you clearly were bothered by me bringing it up. that’s why i elaborated like that.” nonchalantly, you shrug. “i wasn’t bothered you brought it up. i just thought you were being peculiar. and you still haven’t been able to escape those allegations, by the way. it’s alright, though. even if we end up having to indict you for your oddities, i’ll still accept you.”

it’s quiet between you both then. xavier seems to have nothing else to offer to the little exchange, and that’s fine with you because when you peek at him again as he’s chopping vegetables, you notice his tiny smile. and you note that the subtle little smile doesn’t leave him for the entirety of the evening. you sit quietly on the opposite side of the room, midding — uninvolved but happily present — observing him engage with his work friends, jeremiah and ulysses. he seems quite comfortable with them. his speech becomes fluid, easy, and even exciting at times. you see a little sparkle in his eyes when they talk about games and how jeremiah is close to finishing is personal passion project.

xavier must love gaming a lot. you wonder if video game development is really his dream activity or just the dream career, and maybe his real passion is something more novel and less technical. regardless, you can’t help the sheer feeling of pride that swirls around in your chest seeing him like this: attentive, involved, lively. it gives you a subtle little smile of your own. and you note that it doesn’t leave you for the entirety of the evening.

among all other observations, the characteristic of xavier’s that confirms the strength of his quirkiness is how he’s suddenly far too concerned with how you spend your tuesdays. it starts the week after you help him prepare his tiny dinner party for his friends, the most peculiar aspects of his behavior. it’s all because on one particular tuesday in question, you never come home after class.

your friend and co-worker, tara, has a date with a girl she’s been flirting with for a while, and you agree to switch shifts. today in exchange for a day you don’t have class and you can stay home, a fair and even trade. you’re tired, hanging on by a thread, but you really need the extra time for the week. ( you work as a waitress at a small restaurant near the university. most students dine between classes or on their lunches. it’s a small but heavily populated establishment. when you volunteer to work on busy days, your boss advances you what you make for that day at the end of the night. it has its perks and its pits. ) while cleaning off the table of a guest who just left, you receive repeated text messages, making your brows furrow as your phone shoots signal after signal in quick succession. who could possibly be texting you this urgently? no one ever does. you glance at the time. 4:32 pm. xavier usually wanders through the door right around now. your expression lifts in light shock as you see he happens to be the source of the incessant sounding.

4:32 pm ⋮ xavier.

are you safe? you’re not at home. it’s tuesday. you’re usually home when i get here. my routine is thrown off.

you roll your eyes reading his messages. he’s being hyperbolic and overdramatic again, but for what? is it really so important that you’re there just to say two words he hardly acknowledges only to hole up in his room until he’s ready to make dinner?

maybe this is his attempt at humor.

you chuckle at the thought of it. xavier is so socially awkward that his jokes don’t even land; they just float in the air, suspended by complexity until someone gets it.

4:34 pm ⋮ you.

you’re being incredibly dramatic. i’m at work. very alive and well. making money to keep feeding us.

4:35 pm ⋮ xavier.

objectively incorrect. i buy all of our food?

4:40 pm ⋮ xavier.

look. no one was here to welcome me home and now i’m back but don’t feel an ounce of welcome about it.

you laugh at his response, very heartily, right in the middle of a restaurant, inwardly beaming with pride because he made a joke. and it was actually kind of funny. only kind of. you start to wonder why it matters so much to you if he grows into himself and becomes comfortable enough to speak freely and easily. why do you feel so invested in his character development? regardless, you hope to see him come out of his shell more. it’s becoming of him.

4:42 pm ⋮ xavier.

will you make it in time for dinner or another long night?

4:44 pm ⋮ you.

probably not. it’s pretty busy and we’re already short-staffed. another long night. aiming to be back by ten tonight. i have homework due at midnight.

4:45 pm ⋮ xavier.

okay…understood. godspeed.

work goes by as it does. it’s always the same formula and equation, just different bodies and times of day. you finally come strolling home at 10:05 pm. you’re dead tired and knowing you still have to finish your homework and submit it is making the exhaustion feel heavier than it probably is. when you head inside, you expect it to be dark, only the light above the stove left on as per usual, but instead, all of the lights are on. the tv is chattering with excitement, playing some kind of variety show, and there’s a spicy, thick aroma in the air that makes you pause briefly to breathe it in. it’s so pleasant. and warm. you walk in, greeted by a scent that feels like a long embrace.

as you stroll through the door, you look to your immediate left where the open layout kitchen is placed. xavier stands next to the stove, chopping vegetables carefully on the counter. “welcome home.” he announces it casually, just as you always do for him, but doesn’t tear his attention away from his task. you don’t know what exactly this is, the shift in his behavioral pattern. you aren’t sure what to name the feelings that attach to it, either, but you appreciate it because today you have an anomaly of your own. you understand it right then: what he means when he says he came back but he didn’t feel welcomed home. you’re always only ‘coming back’ but walking in and being welcomed by him, it feels more like ‘coming home’. you note that there might just be a difference. your voice is tepid and content when you finally speak. “hey, you’re up pretty late.” he only hums in response. you wander over to him, keeping a good grip on all your belongings. “cooking dinner at this hour? pretty unlike you. huh, your routine really did get messed up.” his lips quirk. “yeah, i worked more when i came home instead of eating. i’m still catching up from last week. but i noticed i was starving and then i realized it was almost ten. so i figured i might as well just commit to a curve in my routine. but…what about yours?” his inquiry surprises you a little because he’s initiating small talk with you. at first, your lips just part. “my…routine? uh…yeah? it got thrown off majorly today. i have an assignment due by midnight. i thought i would turn it in by this afternoon, but i got paid in advance for this shift, so that was nice.” xavier abruptly stops cutting his carrots and places the knife down calmly. and then, he just looks at you. it was a very normal look that you could give anyone: stranger, acquaintance, or friend. it was just a simple look, but for some reason, when his eyes meet yours, your heart starts to pick up its rhythm, and you swear you can hear the thump of it crescendo in your ears. he’s so…handsome. it’s not that you’ve never looked at him before. it’s not that you aren’t already aware that he’s a good-looking man. anyone with eyes and reason can see that. it’s just that right now you’re looking at him and he seems like his features have changed, like someone raised the saturation and clarity on his existence. his jawline seems sharper. his soft, blue eyes seem more potent, gleaming cooly. his lips are supple, pink, pouty, and curved quite romantically. he looks like a walking beckoning for affection. his pearly hair is tousled, all in disarray, like he’s been running his fingers through tirelessly. his clothes seem to cling to the thickness of his frame, outlining the definition of his thin but muscular build. he quite obviously works out. you didn’t notice that before, the way fabric bulges around his arms and shoulders. his feathery lashes flutter around lapis when he blinks, all that angelic beauty swirling around so casually. you haven’t looked at him this thoroughly before.

god, he’s pretty.

“you should make sure you respect your resting day routines. you seem to work really hard with…everything you’re doing.” xavier’s voice is soft and caring, cradling his own declaration tenderly. smiling, you nod, swallowing down how flustered suddenly you feel inside, hoping the quickening of your breath doesn’t give it away. “i hear you. it was a one-time thing anyway. now…need help?” “don’t you have homework?” his voice is perplexed. “go work on it. i’ll call you when i’m done.” to this, you reject his suggestion with a shake of your head. “no can do. i think i’m too tired and will take my loss with grace for the sake of a decent meal before midnight. i’ll ask again…need help?” you don’t say what you really mean right then: i think i’d rather spend time in silence with you. it looks like he’s only barely started, likely working on a base for some sort of soup. he has so many scraps laid out everywhere. xavier clears his throat. “uh…yeah…yeah, i do.”

“on it,” you say resolutely. “let me put my stuff up and change. it’ll only take me five and i’ll be back to help.”

after that, you don’t see xavier for the rest of the week. tuesday is really the only day your schedules coordinate enough to see each other even in passing. you don’t miss how disappointment settles in your chest every single time you wander inside at ten or eleven and you don’t see him standing there in the kitchen, back turned to you, nonchalantly welcoming you home. you don’t miss the way you stop yourself from texting him and telling him exactly what he told you: look. no one is here to welcome me back home and now i’m back but don’t feel an ounce of welcome about it. but on the following monday, you receive a surprising notification.

1:08 pm ⋮ xavier.

i would like to formally request permanent assistance with dinner on tuesday evenings. unless work or other contractual obligations prevent participation. it is much more efficient with two sets of hands. and since we both eat, it’s the most ethical and fair.

his formality makes you giggle, as it’s so aligned with who you now understand him to be. once again, smiling fondly to yourself, you think of what a peculiar boy he is. his request at its core is perfectly fair. he does buy all the food and cook it but you both enjoy the fruits of his labor. so if it’s a regular thing, you realistically should help him without a single qualm. that’s the line of reasoning you offer for the sheer speed of your response, agreeing to give away all your foreseeable tuesdays to him: in all fairness.

1:09 pm ⋮ you.

sure thing xavi.

you don’t miss the way it’s the first time you’ve ever called him by or given him any kind of nickname. you don’t miss the way you feel nervous to send it, as if being denied casual exchanges with him will have a significant impact on your emotions. now you’re the one acting peculiarly. for three weeks, on three consecutive tuesdays, you and xavier rally together in the kitchen, pick a recipe to follow, assign your roles, complete your duties, and successfully make meals together around six o’clock. for three consecutive tuesdays, you sit together at the table and eat well, sometimes in silence, but sometimes in comfortable, slow-paced conversation. the most surprising evolution is the budding presence of his attempts at small talk. “i don’t know how i feel about this recipe.” xavier admits after devouring the meat he’s made. “i don’t care for this marinade at all.” you, mouth full and consumption bordering barbaric, look confused. when you swallow, you have to inquire about why he feels this way. it’s quite delicious. and you can’t fathom him not liking it considering he ate all of it. “what? you didn’t like it? how? i think it’s incredible. probably your best yet. the meat is so, so tender and it’s very flavorful but not overwhelming. it pairs really well with this little sauce we made!” “you enjoyed it?” xavier asks. you notice then that he’s biting his lip rather nervously. “or are you only saying that because we spent a considerable amount of time on this one?” you grin, rolling your eyes. “why would i lie? you’re a good cook, xavi. seriously…i’ve never not enjoyed the food you’ve cooked. you did really well on the meat. and judging by your happy plate, i think you know that.” you figure out quickly that it isn’t that he doesn’t like it, but that he wants someone else to say he did a good job but doesn’t want to ask directly until an opinion is already offered.

he even seeks praise awkwardly. how endearing.

he doesn’t speak, only lowers his head with that subtle smile you’ve come to find yourself craving the sight of. admittedly, you enjoy this blooming tradition that the two of you are building. you feel excited for him to come home, eager for him to finish resting up and come out at six, ready to get started, ready to talk to you or just stand by your side. moreover, you really enjoy not eating dinner alone. you enjoy his proximity even in your settled silence. it always feels more like home when he’s here and you are, too, both parallel or perpendicular to the other. “this is nice.” you tell him warmly. “i kinda like our new tradition.” “oh,” he breathes softly. “i…” his head rises quickly and he looks at you, those icy eyes you’ve grown particularly fond of now slightly widened. you don’t know if you’re just seeing what your own unspoken feelings want to see, but it looks like longing looking back at you. his hand rests on the table and you glance down, only for a fraction of a moment, considering reaching your own out to find the answer to a theory you’ve constructed in the last few weeks: you think his hands might be incredibly soft. “well, um. i…that’s…good to know. i think that maybe…um, i…” ( your mind begs you to let it be known that he’s stammering and you’re staring, but your thoughts are ever so slightly somewhere else. ) you notice when he washes his hands, he pats them dry lightly with his towel. delicate. and he always opens the drawer below immediately after to pull out a tiny bottle of hand cream. every single time. habitual. he applies a dollop and rubs it all in gingerly. he makes sure to get all the nooks and crannies of his hands, the dips and the divots. thorough. patient. soft. satin. he seems to care a great deal about his hands, takes good care of them and the things they touch. you lick your lips and look away. “i’m sorry…i…uh…don’t know what to say i think and…” you cut him off. “is it a mutual understanding?” “what?” “do you…like our little tradition as well?” a slow, timid, soundless nod. you respond with tilted lips. “then…you can just say…i like it, too.” he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, but the look he gives you is becoming clearer, and you can’t look directly for too long or you’ll melt right before him.

xavier turns out to be a lot like the sun, and if you aren’t careful, your heart might try to become like spring and bloom for him. “i…like it, too.” he says finally. humming, you turn your attention back towards your food, looking away, and for the first time, being the one with nothing left to say. all the things you want to say officially teeter off the cusp of amiability and drop straight into a giant vat of arousal. after a moment, your body becomes so hot you can’t stand just sitting there anymore, so dinner ends abruptly with xavier telling you to leave your dishes and he’ll take care of them. you only nod and offer him a quiet thank you and a friendly goodnight. then you wander off to your room in a daze wondering if he noticed you squirming in your seat. he’s so domestic, you’re about to cum off the strength of existing in the same house as him. ( and that’s not good because you’re always in the same house as him. ) the things you watch him do in the kitchen, it’s all just so homely. there’s a kind of strength in a man who appreciates homemaking that makes you weak. telling you to make sure to preheat the oven, putting on his mitts to check on the food, setting timers, and tying an apron around his waist. cutting vegetables. using measuring cups.

‘slice, not dice. here, let me show you. watch.’

the way his triceps and biceps flex at the motion of his very intentional cuts, the way he’s always rolling up his sleeves, even when they’re short-sleeved shirts like a goddamn tease, basically begging to be turned into a husband and a father overnight.

it’s sickening. you officially want him so bad you want to throw up.

the orgasm you have in your room — stifling the sound of your moans and the sound of you quietly calling out his name when you did — spells it out quite clearly for you even if you don’t want to acknowledge it outright.

you like him. a lot. it’s absolutely sickening.

on thursday, another anomaly occurs in your schedule. a few actually, and all of them are pleasant. the first anomaly is relaxation. you don’t have class and since tara keeps up her end of the deal, you have an entire day at home to enjoy your alone time. but, as usual, you wake to the pleasant aroma of coffee. you smile even harder knowing there’s nowhere for you to be so you can move as quickly or as slowly as you like.

it means that maybe you can go have coffee with xavier before he leaves for the day. you don’t even like coffee, but you like him. and that’s more than enough reason to get you out of bed, tidy yourself a bit, and go sauntering out of your room to ask for a cup of hot liquid you’ll never consume. ( you’re more of a tea or hot chocolate kind of person, but there’s a first time for everything, and maybe having coffee will taste better if drinking it means spending even a fractal of time with him. ) this initiates the occurrence of the next anomaly. “good morning,” you say pleasantly. a yelp. a jolt. a wince. a hiss. a “fuck, fuck, fuck”. a resounding crash. the sound of shattered ceramic. xavier clearly isn’t expecting you to be up or to greet him. you wince at the sound of glass and lean over to see that he’s dropped and broken the mug he was holding: your mug. your favorite one. the one your grandmother made for you with her own two hands. there’s coffee pooling everywhere, all over the floor, and xavier moans dreadfully. “shit!” he exclaims. “you scared me. i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean…i didn’t mean to break it. i’m sorry. i really am.” the mug means the world to you, as your grandmother’s much older now and unable to craft little items for you like this anymore. it’s the only one of its kind. the only one that would ever be. and now it’s in pieces on the kitchen floor, a little sea of java surrounding the sad, jagged portions of loving sentiment. “i’m sorry i scared you.” you say softly, trying hard not to cry. you don’t want to make him feel bad. you don’t want him to feel bad at all. “it’s okay, xavi. it’s okay. i’ll get towels.” once you grab towels and come back to help him clean it up, he’s deep in a spell of unnerved groaning — a long, drawn-out whine that goes on under his breath for a while. “please don’t be upset.” he pleads, frowning. “i’m so, so sorry.” you smile softly, shaking your head. “i’m not upset, xavi. are you hurt at all? from the coffee? i heard you hiss.” “i’m okay. it splashed on me, but it didn’t burn me or anything.” you place the two large towels down to soak up all the liquid on the ground. xavier focuses on picking up each piece of the broken mug. as you watch him through the top of your eyes, you wonder just why he’s using your mug to begin with. “i’m not used to you being awake so early.” he admits, slightly embarrassed of how a simple good morning resulted in this. “but…good morning to you, too.” you just can’t help it. you giggle. peculiar boy. “if you want…you…you can pick one of my mugs to take in its place.” he offers, biting his lip. you nod and say okay for a few reasons: 1. you absolutely want something of his and it’s a microscopic guilty desire you have. 2. he seems like it’ll bother him a lot if he can’t rectify the situation in some way. you saying it’s okay doesn’t appear to suffice. 3. see reasons 1 and 2.

as he’s showing you his plethora of available mugs, you catch yourself smiling. he has all of these mugs of his own, but…he was drinking his morning coffee out of yours. you survey them all and find only one that stands out. it’s a white, ceramic mug with the word ‘create’ etched messily into it. it’s oddly shaped, looking nearly homemade. irregular. odd. it’s the most xavier mug of them all. that’s the one you want. you point to it. “i’ll take that one.” you chirp.

for a brief moment, he hesitates, pouting cutely, but his lips slowly tilt upward. “of course you will. that one’s my favorite. i made it in my high school art class, but…okay. okay. a mug for a mug. you can keep it. drink your coffee out of it well…and frequently…or it might start to feel neglected. it’s an extroverted kind of mug.” if you knew it wouldn’t result in one of the most blatant forms of rejection you’ll ever face, because xavier is nothing if not brutally honest, maybe you would have kissed him right then. it would be hard not to if you knew with unearned confidence that he wouldn’t push you away. but, instead, you quietly take the mug and you’ll use it well just as he asks. and maybe he’ll try to sneak in a hidden smile by just lifting the corner of his lips. and maybe you’ll spot his dimple because of it, the one that likes to hide the same way your feelings do. and maybe the sight of it will make your heart flutter and your breath hitch. and maybe it ( in its own way ) could be just as good as a kiss. a homemade mug for a homemade mug.

you have a feeling you’ll keep it closer than anything else. “want to have coffee before you leave for work?” you ask, even knowing well that you’ll be wasting even more than he has, even knowing how upset he’ll be if he figures you out. but it feels worth it when he nods, offering you that coy smile you silently plead for nowadays. and you both do, in the soft lull of the morning, sit at the table over a cup of coffee. you even steal glances every now and then. when he asks why you haven’t touched your drink, you lie and say you prefer it with creamer, to which he turns his nose up in disgust. “creamer is a forbidden substance in this house.” he informs you. “but…if…if it really is a deal-breaker for your coffee enjoyment…i’ll make sure to get you some. what kind do you like?”

the next time you go grocery shopping for us, honey? why don’t you just ask me to pop the question right now?

you don’t care for coffee. you don’t care for creamer, but you care very, very dearly about the prospect of xavier getting any kind of special thing for you, with you in mind, with the purpose of making an experience better for you. it makes you feel special to him. ( you know plenty of special things he can give you to make the experience better. and it didn’t even cost money. he can use his perfect hands as much as he likes. ) “hazelnut,” you lie with a smile. “that’s my favorite.”

the third anomaly occurs much later in the day when you’re home alone and you’re lounging in the living room, wondering if thursday will get to be a second tuesday with xavier since you’ll both be here. unexpectedly, there’s a knock at the door. your brows furrow. you didn’t order any food. you didn’t expect a delivery. xavier always tells you if anyone’s dropping by. when you walk up to the door and peep out, you see a remarkably handsome man standing on the other side. you open the door carefully, revealing a boy, likely around your age, with soft lilac hair that seems to take on a pearlescent tint in the light. a blend of amethyst and carnelian in his eyes and standing there with a kind smile that seems like it might dissolve anything in sight that just so happens to perceive it.

he even has little dimples on his cheeks as he beams so pleasantly. he, much like xavier, is very pretty. “hi…can i…help you?” you ask timidly, not fully coming outside the crack in the door, only your head and a portion of your torso poking out. ( he might be attractive, but he’s still a stranger. ) he scratches the back of his head. “oh…uh, hi!…my name is rafayel? i just moved into that unit about a week ago.” he explains, jerking a thumb back towards his front door, #1103r, right across from you and xavier’s #1104r.

“oh! i didn’t even know the unit was empty.” you laugh. “welcome to the complex…and the hall. it’s fairly quiet, so i hope you aren’t a partier.” laughing, he shakes his head. “a baker and a painter, not a partier. i spend my spare time making sweet treats. you might smell me baking a lot, though. i…uh…i actually was coming to ask if you had butter? or margarine? i’ve started making cupcakes, but i didn’t get butter at the store, and i didn’t want to leave out…because i already started. so, i figured i could come to introduce myself…and ask a neighborly favor?”

he puts his hands together in a small plea.

wow, the boys in this building really do enjoy wholesome activities.

smiling, you nod. “sure, give me a second. i’ll be right back.” when you come back to the door with an entire package of butter, he smiles wide, making his eyes crinkle. “i hope that’ll be enough.” “more than, i’ll bring back what i don’t use.” he promises. “ah, you’re a lifesaver. thanks!”

“happy to help. welcome to the building, rafayel.” now, the exchange should be complete but he’s still just standing there. “well…if that’s all…” “what was your name? did you already tell me?” he asks suddenly, confused. “sorry, i wanted to say your name, too, because it seems respectful since you said my name, but i was trying to rack my brain for what you said your name was…” “i didn’t.” you clarify, chuckling at his spaciness despite knowing you’ll lie. “it’s…hunter.” “hunter. hm, i like it. it suits you somehow. anyway, thanks, miss hunter the neighbor. rafayel the baker will see you again soon to return his butter hostage and maybe offer a treat forged from his deepest gratitudes.” a lopsided grin and a wink. when he leaves, you close the door and stand there for a moment, recalling the entire exchange. he’s handsome, a bit spacey, but so friendly…so friendly he’s flirty. you’ll never complain about having eye candy for a neighbor, but…you don’t want xavier to get the wrong idea…if rafayel starts talking to you more… you quickly shake the thought away, reminding yourself to return to reality from the depths of your delusions. xavier is not interested in you in that way by any means. he, at most, wants to become friends, which is understandable for a person he’ll be living with for an additional year. that’s fair. you want to be friends, too. ( you just also want him to talk you through his day while he’s fingering you, that’s all. )

the next anomaly occurs at five pm when xavier arrives home much later than he usually does. for him, thirty minutes late is a lot. it throws off his routine. “welcome home.” you say casually as he finally comes waltzing in. you try your best to appear as if you’re as unfazed about his entry. you try not to make it disgustingly obvious that you aren’t just there relaxing anymore; you’re waiting. for him to come home. to welcome him back. this time, though, he doesn’t respond curtly as he ducks back towards his room. you hear the rustling of plastic bags he sets down on the kitchen counter.

he then wanders over to you and lays a heavy palm flat on the crown of your head. “hey,” he breathes. in movies or dramas, this is the moment where your world freezes, just becoming so petrified that even time doesn’t dare to move. you gulp hard, your heart racing even more so than it usually does over him.

what are you supposed to do? “did you…enjoy your day off?” he asks. “did you rest enough?”

“um…” your voice trails, mind still entranced by his hand resting on top of your hand. it’s such a gentle gesture, so tender and timid, like him. such a well-suited affection for his temperament. “i had…a relaxing day. it was nice.” you manage to speak, but you stare ahead, not bold enough to look up at the face he’s making while he touches you. he finally lowers his hand to his side and inside, you scream about it, protest profusely to the removal of his closeness. “what about you? was work okay?” you ask, breathing returning to normal as he heads back to the kitchen to unpack his things.

the first item he takes out is a little bottle of hazelnut creamer, and your heart is so warm you think it’s become nothing but a puddle of adoring liquid. “work was less stressful. we’re close to done with this project. so now there’s not as much silence in the office. everyone is slowly starting to act like real people again. it was driving me insane. when intense projects happen, it disrupts my routine so much. people stop saying good morning. i don’t feel comfortable saying anything more than i already don’t. and i think the secretary hates me because i kept messing up my report and printing it incorrectly. it created unnecessary work for her and it wasted a lot of paper. i made sure to pick some up while i was at the store to replace it, but…” he stops suddenly and frowns. “sorry, i just realized i was rambling again.” you can’t hide your loving smile even if you bother trying. “you’re talking about your day. there’s nothing wrong with that, especially if the person you’re talking to wants to know all the seemingly useless details.” xavier has this habit of just peering at you at times when you respond to his long-windedness with openness to experience. and boy were you dangerously open to experiencing him. “and…do you…?” he asks you slowly, his head tilting to the side. “…want to hear even the unimportant details?” you shrug casually and nod once. you decide on an endearing response with a touch of humor to soften the landing for your heart as it’s doing its somersaults. “i don’t mind hearing about your day in great detail…it’s like listening to an audiobook for free. or a podcast.” “you…” he rolls his eyes, lips quirking. a soft shake of the head. “anyway, what’d you do today? stay on the couch engrossed in your dramas?” “i cleaned up a bit, did some homework, met our new neighbor, and binged on a drama, yes.” his brows bundle together. “we didn’t already have a neighbor?” “that’s what i said! i didn’t know the unit across the hall was empty, but he came by to ask if he could have some butter and introduce himself.” xavier’s face scrunches up, slightly disgusted and confused. “butter? like…to just eat?” “xavi, what?” you ask, bubbling a laugh. “no, dummy. he’s a baker. he started making cupcakes and realized he didn’t have any. he said he’d bring back the excess.” again, a repulsed display of emotion. “i don’t want any food back after it’s left this apartment. there are all kinds of new germs and particles on it now. why would i consume that or allow you to? what kind of person do you take me for? god only knows what he does in that unit. and if he double dips? if he sticks his fingers in his mouth and touches the container without washing his hands? ew. there’s no way for us to even verify. the number of available and unfavorable possibilities is disgusting in itself. and bakers seem like the…‘lick their fingers clean’ type, so…he can keep the butter. i’ll get us more.” you purse your lips together, clasping them shut to keep your amused smile from showing how endearing you find him to be and also to keep from laughing at the severity of his seriousness, at how comical all his particularities are but adorable in the same breath. peculiar as ever. “okay, if he tries to return it, i’ll reject him.”

“that would be best.” a familiar, curt nod. “i’m making dinner in a little while…do you…want to help me? or will it throw your relaxation routine off?” you snort. “xavi, i don’t have a relaxation routine. the relaxation is disrupting the routine in a good way. but yes…what are we making?” and there it is again, that little smile that makes you want to clutch at your chest. having a second tuesday is another wonderful disruption to the routine.

the following tuesday, you’re giddy as you head home from class. you aren’t sure what moment does it for you, but you’ve settled comfortably into the fact that you like xavier, that given the opportunity, you’ll peel back every single layer of his existence to taste and lick and know every part of him. it doesn’t bother you to be just friends and roommates with him, though. you guys live together. even if something comes of it, if it goes south, it’ll really destroy the living dynamic you guys have cultivated, which is quite comfortable. gentle. tender. safe. besides, he reserves special kinds of platonic affections for you that suffice. as you approach the building, you see your neighbor, rafayel, struggling to balance a tall stack of white, flat boxes while he tries to open the door to the building. you jog up and hold it open for him. “ah, thank you, miss hunter the neighbor.” he says graciously. “saving me yet again.” rafayel is nice enough but he seems to be quirky in his own way. you’re starting to wonder if it’s a prerequisite for being accepted for housing in this place. as it stands, though, tensions are high between your household and his. when he returned the butter, rafayel was immensely offended by xavier’s suggestion that he ‘tainted the butter with his baker’s breath’ and the stern demand that he take it back, to which xavier’s lip curled in disgust as he emphasized that he especially didn’t want it then. it ended with rafayel leaving the butter by the door and sitting it on the ground, both oddballs unwilling to claim the absurdity. you ended up picking it up and throwing it away. while it was a comical event all around, seeing the two of them standing in the doorway trading glares over the sanitation of butter was amongst the strangest things you’ve witnessed. “do you need help, rafayel?” you ask with a laugh. “you look like you’re one, fragile step away from it all crumbling down.” he sighs. “if you don’t mind and it won’t taint your precious hands to touch my baker’s boxes, then yes, you may help me.” “for the record, i have absolutely no stock or stance in the butter sanitation conundrum. i am but an innocent bystander. so, no, your baker’s boxes aren’t at risk of tainting my hands.”

you roll your eyes at him. “you’re really dramatic, you know.” “criticizing me is not helpful.” he notes. “and i’m not certain, but i thought you asked to help.” “fine,” you grumble, grabbing a stack of the boxes out of his hands. “what’s all this for anyway?” he smiles triumphantly. “i got my first big gig as a freelance baker. i’m making fifty fishie cupcakes for a five-year-old’s birthday party tomorrow.” a playful smile. “wow, that’s really cool. congrats on that one. are you excited?” “excited…is certainly a word. maybe not one i’d use to describe this, but a word nonetheless. if you can’t tell by the thick layer of perspiration and sweat gathering on my forehead, everything is great and not stressful at all.” you pout, oddly concerned for his results. “are you going to be able to pull it off?” “well, the thing is that…no?” he laughs and so do you. “my friend thomas was supposed to be my helper so i could pull it off, but apparently chasing skirts is more important than making and icing cupcakes for a child’s birthday party. i wouldn’t know since i respect the brotherly code of conduct and would never, but it’s fine. i hope he gets laid.” you nod. “me too…but i hope he has a hard time performing. he shouldn’t have bailed on you. this seems…important to you.”

“ah, miss hunter the neighbor is quite observant, rafayel notes.” he narrates himself in the third person. “it is pretty important to me. but…just to me.” that upset you deeply. you know what it’s like to have your dream not be taken seriously. all this time, you’ve been in school to join the hunter’s association of all things. no one really sees the benefit or believes in what you want to do. you have a heart condition, after all. you’re basically out here trying to prove your entire family wrong, that you’re capable of developing a strong, steady life without needing endless aid.

you hate the idea that rafayel is clearly very passionate about baking, about doing this kind of custom work, but his friends aren’t supporting him, and now he’s scrambling. “do you have to be a talented baker to be a baker’s assistant?” you ask, biting your lip. the flame in rafayel’s eyes twinkle. “not at all! you just need two hands and a decent enough ability to follow a series of simple directions.” nodding resolutely, you smile. “then consider me self-appointed as the baker’s elf. let’s go get these cupcakes made, rafayel the baker neighbor.” to this, he beams. “miss hunter the neighbor is starting to seem a bit like a friendly neighborhood fishie herself.”

making cupcakes from scratch is no fucking joke. there’s so many steps. it really is a series of simple directions, but if those simple directions are off even by a small margin, it ruins the batch and you have to start again. you didn’t realize how time-consuming it would be. in fact, you didn’t really keep up with the time at all, but when you catch a glimpse of it on his television, it’s already eight ‘o clock, and your eyes widen. “shit! i need to go to my apartment.” you tell him urgently. “are you okay from here or should i come back?” rafayel shakes his head, grinning. “you’ve done so much. i just need to finish working on these last fifteen. i got it. thank you so much. you didn’t have to help but you did. it means a lot.” “no problem, but next time, i expect to take home one of my own.” he laughs. “next time?” “rafayel the baker neighbor seems to need help a lot.” you say with a shrug before ducking out quickly. “see you later!” even though you’re only across the hall, you feel like you’re going to walk in and be in an insane amount of trouble. you haven’t even bothered looking at your phone.

when you walk in, xavier is sitting on the couch, but his head snaps up to you immediately. “you’re okay!” he says, relief evident in his voice as he rises to his feet. “where have you been? i hadn’t heard from you in hours and i got really worried about you.” he walks over to you but keeps a small distance between your bodies, looking you over for any sign of harm. your entire face heats up. you feel yourself shrinking before him as you take a breath. “sorry,” you say, looking down at your feet. “i was across the hall. i was helping rafayel wi—“ he cuts you off, brows knitting together, lips in a frustrated pout. “the unsanitary baker? why?” “if you would let me finish…” you snap, giving him a hard look. “his friend bailed on helping him and he got his first big order as a freelance baker. i was home so i helped. i was really busy so i wasn’t keeping track of time well. you wouldn’t believe how hard it is it make cupcakes from scratch.” an exasperated sigh leaves your lips just recounting the last few hours mentally. he’s not looking at you anymore when he speaks next. “you baked cupcakes with him?” he asked. “like…you baked them…together?” you feel confused but nod. “…yes? that’s what ‘helping’ would entail in this situation. he was stressed and i felt bad because i know what it’s like for no one to truly believe in you.”

“fine,” he spits, lips set in a hard line. “i hope it got done. dinner’s on the stove.” he walks past you toward the hallway then, his back turned. “and please wash your hands before you touch anything.” then…he just walks straight to his room without another word, leaving you feeling perplexed by his response. his bedroom door closes a little harder than usual and you fear you may have made a grave mistake by hanging out with rafayel, especially when it’s abundantly clear upon their first interaction they’re unlikely to get along.

maybe he feels like bailing on cooking to hang out with rafayel and not even letting him know is a jerk move and you agree.

since that event, the rest of the week is very awkward. even though you don’t see each other often on weekdays already, you have this inkling that xavier’s avoiding you at all costs. he even stops making his coffee. he just slips out into the early morning. you wake up close to ten am, very late, for every day it occurs. an obnoxious disruption in your routine, and he doesn’t make dinner at all. you go to bed pouting and hungry. but another anomaly occurs when tuesday rolls around again: you wake to find that your class has been canceled. ever the diligent student, you check your emails daily. when you finally get around to grabbing your phone in the morning, it’s the first thing you do. to your surprise, the one class you have is canceled due to the professor being ill. you take great pleasure in this because the regular routine in the home is now also back in motion.

you wake to the heavenly scent of colombian swimming in the air. you wander out into the living room. xavier leans back against the marble counter, sipping quietly from a dark-colored mug. “good morning,” you announce quietly, making sure not to frighten him. his eyes dart to your presence, and you just pause where you are, unsure if proceeding any closer is safe. “morning,” a short and dull response. “you’re up early.” you shake your head, playing with your hands nervously. “i’m always up this early. the smell of your coffee wakes me up every morning. i just usually stay in my room and get ready.” “oh,” his voice is small. after a long pause, he asks, “is it bothersome?” to answer, you smile lazily and offer another small head shake. “not at all. it’s actually my favorite alarm. very quiet and very pleasant. i’ve been waking up late the last week nearly. my routine…was thrown off.”

with all the gall in the world, he scoffs. “since when do you care about keeping a routine?” “what?” you ask softly, voice slightly wounded and face fluttering into confusion. “what do you mean?” “you skipped out on our routine last week and that didn’t seem to matter to you at all.” he states simply. your guilty eyes look at your nervously shuffling feet. “so, what is it? why did you hang out with him and bake with him?” you’re not sure if it’s the irritated tone he’s now choosing to take with you or the underlying insinuation that you, a grown adult, owe him a reasonable explanation for why you exert autonomy and choose to help others. as if you did something morally reprehensible by helping rafayel. you’re not even certain xavier is actually, fully angry that you bailed so much as he’s angry about who you were with and what you were doing instead, which is still unfathomable why it’s his business. yes, you should have let him know and you can own that because you know he probably waited a while for you to show up and you never did, but you’re not going to stand here and let him reprimand you for hanging out at your neighbor’s unit just because he’s decided he doesn’t like him for quite literally no real reason at all. “um, are you my father?” you ask, your face scrunching up in frustration. “he’s our new neighbor, xavier. he needed help. i’m just being kind, and i like hanging out with him. he’s funny an—” he cuts you off, setting down his mug. “you like hanging out with him?” “yes…?” it’s silent between the two of you then, his eyes going blank and glossy. “why? what’s so special about his place? why would you prefer spending tuesday there?” you’re genuinely appalled by his response. you expect he may not like the idea of you hanging out with someone he dislikes, but he’s not your parent or your partner, and he’s only become a friend recently. the way you feel like you’re being forced to justify your very simple, very innocent actions of helping rafayel is absolutely unacceptable because no matter how many times you say it, telling xavier you did it because he needed help and it was important for him to have it isn’t a sufficient explanation for him. but it’s the truth and it not being enough for him is not necessarily your burden to bear.

“xavier, i don’t owe you an explanation as to why i had a good time hanging out with him and helping him make cupcakes so his first, real order can lead to more. i don’t have to explain anything i choose to do with anyone. i don’t owe you or your ego elaboration.” “well…” his voice trails and he’s quiet for a minute as his skin slowly reddens and he nervously bites his lower lip. when he looks at you again and speaks, his voice is incredibly soft, unbearably wounded, and pained. “i want an explanation anyway. because i thought you liked spending your tuesday nights with me, but you went over there instead of staying to see me and make dinner together. and you didn’t even tell me. just left me waiting on you. what’s that about?” the sheer shock and confusion of his confession must be evident on your face. you feel your mouth part as if you want to speak but you don’t. your brows knit together, trying to make sense of his stance so you can properly answer his question.

your heart is racing wildly because it seems xavier may have developed feelings of his own…toward you. “wait…wait…” your voice trails, you’re still looking up, eyes blinking rapidly and narrowing, not in a sinister way but dubious.

as it stands, your current theory that he might have feelings for you, is unfounded and is permeated by perplexity.

“is…is that why you’re upset?” you ask him. “because i ended up helping him and missing one tuesday with you?” he sighs and nods, frustration exuded in his body language as if you stated the utter obvious simply to upset him. “you told me you liked our little tradition to cook together, but then picked another guy to make food with the very next week? an unsanitary one at that? and…and…you know what? i want to do that with you. making dinner isn’t fun on my own. not on tuesdays. not if you’re not here with me, and especially not if you’re not here because you’re over there and want to be there more than you want to be here. with me.” your question comes out suddenly, your tone layered in urgency. “xavier…do you like me?” he just stares, mouth slightly agape, looking as if you’ve asked a stupid question yet again. a soundless, ‘you’re not serious, right?’

his next comment confirms your intuition and also attests to your ability to read his expressions clearly now. “are you really asking me that? are you oblivious? after all this time? as if it wasn’t completely obvious that i do.” you snort. “xavier, if you liked me all this time, it was absolutely, undeniably, irrevocably not obvious.” “i gave you a hand towel that matches mine and placed them next to each other.” he details with a flat voice and a roll of his eyes. you look at him, growing progressively more flabbergasted by his position in the ongoing argument. he lives in a delusional mental world where he thinks his feelings, in all their silent conquest, are thoroughly known and understood. even though you’ve never spoken to him about anything of the sort.

“xavier…you do realize you criticized me for the number of paper towels i used, right? i thought you were just…solving the problem you created.” he has the audacity to groan. “i’ve made dinner for you to eat when you come home since the first time you left me a sticky note apologizing for eating my extras.” “yes, because you always make excess. that’s what you said!” you huff, arms folding over your chest. he can’t seriously believe he has a little avalanche of decent examples of his ‘liking you’ being obvious. there’s just no way. he would have to be completely disregarding every other aspect of objective reality except his own thoughts and perception in order to come to the conclusion that placing a hand towel on a bar or letting you have the extra food he makes regardless are his attempts to court you. “i got upset when you filled in for a coworker on a tuesday instead of coming home and i was only distressed because you weren’t here to tell me welcome home. i told you i didn’t feel welcomed without it!” now his voice is raising, aghast and disbelieving. you shrug, just staring at him with flat affect and dawning freshly picked neutrality. “i thought you were joking and finally developing a sense of humor. i was proud of you.” a squeak. he’s watching all his ridiculous reasonings be debunked and he just continues trailing down the list of them, much to your dismay.

if he’d shut up for a moment, you can get off the topic of what would have made it obvious and move on to something way more important, much more impactful. is he going to kiss you soon or what? so peculiar. he’d rather argue you down than take his shot with you and watch himself hit a bullseye. “i gave you my special mug to keep for your own because you said you wanted it.” another eye roll. “you broke my own special mug and told me to pick the one i wanted! i thought it was an eye for an eye. a mug for a mug!” he gestures towards the refrigerator. “i brought creamer, a banned substance, into this apartment for you.” “it’s creamer, xavier, not a confession. please be serious.” this time, his voice is small and sheepish. “i started giving you…head pats.” you can’t refute the intimacy of that one. you know it. he knows it. the smug smirk on his face not only knows it but is gloating about it. “fine, you got me there, but that still isn’t enough to infer romantic interest.” “i blatantly asked you to make it a permanent date with me to make dinner together on tuesdays. how much more obvious do i need to be?”

you furiously shake your head, protesting his claim. “no, no! you formally requested assistance with dinner on tuesdays. the word date was not aforementioned. you made it seem mandatory . in fact, you said it was only fair.” now, he’s blushing furiously, the tips of his ears going red. “it’s not mandatory, per se. it’s just the principle. and even still, you say that as a counter, yet you went over to his place instead of coming home to be with me…doing the cooking we agreed on and mutually enjoyed.” you scoff. “but it’s not mandatory to cook?” “well cooking isn’t mandatory, but it is mandatory that you genuinely like me back if we’re going to be doing domestic things like making meals to eat together. consistently. and openly. so when you do it with me for weeks and tell me entirely unprovoked that you like doing it with me, it gives the impression you want to be domestic with me. i only spend time at home, so i take that very seriously. i was starting to feel played with.” you won’t lie. all of his nonsense is just that: nonsense. but the idea that you left him feeling like you were giving mixed signals or like you were stringing him along for the fun of it deeply wounds you inside, because you also like him a hell of a lot. you would never go off and be intentionally confusing. “i wish you had said it clearly. we would have been on the same page a long time ago probably. i wouldn’t be spending a single tuesday there if i knew why you wanted me here.” xavier grumbles, “i genuinely don’t understand how you didn’t notice.”

“i genuinely don’t understand how you could possibly think i would?” you counter, the statement falling from your lips like a question that requires clarification. he steps closer to you, and for the first time, you see something new in his eyes: determination, passion, need, and desire. your breath catches in your throat when one hand goes around your waist, pulling you closer to him, the other cupping your cheek. your heart. that’s all you can hear is your heart thumping in your chest as if it might combust. “how is this for being crystal clear? i like making dinner for you and with you. i like that our hand towels are matching and next to each other. i like that the smell of my coffee wakes you up in the morning…i want to be the one that wakes you up in the mornings. so…with that being said, it’s tuesday and i want to make dinner with you tonight. if you want to make dinner with me, understand that you’re consenting to complete romantic affiliation.” “understood,” it comes out with no hesitation, your eyes glancing between baby blues and pretty, tinted lips begging and beckoning. “so, you’ll make dinner with me and consent to romantic affiliation?” he confirms, a lopsided grin forming. his choice of words begs a chuckle from you. you nod. “xavi, are you seriously asking me that? are you oblivious?” “can i kiss you now? i’ve been dying to.” you pout, feigning a great deal of disappointment and concern. “if you don’t know the answer, then maybe i really should go back across the hall…” his grip on your waist tightens, a soft thumb caressing your cheek and there’s that subtle smile you adore. “we’re definitely kissing because you have to be quiet. like right now.”

you laugh. “wow. that one was actually funny.” “what?” he asks, thrown by your response. “oh, nothing,” you sing. “c’mere,” smiling at your urge to draw him in, he leans down then, no longer willing to waste time being idle with you or staring into each other until you can’t take it. when his lips touch yours, the only thing you can think about is how soft they are, how smooth, silk against velvet. all you can think about is how gently he keeps you against his torso, how shyly his lips move with yours like he needs to test you out and know how you feel, like his lips have more to offer, but much like his conversational skill, you’ll have to coax him out of his timidity. when you both pull apart, you reach your hand up to touch his, tugging very gently on his fingers. he obliges your silent request for his hand, watching you with an enamored gaze, moving his palm from your face and allowing you to tangle your fingers together. you officially love his hands very much. you felt it on your cheek and now you feel it wrapped around every space between your fingers. the most peculiar thing of all about xavier seems to be just how correct your theory is: his hands are like satin, and they take immaculate care of anything they’re tasked with touching.

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shy-writer-999 · 10 months ago

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OP Headcanons: Law & reader's first time

WARNING: MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

A/N: PURE SMUT! How would Law fuck (afab) reader for their first time? Very very lovey dovey sweet Law. ~2.9k words. CW: fingering, encouragement, teeny tiny bit of blood, P in V.

Law & reader's first time

Law murmured in your ear as you laid naked on the bed, facing up. “Do you ever touch yourself?”

You nodded, shyly, averting your eyes and turning bright red.

“What do you do?”

You hesitated, embarrassed. It felt so weird to say it out loud, especially in his presence, but you knew that it would turn him on. You knew how badly he wanted to hear it. “I rub myself down there… Put a finger in sometimes, until I can’t anymore?” Your cheeks were smarting with blush.

“Do you curl your finger when its inside? Do you ever press on your g-spot?”

“N-no,” you stuttered out an answer, flustered. “I don’t.”

“Can I show you?”

When you nodded, Law’s hand crept over your stomach, his fingers coming to rest on your bare lips. His skin was cool when it touched your folds and your breath hitched at the sensation. It felt so different than when you did it yourself—it made you feel tingly, tense, and when he started to rub two fingers up and down, you could feel heat blooming in your core.

“Does that feel good?” Law hummed in your ear, and you responded with a breathy “yes” that made his heart do a flip.

Law’s index finger trailed upwards, finding your sensitive spot, drawing light circles around it. Your hips bucked in surprise—it felt amazing. His fingers were surprisingly soft. He was being gentle, trying to coax pleasure out of you at a measured pace.

His finger went down again through your folds, collecting some of the slick that started to seep out of you, bringing it back up to your clit. You let out a muffled moan. He knew how to use his hands. He had told you that before, but now you really knew what that meant.

Law pressed on your clit, eliciting another muted moan. You were trying to push the sound back down your throat, turning crimson in embarrassment. You had never let those sounds out before, accustomed to touching yourself in private, quietly.

“Let those sounds out for me, I want to hear them.” Law's voice made goosebumps to ripple down your neck and flood the rest of your skin.

He continued playing with your clit and folds until you were so wet that it was starting to make your thighs and his hands messy. “Is it okay if I put a finger in?”

When you said yes, Law slowly inserted a finger. You walls clenched and pulsed around him; you were so warm inside, so wet. He tried not to get too excited about putting his cock in you later, but he couldn’t help himself. That sweet, scrunched up face that you made when he slid it in made his cock twitch.

Law let his finger sit there for a moment while you adjusted to it, and then he pulled it out slowly and back in. At the same time, he reached his thumb up to press on your clit.

You let out a mewl, finally allowing sounds to escape your lips at his request. It sounded like honey to his ears. “Law, feels so good, fuck.”

That was his cue to put another finger in. You gasped, feeling him stretch you out slightly more. His fingers scissored and pushed your walls to the side and then up and down. He was starting to pull more pleasure from your core, bit by bit. His fingers curled and you moaned his name. Each sound that trickled from your lips made him harder; It awoke some primal and carnal desire in him to fuck you senseless. But it was your first time, and he told you that he’d go slow and delicately. He wanted you to have the best experience you could possibly have, and he cherished the fact that you were comfortable enough to be so vulnerable with him.

Law wanted to make you cum before he fucked you. Just to make sure you were comfortable enough—but the added benefit would be that he got to see you writhe in pleasure while he fucked you with his fingers. He was so close to you, he saw every flutter of your eyelashes, noticed when your breaths quickened, heard every sound you made. He was getting off at your mere presence, at your pleasure, at your scent and pretty face and hands and breasts—he was enamored with you, counting his lucky stars to be close to you like this for the first time.

Sure, you and Law had made out before. He’d gotten handsy (with your permission), and you had done your fair share of dry humping. You’d even sucked his dick a couple of times—he swore that you had a natural gift for it. But he had never seen you completely naked, had never touched your pussy. His heartbeat was just as quick as yours, and you could feel it too. You could also feel his hard cock pressing on your side, twitching every time you let out a sound.

As Law fingered you, he got as deep as he possibly could. His fingertips roamed and curled, seeking that gooey hot spot that would make you squirm with pleasure.

He found it after a few moments and pressed it—you moaned his name the loudest he’d heard it yet. A smile played on his lips. Your voice was music to his ears. He kept pressing on your clit with his thumb, bringing his fingers out and in with increasing speed, reaching to press your g-spot each time. You were quickly approaching orgasm. Your head was thrown back with heaving breaths, his name escaped your lips in a constant stream.

“Law, I’m—I’m going to cum, I’m so close,” you whined, muscles tensing as you started to reach your peak.

“Let it all out for me,” he muttered, his voice deep and soothing in your ear. “Cum for me.”

He pressed on your g-spot persistently, making you squirm until the waves of euphoria finally crashed over you. Your hips bucked up, shoving his fingers deep—as you orgasm, you pulsed around his fingers fervently, your toes curled in pleasure, fingers gripping Law’s thigh so hard it would leave a bruise. “Law—Law, fuck, fuck, I’m cum-cumming, fuck.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed again. “Just like that. Good job.”

When you were done creaming on his fingers, Law brought them out of your cunt and sucked them clean. You watched him taste your own juices with wide eyes. “Tastes great. Wanna try?” he smiled. You nodded timidly and he pulled you into a kiss.

As you tasted yourself on his tongue and pulled him closer, your fingers tangled in the hair around the nape of his neck. He let out an almost inaudible groan into your mouth and his cock rubbed on your thigh. Law’s fingers crept up and started fondling one of your breasts, kneading it and playing with your hard nipples until you whined again.

Before you knew it, heat and need were starting to bloom between your legs again. You couldn’t help but think that if Law made you feel that good with his fingers, how would he make you feel with his cock buried inside of you?

“Law,” you pulled away from him and looked in his eyes. They were ravenous and animalistic; he was barely holding onto his inhibitions with a thread. But he told himself he wouldn’t fuck you until you asked for it clearly and with the utmost conviction.

“Law, I want you.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

He wasted no time, shifting himself so that he was in between your legs, which he draped over the top of his thighs. One hand was pumping his cock lazily. His shaft was veiny, slightly curved, his tip red and inflamed already. He had gotten off so much on seeing you cum from his fingers that precum was already seeping out of his slit, milky white pearls that were starting too ooze down his shaft. His eyes were veiled in lust, desperate for you, staring down at you. You could tell he wanted all of you. Wanted all of you now.

“Are you sure?” Law confirmed one last time that you really wanted to do this. He didn’t want you to have any regrets. He wanted you to have the best, most comfortable experience that you could.

“Law, yes I’m sure. Please.”

He exhaled one long breath, steadying himself, and slowly started to push the tip of his cock inside. Even with the extra lubrication, it didn’t feel like the most spectacular thing in the world. You’d never been stretched out like this before, and Law’s cock was ridiculously long and girthy. As he got a couple inches deep, you let out a hiss of air between your teeth.

“Law, it hurts.” You were grimacing, and one look at you made him go completely still. He quickly tamed that animal part of him because you were in pain. It was your first time. He had to make sure that you were ok. To top it off, just the tiniest amount of blood was visible around your entrance. He knew that it couldn’t feel good and it made his stomach turn to think that he caused you any pain.

“Do you want me to stop? I can stop, I don’t want you to feel bad.” His expression was worried, brows furrowed. Your walls constricted around him again.

You paused for a moment. “No, don’t stop… just be extra gentle, ok?”

“Of course.”

Law resumed his slow pace, pushing into you, now centimeters at a time, seeing your face screw up as you took him in and as you stretched out to accommodate his size. He let out a deep rumble as your walls pulsed and squeezed around him—“Fuck, Y/N. You’re so tight.”

When he bottomed out, he came to a stop and regained composure. “Does it hurt too much?”

“No, not too much.”

“Let’s wait until you want me to move. Until you feel completely adjusted, ok?”

The pain was subsiding as each moment passed. You nodded at him. “Now.”

Law started to drag his cock out again. When he reached his tip, he pushed it back in. He did this a few times, agonizingly slow, cock twitching every second because he wished he could fuck you with reckless abandon. He wished he could push your legs up and bully your g-spot until you screamed his name. Every time he started thrusting into you again, every time you felt his tip brush past that sensitive spot, it started to feel a little better.

“Law,” you sighed his name, slowly warming up to the feeling of him inside of you. “Law, its starting to feel good. Go faster.”

“Fuckkkkk,” he groaned and picked up the pace, pushing back and forth, every pass of his cock wrenched more pleasure out of you. As he fucked you faster, he reached a thumb up and started rubbing circles across your clit. Your hips jerked up in response.

“Fuck Law, that feels amazing” your eyes closed, mouth hanging open, producing the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard.

“How good does it feel?” He grunted out, fucking you faster now, getting wrapped up in the moment. His thumb increased its speed, and you started to squirm, reaching your hands up and gripping his forearms.

“Look at me.” His voice was stern, trying and failing to cover up the desperation roaring inside of him like a wildfire.

When you opened your eyes, Law moved forward. He was getting a deeper angle now, leaning over you with a hand braced next to your head, cock buried inside. Your foreheads were almost touching, your eyes locking. That fire behind Law’s eyes was blazing, his black hair was ruffled, his inked skin rippling, toned, hard. You watched, hypnotized, as his tattooed fingers rubbed around your clit.

“Fuck, Law, it feels—feels so, so fucking good,” you keened as he started to fuck you ferociously. It was beyond any pleasure you’d ever experienced. He was fucking right into your g-spot. Your walls spasmed and constricted around his cock, his deep groans were echoing in your ears.

“You’re taking my cock so well." Law's eyes were centimeters away from yours, transfixed by the pleasure he was reading on your face. “Doing such a good job, your cunt feels so good on my cock, fuuuuuck.”

Law’s hips rolled into yours frantically and you pushed up to meet him, effectively fucking yourself harder with his cock. Your moans filled the room, along with sloppy, wet, squelching sounds, emphasized by his balls hitting your ass and his cock plunging into your cunt, drawing out more pleasure and more slick with each pass.

Every time his thumb pressed and rubbed on your clit and every time his length grinded in and out of your slippery, warm cunt, you got closer to orgasming. You could feel him bringing you nearer each moment, reading your every movement and moan to know what felt the best. He looked so fucking hot, too—hair plastered onto his forehead with sweat, rock hard abs and tattoos rolling, muscles flexing with each thrust.

“’M getting so close, Law,” you panted out. You struggled to get the words out between moans that took on progressive tones of desperation.

“Yeah? Gonna cum on my cock? Pussy feels from on me? You like it when I fuck you?” His voice was filthy, coated in desire, raspy and gruff.

“I-I like it, Law,” you were getting so close to climax that you felt like you were starting to vibrate with pleasure. “Want more, f-fuck me harder, I need you.”

He went into overdrive. His hips crashed into you haphazardly, frenzied, determined to fuck you so hard your eyes rolled back into your head.

Law leaned in and pulled you into a messy, passionate kiss. You could taste the sweat on his lips, could feel the hot puffs of air in your mouth as he groaned with each thrust, his prickly facial hair ticklish on your skin.

“Doing such a good job for me,” Law's voice was strained, gravelly and right next to your ear, now. He was trying to keep it together just long enough that you came. He wanted you to have the perfect first time, wanted you to be in bliss, wanted you to melt from his touch. “Takin’ it so well, ffuuuuucckkkkk.”

“Law I’m gonna cum, feels too good,” you whined, nails were digging into his forearms, leaving half-circles. He grabbed one of your thighs and pushed it up, holding your plushy and supple flesh there as he fucked you.

“Cum for me,” he growled again. “Want you to cum on my cock, baby, feels so fucking good, want you to cream for me.”

The angle switch up and his dirty words were enough to push you over the edge. You convulsed and spasmed, squeezing his cock in a vice grip, eyes rolling back in your head, moaning his name so needily that it filled the room and made him see stars. Another, crushing wave of ecstasy washed over your whole body—you felt like you were floating, like you’d pass out from pleasure.

As soon as Law saw you let go, he reached his limit. He couldn’t hold on anymore. Seeing you writhe and squirm from the pleasure that he gave you, hearing you say that it felt so good… He tipped over the threshold and fully gave himself over to the pleasure that you gave him. He pulled at the last second, cumming on your stomach while he pumped and squeezed the last of his cum from his cock. You were still riding the waves of pleasure by the time he came down from his high. He set your shaking thigh down gently and pulled you into another kiss, this time cupping your cheek with his hand, rubbing his thumb over your soft skin. The kiss was just as passionate, but this time it felt different. It felt like love. He nuzzled your nose with his, grateful that you let him be so close with you, that you were comfortable enough with him to be vulnerable with him.

Seeing you come down from the precipice that he helped build made his heart flutter. Your cheeks were ruddy, eyes closed, quick breaths escaping your mouth. When he maneuvered himself out of your legs and collapsed next to you, he peppered you with more kisses and smoothed your hair down.

“You did such a good job.”

Law kissed and petted you for a moment before he got up to grab a towel to wipe the cum off your stomach. He wiped you down so gently, and when he was done, he climbed back on the bed and spooned you, the sweat from your bodies mixing. He kissed your shoulder blades, inhaled the scent of your hair. His heart felt full, and he could feel himself blush.

“Are you doing okay?” He cooed in your ear, making sure that you were feeling okay with everything that just happened.

“Mmmmhmmm,” you murmured back. “That was so good. Thanks Law.”

“Thank you.” He pulled you closer and laid with you like that for as long as you wanted.

(/‿＼✿) (◕‸ ◕✿) (・ω<) (*ﾉωﾉ)

Also shoutout to Sam @walmartmihawk for the request: "Omg omg, could you do my last fic request but with Law please? And maybe Mihawk if you do him-- with a shy, virgin reader going through their first time? Thank you so much"

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