#because well i only ever day dream about getting *worse*

[pleasepress1forfrontdesk]

The Chains Are Heavy

(Levi's long awaited backstory, finally)

Special thanks to everyone who has been following and rp with me. You really have helped make this character more than he was meant to be.

(@fukuzawa-armeddaddyagency @tired-sayaka-ada @never-gets-sick @oscarsgallery @city-of-c0rpses @v-extreme-diminuendo @kijimha )

How did I get here again? It could all have been a simple life for me, but it wasn't. Ever since I became 10, I was rob. Robbed of my family, friends, goals, dreams, my childhood, and most importantly my innocence.

Not just my innocent mentally, but literally too. I lost my innocence of being a civil. They all hate me now. Rightfully so. After all I have been nothing but a danger to everyone around me. All I did was make things worse. This war could have ended quicker if it way for me....

How did I get here again....

Foul Ball

It all started on March 22, a day after my birthday and two days after my best buddy's birthday, Cooper. We have been friends since daycare and being in the nursery at church. Cooper was a year younger than me, he was a wild kid, always taking things to the risk or the extreme. Super fast as well, faster than all of the kids on the playground, running was one of his passions. Cooper once told me that when he grows up he'll become a track star. As silly as it sound he had my full support, because you could never say no to Cooper. You could never tell him what to do.

I on the other hand was the balance for Cooper's wild behavior. Much more soft spoken and tame for a 10 year old. I may have not been the fastest runner, but I sure did have a good arm at throwing things. I had a goal, to become the world's best baseball player. It was my dream after all, to be on the professional teams and be famous. I wanted to make my mom proud

I must admit some of my behavior is like that, mostly because I was a mommas boy. It was just her and I after all, which I didn't mind. Though sometimes Cooper would joke that his dad, who was also single, should marry my mom so that we can be brothers and live together. I always told him that we wouldn't need legal documents in order to be brothers. As long as we stick together we will always be brothers.

Well that promise didn't last long... Cooper and I wear out in the front yard of my house, playing baseball as usual. I was using my new metal bat that I got for my birthday, it was much stronger than my old wooden bat. We were having a fun time, Cooper was about to throw the ball until he arm suddenly dropped and let go of the ball.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I turned my head to see what Cooper was now looking at. My eyes widen and I start to feel the same sense of fear that Cooper might be feeling. Two black cars parked in my driveway, and five government agents came out of them. My heart skips a beat. It can't be.

I watched as the knocked on the front door of my home, my mom answering it a second later. The government agents start talking to her, and even though I couldn't hear what they were saying, I could tell by the look on mom's face that this way good.

Cooper tugged on my sleeve. "You don't think the president actually signed that bill right?..." Cooper looked worried now, and I so was I. I clenched my fist into my shirt.

"He would only sign it if war ever started....." The realization dawned upon us both. My lips trembled. "I don't want to go to war...." I mumbled those words with tears falling from my eyes.

That was the last day I ever saw my mom again.

That was the day I was robed of everything.

Strike 1

A 10 year old out in the battlefields of war, that isn't something you saw everyday. But here I was, fearing that my life could end at any moment in these trenches. And it would be like this for the next 9 years.

It took some adjusting to, though there was no time to adjust. Hand a gun to a 10 year old and tell him to go to the trenches and figure it out. I wasn't even given training. They didn't care. They wouldn't care about me. I was a child who would get in their way.

I didn't blame them. After all this wasn't the military decision after all, it was the horrible president at the time who made this decision. What the Nimone government did was cruel. They went through every legal citizen document and determined who would be drafted into war. We already had plenty of men above 18 drafted, but it wasn't enough. With the law at the time, anyone who was above 10 years old, could be drafted if they were proved useful enough to be used.

And that's what upset me the most. That I was just some weapon in their eyes. A tool to be once and never again. I wasn't the only one upstairs though. Many parents and families were upstairs by this dumb decision. It wasn't just families either, it was our own men as well who were outraged by this decision.

Upon my first day at the military base I met the leader of my unit squad, Captain Ross. He was a tall and well built man, always having a cigarette in hand and giving cold gazes at everyone. It was scary first meetings him. After all, the captains in the Nimone are train and built to be unstoppable military weapons. Nothing can stop them, and they will not stop until they are dead.

Being compared to this grown man compared to me was quite scary contrast. I was just some tiny kid compared to him. We both looked at each other for the first time and I can tell by the look in his mustard yellow eyes that he was displeased. There was a scoff as Ross stared down at me. "Who the Hell put a 10 year old in my unit squad? This is a kid, he should be home, not here about to die for our country." At least Ross and I were on the same page. Who's mess up idea was this anyways?

Everything from that day forward continued to go down. You expect the 10 year old to be a helper in transporting supplies or be in the med bay, but no I was thrown straight to the front lines. The trenches. The conditions of trenches were horrible, but the treatment around here was worse.

I wasn't given proper clothes that were my size, everything I worn was made for grown men. I had to learn how to sew to keep my shirt together because I wasn't given new clothes. I been wearing the same shirt the militarily gave me for over 10 years now.

The bunks were hard as rocks, I could barely sleep. That's even if I could sleep at all within the anxiety that any moment a bomb could drop on us. Sometimes I didn't even get to sleep in bed. Someone I would pass out in the trenches or on the floor. I had to push myself to still be barely functional.

They needed me after all, all for my ability. It was either fighting in the trenches, or infiltrating the enemy team as a spy. With my ability I could look, sound, and act like someone else as long as I had a single strand of their DNA on a peice of clothing for me to wear, I could transform to be like them. Mirror Mirror, I called it. This was useful to the military, since I had to use it a lot. My ability was the only reason why I was still living while fellow soliders fall dead to the floor before my eyes.

They all started calling me DNA, Levi DNA, since that's what I was to them. I was called that name so many times that to this day I can't remember my own real last name now. That war has made me forget a lot of things.

Strike 2

I try to suppress the memories and nightmares so hard, but at the cost of forgetting anything good before the war. I was robed of the memories of my childhood because of it. Even if I did try to forget, the ones that were the worse always lingered in the back of my mind. All those moments of being in pain and suffering. Everything was starting to become dull around 18.

This was had been going on for so long that I was loosing my reason to keep fighting. As if I ever had a reason to in the first place. I was just doing what I was told. Go spy on these guys, aim for the head, use your ability, back to the battlefield you go. All words that have no importance to me anymore.

I remember one time I was in the medical bay, I had gotten badly injured, but even in that moment I couldn't rest for long. Dr. Ikari, a young man who never got to finish school, had to patch me up. Unfortunately he had to send me right back out to the battlefield a minute after he was done attending me. I could tell by the look in his eyes that we were feeling the same thing. This dullness that we both felt. I barely talked to him, but I could tell that both of our worlds were become gray.

When I was around 19 I thought there was nothing left to look forward to. The war was slowing down but I was already numb. Or so I thought until one day I saw a familiar face. Jumps off the bus was a familiar red head, it was Cooper! For the first moment in a long time I smiled as I saw him. He spotted me and we waved to each other. He still recognized me! I never felt more happy in that moment.

At last we can be like brothers again. Things became less dull, there was some color back into my life. Things were finally looking up. We would sit in the dining hall, eating the worst food, but that didn't matter to me. I got to talk to. My best friend.

Cooper would catch me up on everything that I have missed and I would vent to him about how this war was. His optimism brought up my spirits, which brought me to ease. He barely has changed since I last saw him, my same old buddy. We promised that once this war was over that we would support each other while we fulfilled our dreams. A track star and a baseball player.

Strike 3

That promise didn't stay.

I was robed again.

I could never forget that moment.

We were out in the battlefield, trying to traverse no man's land, our side finally had the upper hand in closing end on the enemy. But we lost many men that day, including Cooper.

He didn't react faster in time. Before I knew it, I was cradling his dying body in my arms, blood dripping from his forehead. Cooper was shot in the head. I couldn't stop crying. I wasn't even fighting anymore. All I did was lay on the battlefield, holding him closer to me. "Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me." I would mumble to myself through tears.

But he left. I believe now that he's resting well with God in heaven.

In that moment I could forgive myself. I couldn't forgive the enemy team. I couldn't forgive our own government for all of this. Things were becoming dull again, but there was this redness starting to boil in the inside of me. This ticking time bomb.

Then it happened.

I had enough.

The day I finally snapped.

I'm out

I regret everything I have done in that span of a week. I was the reason why things got worse. It was little things at first. Ignoring Ross commands, running straight into dangerous territory and slaughtering the enemies, or throwing a grenade at helicopters. Then it got worse, I destroyed many of our own military weapons and transport, with some of our own men still in them. I set some of the base on fire. Gave valuable information to the enemy team. Held hostages of innocent people. Many things.

All these things became documented, published for all the public to see. Soon Levi DNA became a name to hate. I was a danger to everyone around me. That I need to be killed or locked up away forever.

There were two final straws that let to my arrest. The president at the time came over to the base, there for a impossible meeting. He was the reason why I was suffering like this. With all the rage built up in me, I tried to assassinate the president. It took 6 guys to stop me from doing so.

But I wasn't done that day. The worst thing that I have done was use me ability for a murder. I transformed to look like Captain Ross, committing a murder on the previous vice captain at that time, making it look like he was the one who did it. I baseball almost ruined his name and reputation.

He hated me that day since.

There I was, now arrested and locked away in a high prison facility. Ross took the pleasure to torture me in breaking my spirit, in which he did. There was nothing to look forward to anymore. Everything had became gray once again. I felt nothing as I sat in my dark cell, chained to the wall. I didn't deserve good treatment. I didn't deserve kindness or anything good. After all a criminal, a monster, doesn't deserve anything at all.

There was no reason for me to live anymore, and I was ready to accept that.

For a long time in that cell I would be in my own little headspace, daydreaming that I was living a better life with my family and friends. It was my only "joy" left. But even that couldn't be enough.

I was ready to end it all, yet a tiny part of me told me not yet. One more chance. I try to ignore that tiny bit of hope left, but I caved in. I made a promise to myself, that if I could not find a reason to continue on living in a month, then I would end it all.

So I acted. With brute force I broke out of that prison. I snuck onto a boat headed towards Japan. I free myself and upon leaving Nimone to Japan, I did find one major thing to keep me living. The sun and rakn. The sun was so warm and bright, great against my skin and the rain was so calming and cooling.

This was my chance to start again.

Back in the game

Upon arriving to Japan, I ended up in Yoko's city. There I was already lost and confused. I didn't know where to go or where to stay. I didn't know Japanese so asking for help was a impossible.

For my first few weeks there I was a hobo, wandering around, taking food out of trash cans. I found a abandon car to sleep in for the nights, but I barely got sleep. Things weren't looking good again. I desperately needed a job.

But who would hire a criminal?

That's until I stumbled upon this building and this man with probably over 20 children. His name was Mr Fukuzawa. And upon meeting him, my life was never the same again. Things changed, for the good this time. And I was welcomed into a new life with such amazing and kind people. My world had color again.

I'm forever thankful for that day.

Thank you.

[indecisivemuch]

The Pact

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: Seeing you yearn for a relationship and dejected over the lack of one, Luke Castellan proposes a dating pact. Little did you know, he was going to do more than just wait until the day the pact could happen (friends-to-lovers, fluff, pining, a lot of longing, lowkey jealous luke).

Note: Sort of inspired by Monica and Chandler's pact thing from Friends.

Word count: 3.4k

You were spending some time alone near the lake, trying to enjoy mid summer sunlight as well as the silence from the lack of campers and couples around. For some strange reason, the number of people dating at least tripled in the last three weeks. If you were honest, the sight of happy couples was starting to irritate you.

Your eyes glided through the lines in the novel you were reading, though you could barely get past a few pages before a degree of bitterness seeped through. You set the book down and sighed. Your head leaned against the tree behind you while shutting your eyes and furrowing your eyebrows. 

Oh, if only someone could love you the same way love was portrayed in books.

Before the scowl could grow permanent on your face, you felt light finger tips setting on the crease between your eyebrows. Instead of getting scared, you remained calm. You knew immediately who it was because there was only one person who would do that. The person sat down next to you and you turned to see them already smiling at you. 

To most, Luke Castellan was just the Hermes cabin counselor and best swordsman. But to you, he was a close friend and confidante. He has made it a habit to press softly against your scrunched eyebrows to prevent you from scowling further. It was somewhat sweet to you.

“What’s got you so bothered?” Luke asked, peering at you while tilting his head in a boyish manner. The look alone somehow made you blush. There was no denying that Luke was cute. You knew at least a handful of people at camp who would agree. It honestly surprised you that he was still single. Though you were somewhat relieved at that. For about a year now, you have had a little crush on the Hermes cabin counselor. It was not hard falling for his kind words and sweet actions.

“This is going to sound so stupid…” You let out a deep sigh.

“Oh, come on, since when have I judged you for being stupid?”

“Oh, so you do admit I’m stupid sometimes?”

“Yes, but is that really a problem, considering I find it endearing?” You hope he did not see the way your face heated up at his words. 

Little did you know, Luke did notice it, just like he has always noticed little details about you. Knowing he was the reason behind your pink-tinted cheeks filled his heart with joy. In fact, throughout the last year, it got to the point where he would grow very bold with his flirty jokes, disguising his feelings in between them. Honestly, he was surprised you had not caught up to the truth yet. 

“Okay, well, so many people have gotten together lately, and it’s got me a little bit annoyed.”

“Why?” Luke questioned.

“Because, I want that experience, you know? The teenage love thing. We already have a strange life, fighting creatures and going on quests that could kill us. I just want to at least experience an aspect of a normal teenage life,” you watched him nod and digest your words. “I didn’t want it, want it. But seeing everybody else experiencing it makes me wonder when it will be my turn, you know?” You sighed before adding, “To make matters worse, it seems like nobody is interested in me that way, so…”

Luke almost let out a chuckle of disbelief at your last remark. Oh, many Demigods found you cute. But if only you knew to look right under your nose. He has always been here. If only you could see him how he wanted you to and give him a chance.

Ever since the day Luke Castellan met you, he became a dreamer. During the night, every dream would be of you, while in the morning, he’d daydream of you until he would see you next. You filled in every thought, walking in his mind like it was your home. But even if it wasn’t your place, he’d still give you the keys without hesitation.

“So…you just want to experience teenage love?”

“Well, that, and ideally, to be loved too. I don’t just want some casual teenage love, but at the same time, I’m tired of waiting around.”

A lightbulb practically lit up inside Luke’s head as an idea popped up. The logical part of his mind was yelling that this was a bad idea, though the more chaotic side was pushing him to just give it a shot. Though, he spent little time contemplating.

“What if we make a pact? By the end of summer - so maybe in about a month - if you haven’t started dating anybody…let’s date each other,” Luke blurted out before his mind could talk him into backing out. It was stupid, and he knew it. But if that was one way to potentially date you, then so be it. 

Luke’s heart squeezed when he saw you completely frozen. He started panicking. Maybe he made it too obvious, and perhaps you didn’t like him in that way and were trying to find a way to back out. 

“I mean—just so the both of us could experience teenage love, you know? I think it will be great. We already get along well. We’re good friends. What could go wrong?” Luke tried in a more casual voice.

A lot could go wrong — you thought. A possible thing that could go wrong is that you would fall harder for Luke, and that feeling would absolutely destroy you when you two break up because he finally becomes genuinely interested in another girl. Or, it has you so hung up that you would confess to him, only for him to say that whatever you two had was just a pact. But Gods, your heart must actually be a fool to whisper to your brain, ‘I mean…at least you would no longer have to imagine how it would feel like to be his.’

“Sure,” you said before you could think twice about it. “Deal,” you grabbed his hand and shook it.

“Deal.”

Now…Luke just needed to do a couple more things in the meantime.

During the first week, you asked Clarisse to set you up with somebody. She introduced you to one of her friends, Dean. However, when you mentioned Dean to Luke, he clicked his tongue before warning you.

“I just think you deserve better, Y/N. I’ve known him for five years and have never seen him bring one person on a date twice. Last week alone, he went on a date with five people.” Since then, you haven’t spoken to Dean again, deciding that you don’t want to try and date a playboy.

Two weeks later, you asked this guy on a date. He came to the picnic you had set up with a bouquet of flowers. However, your smile faltered slightly when you realized they were the type of flowers you disliked. You shook the negative thoughts away. After all, it’s the effort that counts.

Things quickly went downhill as the guy started sneezing…a lot. His eyes were watering, and it seemed like he was borderline getting sick. You noticed him trying to stop sneezing. You could feel the guy trying—you really did. But the last straw broke when he turned away to sneeze mid-sentence but didn’t do it fast enough. 

Three days before the day that marked the day the pact would be able to begin, you attended a party hosted by the Hermes cabin. You were honestly done with trying to find someone to date. Perhaps, this pact thing was not such a bad idea after all, even if Luke might not like you as much as you like him. But at least you knew he would treat you well.

However, your numbers must have turned because somebody had walked up to you and struck up a conversation. With similar humor, your jokes bounced off each other’s, and you almost started crying from laughing at one point.

The sound of your laughter caught the attention of the Hermes cabin counselor. Luke could feel his lips slowly curling up into a smile at the sound of your giggles and laughter. He has always found the sound so endearing.

However, when he turned his gaze over at you, his eyebrows scrunched at the sight of you conversing with another Hermes boy — Oscar, who was also one of his friends. Luke was no longer paying attention to the conversation in his circle right now. His ears were busy trying to make out what that boy was saying to make you laugh like that. However, he almost left his friends when you touched Oscar’s arm while giggling at another one of his jokes.

You always tend to physically react to Luke’s jokes, from small touches while laughing to you playfully slapping his arm at his cheekier jokes. They never fail to make the tip of his ears grow red while his cheeks match the same color. Though Luke swore he had never seen you this way with anybody else. Hence, he was less than enthusiastic at the sight of you doing the same with another guy right now. 

You continued talking to Oscar, but your conversation stopped when somebody bumped into Oscar and spilled their drink onto him. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to trip…” the guy who bumped into Oscar apologized.

“Chris, it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” Oscar said, though a sigh quickly followed his words. “I’ll just go and wash the drink off, but I’ll talk to you in a bit, though?” Oscar looked at you. He smiled when you gave him a sweet nod.

“Sorry again, man,” Chris said before watching Oscar exit the cabin. He turned to you now. “So, how are you? Are you enjoying the party?” You answered Chris and started catching up with him. You and Chris met through Luke, though as the years went on you two became friends as well.

With your focus now on Chris, you did not notice the figure of the Hermes cabin counselor zooming past you two and outside, following a certain someone. However, your conversation with Chris didn’t last long because Clarisse swooped in and borrowed you from Chris. 

“So, I saw you talking to Oscar. Give me the details,” she said, dragging you down to sit beside her.

“He’s great! It’s so easy to talk to him and be around him.”

“Easier than with Luke?” you gave her a warning glare. You might have told her about your little crush on Luke, though you confessed that to her out of the belief that nothing would ever happen and that it would pass soon. Fast-forward to a year later, your feelings have not changed. 

“...No, but—”

“I’m telling you, Luke’s the best one for you.”

“He doesn’t like me like that.”

“If he doesn’t like you like that, he would have never made that pact with you." When you didn’t reply to her, Clarisse decided to bring something else up. “Alright, let’s move on and talk about something else then…another candidate. Dean told me you didn’t show up.”

“Show up to what?”

“He wrote you a note asking you to meet him?” the look on your face must have told Clarisse you had no idea what she was talking about. “He wanted to ask you out on a date in person after that talk you two had three weeks ago.”

“Where did he leave the note?”

“Apparently, he was planning to get me to give it to you, but he passed Luke on his way to me, who offered to give it to you.”

“Well, I never got the note. I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. Luke told me he’s quite a player.” Clarisse pondered on the information you just provided her. Dean was in no way a player. She knew he has only been on one date with another person at camp. However, the puzzle pieces quickly clicked for Clarisse and she leaned back with a smirk. 

Before you could question the look on Clarisse's face, Oscar came back to the party. 

“Well, if you don't mind, Oscar is back and I have a good feeling about him. So I'm going to go and talk to him,” you left Clarisse, walking in the direction Oscar did. Meanwhile, Clarisse only silently chuckled. She knew exactly what Luke was up to and it made her shook her head in amusement.

“Hey,” you touched Oscar’s arm, though the cheery grin on your face fell when he slightly flinched and shrugged your hand off. “Uhm, it’s good you got that stain off your shirt,” your eyebrows furrowed when you realized Oscar was not even making eye contact with you.

“So, tell me more about that quest you went on last year?” you asked, hoping to start a conversation again. However, Oscar quickly broke out the truth.

“Listen, you seem very lovely, but I don’t want to put myself in the middle of anything. I don’t want to cause any drama.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not the type of guy to steal girls my friends are talking to or having a thing with,” you scrunch your eyebrow in confusion. Just as you were going to question what Oscar was referring to, his eyes betrayed him and looked at someone. You followed his eyesight only to see Luke already looking at you while glancing between you and Oscar. Though realizing he had been caught, Luke looked away and back to his friends.

That was when everything made sense.

“Uh oh…” Chris’s voice snapped Luke from whatever his friends were saying. He followed his gaze to where Chris was looking, only to see you storming over.

“We need to talk,” Luke tried not to think too much about the way your hand felt on his wrist as you pulled him through the crowd and outside. As always, he blindly followed you to wherever you were taking him. 

You released Luke from your grip and stood with hands on your hips. You took a deep breath. 

“Are you kidding me? Have you been sabotaging me? You told me Dean plays around, but apparently he doesn’t. He also gave you a note to give to me, but you never did it. Then, Oscar, who I was getting along with, came back acting weird, wouldn’t even look me in the eye, and then told me we have a thing going on?”

Oh, Gods, you found out about what he has been doing.

“Listen…” Luke started off while rubbing his neck, though he was unsure what to say next because he was indeed guilty of every accusation you were throwing towards him. But how was he meant to trust fate that you would still be single by the time the pact would be able to come true?

So, he intervened in his own way. That included throwing away Dean’s note, having Chris spill a drink on Oscar to get the boy away from you so Luke could have a talk with him. He might have also suggested your date two weeks ago to get you flowers, despite knowing that the boy was allergic to flowers.

All he wanted to do was to make sure the pact could happen.

“Luke…why? You know I wanted this. I wanted to experience things and date someone.” You weren’t mad, but you were slightly disappointed and confused. You didn’t understand Luke’s intentions behind his actions.

However, Luke misinterpreted the look on your face. He thought you were genuinely upset, and that alone pinched Luke’s heart. He gulped at the idea that he might have disappointed you or made you sad. Screw waiting until the pact happens before confessing. What use would that be when you might somehow start hating him?

“...Maybe I wanted it to be me,” Luke confessed, watching your eyes widen. “You told me you wanted to experience teenage love and feel loved, and you’re tired of waiting until it’s your turn. But I have never told you what I want.” Luke took a step closer to you before starting.

“I want to be the one to take you on dates and give you your favorite flowers every single time. I want to be your personal hype man and be your shoulder to cry on if you ever need one. I want to sit with you by the lake while you read. I also want to read the books you read and those little annotations you make. I want to learn about the things you love and the things you don’t. I want to do things you love. I want to show and tell you just how amazing you are every single day. I want to let the feelings I have right now grow cause I really like the idea of loving you, and I want to get there someday.”

You stood there shell-shocked. This felt almost surreal, like something you read from one of your novels. You have always wished to have someone who practically walked out of a romance novel.

“I want you.”

And here he was, standing in front of you, begging for a chance to be yours.

“And I know you just want teenage love, and I could offer you that. But just know I’m also offering so much more, even if you don’t treat the pact the same way as I do and will only view it as a casual relationship. But I suggested that pact and chased all those guys away because I like you a lot, Y/N. And in hindsight, it was stupid and selfish. But I did it because I felt like it was the only way I could have you.”

“I like you too, Luke,” the words slipped out so easily like they were always meant to be said. “I want you to be my teenage love. I want you too.” You’ve been walking around asking when it would be your turn. If only you had paid attention and looked closer instead, you might have noticed he felt the same way. You wanted everything he has spoken of and be just the same for him — to be there for him and learn to love the things he does.

“And I look forward to every single one of the things you’ve told me, and be the same for you. I really can’t wait for it. However, there is one thing I really want right now,” you said as you walked closer to him, one hand taking his own into yours.

“What?” Luke rasped out, looking so tentatively at you. Gods, whatever wish that spills from your lips this second will have him scour the world for it—whatever guarantees your happiness.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Oh, you could ask him for a thousand kisses, and he would give you a million.

Luke’s cheeks grew rosy at your request. He stepped closer, tucking your hair behind your ear without breaking eye contact. 

“Can I?” He whispered in a honey-like tone, and you knew right then that if he kept talking to you in that voice, you’d do absolutely anything he asked.

“Mhm,” your quiet hum granted Luke permission to his next addiction. Without hesitation, Luke attached your lips together with both hands caressing your face tenderly. In return, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled you both closer until your bodies were flushed against one another. Slowly but surely, you also tangled your fingers in his curls. Luke almost immediately melted against your touch, sighing in contentment against the kiss.

Luke was convinced this was now his new favorite thing to do. He wondered if you could taste it through the kiss—his feelings and borderline infatuation for you. Either way, he intended on making every kiss like this: wholeheartedly and as if it would be your last. 

Now, if you were to ask Luke Castellan how to get the person of your dreams, here’s what he’d advise you:

Step 1. Be stupid and propose a dating pact (tick).

Step 2. Chase away every other potential candidate (tick).

Step 3. Confess (tick).

Step 4. Fulfill all those promises you have made about loving the person (To be continued...But, he’s intending to do this for as long as you’ll let him).

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[welcometomyoasis]

Firefighter neighbour! Mingyu headcanons

Synopsis: A series of headcanons in which Mingyu is a firefighter, but also your neighbour.  Mingyu x gn! reader | firefighter au, fluff | 1.3k words | warnings: fires, slight nudity (Mingyu goes shirtless more than once), slightly suggestive, injuries (cat scratches and bruises), food (mention of cookies) A/n: Is this too long for a headcanon? I have no idea i got carried away. anyway happy valentines day :)

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who is a firefighter, and also your hot, sexy nextdoor neighbour.

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who has had his eyes on you ever since you moved in. He thinks you’re the most alluring person he’s seen. But alas, he has the worst luck and for a while, he had shifts at odd hours of the day, making it virtually impossible for you to meet him. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who still can’t stop himself from falling for you despite having never met you. You’re literally the sweetest person. You know he’s a firefighter from the times you see his laundry hanging in the corridor outside his apartment. You know he works weird hours. So you often leave baskets of cookies or food outside his apartment with a note telling him to eat and rest well.

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who swoons at the thought of finally meeting you, dreaming about all the possibilities of a romantic encounter. For example, maybe you’ll need help carrying something and he’ll swoop in to save the day. Therefore, allowing him to meet you and to show off his large biceps at the same time.

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu whose romantic meet cute fantasy obviously doesn’t come true. When you finally meet, it was in the wee hours of the morning. He had an early shift. His alarm went off blaring for a couple of minutes straight because he couldn’t wake up. Then, he kept tripping over things while rushing around getting ready, and banging into all the cabinets in his house. Since he was making a ruckus and you heard cursing through the walls, you ended up knocking at his door to see if he was okay.

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who felt so bad seeing you at the door, and even worse that this would be how your first encounter would go. He was cursing at himself when he saw you looking at him with your adorable face scrunched in concern. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who doesn’t feel so bad anymore when you immediately start to fuss over him, asking him if he was alright and if he needed any help. After his nod of consent, you’re practically running your hands all over him to make sure he didn’t seriously injure himself.

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who flushes like crazy at the close contact, leaving you to ask him if he has gotten a fever. All he can do in that moment is to sputter his name and ask if you wanted to meet up some time. You know, as thanks for all the food you give him.

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who finally leaves the house, late but extremely giddy that you agreed. He got scolded by fire captain Seungcheol for his tardiness though he didn’t care one bit. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who brings you out for a cup of coffee when he has the day off. He’s squealing inside like a teenage girl, excited to be spending time with you.

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who only appears to be intimidating because of his height and bulk. In reality, as you get to know him, he’s just a shy, adorable, easily excitable golden retriever puppy. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who always yells out your name excitedly across the corridor as he bounds up to you. Corridor manners be damned, he’s so happy to see you. You’ve become fast friends and meet up whenever you can. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who is one of the most selfless, kind people you know. He decided to be a firefighter to save lives, and that is such a noble thing to do. The only thing is that he somehow ends up always being on call when there is a cat stuck in a tree. He ends up with scratches all over because the cat will hiss at him when he coos at them.

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who is in fact, a great firefighter despite his fear of heights. When there is an emergency, he’s down the firepole in an instant gearing up. Plus he’s so big and strong that the task of running headfirst into danger always goes to him. Just don't ask him to do anything related to running up the ladders. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who ends up with many injuries from the job regardless of whether he was only saving the cat or running into a burning building.

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who also ends up being injured because in reality he is a giant clutz who will trip over his own shadow. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who sulks and whines to you about how much he hates getting hurt and how much the antiseptic stings as you’re bandaging him up. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who is the butt of a lot of jokes from his fellow firefighters when he appears the next day covered in your hello kitty plasters. He doesn’t pay them any attention though. The most important thing was that you were the one who tended to his wounds. Plus, you did kiss it to make him feel better. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who is actually also a tease. Once you get closer, he realises that maybe, you like him in the way he likes you. Don’t think he doesn’t notice the way you ogle at him from a distance, your eyes roaming over his biceps and build. His abs are out in full force, sweat cascading down them. When you watch him lift weights and work out, you’re definitely thinking what else can he do with those arms? And omg he has amazing stamina… 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who decides that he likes seeing your flustered face. He purposefully works out without a shirt in the corridor whenever he knows you are at home. He hangs up his laundry shirtless. He sends you a wink and smirks when he sees the steam rising from your head. He knows you are drooling over him, and he wants nothing else than to see you losing your mind over him. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who becomes a shy, whining mess as soon as you flirt back. He’s hiding his head in his hands, pouting about how you’re not supposed to flirt back and call him pretty. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who is awoken to the smell of smoke and the sound of a smoke detector blaring in the middle of the night one day. His heart drops when it sinks in that the sound and smell was coming in from your apartment. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who literally bursts through the door in nothing but his pants because your safety is his first priority. He has to save you. He’ll regret it if he doesn’t. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who is stumped when he sees that you’re actually okay. You’re only coughing a bit from the smoke but other than that, there was no real danger. He stares in shock as you turn to him, with a little bit of flour smeared on your cheek, all shy and sheepish that your latest batch of cookies got burnt. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who is so relieved that you’re okay. There were tears brimming at the corners of his eyes for a moment there. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who ignores your cries that you need to open a window to let the room ventilate. He rushes forward, pulling you into a very very tight embrace. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who sobs at how relieved he is. He pulls away and then instantly smashes his lips down against yours. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who conveys all his feelings of relief, affection and love he has for you through the kiss.

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who relishes in the feeling of your lips against his. He can taste the cookie dough that you snuck a bite out off. He can feel the moisture of the butter on your lips. He melts into your embrace when you get over your shock and start to move your lips along with his. 

🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who kisses first and then confesses his feelings for you after. You both end up in a fit of giggles as you cuddle on your couch after the excitement that you just had.  🔥. Firefighter! Mingyu who is now not only a firefighter and your nextdoor neighbour, but also your hot, sexy boyfriend.

taglist: @weird-bookworm @wonijinjin @babyleostuff @wishing-fieshes @kwanienies @mayashu @megseungmin @porridgesblog @haecien @mirxzii @scoupsofcherries @eightlightstar @brownsugarbaybee @zaggprincess2 @nonononranghaee

[catcze]

CRYING OVER THE WRIO ANGST,,, A GOOD ENDING WHERE HE FINDS READER PLS I BEG OF U 😭

OKAY 😭

"The snowstorm is getting worse," says Albedo, clear disapproval in his voice as he trails after Wriothesley, a hand raised to shield his eyes from the pelting snow. "I suggest returning back to my workstation, otherwise we very well could freeze to death."

Freeze to death.

The phrase has Wriothesley's own blood chilling in his veins, as he wonders if that's the fate that had befallen you. His fists clench in his pockets, the leather of his gloves cracking from the grip. It's been two days already since he's rushed over to dragonspine ever since your disappearance— two days since he's been combing the entirety of this side of the mountain in his desperate search for you. Two days of barely fighting back against the sheer cold and the frost bite, two days of seeing no sign of you at all.

Two days of Wriothesley being in complete, abject terror at the thought that he might have to leave here never knowing what happened to you.

Albedo sighs behind him, rummaging in his pocket for some warming bottles. He slips them into the pocket of Wriothesley's coat quietly. "I have to return now," he says. "Please try not to lose yourself out here, too."

And then he is gone, leaving the Duke alone with his thoughts.

Wriothesley braves the snowstorm for several more hours, shouting your name until his voice cracks, hoping Barbatos would miraculously carry it across the wind to you. It's only when his legs are starting to give out after trekking miles and miles through the snow does he settle down in a small cave, collapsing against the wall. He groans, body practically deadweight, and rummages in his pockets for one of those warming bottles which he quickly smashes on the ground.

As the heat drives the chill from his body, Wriothesley tries to ignore the fatigue in his bones, sighing. It's just as he's about to take some rations that he hears it: someone calling his name over the roar of the snowstorm.

It doesn't take long for him to find out who it is. Within seconds, the Chief Alchemist is appearing at the entrance of his shelter, hair frazzled and coat haphazard, the most frantic Wriothesley has seen him in his short time of knowing him.

"Mister Wriothesley—" he takes a deep breath of air, "In the workshop— we found—"

And Wriothesley is on his feet before he knows it, practically running out of the cave. There's a flicker of hope in his chest as he follows Albedo's lead back to his workshop, just short of sprinting the rest of the way. From the very depths of his heart, he finds himself praying to whichever gods are bothering to listen to please, please let it be you. To let you be safe, be alright. For you to be able to envelop him in a nice, warm hug when he sees you because gods does he need one after the turmoil the past few days have put him through.

He practically tears through the snowy landscape, feet skidding to a halt only when he's at the mouth to Albedo's remote workshop, and his heart stops, then restarts, pounding like the beat of a thousand drums.

"Wrio!" You gasp, smiling widely. You're on a stool, a thick blanket wrapped around your shoulders, feet submerged in a pale of warm water, and alive.

Wriothesley rushes forward, body acting on nothing but instinct to get close to you, to hold you, to make sure that this isn't some twisted dream and he's gonna wake up any second in a snow pile, shivering like a wet dog. "Hi," you murmur quietly when your hand entwines with his, and he breaks, falling to his knees and burying his face into your lap, bathing in your warmth because this is real, this isn't a dream, and he's found you again.

[literaila]

house rules (roommate au)

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary:

"satoru keeps an infinite amount of space between him and everyone else."

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking, slight angst, mentions of tampons (terrifying), suggestive comments, absurdly long, alternate universe characters

a/n: to all of my frequent readers--i have never claimed to be sane :)

*

in the broad spectrum of things, opening the door in nothing but your bathrobe and a ridiculously bright orange clay mask is not the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you. 

oh no, puking on your first ever date at seventeen definitely takes the cake. finding your seventh-grade friends bent over a table reading your diary--in which you wrote many explicit things about them, not to mention, yourself--might be even worse. riding your bike into the pond by your house in front of all of your--much older, much cooler--neighbors, even. picking up your coffee in your favorite cafe and spilling it, which was not only devastating but humiliating because you managed to spill your mocha on every other drink waiting there (effectively banning you from returning) still haunts your dreams. even walking down the street and trying to pretend like you didn't just trip over air in front of every single one of your peers still lingers in your mind, waiting for a moment of peace before it attacks.

you're used to the feeling of dread in your stomach and the nights spent thinking about all of these moments, like a scrapbook in your mind--just there to make your skin itch. 

but, it does get a little bit worse when you realize the man you've opened the door to is none other than a potential roommate; and when you remember that you forgot he was coming. 

or when you have to pull your robe tighter around your abdomen just to make sure that you don't give this man a show before you even shake his hand. 

"is this apartment 214?" he asks, looking right at you--and your legs, naturally--with a confused grin on his face, but grin nonetheless. 

so immediately you slam the door. 

you turn around, with wide eyes, face crackling from the movement, and check your phone frantically. yes, it is the 18th, and yes it is 11:32, which means he was supposed to be here over a half-an-hour ago. 

and also you've just slammed the door in his--satoru gojo, the only person who's even bothered to respond to your ad about an available room--face. 

oh, fuck. 

so you groan, refraining from knocking your head against the door just in case he can still hear, and open it again. a little bit less this time. 

"gojo?" you ask, voice rough and slightly irritated. 

"the one and only. i'm pretty sure this is the right apartment," he says, and you don't fail to notice his tone of voice as he continues, "but if it's not, then fate must've brought us together."

you narrow your eyes, hoping that he doesn't notice the specks of dust that ebb from your skin. "you're late." 

"and you're less than dressed." 

"i thought you stood me up." 

he snorts. "so you started an impromptu spa day? or was this supposed to be another perk of the apartment?" 

you glower, opening the door a bit more just so he can see the fury in your eyes. "i don't think someone who doesn't even text to cancel has any right to judge my self-care practices." 

"i didn't cancel. i'm here." 

"you're late." 

"so i've heard..." he drawls. 

you blink at him, and he blinks back--or at least, you're assuming. because he's wearing sunglasses even though it's cloudy outside. 

and he's aggressively taller than you. he might not even fit through the door. 

you don't look away, waiting for him to break. which he does because you're well-practiced in men of his standard. "so, are you going to let me in?" he asks. 

"are you going to apologize for being late?" 

"i'm sorry that i'm late," he says, immediately, with an air of fake sincerity. "i got stuck in traffic. i would've called, but my phone died." 

"really?" 

the smile reappears, as if from magic. "no, but did it make you want to let me in?" 

you glare even harder--which is tough, honestly--and begin to shut the door. until your plan is interrupted by a foot. "excuse you," you say, to this man, who you already hate. and his stupid chelsea boots.

"look, i'm sorry. i'm trying to ease the tension--because honestly i wasn't expecting to get an eyeful this early in the morning, and you seem uncomfortable--" 

you slam the door against his foot again. 

gojo doesn't even wince. "and also, you're, like, the only person with a room in the middle of october. and i... could really use a place to put my bed. so, can i look around, at least? i'll keep my eyes closed every time i'm facing your direction. i can even give you my rent money today if it works out."  

something in his voice already implies that it will. 

and, well. despite your very short robe and your very dry face mask, he is the only person who's even inquired about the room. and you desperately need a roommate; someone to clean up with, someone to make coffee for, someone to argue about toilet paper direction with, and, most importantly, someone who has money and can keep you from getting evicted from the only place you've lived since high school. 

so you sigh. think about moving back home and suffering at the will of your parents. 

it takes about three seconds to say, "will you wait out here while i get dressed?" 

an eyebrow peeks out from behind the sunglasses, as white as his hair. "how long?" 

"ten minutes. maybe twenty." 

"do you have a chair?" he asks and moves his foot from the door. 

and so you close it without answering and rush to your room to find something that's still clean. 

there's nothing that you'll actually wear, but satoru gojo doesn't deserve your fresh appearance anyway. he can have day-old wrinkled jeans and a t-shirt you got when you were twelve. 

as slow as humanly possible, you remove the face mask, trying to keep your hair out of the way, and think about putting on makeup--which you probably would have done, had you remembered he was even coming--but decide not to. 

in reality, it only takes about seven minutes for you to look mostly presentable and get rid of the mugs you left cluttered around the dining room table. 

but you wait an extra four, just to mess with him. 

and then, eleven minutes later, you open the door again to the man leaning against the wall, playing what looks like candy crush on his phone. 

you attempt a fake smile. 

"hey," he says, with that same grin, "you have clothes." 

you drop your face. "i will close this." 

he isn't phased, just pockets his phone and leans in to look behind you at the entryway. 

you roll your eyes, but open the door anyway, and usher him in. he rubs his feet against your welcome mat and toys with a keychain you have hanging from a coat rack, then looks to you, like he's waiting for a tour. which, you guess, he is.

"there's only two rooms, one bath. it's not very big, so if you need a lot of space..." 

"i can manage," he says, and follows you as you walk into the kitchen. "did you decorate?" 

"um... sort of." 

"sort of?" 

"i, uh, had a roommate before and he bought most of the decorations before i moved in. but i've added a few things. i'm not picky about aesthetics." 

gojo hums. "why'd he move out?" 

"we were together and he cheated on me," you say, flatly, as you have been for the past month and a half. "and then told me i couldn't use his netflix account anymore after i broke up with him." 

gojo merely blinks and gestures toward the wall behind you. "so you didn't buy that dancing frog thing?" 

you turn around, rolling your eyes. "no. i forgot that was there." 

"okay, good, 'cause that's hideous." 

you snort, but nod your head and walk down the hallway. gojo's footsteps follow you as you open the door to his potential bedroom. "it's the bigger of the two," you tell him, "but the bathroom is next to mine." 

"did you change rooms?" 

"what?" 

"when your ex moved out. why take the smaller one?" 

"oh," you rub a finger against the wall, rubbing dust off of it. "it was his room before we got together. and then we shared my current room. this was his man... den?" you try, shaking your head. "gaming room? slaughterhouse?" 

gojo snorts. 

"what?" 

"oh, nothing," he says, airy like he's teasing you. "just curious."

you step back so he can walk around, check the carpets for stains, or look for drywall you could've hidden a body behind. but he doesn't, only watches you as you furrow your brows. 

"you're not going to look around?" 

"it looks like the pictures." 

"yeah, but what if there are, like, bugs in the carpet? blood on the walls?" 

"are there bugs in the carpet?" he asks. "blood on the walls?" 

"not that i know of..." 

"great, then it's perfect," he says, and steps out of the room again, whistling as he goes. 

this time, you follow him, like he's the one giving the tour. 

he pauses at the door a couple of feet down. "this your room?" 

"yes." 

"can i see?" 

you scowl. "no. what do you mean 'it's perfect?'"

"i mean, i'd like to live here. it's nice. besides the frog." 

you lean against the wall, trying to inspect him for any mechanical parts. is this a ploy? some joke? "you've barely been here five minutes." 

"twenty with all the time i waited outside..." 

"you can't just take one look and say 'yup, this is good.'" 

"can't you?" he asks, challenging. 

"no." 

gojo's grin seems to widen, impossibly. "well, i'm not picky." 

and somehow you doubt that. 

but you don't get the chance to tell him that, or anything else, because he leans against the wall, still smiling at you, and asks, "so, are we roommates now?" 

"you haven't even seen the lease. or heard about the house rules." 

"house rules?" he repeats, dubiously. like you're making this up (which you are). 

"yes." 

"such as?" 

"no..." you pause, 'cause this is a fickle argument. something about his stupid smile makes you want to argue with him. or maybe it's the hair. or the sunglasses. "murdering anyone in the apartment." 

he laughs, unexpectedly, and sighs. "well, i guess i'll take my murdering someplace else." 

"and... you can't leave any utensils in the sink." 

"okay." 

"and i'm not cleaning up any beard shavings, or sharing my tampons with you, or any people you have over." 

"these are very extensive," he says, unserious. "anything else?" 

"i..." your brows furrow. "no hogging the bathroom. hot water is fickle. and you have to recycle." 

"it might be challenging, but we'll figure it out." 

"these are not negotiable." 

he only continues to smile at you. 

eventually, after staring back with a frown that feels slightly permanent for more than a minute, you sigh again. at least you won't have to worry about moving out. 

"fine. you still want to live here?" 

"mmhmm." 

"okay," and you stick your hand out for him to shake like this is a business transaction. 

and it seems that you'll be seeing a lot more of that grin in the future. 

*

living with satoru gojo is not... well, it's not hard. he's a normal enough roommate. 

he pays his rent on time and doesn't touch the coffee you make in the morning most days--coughing when he does. he man spreads on the couch and watches movies way too loud and doesn't hang his bag up at the door, preferring to, instead, set it on the counter like a maniac. he whistles when he walks, and wears his stupid sunglasses 80% of the time, and grins at you when you're irritated, and, honestly, he's not really half bad. 

he doesn't leave any huge messes for you to clean up (mostly because he doesn't use the kitchen or the dining table ever). he doesn't invite people over that keep you up all night (because he's gone most nights). and, actually, he keeps the bathroom quite clean (even if he takes up well more than half of the shower space with his weird face creams and deep conditioning treatments). 

but satoru gojo is hard. 

it's not what he does, but rather who he is. with his infuriating good looks--taking up most of the fair share for the rest of the population--and his subtle charm, which, if you didn't know who he was, might actually work on you, and his morning voice and his messy hair and just the way he lives. 

like breathing is just what he's supposed to be doing. like he doesn't need to worry about a thing because nothing should matter if he decides he doesn't want it to. 

so easygoing and naturally intuitive and far too exhausting for you. 

because, as a fatal flaw of your own, you love to mess with him. somedays you'll hope he shows up just so you have someone to fight with. just so you'll be irritated instead of stressed, frustrated instead of exhausted. 

it's kind of addicting, in a way. and masochistic, but you've never claimed to be completely sane. 

and honestly, gojo's just asking for it. 

after a mere month of living with his aura around, you come to expect his cockiness. you live to take him down a notch.

so when he's up this early in the morning, whistling like it's his god-given right, you scowl at him just as he enters the room. 

"woah," he says, sliding on a bar stool in front of you. "starting early this morning?" 

"you're banned from talking to me until noon." 

"is this about the ice cream i ate? cause there was only a little left..." 

"no it's--" you pause, frowning at him. "you ate my ice cream?" 

he lays his entire torso on the counter, pathetically. "i was dying, okay? low blood sugar was going to kill me, and i couldn't see anything else but that ice cream and it wasn't even very good anyway, so, really, i was saving you from having to endure the rest of it." 

"you ate my ice cream?" you repeat. 

"i'll buy you more. a better kind. and then you'll understand that i was doing you a favor." 

"i might kill you." 

"i thought we banned homicide from the apartment." 

"i was going to eat that," you whine, shoving his hands away from trying to grab your mug. 

he smiles, too bright for so early in the morning. "yesterday you told me sweets weren't an appropriate breakfast." 

you scoff. "yeah, cause that's all you eat. you need a green smoothie or something in the morning just to keep your heart beating for the rest of the day."

"my heart beats very well, thank you. wanna feel?" 

you roll your eyes and sigh into your mug. "i'll be expecting three pints of ice cream as an apology later tonight." 

gojo has already moved on, typing away on his phone, probably to some groupies he manipulated into loving him. "i can't. it's flip night at laurent's tonight, and suguru has already threatened me into coming." 

"why did you say laurent's like i'm supposed to know what you mean?" 

"laurent's," he repeats, looking at you.

you blink. 

"the bar?" he questions, like you're crazy. 

"okay, sorry, i don't exclusively hang out at bars filled with frat boys." 

"it's very sophisticated,” he corrects, his frat boy nature very obvious. “i mean, i frequent there." 

you laugh. 

"clearly you've never been." 

"i'm still expecting ice cream." 

he sits back in his chair. "i have class all day." 

"like you've never skipped a class." 

"encouraging ditching?" he asks, mock appalled. "what kind of roommate are you?" 

"the kind that doesn't steal her roommate's food. just get one of your servants to pick it up.”

gojo waves a hand at you, and that statement, apparently. and then he types another thing into his phone—to said servants you assume—and grins again. his face must’ve missed the feeling. "how about i buy you a drink instead? you can come with me tonight. meet my friends. maybe make some of your own." 

"haha," you cross your arms. "if they're as bad as you, then i'm good." 

"you'd probably love them. they also like to torment me, even though i'm pretty and perfectly nice to them." 

"i seriously doubt that." 

his eyes--oh, yes, this early in the morning he skips the sunglasses--sparkle like gems. "i have to play wingman for suguru, but it probably won't take long. you can mingle. meet someone. i think you could use a way to relieve some of that stress." 

"oh, you mean the stress that you cause?" 

gojo grins and you realize that you've fallen into his trap. "i'm willing to help out whenever you like," he says, deviously, "you just haven't asked yet, sweetheart." 

"nor ever will," you grind out.

gojo hums and taps his fingers against the countertop. the two of you stare at each other, grin matching scowl, and eventually, he loses the contest. "so, can i plan to steal you away from eternal solitude at six?" he asks.

and just because he's right--in his weird, satoru gojo way--you nod. it might be nice to get out of the house; and meet people other than the lost freshman at work. and because you know that gojo will continue to bother you about it otherwise. he’s a very difficult person.

as if proving it, he grins all pleased with himself, so you add, "but you're buying all of my drinks." before he can get too ahead of himself. 

*

it's not nearly loud enough in this bar. as soon as you walk in, you're sure of it. 

because even with a band up on the stage, singing about loving someone or money or drugs, you can still hear gojo as he flirts with every single living thing in his twenty-foot vicinity. 

he's got his grin on, styled his hair all fancy, and his clothes are signature in the way that you've probably seen him wear the same thing fifty times. maybe in a row. 

but the people in this bar don't care. no, they flirt back like they already know who satoru gojo is. and maybe they do. 

you don't really care, but you do have to drag him along so he can show you where you're supposed to sit and tell you the names of his friends before you get drunk enough to forget. 

it takes three minutes of trailing after gojo like a lost puppy to remember that you hate going out. that you hate everything about your so-called roommate and you should've shoved his invitation down the drain along with him. 

as if gojo can hear this thought, he peeks over his shoulder, smirking at you. "enjoying the view?" he asks, and you try to trip him by stepping on his heel. 

unfortunately, he only swings around, walking backward through the crowd like it's going to part for him. 

oh, wait. it does. 

you frown at him. 

"what? you don't like the music?" he pouts because that would personally offend him, of course. 

"where are we going? i think we've passed that table four times already." 

"i have to say hi," he says like this is obvious. "it's rude to just walk into some place without greeting everyone." 

"do you own this bar?" 

"what? no." 

"then find your friends so we can sit down," you grumble, trying not to lose him in the sea of people. it's unlikely that you've ever seen a bar this packed. more like a club, honestly, but you wouldn't put it past gojo to lie. 

eventually, he does lead you to a table, announcing, with a flourish. "don't worry, everyone, i'm here," while he bows--because of course he does. "and," he adds, "i brought a stowaway." 

you peek around his shoulder to meet three people, all staring at him with the same unamused expression. one, suguru--from the many photo albums and 'trips down memory lane' gojo has bombarded you with--gives you a little wave. the other two just continue to stare at gojo. 

"everyone, this is y/n, my favorite roommate. y/n, that one is suguru," he says, pointing towards him, "which you already know. the short one is shoko, and the blonde one is--" 

"nanami," you cut in, "hey." 

gojo frowns, looking between the two of you. "you know each other?" 

"we have analytics together," you answer, sliding in to sit across them, next to gojo, naturally. "i usually cheat off of his notes." 

"she gets me coffee," nanami adds, like this information is imperative. 

gojo grins again. "why didn't you say anything nanamin?" 

"because i didn't realize." 

"who else could i have been talking about? do you know several pretty girls named y/n? you a player?" 

nanami has a very familiar frown on his face, and is about to say something when suguru seems to kick gojo under the table. "satoru, i told you to stop referring to other people as 'players.'"

gojo merely rolls his eyes. "can't fight the truth," he says.

you almost smile. almost. but your eyes drift over to shoko, who sighs. "how'd you get stuck with this one?" she asks, not harsh, but not quite soft. 

"he promised me alcohol." 

she nods knowingly. 

speaking of, you turn towards him. "you and i both know there's only one reason i'm here." 

gojo flicks your forehead, but stands up. "i'll be right back," he says, "don't miss me too much." 

and you all watch as he walks away, conveniently stopping at least four times to talk to several different people. 

you groan. "he's not coming back is he?" 

"he will," suguru says, not quite reassuringly. "probably. in an hour or so." 

you cover your eyes with your hands and listen as the three of them laugh at you. 

*

it probably is an hour or two later that you see gojo again. 

you'd fallen into smooth conversation with his friends, talking about classes, and dancing, and the fact that you all shared a common enemy. it was easy enough, talking to them, like ripples in a pond. but surely if gojo had stuck around, it would've been more of a tsunami. you could see the appeal--at least for someone like your roommate. they all seemed responsible enough. 

but shoko, after a twenty-second lull in conversation, decided she was better off drinking at home, and nanami quickly agreed. watching them, compared to gojo, disappear into the crowd was a different experience. 

you bite your cheek unnervingly, wondering if it made you a bad roommate to want to let gojo suffer here alone and walk home by himself. 

suguru pats you on the shoulder when he stands up a moment later, brushing his pants. "i'll go find satoru," he says, softly. you feel that same irritation when you realize that gojo had probably lied to you about coming here for suguru. it was almost infinitely more times likely that suguru had come here for him. "do you want me to tell him you went home?" 

"how likely is it that he'll go home with someone else and it won't matter if i wait for him anyway?" 

the dark-haired man considers this with a sly grin on his face. "if i tell him you left, he'll find someone to cling to. but if you're here he'll go home with you. probably drunk, though." 

you run a hand through your hair, waving him off. "it's fine. i'll wait, then. but tell him that the homicide clause doesn't apply to outside the apartment." 

suguru laughs, not questioning this, and walks away. 

you sit there, toying with a glass someone had left behind, watching the people around you dance like it really was a club. with absolutely no one watching. not even god, evidently.

as usual, gojo lied--even though you hadn't really believed him when he said this place was sophisticated. the clear air of stale beer and vomit is enough to prove that.

you almost laugh bitterly, but then a mop of white hair appears in the chair next to you, and his grin is wider, larger than you'd remembered. 

how long had that taken? 

"hello hello, roomie," he sings, leaning close to you. he moves his chair, shuffling across the floor so that he's near enough to touch. "i heard you were threatening me again." 

"you could hear that over the sighs of your fan club?" 

gojo giggles, like he's in on the joke. his breath falls on your face. "i like it when you tell me you're going to murder me, you know." 

"of course you do. how much did you drink?" 

"it's not the quantity," he whispers, "it's the quality." 

"your friends told me you could get drunk off of hand sanitizer." 

gojo leans back, his long legs knocking against yours. "are they spreading those rumors again?"

you kick his foot away from yours but don't say anything. his eyes seem somehow wider right now, even behind his dark shades. almost like you could see them. 

you blink, and gojo does it back. his lashes fluttering just enough to tell.

it almost makes you smile. laugh a little bit at his innocence--especially right now, when he's clearly not himself--some more unperturbed version of who he normally is (if that's even possible). he probably wouldn't even remember if you did laugh at him. but you refrain anyway. 

gojo gasps suddenly. "oh! let's go to the store. you want ice cream, right?" his elbow slides onto the table as he rests his chin on a hand. 

you kick his foot again. "i wanted a drink," you correct, "but apparently you got distracted." 

"'s not my fault," he almost slurs, sadly. 

"are you ready to go home?" 

"i'm ready to leave. so we can get your ice cream. want to share a spoon?" his grin is unabashed. you could tell him that he is a vile, disgusting creature right now and he would probably agree. 

you don't, for whatever reason. 

"i don't think anywhere's open, and i don't want to drag you around while you're this drunk." 

he taps your thigh with a finger. "hey. i'll have you know that i am a very proficient walker." 

"oh, really?" 

"learned when i was a kid and everything." 

"wow, gojo, i'm very impressed," you deadpan, and look around. "do you need to say goodbye to suguru?" 

he frowns. then points to himself. "gojo," he repeats, and into the crowd, "suguru." 

like he's an actual toddler.

you shake your head and stand up, still looking. "can you text him?" 

"i guess," he mumbles, getting out his phone and almost dropping it. he frowns like this is deeply upsetting. 

so you grab it from him. "what's your passcode?" 

"one one one one." you look at him with a brow raised. "cause i'm number one," he answers, pridefully. 

you scoff, but look through his texts anyway, and tell suguru that you're taking him home--and never ever coming out with him again--and then hand it back to gojo. 

he smiles at you. you roll your eyes. 

then he grabs your hand, and begins to pull. "c'mon before they find us," he says, and it doesn't make any sense. 

but were you really expecting it to? 

*

perhaps the aftermath of drunk gojo is even more entertaining than the actual thing. 

shoko hadn't been kidding when she said he was the worst drunk--and even worse when hungover. 

how do you know this? oh, because you woke up at one in the afternoon--perfectly respectable for a saturday--and as soon as you dared to even open your door gojo was already groaning about the noise. so you slam it a little as you leave. 

there's a grunt, like a dying cat, and two minutes later he is walking into the kitchen with slits for eyes and cotton for hair. you're not sure what he's wearing--some video game shirt--but it's wrinkled enough to match your roommate's appearance. disheveled and slightly peeved, he's almost glaring at you--like he's capable of such a thing.

you try not to laugh. 

"where's the bacon?" he asks, almost slipping off of the counter as he leans on it. his hands rubbing at his eyes. 

"sorry?" 

"wheres the bacon?" he repeats, his voice a different register this morning. "i need emergency bacon." 

"so make some. there's a pan and probably a package in the fridge." 

he whines, falling against the counter again. his natural habitat. "i can't make it, i'm dying. you really want your terminally ill roommate to cook for himself?" 

"i want my overdramatic roommate to act like an adult for a change." 

he blows a raspberry, and his face is hidden beneath the tile of your table. you can only see his hair, which looks surprisingly soft for his state. 

"did you lose some pigment in your hair?" 

gojo snaps up, immediately, gasping. he pulls a strand so he can look at it, blinking rapidly. his panic quickly fades, and he blows the strand out of his eyes. "it's just dirty." 

"from what?" 

"i forgot to buy new bedsheets," he grumbles, once again hiding his face. 

"your bedsheets are dying your hair?" you ask, with a raised brow. 

"they're dirty," he repeats, rolling his eyes as he sits up. "i need to go to the store." 

"um..." you look at him as he slumps against his own body, feeling greatly concerned for his survival abilities. "you buy new bedsheets?" you confirm, "instead of washing them?" 

he waves a hand, blowing you, and your clearly audaious sentence away. "bacon," he says, flatly. 

you roll your eyes. "pan," you point, "stove." 

gojo looks like he might start crying.

and it might be his state or the fact that you don't think you've ever seen him like this--in the month you've known him--all lost and confused and a little bit ruffled at the edges. gojo's snark is usually in its top form when you see him in the morning. 

so, just this once, you grab a pan, and turn on the burner. 

"i'll be expecting payment for my time," you say, as you grab the bacon from the fridge. 

and maybe you get your first real smile from your roommate. 

*

you're lying on the couch reading a book when he appears, swarming like a fly. 

"hello, roommate," he says, uncharacteristically pleasant, and then he sits on your legs. you try to kick him, but it proves futile because apparently he's a giant, so you wiggle your way out from under him and sit up, frowning. 

"don't you have a room?" you ask. 

"i could ask you the same thing," gojo tries to tickle your feet, but you move them away before he can. your frown turns into more of a glare. "what?" he asks, "we can't hang out?" 

"no." 

gojo pouts. "but we're roommates," he says as if it's an explanation. like being roommates binds your souls and forever intertwines the two of you. 

"we are roommates because i had an extra room and you had money. that doesn't seem like thrilling grounds for friendship." 

"well, how about the fact that i let you use my hair dryer the other day?" he lays down on the other side of the couch, smirking at you. "that's a friendly thing to do." 

"that's the polite thing to do. i'm trying to train you. speaking of which..." you point towards the floor, "down boy." 

he takes off his sunglasses, throwing them on the coffee table--which probably explains the broken mug pieces you found in the trash the other day--and lays back with his arms behind his head. his eyes are closed. "i can't be trained." 

"clearly." 

you sigh and relax in your corner of the couch, picking up your book again. his presence lurks like a nightmare, but, you figure, eventually, he'll get bored. 

you just can't entertain him. it's like the advice you'd give to a kid being bullied: they only care about your reaction... 

as if proving your point, after twenty-seven seconds of silence, he opens one eye, peeking at you. "whatcha reading?" 

"a book." 

he plucks it right out of your hands, inspecting the cover. how he got across the couch in 0.2 seconds, you don't know. 

"what is this?" he asks, snickering a little. "word porn?" 

you take it back. "it's called romance, gojo. not that i'd expect you to be familiar with anything of the sort." 

he smirks, laying back down. "i have references if you need proof." 

you shake your head, flipping him off, and continue to scan the words on your page without retaining any information. 

seriously, his presence is impending doom itself. 

"it's okay," he whispers, "you don't need to be embarrassed. everyone craves intimacy." 

"i crave my fist on your face." 

he snorts. "that's not very friendly." 

you sigh, dropping the book again so you can look at him and his obnoxious eyes. "look, i'm tired, it's been a long week, and if you don't leave me alone i'll probably lock you outside." 

"probably?" 

"it's that or throwing you out the window." 

gojo laughs once again, but mimes zipping his mouth shut. you roll your eyes and open your book again. your feet are entwined, but you don't mock this--if only because you're sure that gojo will start an argument about it.

the quiet lasts for two minutes and then he turns on the tv. 

you groan and he laughs at you.

*

you're getting used to having him around, at least. and in turn, his friends. because they seem to be a package deal. 

after that night at the bar, gojo--apparently--feels much more comfortable having them over. trying to bake cookies with shoko or interrupting what's supposed to be a study session between the four of them. 

at least, you think, watching this happen, that you're not the only person forced to endure him. 

but it's kind of... nice to see him act like a normal person, for once. to get teased by someone other than you and pout like a begrudged younger brother. the person who invites his friends over for game night (getting aggressively angry every time he loses) isn't satoru gojo, the man whom everyone is drawn to. he isn't some drunk guy charming everyone around him or a roommate that you just happened upon. 

he's just another college student, laughing along with people who aren't nearly as bad as him. 

and, naturally, you find yourself intertwined with these 'hang-outs' because the apartment is small, and you don't want to be left out--no, you choose not to think about how pathetic it is that satoru gojo has more friends than you do, so please don't bring it up. 

and it's on this night when you're not playing uno with the four of them, but rather, watching behind all of their backs and trying to mess with gojo as much as possible. 

you pretend to be idly cleaning in the kitchen, when really you're standing behind him, mouthing to suguru what color he has whenever he's about to win. 

"hmm," the sly-mouthed man says this time, "green." 

shoko puts down a seven, and gojo groans again. "seriously?" he asks, but begins drawing cards. 

you try--and fail--not to giggle behind him. to which, of course, he turns around with an obvious glare in his eyes. "what are you doing?" 

the sink isn't on, and there are no dishes to be seen in the kitchen. nonetheless, you point uselessly to the roll of paper towels on the counter. "cleaning." 

"you're cleaning air?" 

"sorry, i didn't realize i was banned from loitering in my own home." 

he turns back around, looking at suguru for a moment, then back at you. it's very hard to keep the smile off of your face, especially when nanami looks like he's about to break and shoko is pretending to rifle through her cards again. 

how many times have you done this to him? oh, just a mere eight. 

to be fair, it would've ended a long time ago if gojo wasn't such a sore loser. 

he looks back and forth once more. then he frowns. "what are you doing?" 

"do you want me to go hide in my room, gojo?" you ask, trying to scowl. "because i will. i was just trying to be hospitable--" 

"nanamin," he interrupts. "go." 

so another round of cards is placed, and this time suguru plays normally, keeping his face straight to not draw any suspicion. you lean against the wall, enjoying yourself. 

(don't tell anyone, but this is the most fun you've had in a while). 

and then, after a couple of rounds go by, you finally clear your throat. gojo turns to glare at you through his sunglasses and says "go stand behind suguru if you're going to watch. i don't trust you." 

you raise your brows but do as he says. 

and when shoko has to draw the next time, you smile and tap a couple of times on your thigh. 

suguru does his best impression of gojo's grin, and says, "draw four," to shoko. 

she smiles back. turns to gojo. "draw four," she repeats. 

and he stares at the two of them, then the cards stacked on top of each other, and then to you, right across him. "what are you doing? i know you're doing something." 

"satoru, she's just watching--" 

"no, she's smiling." he looks back to you, "you're smiling. you don't do that unless i'm in pain." 

"so you just assume that you're losing cause i'm... what? drawing your cards for you? shuffling the stack so only you get the bad hands?" you cock a brow at him, willing yourself not to look at anyone else at the table. it would only end in disaster. 

"i--" gojo runs a hand through his hair. then he sighs and begins drawing his eight cards. 

and several rounds later--with gojo losing once again--you've begun moving around the table like you're inspecting each player. gojo doesn't let you look at his cards though. 

and it takes a while before he notices anything. particularly after suguru wins for the third time in a row. 

he looks at everyone--brows pulled together, irritated eyes hiding behind his sunglasses, and his cheeks are flushed from how frustrated he is--and as soon as you start laughing at his face, everyone else does too. suguru throws his cards down and shakes his head. nanami shuffles the deck while trying to keep his laugh muffled--but it's there. and shoko is outwardly laughing at him, pointing at gojo and then at you. 

"are you guys stealing the cards?" he asks, almost disbelieving, his voice so childlike that you start laughing even harder. "look at the deck! it's half the size that it was." 

and then he's standing up and inspecting you, sticking his hands up your sleeves and finding dozens of cards hiding there, falling onto the floor. 

gojo gasps in outrage, but it doesn't even matter to you. 

everyone else is clutching their stomachs and gojo begins to pout. "you're all traitors," he's saying, and "how long have you been doing that?" and you almost can't breathe-- 

so yeah. you don't really mind these kinds of nights. and you don't complain about the messes gojo and his friends leave behind. 

*

you shouldn't have given suguru your number. this much is obvious. 

but, to be fair, you weren't exactly thinking when you were talking to him about a self-help book you'd picked up, and he was mentioning a podcast, and then he was taking your phone and putting himself in it--which, in itself, should not be dangerous--telling you that he'd send you a link and that you should let him know if you liked it, and that was that. 

and really, there shouldn't be any repercussions to this. suguru is your sort of friend, and sort of friends can text on occasion. 

except for the fact that he's also satoru gojo's friend. so when you wake up at ten--silently thanking yourself for taking a day off before a week of back-to-back classes and work--he's already texted you, and it's obvious that you failed somewhere in life. 

maybe when you accidentally invited a demon into your house and allowed him to stay. 

from suguru :p : 

hey satoru is supposed to be in class right now and he won't answer me 

can you please kick him awake? 

but maybe it wasn't a mistake. because at least you have a good excuse to give gojo a bruise. 

so you creep down the hall, reluctantly knocking on his door even though it ruins the element of surprise (you're not a monster) and listening as there's no response. 

gojo must be asleep. or dead. honestly, you might've killed him in your sleep--wouldn't be the first time. 

so you peek the door open, realizing now that you haven't been in his room since he moved in, and watch as a figure slithers under the covers almost before you notice. gojo is completely covered except for the foot he's left hanging off of the side of the bed. 

"get up," you tell him, looking around at the sparse decorations he's put up. there are books, candy wrappers, and socks all over the floor, but it's not the messiest room you've ever seen. which is slightly surprising, considering all that you know about gojo. 

he whines from under the cover, turning so you get a view of exposed skin on his back. "sleeping," he says as if you might believe him. 

so you creep over trash and textbooks and pull the blanket right off of him. 

gojo is already looking at you, pouting. his hair is in his eyes and his mouth is puffy--probably from kissing his pillow in his sleep. "what if i was naked under here?" he asks you, very seriously. "i don't let just anyone see that, you know?" 

"you're wearing the same silk pajamas you wear every night." 

he tries to pull the blanket away from you, his fingers peeling yours away. he huffs. "it's the principle. you don't just wake a man up from slumber." 

you snort. "did you travel a century in your sleep?" 

"yes, now go away." and then he falls back into the blankets, his words muffled. 

"you have class, your highness. i've been sent to fetch you." 

one eye appears from under the blanket. "how do you know my schedule?" 

"telepathy. now get up." 

"i can't," gojo fake coughs. "i'm sick." 

"suguru said you'd say that." 

he groans, turning over and muffling a few explicit words that sound like a curse upon his best friend. 

you poke his back. "did you sleep through your alarm?" 

he doesn't answer. his body has gone limp like you might not notice that he's there if he stays still for long enough. so you pull his hair, turning his head towards you. "you're not usually this whiny in the morning," you tell him. 

"why are you so mean to me?" 

you hum, pretending to consider it. "i think it's the hair. i find it pretentious." 

"i could sue you. discrimination is very serious. i've got a good lawyer, too."

"i'll sue back for mental damages." 

he laughs, and wiggles from your grasp. 

you sigh and finally sit down at the edge of his bed, observing the lollipops he's left lying on his bedside table. gojo's bones seem to crack as he sits up with you, moaning the whole way. 

you're silently observing him--with his slightly red eyes and heinous mouth. you're not used to seeing him like this in the morning; usually, he's chipper and annoying. when he walks into the kitchen in the morning you half expect him to start singing. 

but this gojo is tired. he rubs at his eyes. "did suguru text you?" 

"yup." 

"he's a terrible friend." 

you nudge him, almost like an agreement. "why aren't you in class?" 

"what's even the point of going? it's not like i get a reward."

"i think the reward is graduating, but you might have to fact-check that one." 

he nudges you back and then takes your hand. his fingertips are soft as they trace the tendons and veins he can see on your skin. his hands are softer than you'd have expected. his eyes are wary as they look towards the floor, his mouth twisting in displeasure. but he doesn't stop touching you, he does so idly that you almost don't notice. "i have an a in the class," he tells you, "and i already know most of the material so why would i go to every lecture?" 

maybe it's the way he says it; so sure and nonchalant, in his typical over-dramatic fashion. maybe it's just that he's never mentioned any of his classes to you, or the fact that he's taking any. maybe he's just crazy--that's the most likely option--but you're suddenly curious. 

"what class is it?" 

"theoretical physics." 

you whistle, shaking your head. "and you already know most of it?" 

gojo drops your hand and looks at you. his eyes are wide. maybe he's just realized that he's been talking to you this whole time. "when i was a kid my, uh, my dad had a bunch of textbooks in his office that i used to read through every time i got in trouble," he grins, "which was a lot." 

"i can imagine." 

"well, it turns out you can only read something so many times before it becomes ingrained in your brain." 

you pull at his bedsheet. "do you have a test today, or something?" 

"no, suguru just thinks i'm lazy." 

you laugh, because he is. gojo rolls his eyes at you so you don't say it. you're a little bit surprised, actually. you knew that gojo wasn't stupid (or at least, you might've known) but there's something about the proof of it. like you can't just read right through him. like maybe there's still more to learn about your roommate and maybe there always has been. 

or maybe you're just tired, and he's always had the strange ability to draw irrationality out of you. and also he's an idiot.

"i just..." he starts and his smile fades, but only a little bit. he keeps a layer on while he peels a layer off. "i mean, i like the class. math is cool. but i just don't feel like it today, you know?" 

and there's something about his voice as he says it. steady and true, as always, but softer. but compeltely honest. 

and you've heard him complain about a million things, like every time you and suguru talk about something he doesn't understand or when the door isn't unlocked when he gets home, or when you won't add his one shirt to your laundry. you've heard every whine and every groan come from his lips. 

but he's not complaining about this. just confiding. 

and there's such a drastic difference that it takes you a moment to respond. 

but you do eventually. "yeah, i know," you tell him and rest a hand on his thigh to squeeze. 

and the way that gojo looks at you after--like you might just be saying it to make him feel better--is perplexing. his eyes are blue and maybe you've just noticed this--just started to realize that you're actually sitting with him like a normal person. and that he actually looks grateful. 

you shake your head, willing yourself to look away, because maybe there is something sort of magnetic about your roommate. and it feels impossible to only have noticed this now. to realize how warm he is next to you, and how your muscles tense up when he shifts. gojo is looking at you, and it might be the first time.

so you stand up, flicking his chin. "i'll tell suguru that you're puking your guts up." 

"really?" 

"yup. but next time you sleep through a class i'm going to wake you up by pouring ice water on your face." 

he grins. "cruel." 

"and i'll record it." 

you step over candy wrappers and dirty socks as you leave his room, and as soon as the door is closed you sigh in relief. you're probably better off never opening that door again.

*

it's a ridiculously cold night when he shows up. 

you're sitting at the front desk in the library, pretending to study for a mid-term, and trying to smile at the fifth lost library card you've heard about tonight. you got this job at the beginning of the year, and it pays horribly. but at least you can sit around and study, most weekends it's quiet enough to take a nap, and no one tends to bother you when you're drooling all over the reception desk. 

most weekends, that is, because as soon as he walks in through the door--letting in air so brisk that it has the potential to kill you--it gets significantly louder. 

because satoru gojo is not affected by trivial things such as snow, or blizzards, or the fact that the library is supposed to close in less than ten minutes... 

still, you don't really notice him--a rare circumstance that you will question later that night--until he's right next to you, breathing in your ear. 

"slacking on the clock?" he asks, and just for a moment, you almost disembowel him with the pen you're holding in your hand. 

but then you grunt, used to this sort of intrusion from your roommate, and push his head away. "how did you find me?" you ask him, because, honestly, this job is just an escape from his neverending antics at your house (no, it doesn't matter that you got the job before you knew that such an annoying person could possibly exist). 

"i microchipped you in your sleep," gojo says, smoothly, sitting in the chair right next to yours, swiveling around. "i thought i told you about that?" 

you blatantly look at the clock and ignore him. "you know that the library closes in seven minutes?" 

"...and?" 

"so go torment someone else," you answer, standing up with a stack of fileable papers, "i'm busy until eight." 

"i'll help," gojo says, eager as always, and takes half of your stack. "where to?" 

it is from two months of experience that you know he will not leave you alone. even if you chew off his fingernails and keep them to make into necklaces, gojo will follow you around as long as you make it clear you don't want him to. 

so you walk towards the copying room, smiling at all of the sleep-deprived students you pass by and rolling your eyes when gojo does the same. 

"how did you even find the library?" 

gojo walks like he has absolutely no equilibrium; knocking into you every couple of steps, and then falling in the other direction. it must be a consequence of all of his strenuous leaning. 

so he bumps into you as he replies, "tracker," like it's obvious. 

you snort. "no, seriously. i didn't think you knew that libraries existed. aren't you allergic to reading?" 

"hey!" he tries to trip you. "i'll have you know that i am very studious. top of my class." 

"that's why you pay suguru to write your papers for you, right?" 

gojo makes a small noise in the back of his throat. "he doesn't write them," he grumbles. "well, not all of them." 

you snort and open a door for him to follow through.

"my study group meets here on wednesdays," gojo answers, finally. 

"you're a part of a study group?" 

"where do you think i go all of the time?" 

you briefly consider this, setting the papers down. "cemeteries to mourn all of the people you've annoyed to death, probably. or your girlfriend's house." you shrug.

gojo sets his stack on top of yours, diligently lining them up. "i don't do that every night," he drawls, rolling his eyes. and then he winks at you. "and i don't have a girlfriend. thanks for asking." 

you mess up his stack and turn away from him. "sorry, i meant girlfriends as in plural. girlfriends." 

"nope, again." 

gojo follows closely behind you as you begin to lock up all of the spare rooms, turning off lights and looking for any lost items. "commitment issues?" you ask, fake sympathy clouding your voice. 

"sweetheart, if you want me, then just say that. you don't need to pretend to worry about anyone else." his cockiness is infuriating, but you don't even bother to scold him for it. you turn towards him with sharp eyes.

"do i seem worried to you?" 

"no, but you're a bad actor," gojo hums, fingertips grazing along your skin as he inspects your face. "denial is serious. you might want to see a doctor." 

"you would know," you answer, glaring and pulling away from him. the two of you walk as people begin to trek out of the library, no longer held captive by the idea of studying. 

gojo is much too close, as usual, his sweater brushing against yours. 

"how'd you even know i was here?" you ask him, after a minute of silence. 

"please," he answers, grinning down at you. "i got a PI as soon as you gave me my key." 

you squint. "did you actually?" 

he laughs. "no. you told shoko, and shoko told me..." 

you nod, clearing the desk of your things, tossing your bag at gojo for him to carry. "so why are you here?" 

he clears his throat, unplugging the cord to your computer and wrapping it around his hand. "i was walking by, and i thought i'd see if you wanted to come with me for drinks after your shift."

"drinks?" you repeat, taking the cord from his hands. 

"flip night." 

you groan. "i am never participating in that again after what happened last time." 

"it wasn't that bad." 

"i had to drag you home and you almost threw up in my hair." 

gojo smiles. "consider yourself lucky." 

you push him out of the way and put your coat on. then you turn off the lights and push in all of the chairs, gojo not helping at all. "i didn't even get my drink," you remind him. 

"okay, so let me make it up to you."

and his voice is a bit different. still arrogant, naturally, still smiling and easy--but maybe he means it? maybe beneath his, frankly, soft exterior, he feels bad for getting drunk before you could? maybe he's not actually a complete monster? 

you laugh that thought away as soon as it comes.

you sigh. "are your friends going to be there?" 

"yes, our friends are. they suggested i invite you." 

you sigh--again, because the air is quite thin when gojo is around--and consider it. for just four seconds. but eventually, you shake your head. "i can't," you tell him, looping your arm around his so you can drag him out of the building. 

"why not?" 

"i'm tired, and i still need to study for a test on monday..." 

"do it in the morning." 

you give him a blank look. "i won't want to study if i'm hungover." 

"then don't study." 

you let go of his arm, shivering from the cold. gojo, of course, is not wearing a jacket, or even a little bit bothered by the air. "you're a terrible influence." 

he grins. "i get it from you." 

you shake your head, keeping the smile off of your face. "maybe some other time? when it's not freezing, and i don't have a big test?" 

gojo looks like he wants to argue with you some more--which he usually does--but eventually, his grin ebbs into something simple and he nods. "okay, but you have to come next time i ask." 

"no. what if i'm sick, or something?" you definitely would not put it past him to ask you as a method of torture. 

"that's what alcohol is for." he sticks out his hand, too big and too sly. 

but you relent, shaking with him, and rolling your eyes.

"okay, gojo. have fun. do not wake me up when you get home." 

and you turn to walk away, but his hand catches your wrist. "what are you doing?" he asks, brow furrowed. 

"...going home?" 

he lets go of you and flicks your forehead. "you're not walking back by yourself," he says, like it's a crime. "c'mon." 

and he falls into pace with you, even with his longer legs and fervent energy. 

"this is stupid--" you start to complain, but gojo reaches for the strap of your bag, sliding it off of your shoulder. he then slings it on his own, and pulls you in a bit closer by the hem of your jacket. 

he doesn't say anything, just shoves your hand in his pocket, and whistles as he walks you home. 

*

its a couple of weeks later when you're standing at the door again, trying not to open it more than necessary. 

but, really, how wide is too wide? will a half-opened door signal any longing? will he think that you want him back if you open it more than three inches to pass him his box of stuff that he'd left behind and take your key back? 

how do you navigate the trade-off of a frog statue that will probably haunt your dreams till the end of time? 

"key," you say, without any pleasantries, not bothering to even really look at him. 

even though he looks just the same, your ex. still the lying cheater you'd almost fallen in love with. 

is it wrong to miss his netflix password more than him? 

"thanks," he says, and you've probably been standing there with him for thirty seconds when a head appears on your shoulder. 

white hair gets in your eyes, and you try to push gojo away, but he's already intruded on this exchange and you know he's not going to leave. 

"go away," you tell him, not very softly. 

"hello," gojo holds his hand out over your shoulder, because, again, he is ridiculously tall. "i'm--" 

"key," you say again, swatting his hand away. 

your ex looks at your new roommate--with all of his charm and irritating sunglasses and perfectly shaped teeth--with obvious disdain. you want to push both of them out the door and live here by yourself forever, but unfortunately, living prices disagree. 

so you grab the key from his hand, give him a bland smile, and slam the door with gojo's fingers still in between. 

he pulls them back just in time, still almost on top of you, and smiles when you turn around with a scowl. "a friend of yours?" he asks, slyly. he's about as subtle as a third-grader.

"no." 

he messes with your hair idly, pretending to fix it. "i noticed an obvious absence where our dancing frog used to be." 

"i told you, that's not mine." 

"so you gave it away?" 

you cross your arms. he is far too close to you. "you told me it was hideous." 

"it was," he nods, vehemently, and you know his eyes are grinning at you behind those dark shades. "but now there's an empty spot on that shelf." 

"we can put your tongue there when i cut it out," you give him an innocent smile and walk past him to sit on the couch. your pocket burns with the key you put there, metal like an obvious stain on your skin. 

it's not that you care about him anymore, really. you don't, not even when you lay alone at night and think about him. it's more that... he doesn't think about you. he didn't, and he wouldn't have, even if you were still together. 

is it wrong to be wanted by someone whose opinion is worth about as much to you as a penny you could or could not pick up on the street? should you crave being cared about by someone as awful as him?

you want to throw his key in bleach. maybe take a dip yourself.

gojo follows you, throwing himself down on the couch, and brushing you as he does so. he is very used to this kind of proximity, and the annoyed look you give him. "so that was your ex?" 

"yes." 

there's a brief pause, and a nice person might leave it like that. might try to console you, tell you better off. but satoru gojo is not nice, and he probably never has been. "really?" he asks. then clicks his tongue. 

you interrupt whatever obnoxious statement is supposed to follow: "if you're about to say that there are a lot of more eligible bachelors, including yourself, then i'm going to say that you should probably make a zillow account." 

gojo pinches your thigh. "i would never say something like that." 

you look at him, just barely able to make out the shape of his eyes when he's this close. "you told me that last week when i was complaining about dating apps." 

"well, it was true then." 

you roll your eyes. 

"i wasn't going to say that anyway." 

you hum, relaxing into the hold his legs begin to have on yours. despite his abrupt and terrible personality, gojo is very warm. and he's already intruded into so much of your space--your home, your head--that it almost feels normal. 

with his thighs pushing against yours and his fingertips trailing up the back of your neck. 

you should slap him away, but you don't. 

the last person you cuddled with was the same man who gave you the greasy key in your pocket. 

you look at gojo with inquisitive eyes. "really? no bad pickup line? you were going to say something meaningful?" 

"would've blown your mind, but you interrupted..." he teases, and pulls on a strand of baby hair. 

"whatever will i do now?" 

his hand falls from your neck, and if you weren't as comfortable as you are currently, you might think about what he's doing. 

like the fact that you haven't even questioned this, or his following you around, or the fact that he knew you needed someone to pull you away from that door. 

you don't think about that, but maybe you should. 

still, his hand wraps around your shoulder, and you slump against him without question. 

"i was..." his voice is softer, calmer than you've maybe ever heard it. it should jolt you away from him. it should do anything but keep you planted on the couch right next to him. "i was just going to say that i'm glad he's an idiot." 

"getting turned on by my pain?" 

he laughs. "no, but, i mean, your pain my gain." 

you don't even notice it when he slips off his glasses, his fingers curling around your forearm. 

"where else would i find a roommate that threatens me with bodily harm?" he asks, right in your ear. 

it's true enough, you guess. and at least for a moment, you don't want to rip off his arms. 

and gojo mutters something that sounds like "stupid," but you aren't listening.

*

gojo has called in your agreement; that is the only reason you're sitting at the bar, watching him dance around with shoko--purposefully stepping on her toes--and sipping on some drink he ordered for you.

it's terribly sweet and reminds you of lotion but you drink it anyway. it's not like you bought it, and you're sure that gojo wont buy you anything else until finish it. plus it's giving you a light buzz, just enough to feel comfortable sitting there, and not like you want to run away.

it's not as busy as it was last time, the music slightly quieter, the air in the room less stiff. gojo seems less energized tonight--considering that he hasn't abandoned any of you to talk to the houseplant in the corner--even with the dancing. 

which he is terrible at. it's like watching an eight-month-old learn how to stand. or a man trying to impress absolutely no one. his limbs move like they aren't even attached to his body.

"is he drunk?" you're asking suguru and nanami--who have been sitting there longer than you have. "i didn't see him order anything." 

nanami laughs and suguru ruffles your hair. "that's satoru completely sober." 

"...are you sure?" 

"yeah, he doesn't usually drink. even that," he nods to your drink which you're sipping with a wince, "is too bitter for him." 

you raise a brow, watching shoko frown at him, and then nudge him away. "he drank last time i came, though?" 

suguru nods, looking away like he knows something you don't and nanami snorts.

"what?" 

"he was nervous last time," nanami answers. he's got less than a smile on, but it's better than the frowns you've observed sitting next to him in class. 

your brow furrows. "about what?" 

suguru is about to answer, nudging nanami not very subtly, when the very topic of conversation pops up, bumping into you as he squeezes himself in between you and suguru. his presence is an interruption in itself, but he's smiling like he always does, acting like he's been there the whole time. 

you might've pushed him away a week or two ago. now you just sigh and move a little so he can fit.

"did you miss me, sweetheart?" he asks you, leaning against suguru. "don't worry, i'll dance with you next."

"no, and i don't dance." 

gojo rolls his eyes. "everyone dances." 

you look pointedly between him and the group of people dancing in the middle of the room. an image of him almost tripping over shoko makes you smile. "well some people shouldn't." 

suguru laughs and gojo grins even wider at you--his hair is slightly sweaty and his eyes are peering at you over the glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. "let's test that theory," he says, taking a step back. his tone is nothing less than suggestive. and his fingers wiggle towards you, beckoning for you to follow.

there's a twinge in your stomach and you adjust in your seat, frowning at him. "i told you that i don't dance." 

"well, i do. and you owe me for last time." 

you balk. "owe you for what? making sure you didn't get murdered on the street?" 

gojo pouts, his face so unserious and completely genuine at the same time. "you made me dance all alone. you didn't even come watch." 

"you left me--" 

"just one dance?" he asks, leaning in towards you. his eyes are sparkling. "i'll get you another drink." 

"you'll get me that anyway." 

"i'll let you pick it this time." 

"that's usually expected, you know?" 

he ignores that, "c'mon," he pleads, "you know that you want to." 

"i don't know that, actually." 

and then someone coughs behind gojo and you realize that your friends have been listening to this entire interaction and that you'd completely forgotten they were there. how long has he been standing like that? just two inches away from your face? 

"just go, y/n," shoko says, "put the rest of us out of our misery. i've been listening to him whine all night." 

"hey--" gojo turns, his voice defensive. 

but you take another sip of your drink, sighing as you stand up. "fine," you tell him, rolling your eyes when he turns to you with a smile. "one dance, and you can't ask me for anything else tonight." 

his teeth are like rows of knives. sharp and inviting. "okay." 

he holds his hand out for you again, and you take it, feeling that strange pull in the pit of your stomach. 

it's probably just the alcohol, though. 

*

you don't know how long you've been dancing with gojo. 

it started with one dance where he didn't do anything except twirl you around and sway with you, like he'd accepted the fact that you weren't exactly light on your feet, singing along to the music in your ear, making snide remarks about where you'd placed your hands. moving them like pieces on a chess board.

his breath was hot on your ear. condensation on a glass. 

and then you'd gradually moved to letting him lead you, after who knows how many songs, following his steps and not apologizing when your foot slammed against his, or when you bumped shoulders with him, probably creating marks on your skin. 

and then his hands were on your hips, his chin resting against your shoulder, and it felt almost nice to be dancing with him. almost relaxing to forget momentarily about where you were and who you were with. it shouldn't surprise you that you're comfortable with him, but it does. there's no worry about the way you're looking at him or if anyone is watching the two of you--but then again, you might be slightly drunk. 

gojo hasn't commented on how long the two of you have been dancing, and evidently, you've let the alcohol sway you into staying for more than just another song. 

so now, with his lips on your ear, you're almost smiling into him. your heart is fast, and the adrenaline rush you're experiencing is a pleasant thing; if someone ripped out your heart right you wouldn't even notice.

"see?" gojo says, his voice just a murmur with all of the music swimming in your ears. "you're not so bad." 

it sounds like something else to you.

"you won't be saying that in the morning," you tell him, stepping on his toes, but he doesn't pull back or move too quickly. if you thought rationally about his movements you might notice that everything he's doing is slow; like you're an animal he's trying not to scare. 

"i'm used to it," he pulls back a little bit. "shoko does that too." 

"'cause you deserve it." 

he laughs and leans in, so you follow him. 

are you just swaying now? or is he leading you in something more complex? a dance you've never heard of, or a simple in and out? 

you don't know, and you really don't care. 

after a moment, you sigh. "i've never danced with anyone before," you whisper to him, almost like not saying the words at all. it might be a lie, you're not quite sure. 

your words are just thoughts now with no sort of intervention between your brain and your mouth. intoxication fills your lungs. 

"really?" 

"mhm," you hum, "no one's ever asked me." 

"i don't believe you," his voice might be teasing, or serious, or he might be barking at you.

you laugh anyway. gojo's hands are firm against your skin. he feels kind of hazy, like a dream. so you laugh again. 

"you okay?" 

"i think i might be a little drunk." 

he snorts, his breath short. "really? i didn't think you'd be a lightweight." 

"you're a lightweight." 

"yeah, but you already knew that. i only drink when we come here, anyway. nanami doesn't like having to drag me home." 

"you're heavy," you agree, looking up at him. you can see his eyelashes from under his glasses. you can see his tongue as he moves it, and the tip of his nose. you can almost feel it when he swallows.

"sorry," he teases. his face looks different under these lights. it looks different when you're looking at him this close. 

"you're kinda pretty," the words fall from your mouth as you think them, and you grin. "huh." 

it shouldn't be an odd realization, but it is. his skin is almost translucent, and his mouth is sinful. his eyes are wide and bright and satoru gojo could be a sculpture if he wasn't a man.

gojo looks down at you, his brows raised. "you just noticed?" 

"i don't look at you a lot." 

"oh, please," he shakes his head. "i've caught you staring." 

"i only stare when i'm worried that you're a robot planted by aliens or something. you say weird things." 

he laughs, and his hands squeeze your waist. he could stab you in the back right now and it wouldn't even matter. you're not even worried about it. he could flirt with you all night and you don't think you'd quite mind.

you giggle at the thought, heart beating fast with every breath that comes from him. 

"what?" 

"you're not a bad roommate, you know?" you ask him, but maybe you're asking yourself.

"i'm not?" 

"no. you're actually... kinda considerate. my old roommate--my ex--he never wanted to go anywhere with me. he wouldn't have asked me to dance." 

"why not?" 

"i think he thought i was stuck up. or embarassing. or not worth it," you breathe, almost airly, the words are true but they don't matter to you. not like this, pressed up against him. "i don't know." 

gojo's brow furrows. "how?" 

your brows furrow. "how what?" 

"how could he think you're not worth it?" he repeats, and you laugh back. because it's a joke.

"you'd have to ask him." 

"i don't think i'll ever be talking to him," he answers, voice rough. "it wouldn't be good for either of us. and i don't trust people with such terrible taste." 

you giggle at the thought of the frog sculpture, the disgusted look on gojo's face. you can almost see through him.

"you shouldn't," you answer, not even thinking.  

there's a moment where the room is quiet, everyone inhaling at the same time, and then exhaling. you feel like you fit here, somehow. like everything is moving at just the right place. this silence is a comforting feeling, the bubbles bursting in your stomach reiterating it. 

"hey," gojo says, interrupting that feeling. 

"what?" 

"you're a good roommate, too. you're not stuck up. or embarassing." 

"i'm not?" 

he smiles at you. "well, you're a little mean." 

you smile back. "only to you, satoru." 

his face drops, but you don't notice. you lean against his chest again, your eyes fluttering shut. if you were focused enough, you could feel his heartbeat. but you don't. and you don't watch as he swallows. as his voice falters, for only a single second.

but you do look at him when he says, "my friends like you." 

"they do?" 

he laughs, pushing his sunglasses back up on his face. "wasn't it obvious?" 

you shake your head. you're not sure how long you've been standing with him, or if it even matters. you're not even sure if you're still in the bar, or your bed, being covered with your blanket, tucked in by gentle hands. 

how long has it been now? 

"i like you too," gojo whispers, "just so you know." 

and you could be at home, with your roommate. you could be right next to him. it doesn't matter, because you only whisper, "good," and then it's all gone. 

*

when you wake up the next morning, gojo is already laughing at you. 

your headache is a curse. your mind is in shambles. and your body aches with the manipulation of only one person. 

you hate your roommate and his terrible taste in drinks and that he doesn't even say anything when you slump against the counter, not even bothering to make fun of you or complain about how terrible you are when you're drunk. 

he just smiles easily, ruffling your hair.  

and when he starts to cook some bacon in the pan, you don't say anything, but you go and stand next to him, letting him hold you up. 

there are no words. only the popping of oil in a pan. 

and that feeling, of course. because it wasn't the alcohol. 

*

so maybe satoru gojo is your friend. you will not admit this to anyone aloud, but you concede a little bit in your head, because it's a fragile place there, and you're a terrible liar. 

and so maybe you hang out with him sometimes. 

it's not just the game nights or study sessions anymore. you sit on the couch and play with your phone and he sits down next to you. he'll rub your feet, or massage your legs and you let him. 

only because he's kinda good at it, of course. 

and sometimes you'll turn on a movie and he'll appear out of nowhere, complaining about whatever you picked, but laying down nonetheless. and after several minutes he'll move closer to you, resting his head on your thigh. and you might play with his hair, but only because it's unreasonably soft. 

and some mornings when you wake up and make yourself breakfast, not even trying to be quiet, you'll make a little extra. but it's not for him, it's just a coincidence. 

and he stops by the library on his way home from suguru's, or some girl's house, and the two of you will walk home together, talking about class, or the weather, or whatever gojo wants. you let him do this, because it's usually dark outside, and you don't like walking home alone. 

and if he barges into your room sometimes--obviously not knocking--you only complain a little bit. and then you let him lay in your bed and mess with your things. 

but only because it's the easier option, of course. 

and you've missed the feeling of having someone near. and satoru gojo is easy to be around. 

*

"gojo," you gasp, as soon as the door opens in your face. and then you scowl. "don't you knock?" 

he pushes you so he can move past, raising a brow at you. "i live here." his hands are empty, and he's not wearing a coat again. just a weird button-up probably more expensive than your share of the rent. how he's survived over two decades, you're not sure. 

your brows furrow at him. "well, you could give some warning if you're going to kick open the door. what if you broke my nose?" 

"well, why were you standing right in front of the door when i kicked it?" gojo mimics, flicking you away, then looking down to your hands where your wallet and keys are piled up. "you going somewhere?" 

"to the store." 

"it's eleven." 

"why thank you for that update, gojo. i really appreciate it," and then you move beside him to open the door. 

but gojo grabs your hand, making sure to roll his eyes at you where you can see it, and pulls you away so he can step in front of the door. "what could you need from the store right now?" 

"i need stuff." 

he crosses his arms, uncharacteristically stern. "like what?" 

"stuff. girl stuff. you wouldn't get it." 

he gasps, mouth dropping. "oh no, did i steal too many of your tampons again?" 

"first of all, that's against the apartment rules, so you better hope not. second of all, please move," you glare at him. "i need to hurry." 

"you can't leave right now." 

"i believe there's such a thing as free will..." you try and push him away, but he doesn't budge. "and you're not the boss of me." 

"it's too late for you to walk to the store. go tomorrow." 

you cross your arms. "when have i ever listened to you?" you ask him, feeling that familiar irritation crawl up your skin. 

but then gojo is pulling your arms apart and resting them at your sides and saying "stop that," as a gentle chide. and that irritation molds. you push his hands away. 

you want to push his hands off of the edge of the earth just so that he'll never touch you again.

"seriously, gojo, i need to go. they close at midnight." 

"you can't walk to the store by yourself in the dark." 

"i can do whatever i want." 

"then i'm locking you in your room until tomorrow. you're grounded." 

you poke his shoulder. you can't decide if he's serious or not. his voice is always teasing, and you can't see enough of his eyes. and you can't trust a single thing he says. "when did you become so overbearing?" you ask him, trying not to grind your teeth. 

"when i realized how weak you are." 

"weak?" you balk at him. "i'm not weak. please retract that sentence before i accidentally punch you." 

"you can't even push me away from the door. i'll take my chances with your fists." 

"that's because you're irritating me," you tell him, as you try to do it again. "anger distracts me." 

he laughs at you, leaning even further against the door. 

"gojo," you whine, trying to pinch him away instead. "stop being an ass. just get out of the way." 

he holds a hand to his chest, offended. "i am showing concern about your safety," he claims, shaking his head at you. 

"you are ruining my mood." 

"oh, good." 

you scowl. "move. right now." 

"that was very intimidating," he grins at you, "but maybe try again." 

you groan and try to stab him with your key, which he pushes away, still smiling, still completely the worst. 

"i--" you sigh, "i don't like you very much." 

he snorts. 

then you pout at him, fluttering your eyelashes. "please, gojo. i'll be back in fifteen minutes." 

"what is that?" 

you frown. "what?" 

"what's wrong with your face?" 

you throw your arms up, shaking your head. then you mutter another thing about hating him under your breath and finally turn away. you set your keys and your wallet on the counter, pouting as you sit down on the couch. 

gojo is there a moment later, laughing at you. "was that supposed to be convincing?" 

"don't talk to me. ever again." 

you shake your head, fed up with him and everything about this living situation. how are you locked in your apartment right now?

gojo tilts his head back, and then pauses for a moment.  

"then how am i supposed to ask if you want to come with me to the store?" he asks, nonchalantly. "i need some stuff." 

and you should be angry at him--you should probably break one of his fingers or cut his hair off in his sleep. you should tell him that you hate his company and that if he ever tells you what to do again-- 

but instead, you jump up from the couch, smiling at him. "let's go," you say, quickly, before you change your mind. 

and you don't get to see it when gojo smiles back at you, softly. 

*

"hey," he whispers, "you shouldn't sleep here." 

gojo is shaking your shoulder gently, his breath on your face, his voice soft--even in the haze of disrupted sleep. there's a warm feeling in your belly as he speaks to you, an unknowing smile on your face.

"hmm?" you answer, trying to remember who you are and why you're here. who he is.

"it's almost midnight. what are you doing on the couch?" gojo is helping you sit up. his hands are ridiculously warm, and you don't think about how nice they feel on the bare skin of your back. 

"gojo?" 

he laughs. "the one and only. c'mon, i'll tuck you in." 

"did you just get home?" you must still be sleeping, because his hands are so soft right now. and his voice is so quiet--like the creaking of an old house. 

"yeah. are you going to get up?" he's kneeling in front of you, and his face is bare. you almost want to laugh at how bright his hair is even in the dark. 

"where were you?" 

he shakes his head, smiling up at you, and moves from the floor. "c'mon, sit up," he beckons, trying to get you to move your head from its place. you wince. eventually, he gives up and your heart almost disappears when he picks you up, tapping your legs so that you'll wrap them around his waist. 

you do it, but only because you don't want to fall. 

"why are you so tall?" you complain as he carries you to your room, feeling much more awake when you're this high in the air. 

gojo snorts. "i'll take that as a thank you," he whispers in your ear and sets you on your bed. then he sits on the edge and takes your socks off, pulling the covers out from under you. his movements are slow as he covers every inch of skin he can see, his breath the only sound between the two of you. 

it's colder when his hands move, and he looks at you for a moment as if trying to make sure he's satisfied with his job. 

"are you going to make fun of me for this in the morning?" 

gojo grins, squeezing your leg as he stands up. "probably. but only a little." 

"okay," you yawn, blinking as he backs up towards the door. 

"night, sweetheart," he whispers to you, and then a flash of hair is all you see before your door is closed and you drift back to sleep. 

and in the morning you wake up and can't remember how you got in bed. gojo doesn't say a thing. 

*

satoru gojo can say so much without saying a single thing. 

when he burst into your room--surprising you because you hadn't realized he was home--throwing himself on your bed and mumbling something about hating his life, you didn't say a word. 

and he'd sat there for ten minutes while you typed out a paper on your laptop, glancing over to him every couple of minutes, slightly worried because he hadn't moved an inch. 

you've seen a lot of his moods recently. you've seen him excited about some movie you didn't understand, exhausted after a long day of classes, angry when suguru and you leave him out of a joke. but most of that, you assume, is just him being himself. every feeling he has is probably seven times larger than the average person's.

but now that he's groaning into your bed, you can tell, just from the way his body deflates, that there's something wrong. you could see it when he walked in the room, and felt it because he'd told you he was getting dinner with his parents tonight. 

but if you know one thing about him, it's that he won't talk about it if you ask. 

because after a couple of weeks of spending more and more time with him, you'd quickly realized that you didn't actually know much about his life. he doesn't tell any stories about his childhood, or high school years--minus the ones that he tried to suffocate suguru for letting slip. he doesn't mention his parents much, and when he does, it's nothing but the bare minimum. he mentions classes so offhandedly that you hadn't even known how extensive his studies were until suguru was teasing him about an award he'd gotten a couple of years ago. 

he could talk to you for hours on end, but he wouldn't say anything. 

so after realizing this, you'd resorted to asking suguru about it.

that night, gojo was asleep on the floor between your feet. his hand was under his head, and he was snoring loud enough for you to notice. you'd sat down to watch a movie with him after he'd claimed that you and suguru were losers for being tired at this hour and that he was the youngest of you all. 

suguru only smiled a little bit at your question.

"satoru keeps an infinite amount of space between him and everyone else," he'd said softly, into the warm air of your apartment. "even with me, and i've known him since we were kids. his family..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

you'd frowned. "what?" 

"he's always been too much for them, in a way. i mean, you know, he is too much most of the time. but he does all of it purposefully; the arrogance, the bravado. i don't know... i think he just wants to control whatever image everyone has of him. to the extent that his personality is based on pushing people away, just so he can figure out who's actually going to stick around." 

you'd watched him then, with his fluttering eyelashes--his sunglasses lying on the ground next to him--and his bright hair. the gentle movement of his lips as he dreamt. he was softer like this, less forceful, less of a burden, and more of a boy.

and beautiful, of course, but that's an offhanded thought you wouldn't acknowledge.

"so, he doesn't talk to you about--" the words felt wrong, and you almost felt guilty for talking about him like this, with his best friend. but still. "--important stuff?" 

"he talks to me about a lot of things. but, no, not really. i get a long-winded rant sometimes, but not often." 

"then how are you supposed to know anything about him?"

suguru smiled at you, looking between you and gojo like there was a secret he didn't want to tell. he sighed. "satoru doesn't really tell me any of the important stuff because we've known each other for so long. i understand how his family is because i've watched him deal with them. i can guess how he's feeling based on his expression. but for people he hasn't known as long, like you, getting to know him is like i-spy." 

suguru didn’t need to elaborate. you got it.

like trying to find little hints of him hidden between all of the mess. you'd snorted and agreed. 

and it feels even more true now, with him cowering in your blankets. but still, you say nothing. 

you get it, to a certain degree. vulnerability was one of the feelings you liked to push away; secrets were only supposed to be coveted by you. getting close to people was a dangerous thing, risky in its own way. 

but, thinking that gojo doesn't trust you--couldn't trust you... it's more irritating than it should be. and maybe that's just because you're arrogant, and think yourself to be trustworthy. or maybe it's because you trust him, in your own unique way, even with all of his too much and extremeness. 

you don't say that to him though, just like he doesn't say anything to you. 

"hey," you push him with a foot. "are you drooling on my comforter?" 

there's a moment of silence, then gojo rolls over. "not a lot." 

you roll your eyes at him and type another sentence--a collection of words that have nothing to do with the actual essay you're writing, naturally--waiting for him to say something else. 

and, predictably, he does. "why aren't you paying attention to me?" 

"i'm busy, gojo." 

"no, you're not." 

"i am doing homework." 

he looks up at you. his sunglasses are somewhere on your floor. "well, then you're definitely not busy," he grins. 

you swat away a hand that tries to steal your computer. 

"aren't you supposed to be at dinner?" you ask him, trying to seem like you don't care about the answer. 

he sighs again. "canceled." 

"why?" 

"my dad had a meeting or something." 

"oh." 

you let the silence wade for a minute or two, trying to be discreet when you watch his face for any signs of discontent. but gojo just has his eyes closed. his hands above his head. 

eventually, you nudge him again. "did you eat anything?" 

he shakes his head. 

"do you want me to make you something?" 

an eye opens. he turns over and rests his head on his hands, squinting at you. "are you being nice to me?" 

"not intentionally." 

he snorts, poking you, almost in awe. "you are." 

"i'm just trying to make sure you don't die, okay? who knows what you've eaten today." 

he crawls up your bed, sitting right next to you so he can rest his head on your shoulder. and you should push him off, but you don't. "it's okay. i'm not very hungry." 

"that's not what i asked." 

gojo laughs against you, his hair brushing against your neck. 

you shouldn't say anything more. you shouldn't even entertain him and his antics, and you shouldn't even care (but you do. for some, stupid, infuriating reason). 

so you look at him, and your voice is soft when you ask, "you okay?" to him, hoping that it doesn't seem too intrusive. wishing that you didn't actually care if he was or not.

gojo's eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, you get that feeling again. 

that feeling in your stomach that makes you want to jump away from him. that makes your hands want to shake, and your voice fade. that feeling that you know--too well, too much--but can't get rid of. 

like an itch you're not really supposed to scratch. 

gojo swallows. "yeah," he answers, with no grin, no conceit. "i'm okay." 

and it shouldn't feel like a relief to hear, but it does. you nod, look away, and go back to your computer. back to your actual life, which shouldn't have any satoru gojo in it. 

but a minute later he adds: "i'd be better if you made me dinner, though." 

and you pull on his hair a little. you try to pretend like his smile doesn't fill you with butterflies. 

*

this shouldn't be happening. 

it's the only reasonable thought running through your brain at the moment. the only echo you can discern, the only words you can make out in the jumble of anxiety and horror running through your mind. 

he should not be this close. 

gojo had only picked you up from work once again, his easy smile meeting yours as soon as he walked through the door--you'd been waiting, wondering when he was going to show up. 

at seven-thirty he was there, letting in the cold air and sitting in the seat next to yours, complaining about the fact that you had a job that diverted your attention away from him while you rolled your eyes. 

he sat there for the half an hour remaining in your shift, distracting you. 

two months ago you would've kicked him out. would've called some make-believe security. 

but you just listened while he talked to you about space theories that didn't make any sense. 

and then he'd grabbed your bag for you, turning off the lights before you could, pushing in chairs while you organized the reception desk. 

and his hand grabbed yours before you thought to notice--swinging along while the two of you began the walk home. 

and halfway there, gojo stopped, looking up at something. "hey," he'd poked you. "look at the stars." 

you'd done it, begrudgingly, squinting. "i can count, like, three." 

"there's at least five." 

"why did you stop me to do this? it's cold." 

"because they look nice," he argues, looking down at you. "you have no eye for beauty." 

and, really, you might've agreed with him. you might've pushed him away from you and told him to hurry up and you might've not cared at all. 

but you could see his eyes, just a little bit, behind his sunglasses. and his smile was alabaster, and that feeling--that gasping for breath, trying to hold on to anything feeling--was there again. 

and it was poking you. like a push in some direction. like a laugh telling you that you were too afraid to do anything. 

you were looking at him. right at his face and the only thing you wanted to say was that he was wrong. 

he was wrong because at least you knew that he looked beautiful. 

but those words wouldn't leave your lips--that thought couldn't leave your head--so you were only staring at him. wishing that you'd never let him into your apartment and that he hadn't started becoming a person to you. 

it wasn't fair like this. 

"what?" he whispered, his smile dropping, like he could tell there was something wrong with you. like he knew you that well. 

if he'd kept on smiling, you wouldn't have done it. you wouldn't have pushed up on your toes and leaned into him, and you wouldn't have kissed him like you did. 

like you're doing. 

and it would've been fine because you never would've started this knowing that it would eventually have to stop. 

and even though it takes him less than a second to kiss you back--his lips molding to yours like an automatic reaction--you know that you shouldn't be doing this. 

that you can't be doing this. not with him. not like this. 

so when gojo's hands move to your waist, his breath even in your mouth, you push at his chest. and you want to run away. 

"i'm--" you swallow, trying not to taste him, the bubblegum flavor of him, and almost flinch away. "i'm sorry." 

gojo's mouth is frozen from where he stands two feet away. his hands are in the air like he doesn't know what to do with them. "you..." 

and you've never heard him speechless before. just the idea of it makes you blurt out whatever comes to mind. "i shouldn't have done that," you tell him, and, "i didn't mean to--i don't--" you shake your head. "sorry. i'm sorry. can we forget about this? can we get home because i'm really cold?" 

"you kissed me," gojo says, so simply. 

the words are another blow to your heart. you were hoping that he wouldn't have noticed. 

and wince and watch him, his face as it shifts, moving with each thought in his head. 

"gojo, i'm really--" 

"no," he interrupts, taking a step towards you. 

"what?" 

"that's not my name." 

you frown. "yes it is?" 

he shakes his head. "no, it's satoru. you've said it before, you know. you should keep saying it." 

"when have i said it?" you ask, momentarily blinded by how he demands this. who is he to demand anything? 

"when you were drunk." 

you scoff. "i'm not just going to call you by your first name cause you want me to," you tell him, "who do you think i am?" 

and then satoru laughs, shaking his head at you, his grin full-force on his face. "are you serious? you kissed me and now you don't want to call me by my first name?" 

you freeze. "i said i was sorry about that," you say, weakly. 

you feel like who you've always felt around him. not as easy, not as cool, never as smooth. you feel like a child caught doing something they're not supposed to. you want to run away from him, but he knows where you live. 

"you're sorry?" 

"i didn't mean to." 

he quirks a brow. "you didn't mean to?" 

"it was an accident?" 

he takes another step closer. "it was an accident?" 

"are you just going to keep repeating everything i say?" you ask, voice hard. this must be a dream. 

satoru shakes his head at you. "no, but i have a question." 

"...okay." 

"if i try to kiss you right now, are you going to try and murder me? i know that we're away from the apartment right now, but it would really ruin the mood." 

you stare at him. 

it must be answer enough because he steps forward and he kisses you again. but this time, it feels less mechanical. his lips are soft and smooth as they push against yours--and he pushes like he's demanding something from you. like he knows more about what you can give than you do. 

and he grins against you like he's doing everything exactly right. 

but when satoru pulls back, your eyes stay shut. you try and banish the feeling in your stomach from your body, but it doesn't respond to idle threats. 

"we shouldn't do this," you whisper to him. you don't open your eyes. you don't want to see his face and fall victim to another one of his schemes. 

"why not?" 

"the last time i kissed one of my roommates..." you imply, hoping that you don't have to tell him that you're scared. 

"oh, right," he brushes some hair from your face. he has not moved an inch away from you. "i forgot that you're experienced." 

"wasn't it obvious?" 

he laughs, and then nudges your cheek with a finger. "look at me." 

you shake your head. 

"c'mon, just a little." 

his voice is so soft. satoru is whispering like it's just for you. and you've never heard him like this and you don't think you want to see him. 

"please, sweetheart?" he asks, one last time, and you have to. if only to put yourself out of your own misery. "good. now listen--" 

"don't tell me what to do." 

he rolls his eyes. "listen," he repeats. "i know you don't like me very much. and i know that you only keep me around for my rent money and my pretty face--" 

you kinda want to hit him. 

"--but i've wanted to kiss you for weeks. and i'm not good at the..." he swallows, blinking just briefly. "all of the telling stuff, but i want to be. with you. for you." 

you're not sure if that's the end, or if it's the beginning. your eyes are stuck on his smile, and you're not listening to anything he said. 

he's very close right now. so accessible. and it's just another reason to want to push him away. 

satoru clears his throat, nudging your head with his nose. "and i'm tired of shoko and suguru calling me a coward, so it'd be great if you'd mention that you kissed me first." 

your brows furrow. "you told shoko and suguru?" 

"i didn't say anything," he almost swears. "they tricked me into admitting it." 

"when?" 

"...the day after i introduced you to them." 

you pull away to observe his face. "really?" 

he groans. "stop looking at me like that," he says, "it's mean." 

you almost smile at him again. then close your eyes. "okay."

"havent you listened to anything i've said to you?" he asks, rhetorically. "i flirt with you every day." 

"you flirt with everything." 

"mmm, true," he leans his chin against your head, breathing you in. "now that i've poured my heart out for you, can we go home? it's cold out here, and i'd rather make out on our couch than that bench over there." 

"who said anything about making out?" 

"please," he wraps an arm around your shoulder, and smiles down at you--with all of the typical swagger--and maybe this time you let him. 

*

[slytherinshua]

CHERRY BOWS

genre. fluff. cheol as a dad. warnings. toddler/parent stuff. cheol gets jelly. pairing. husband!scoups x wife!reader. wc. 1k. request. request by @blue-jisungs: you asked for soft hours n i shall give!! it’s been in my mind for a hot while actually but i’m too busy rn to do it myself… and you’re the perfect person bc U MADE ME THINK IF TJAT 🫵🫵 jealous dad seungcheol :( ofc he loves u n ur kid but give him some attention too smh >:T and requested by anon: i love your svt as dads!! they’re all so cute and i’d like to request one for cheol! a/n. i love love love dad cheol omg :( my second dad fic for him hehe <3 hes so girl dad coded and SOOOOO ADORABLE SKDJKS I LOVE HIM!!!!

“You ate without me…?” Cheol’s sleepy mumble was the first thing you heard from him. He had tiredly trudged downstairs when he had woken up and you weren’t next to him in the bed. It was already a bad start to the day when that happened, and he was frowning and pouting and generally sulking about it by the time he found you.

He wrapped his arms around you from the back, trapping you in the middle of the living room so you couldn’t continue without giving him the attention he needed. You smiled at his clinginess and deep raspy morning voice, but scoffed at how baby-like he was in the morning. Sometimes he acted even more like a child than your actual child. 

Eunha was your now 2 year old daughter. She was adored by everyone and constantly doted on. She could be a handful at times, but only because she had started to take after your bossiness and knew exactly how to appeal to Seungcheol. If she ever wanted something, all she had to do was look at them with those big boba eyes that she got from him, and he’d be folding.

He loved her more than anything. Probably even more than you, but you were okay with it. It warmed your heart how much he cared for his daughter. He’d die for her in a heartbeat without a second of hesitation. You were learning more and more every day the love a father could hold for his children. You had expected this attitude when you married him, of course. Because you knew him and you knew how caring he was. He was so filled with love for people and the world, and you were so lucky to have him.

Starting a family had always been a dream for both of you, and Eunha’s birth had been your biggest blessing. It was challenging to take care of a toddler, but you and Cheol always did your best.

Eunha was happily playing with her toy dolls after eating breakfast— the entire living room spread with her mess. It was always a constant of cleaning her toys in the evening just for her to make a new mess the next day, but you didn’t mind. It was worth it to see her so happy, and though it could be stressful to have a messy space sometimes, her happy giggles made up for it.

“Were you playing dolls with her without me as well?” Cheol asked, the pout he was wearing somehow finding its way into his tone. You giggled and he squeezed you tighter out of jealousy. He didn’t want to admit that he missed your attention being only on him, but it was true. 

You were getting up earlier to feed Eunha and play with her in the morning. The sleepy morning cuddles that Cheol looked forward to every time he fell asleep next to you were becoming rarer and rarer and he felt bitter about the change. It just wasn’t the same with Eunha. It wasn’t worse, it was definitely better in most aspects, but the free time that he had enjoyed before was being sucked away by the little child.

“She wanted me to be the doctor.” You told him, explaining the dynamics of Eunha’s favourite game. She would be the mother to her little baby doll, and either Cheol or you would usually be the doctor.

“The bed was so cold without you…” He murmured, pushing his cheek against your neck. His skin was warm against yours and you leaned into him more, savouring the feeling.

“I’m sorry. You know that Eunha likes to get up early…” You whispered.

“She should’ve woken me up instead of you. Aren’t you tired?” 

“A bit. Eating breakfast with her was nice, though. She insisted on having strawberries with her yogurt since she had seen me eat it like that once.” You smiled. Seungcheol pouted.

“I thought I was her favourite…” He was mostly joking, of course, but slightly hurt. He had always been susceptible to jealousy. Maybe he was a little too greedy— he loved watching you and Eunha spend time together, but he also hated being left out.

Your little moment of warm embrace was interrupted after 2 minutes, a giggly Eunha running up and clinging to her father’s leg. She babbled something about her doll and wanting to get ice cream later today, which you were sure Seungcheol would indulge her in. He spoiled her too much.

You were happy to see your husband’s pout lift up into the sweetest of grins. He picked up Eunha, holding her so that she was resting on his hip. He kept one arm around you; almost if you would run away and leave him if he didn’t. Which was probably partially true since you hadn’t cleaned up from breakfast yet.

“Give daddy a kiss?” Cheol asked Eunha, giggles ensuing amongst both of them. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek cutely and you smiled. Now that Seungcheol was awake as well, the two would be inseparable for the rest of the day— especially since Cheol didn’t have any work to get to.

The morning happily proceeded with a small second breakfast and playtime. Now that your husband was being included in every activity, he was all smiles and giggles. He liked being the centre of attention; you had discovered that fact throughout the years. He was the happiest man in the world when he knew he was making his daughter happy.

Her happiness always came first, even when it relied on Seungcheol’s hair being tied up in pigtails with little cherry-coloured bows because Eunha wanted to play hairdresser. You were almost envious of how cute he looked in them. It was impossible not to love everything that Cheol did.

Along with the bows came matching sweaters with a cherry pattern for father and daughter. One look at the two and you could easily declare them the two cutest human beings in the entire world.

↳ svt taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @yeonjuns-redhair,, @ddeonudepressions,, @hannahsophie0103,, @skz-minchan-enthusiast,, @shuabby1994,, @icyminghao,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @edensgardenn,, @wonwooz1,, @cyberpunksunwoo,, @cienlvrs,, @amara-mars

[stevieschrodinger]

TW for Eddie getting hurt (but he's okay). And Human Trafficking.

Link to Part One

Link to Part Three

“Again? Seriously?”

Eddie knows he should keep his mouth shut. He knows he should. He just...doesn’t seem to be able to.

It probably doesn’t help that Eddie is one hundred percent done with this. This isn’t a life. A gilded cage is still just a cage, and Eddie’s getting to the point where antagonizing the guards is a hobby.

“Wear it, or I’ll make you wear it,” the lackey snarls, shoving the flimsy white fabric against Eddie’s chest.

“You fucking wear it!”

And that’s it. The guys an Alpha, he’s like, literally twice the size of Eddie, and it all happens so fast Eddie’s winded by the floor before he knows what hit him. And then it comes, the whistling noise of the cane singing through the air. Eddie is intimately familiar with the noise.

And just like usual, Eddie can’t keep his noises in, he curses, he calls the guard every name under the sun, he screams and starts to cry but in the end is reduced to a compliant heap, the same as every other time.

They strip him naked and splash freezing water on his face, gets rid of the snot and tears and no doubt the flush he has on his cheeks. His feet are burning, throbbing, and Eddie wants to collapse back to the floor to take the pressure off.

He’s shoved into the white dress, “you so much as blink wrong out there and you won’t be standing for a fortnight.”

Eddie dips his head; he knows it’s true. They’ve done it before. So he gives in. They’re breaking him more and more easily. Eddie doesn’t want to give up; he just doesn’t feel like he has the energy any more.

He’s been here the longest, he’s the only one that’s never sold. It’s only a matter of time before his body ends up in a shallow grave out on the ranch somewhere.

He limps into the dining room, freshly sprayed with heavy duty scent blockers. Eddie’s vaguely aware they’re eating lunch, and if his feet weren’t fucking stinging the way they are, he has no doubt his stomach would growl at the smells.

Eddie doesn’t make it that far before he catches Hagan waving a hand at him, “get him out of here, he's bleeding on the rug.” Eddie does his best to oblige, but he can only move so fast with the injuries on his feet.

Hagan, out of everyone here, is not someone you want to piss off. Eddie learned that too, very early on.

"Him," someone says behind Eddie, "I want him."

Eddie turns back again, despite the fact that it can’t possibly be him the Alpha is referring too, there are other male omega here, after all. But no. The Alpha is standing now, and he’s looking right at Eddie.

Well, fuck.

Because as much as Eddie has dreamed of this day, of getting the fuck out of here...that Alpha could be worse. The possibility is always there. This could be a frying pan into fire type situation, and there’s fuck all Eddie can do about that.

Hagan makes a noise, scoffs, "Steve, come on, have a proper look. Don't pick that one. Get a pretty one."

The Alpha is irritatingly good looking at first glance, and he becomes even more so in Eddie’s eyes when he flashes a look of irritated disgust at Hagan, "no, he'll do."

Oh, Eddie ‘will do’ will he? Okay, maybe the Alpha isn’t that good looking, after all.

"Oh," Hagan laughs, "I get it, just gonna' wreck him anyway, right? That's fair, can always get another," and he's laughing again and suddenly Eddie is ice cold with fear. Hagan called this guy Steve; clearly they know each other. Is that the type of Alpha this Steve guy is?

Everyone else is shooed out of the room, and Eddie stands there on his throbbing feet, hearing, to the dollar, how much he’s worth.

More than he thought, if he’s being honest.

Alpha Steve doesn’t even flinch at the price.

Eddie’s certain Steve must be doing fifteen over the limit, which, honestly, he doesn’t care. It means Eddie’s traveling fifteen over the limit away from a place he never wants to see ever again, so it works for him.

"Look, uh, hey, you have a name?"

"Eddie," he answers, but only because he genuinely doesn't want to antagonize this guy right out of the gate.

"Right. Eddie. So. This is...well it's going to sound a bit wild but...I'm kind of here for the FBI. I mean. I don't work for them, or anything, but...I was...asked, I guess, to get evidence. So don't worry about everyone else, they're getting rescued later so. That's. A thing, I guess?"

Eddie just sort of sits there for a moment, feeling stupid. FBI. Rescue??? Maybe he hit his head or he's dreaming or something but...no, his feet are stinging like a bitch and he can very clearly remember how the whole day has gone so far. He’s awake, and this is real.

"Yea. Yeah, I guess that's a lot to take in. But we can talk about it...later? Do you have family? Like, shit, do you have somewhere to go? I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to actually like...buy, a person. Couldn't leave you there though."

The Alpha’s...rambling. Which, Eddie kind of figures now that this guy wasn’t joking when he said he doesn’t work for the FBI. He looks nervous, actually, white knuckling the steering wheel. In Eddie’s experience, if something seems to good to be true, then it almost definitely is. This guy is giving off no scent, and there's no scent in the car anyway. Either it's a rental or something, or this guy wears blockers most of the time. There's even one of those fancy scent diffuser things plugged into the dash. So other than being visibly unsettled Eddie’s got nothing to go off of.

But then, why would he lie? He’s bought Eddie fair and square, and like most Alphas, he’s probably carrying double Eddie’s body weight, plus he knows Eddie's already injured. Eddie could be going from one prison to a...worse prison. But...again, this guy has no reason to lie, right?

"I've...I've got an uncle. Haven't seen him for years. I don't...know,” it’s pretty true, without giving too much away. The possibility that this guy could be serious is...it feels to big of an idea to absorb. Eddie might be free? He'll maybe see uncle Wayne again? This guy is going to just...let Eddie go? Eddie's known, for literal years, that he had two ways out of the ranch, out front, bought and paid for, or out back, in a body bag. The sudden possibility of a third option is so out of left field Eddie doesn't know what to do with it.

"Right, right okay. We can talk to Hopper about it," Steve spots a drive through, "you hungry?"

Eddie has absolutely no fucking clue what a ‘Hopper’ is, but at the sight of the beautiful golden arches, his priorities shift drastically, "oh fuck me yes," Eddie says it with such vehemence that Steve laughs, he’s got a nice laugh, this Alpha. And unless he’s playing the long con...why the fuck would he even worry if Eddie’s hungry? "I haven't left the ranch for two years, and they never let us eat anything like that, it's bad for our skin. Plus, we have to stay thin and pretty."

Steve’s expression changes in an instant, he looks genuinely horrified by what Eddie’s just revealed, “you can have absolutely anything you want.”

Eddie takes him at his word and orders half the damn menu.

Well, Eddie figures, the FBI thing is true, and this is a Hopper, and man he looks like he’s had enough, "you were not supposed to buy a human being," he very clearly tells Steve. Eddie’s feet are stinging a little on the asphalt, but as long as he doesn’t move too much, it’s bearable. And even though he’s still wearing the fucking nightdress, like hell was he missing this conversation.

"I know but-" Steve starts to protest, which Eddie thinks is kind of brave, because if Steve is twice Eddie’s weight, Hopper is basically a giant. Hopper stops him dead with a glare, and Steve hands over his phone and strips off his suit jacket and hands that over too, leaving him in a pristine white shirt.

Hopper waves him off, "you did good."

Hopper does something to the back of Steve's phone, peeling something away from it, before giving it back and then turning his attention to Eddie, "somewhere I can take you kid? Any family?"

"I only have an uncle, but I don't...it's been years, I haven't seen him since I was little."

Hopper rubs is hand over his face, the rasp of stubble loud, before he lights another cigarette, "I'll have to find you a motel somewhere while we figure this out." And that sparks a twinge of...fear. Eddie has lived with a group of Omega for years, and the ranch was a lot of things but...they had meals provided, they didn't have to think about money, or clothes, or anything mundane like that. The prospect of suddenly being completely alone...completely alone and potentially vulnerable, is not in any way appealing.

"He can stay with me." Steve suggests out of fucking no where, "I've got...a lot of space," he trails off, looking kind of sheepish that he even suggested it. At some point, somewhere between the rescue, the McDonalds, and right this moment, Eddie kind of decides, tentatively, at least, that Alpha Steve might just be an alright guy.

Hopper raises an eyebrow at Eddie, Eddie shrugs, playing down his relief, "not like I've had any better offers lately."

Hopper snorts, but he hands over a business card to Steve, "this is highly unorthodox, but...I don't care. I've got bigger things to worry about. Text me any details the kid can give you on the uncle. I'll be in touch."

And then Hopper just...drives away. Steve fiddles with the card Hopper just gave him, and Eddie can see it says FBI and all that good stuff on it. This is feeling more and more real as time stretches on.

"So is there anything you...want? Need?" Steve asks him.

Eddie feels kind of bad about the sheer amount of money he’s already cost Steve today, "I mean, I don't have any cash, obviously, and I heard how much money you shelled out- I mean, do you think you can comp me from the FBI? Man, you didn't even get a receipt for me."

And that...makes Steve laugh, like really, makes him laugh. And Eddie joins in, not that he thinks he’s funny particularly, but because Steve is just so...well. Maybe it’s a relief too, that Eddie is finally out of that place, and the truth of that is finally sinking in. He’s free. Feels a little delirious with the possibility of freedom.

And there’s only one way to celebrate something like that, “can we get milkshakes?”

@stylelovechild @steddieonthen @marklee-blackmore @sticknpokelightningbolt @resident-gay-bitch @somegirlsomewhere @mugloversonly @cryptid-system @weekend-dreamer7

[kingkatsuki]

Everyone leaving a business course in Japan knows that Dynamight PR is THE job to get. Everyone strives and works for it without really knowing what they’re getting into. They just know it’s the highest paying job you can get and you’ll either never need to go job hunting again, or you’ll have an amazing job on your CV. That is until they work there and realise that Dynamight is a dog that cannot be contained by his PR team and the reason you get hired on the spot if you go looking for other jobs is ‘well if you can work for Dynamight, you can work for anyone’

I could write about this trope for hours I’m so obsessed with it— he’d make your job so insufferable whilst simultaneously being the best part of it😫

On paper, a job at Dynamight’s agency is the dream for anyone in business— never mind a student fresh out of school with no experience. Strict NDA’s meant there was little information about what a job working for Dynamight’s PR team was really like, but the fact that his current manager was signed off sick for stress should’ve been an indication of what the job would be like for you.

You didn’t meet Dynamight during your interview, even though it was held at his agency. A fact you found a little peculiar, thinking a Hero climbing the rankings would be invested in who he’d have as his PR assistant— especially as it could help further his career, but it didn’t surprise you. Dynamight was one of the most in-demand heroes, with the media, fans and public desperate for his attention. Of course he wouldn’t have the time to interview everyone that applied for the job.

But you didn’t even meet Dynamight when you got the job. The three weeks since had been surprisingly calm, surprisingly easy. You’d spend your days filtering through emails, most of them from fans who’d beg for a chance of meeting the Pro, or autographs or merch. Not unlike a lot of the emails from the media, trying to arrange interviews or publicity stunts while trying to offer their fees.

The only complaint you’d received was from a young photographer that hadn’t known any better when he shoved his camera directly under Bakugou’s nose during a rescue mission, the hulking Pro carrying an injured civilian over one of his broad shoulders as he grabbed the camera with his palm. The heat of his quirk no match for the intricate technology as it melted beneath his touch, effectively destroying the memory card as he let it drop to the ground. The only evidence a blurry, charred JPEG of Bakugou’s angry face as he reached out for the device. The complaint quickly settled with a new photography set as compensation, as well as a well scripted apology from the Pro. An apology, which you soon realised, was carefully scripted by yourself and signed by the Pro-Hero himself.

“What do you want?” You hadn’t expected these to be the first words your new boss would say to you, and yet here you were.

“Oh, I’m your new PR assistant,” You understood now why people felt intimidated in his presence. Crimson eyes shot you a glare from across the room before he quickly went back to the laptop on his desk, even though thick-rimmed glasses he still felt as intimidating as ever. Even if he did look much cuter like this— “I just need you to sign this apology to the photographer from last week—”

“I ain’t fuckin’ signing that shit,” He scoffed, “Tell that prick he’s lucky it wasn’t his head.”

Now you understood why there were always vacancies available for this job.

You were certain Dynamight wasn’t trying to make your job difficult on purpose, he always seemed to answer your calls when he was inside his office— even if it was usually with an abrupt “what?”. And he even agreed to tone down his aggressive views online, “Fine, sweetheart. I’ll cut the fuckin’ politics. But you know those fuckers need tellin’ how dumb they are”. The peace could only ever be short lived, because no matter how hard you tried, things just seemed to get worse.

If the hero commission weren’t a bunch of pussies Deku wouldn’t be number one for another year in a row.

“Oh my god,” Your eyes squinted as you read the tweet at six in the morning, before you’d even had a chance to wake up and get ready for the day.

The likes and retweets continued to grow as you began to get messages from your team at the agency, and the media as you contemplated just never coming back.

Usually someone in the IT department would lock his account just in time, or intercept the tweets but it wasn’t always quick enough. You really were in the trenches as you decided to take matters into your own hands. Scrolling to your contacts as you called your boss immediately, pinching the bridge of your nose to try and calm the migraine you knew was coming on.

“You’re callin’ a bit late for a bootycall, sweetheart—” He grunted, his breathing laboured on the other side of the phone so you assumed he was at the gym. Or so you hoped, not wanting to imagine him on top of another woman whilst talking to you, “Don’t you start work in an hour?”

“Cut the crap, Bakugou,” You snapped, irritated by the offensive tweet mere hours after he’d promised to tone it down, “You said no more ridiculous tweets.”

“You said no more ridiculous tweets,” He mimicked your tone, “I’m just posting pure fuckin’ facts and you know it. If the commission weren’t so far up Deku’s ass I’d be number one by now.”

“No,” You growled, “If you weren’t such an insufferable asshole all the fucking time and actually tried to show up to some of the events that were organised for you, you might actually have a chance of changing public perception of you. Nevermind the simple fact that Deku had better numbers than you this month. Deku’s number one because he deserves to be, but you deserve it too. So maybe if you fixed up we could get you there, but instead you choose to be a jerk.”

You couldn’t believe the words had left your mouth. Every single ounce of annoyance and irritation you’d felt working under Dynamight for the past month had spewed out in under thirty seconds. The emotions you’d kept bottled up every time you received a new complaint or read a new interview or post from Bakugou, now released from your system.

And even though you were certain that you’d lost your job now, at least you could say that you’d given your notice in style.

“Well shit,” You heard the running stop on the other side of the phone as you assumed he paused his treadmill, panting into the receiver.

“I’m sorry, sir,” You sighed, “Maybe it’s better if you get someone else for the job—”

“I like it when you’re pissed, sweetheart.” He cut you off completely, catching you off guard, “I’ll see you in an hour. You can tell me exactly what you want me to do.”

[webslingingslasher]

ok this is random but😭

i had a dream the other day and idk why i didn’t tell you sooner bc it’s so you/trouble/us coded but i had a dream where i bit my man’s shoulder (im single) (hypothetical dream man) but i but it OFF and woke up crying like his flesh was in my mouth and there was blood and now i csnt jokingly bite my future bf bc i’m traumatised

oh my god. telling this to bf!peter im-

'wake up.' stiff pokes, your touch is swiped away. 'no.' you poke harsher, peter hisses around a breath. 'wake up.' he pulls towards the edge of his bed, you follow right behind.

'go away, i'm sleeping.'

'that's fine, i just need to tell you something.' peter lets out the most dramatic sigh you've ever heard. 'tell me.'

'i can't bite you anymore.'

two days ago you bit him so hard it left a perfect bruise in the shape of your mouth. when you saw it the next day, you cried and told him how sorry you were, peter said it was fine and it didn't hurt. it was kind of sad, peter had never seen you so guilty before.

'don't tell me you're still crying over that. it was an accident and i promise it doesn't hurt.' you frown, you weren't talking about that but you think that's where the idea came from.

'i just had a dream i bit you and like, i bit your arm off.'

peter rolls over, he's got two perfect arms. 'trust me, trouble. you've got jaws of steel, but they're not that strong.' peter's the one who brought it up, you point at the fading purple.

'i did that.'

'and it's still attached.' peter shakes his arm out, 'see? wanna give it a nibble?'

'no! no more biting. no biting ever again, i can't control myself, obviously.'

'it's a minor flesh wound.'

'for now! what if i gave you a staph infection?'

'you didn't give me a staph infection.'

'how do we know that?'

'because you didn't break the skin, trouble.' you stare at the mark, it haunts you still. your lower lip trembles, you hurt him. 'petey,' it's that broken voice, the one that makes peter feel like a teddy bear, the mix between bringing comfort and a sense of protection.

it's all it takes for him to scoop you into his hold. 'c'mere, give me a hug.' you press against him tight. 'i hurt you.' peter holds his lips to your forehead, you caused damage and he's comforting you.

'minorly. i’ve bruised you before, too. i didn’t beat myself up over it.’ you snort, he didn’t cry but he felt terrible. peter went in a little hard on sex one night, his fingertips bruised little marks into your hips where he held you. the next morning he kissed them over and over while he whispered apologies.

‘liar. you freaked the next morning.’ peter hums, he remembers. ‘of course i did. i bruised my girlfriend the same night i got her.’ you want to squeal, each time he says it feels like you take flight.

‘then you understand why i’m upset. i mortally wounded my boyfriend, the person i love most.’ you gasp, you hadn’t even thought of it like this, but it’s even worse.

you push back to stare into his eyes, your thumb brushes over the purple ring. ‘i hurt spider-man!’ you kiss over the bruise, you can’t believe you hurt your hero like this.

‘i almost bit spider-man’s arm off.’

peter rolls his eyes, ‘no, you almost bit your boyfriends arm off.’

‘spider-man is my boyfriend.’

‘peter was your boyfriend first.’ you hold up a finger, ‘technically- you told me you-‘

‘technically nothing. you’ve known peter for longer, that’s who your boyfriend is.’

you shake your head at him. ‘well, technically-‘ peter flips you to your back, you blink wildly at the sudden movement. ‘technically nothing. spider-man was collateral to get peter to be your boyfriend.’

you raise your eyebrows, peter hides his hands under the warmth of your shirt. ‘baby, i only said yes because i knew i’d be dating spider-man.’

peter pouts sympathetically, ‘i hate to tell you this, trouble. but… spidey is pretty upset about the impending staph infection. peter on the other hand… is strong and brave.’

you agree with him. ‘yeah! you’re the strong one, you can handle your arm being bit off. i mean, i’ll never bite you again, but you could handle it.’

‘trouble, as long as you’re the gnawing my arm off, i’d be fine with it.’ you pout up at him, peter thinks he said the wrong thing again and tries to backtrack.

you stop him. ‘i’m not sad, petey. i’m in love. you’d give an arm for me.’ peter gives you three quick kisses, ‘i’d give you anything.’

you murmur against his lips, ‘like being able to call spider-man my boyfriend?’ peter presses in harshly, you think he might’ve bruised your bottom lip in retaliation.

‘almost anything.’

[sunkissed-zegras]

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐕𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄, 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 ─ NK¹⁰

౨ৎ ─ summary | nika calls her girlfriend while they're at an away game, only to be teased by her team (and nika, of course). REQUESTED! -> "MOREEE NIKAAA PLSSSS UR SO GOOD"

─ word count | 685

─ warnings | nothing but sweetness, fluff and some teasing!

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @euphternal and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

"YOU SHOULD'VE JUST SLAPPED HER," NIKA'S voice rung from your phone speaker as you laughed, rolling your eyes.

"Oh trust me, I wanted to." You joked as you leaned back into your bed, a tired yawn escaping your lips. Nika was at an away game and per usual ─ Nika had to call you and talk to you.

Even if it was only a couple days away from each other, she needed to hear your voice because the one time she didn't call you at an away game ─ they lost, badly. And of course because she misses your sexy voice.

The sound of her laughter echoed through the phone, a comforting melody that soothed your tired mind. "If I was there, I woulda slapped her for you."

"I know you would have, baby." You rolled your eyes as you playfully replied, the fondness evident in your tone. "But then we'd both be in trouble, and who would cheer for you at your next game?"

Nika chuckled, the sound music to your ears. "Good point. Can't have my lucky charm getting banned from the arena, we'd never make it to playoffs."

You smiled, imagining Nika's smirk on the other end of the line. "Exactly. Besides," you added, "I wouldn't want to miss cheering you on. You know I'm your number one fan."

Nika's laughter bubbled over again, warming your heart even more. "Damn right you are. I'd be lost without you there, cheering me on with that sexy voice of yours."

You couldn't help but blush at her compliment, feeling a rush of affection for her. "Well, I'll make sure to save my best cheers for you."

"That's all I ask," Nika replied, her voice softening. "Just knowing you're there, rooting for me, means everything."

Before you could respond, you heard a bunch of voices laughing in the background teasing her. You could only guess that it's her teammates, a smile playing on her lips.

"Oh shut up, you guys are all jealous 'cus you don't have a hot girlfriend cheering you on!" Nika called out to her teammates, her tone playful yet teasing.

The voices in the background only grew louder, confirming your suspicions. It seemed like Nika's teammates enjoyed teasing her about her softness for you, but you knew it was all in good fun.

"I swear, you guys are worse than a bunch of gossiping high schoolers," Nika exclaimed, her laughter mixing with the banter of her teammates.

"Sounds like you're having fun over there," you remarked, amusement evident in your voice. "Tell them I said hi. And that they better treat my girl right, or they'll have to answer to me."

Nika laughed, her voice amused as some of the girls began laughing as well. "Don't worry, babe. They know better than to mess with you."

"Why are you laughing? You don't think I'm intimidating, Nika?" You mocked hurt as you scoffed, swallowing the urge to join in the laugher as you pushed the blanket to your shoulders.

Nika's laughter only intensified at your mock hurt, her voice laced with amusement. "Oh, believe me, babe, you're the most intimidating person I know. I'm shaking in my boots over here."

"Oh shut up, you've been hanging too much with Paige. She's rubbing off on you, shaking in your boots?" You repeated, playfully scoffing.

"Hey, don't blame Paige for my awesome sense of humor," Nika retorted, her laughter still audible in the background. "Besides, a little boot-shaking never hurt anyone."

You couldn't help but laugh at Nika's comeback, her wit as sharp as ever. "Fine, fine, I'll let it slide this time. But don't think you're off the hook for teasing me."

Nika's laughter gradually subsided, replaced by a softer, more affectionate tone. "Wouldn't dream of it, baby. You know I love teasing you almost as much as I love you."

Your heart fluttered at her words, a warmth spreading through you at the reminder of her affection. "Almost, huh? Well, I'll take what I can get."

"Good," Nika replied, her voice gentle. "Because you've got all of me, now and forever."

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[povlnfour]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ PADDOCK TO PADDOCK FINAL PART

series masterlist | prev part

lando norris x f!horse rider!reader

authors note: for the purpose of this i need you to imagine lando flew straight back to monaco the monday after vegas and didn’t need to fly to abu dhabi till thursday night… thank u

lando.jpg just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by oscarpiastri, daniel.jpg3 and 105,411 others

lando.jpg early birthday celebrations🇧🇷

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user3 CARLANDOOOO

user5 them going to brazil early just to hang out is so :(

user1 day 3 of the y/n drought and i just cried over a photo of her by a pool

user4 okay but who’s the third wheel….

user10 definitely y/n

landonorris it’s me they’ve rallied against me

carlossainz55 just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 508,199 people

carlossainz55 gracias são paulo, now onto the race☀️

👤 tagged yourusername

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user7 oh so lando wasn’t kidding about him being a third wheel😭

user15 CARLOS AND Y/N DRINKING TOGETHER AHAHAHA AM I SENSING A NEW DUO

user2 can’t wait for people to start rumours about them now xo

user5 carlando holiday with added y/n,,,, my dream🥹

user4 i know y/n’s phone is full of such cute carlando photos this break couldn’t have come at a worse time

y/nupdates just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by landonorris and 15,406 others

y/nupdates y/n at the paddock with lily today for the quali of the brazil grand prix!! someone said lando gave her the stitch plushie when they arrived and she’s not let it go🥹

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user1 she looks sO HAPPY

user14 lando getting to see her every day and still stalking her fanpages is so adorable to me

user4 he’s just like all of us fr

user8 i’m so sad she can’t be with him on his birthday :( you know she’d give us the cutest lan content

mclaren just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by landonorris, fernando_alo and 291,222 others

mclaren not much to see here. just lando norris things👀🧡

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user4 LANDOOOO

user14 cause he had his good luck charm there😌

mclaren 👀 we’re going to miss her

user5 future wdc coming

user8 THE WAY HE KISSED Y/N WHEN HE GOT P2😭

texts with lando ੈ✩‧₊˚

birthday texts with lando ੈ✩‧₊˚

landonorris just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

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landonorris thanks for all the birthday wishes🤙🏻 had lots of fun with cake, golf and very fitting gifts which my girlfriend enjoyed🕶️

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user2 THE GLASSES😭😭😭

user4 IN TEARS

user5 more carlando and y/nlando content😭😭😭😭 we are THRIVING this week

user12 you’re so cute🥹

alex_albon tell y/n she’s so welcome for the laughs

landonorris she also loved the cardboard cutout of you

y/nupdates just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by landonorris and 17,208 others

y/nupdates best of luck to both @/yourusername and @/landonorris who compete today in respective competitions🩷 neither had a particularly positive saturday so we’re hoping they can bounce back stronger than ever!

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user7 good luck guys🥹

user8 masterclasses incoming

user13 y/n looked so nervous yesterday i hope she’s okay

user1 i think she had watched the quali before her own qualifying because her interview she said she had been distracted all morning😭

landonorris 🧡

liked by y/nupdates

texts with lando ੈ✩‧₊˚

y/nupdates just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

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y/nupdates SHE’S ONLY GONE AND DONE IT😭 in her final competition before the winter rest, @/yourusername surprised everyone after a rough saturday and took gold with TWO ALL CLEARS🥹🩷 so proud of our girl!!! now she gets to enjoy her rest

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user3 CRYING IM SO PROUD

user12 SHE DID SO WELL

user1 devastated over lando but SO HAPPY FOR Y/N

landonorris that’s my girl🧡

user4 HI KING HOPE UR OKAY

lilymhe THATS MY OLYMPIAN😎 BRING ON PARIS 2024

landonorris just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by yourusername, alex_albon and 304,551 others

landonorris not how we wanted it to go but thank you for all your messages of support🧡 maybe not the best day for me but it certainly was for my girl, proud as hell

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user4 THE PHOTO ON THE STRETCHER YOURE SO UNSERIOUS

carlossainz55 glad you’re okay mate❤️

user5 glad you’re okay lando :( so proud of you no matter what <3

user1 him including y/n on the post🥹 they’re so in love

yourusername you’ll be back🧡

landonorris my superstar

user2 Y/N COMING BACK ONLINE JUST TO COMMENT OH I LOVE THEM

texts with charles and lily ੈ✩‧₊˚

yourusername just posted stories ੈ✩‧₊˚

lilymhe just posted stories ੈ✩‧₊˚

landonorris just posted stories ੈ✩‧₊˚

yourusername just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by landonorris, lilymhe and 331,608 others

yourusername happy belated birthday my love @/landonorris. no one deserves to be celebrated more than you, and i hope i get to do this for a long time in the future. biggest thanks to my co conspirators @/charles_leclerc and @/lilymhe for making this happen. the rumours and the drama were all worth it

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landonorris just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

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landonorris and with that, the 2023 season comes to a close. it’s been a busy one, not the most perfect end race wise, but one i will always remember because of you — my true prize🧡 so excited to see what you can do going forward. paris 2024 is going to be yours

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—————

a/n: ANDDDD that’s it :’) semi anti climactic i know but i just enjoyed writing this and wanted it to have a simple soppy ending so

considering doing a mini epilogue to show their lives as it carries on? lmk if that’s something you’d like to see eek

back to one shots i go eeeek

- giselle xx

taglist: @idkiwantchocolatee @vellicora @alessioayla @bborra @crimeshowjunkie @minkyungseokie @paolexsstuff @celestialpato @champagnelovers101 @loxbbg @hobiismyhopeu @tsukishitm-a @moonypixel @champagneproblems17 @ironmaiden1313 @lqvesoph @sunflower-golden-vol6 @six-call @skatingiswalkingincursive @peqch-pie @m0cha-bunny @woozarts @he6rtshaker @iluvvmeeee @goldenalbon @izzy-marvel @lucyysthings @lichterfee

[007reid]

u have absolutely no idea what 'coffee caramels' did to me omg 😭 u write spencer and his mannerisms so WELL hsbsghdbdh so i come to u with a lil request if that's okay with u !!

spencer insists on playing pretend-doctor for reader who's sick (but denying it) so he invokes his technically-a-doctor card and gives his second opinion just to take care of reader n smother them w looooove

essentially just him teasing y/n and being the stupid Cute attentive nerd he is <3

(inspired by S5E3 where he gets stuck at the bau w garcia bc he was being stubborn abt his injury)

i am never ever Normal abt this guy 😞 i look forward to reading more of ur work and losing my mind over reid with u, aine !! mwa

hiii tysm for requesting, youre so fucking sweet!! <33 drop an emoji to let me know who you are and let’s loose our mind over our fav boy together anon!!!! also sorry this took so long, i wrote like 3k but then hated it so i started over, i love this prompt sm so i feel like i had to do it justice.

pspspsp i love s5 spence so fucking much... his hair went from beautiful to ethereal to mad sexy...s5 treated us well. requests are ALWAYS appreciated !!!!!!

soup. spencer reid

spencer reid x fem!reader, 3k

you've been off it for so long, dodging virus after virus and disease after disease and just right when you thought that you are immune to sickness, you caught it. the inevitable fever.

there was no denying it, you've tried. after getting a headache, you popped a tylenol before you went to sleep, nonchalant. the next morning was when reality really came crashing down. a sore throat.

it progressively got worse throughout the day, and when you came crashing into bed after a long day at work, your nose was feeling stuffy and your were coughing, spewing sickness everywhere you went. you woke up in the middle of night sweating like you had just ran a fucking marathon and only able to breathe through one nostril unless you shift your body entirely.

you did not take to these news well. firmly in denial, you still planned to show up to work the next day.

except you didn't show up to work. sickly and delirious, the part when you press snooze then snooze again slip your mind and at one point you must've turn off your alarm entirely. drifting in and out of consciousness and slipping into dream after dream, it gets harder to tell what is real and what is not.

"y/n? y/n!"

now, it is very probable that the voice isn’t actually real, because why the hell would you be hearing spencer reid’s voice outside of work? the chances are slim to none, and despite the heat pounding at your skull you manage to smile. there is something unexplainably comforting about spencer’s voice, soft and deliberate. it would be foolish to say that under the mad spell he’d cast on you (him simply saying two words) he’s managed to melt away your headache, because he didn’t. you still feel like shit.

“y/n?”

you frown, the voice sounding too insistent and real and not matching up with the visuals of your dream. you feel a tapping on your shoulder and when you blink your eyes open you could’ve screamed.

you jump up and then backwards, huddling your blanket with you, scared for your life. because right in front of you is perhaps the most intimidating creature on the earth; spencer reid in a purple sweater vest with his face so close to yours he could breathe in your sickness, hair tucked carefully behind his ear.

“spencer?” you ask incredulously, but instead your voice comes out a rasp. you clear your throat, feeling something warm creep up your cheek. it might be a blush, but you blame it on the chills. you keep blinking, trying to regain your vision and feel instantaneous embarrassment. you look a mess, sick and dehydrated with dry lips and bad hair and you probably reek of morning breath. and spencer’s there, looking like heaven’s finest angel, smiling at you like he’s smiling at a person and not a monster. spencer has the tendency to treat and look at everyone like they’re the love of his life. you sort of hate it.

“hi y/n,” he breathes, crouching down on the floor before you on the bed. “i—“

“what are you doing here?” you’re too impatient to wait, still in shock.

now. you try not to make it obvious that you have a mad crush on spencer, because if the fact were to spill, you’re not eager cleaning up the consequences. it’s an unestablished, unspoken rule that should be common sense that no workplace dating will be allowed and usually it’s a ridiculous rule, because who the hell would want to date their coworker, like actually? work crushes are normal but they exist only in a part of your day, an eye-candy for you to stare at to get through the day, then you go home or go out and forget about them. who actually has serious work crushes, actually? actually? it’s ridiculous.

your defense is completely solid, you’d say. your number one defense is you can’t help the fact that you and spencer were meant to be friends. the moment you joined the team, you and spencer clicked together like two lego pieces, despite your clashing personalities. you find it refreshing to have someone like spencer, someone who’s soft and sweet but cunning and resourceful but thoughtful and kind, and it was equally refreshing for spencer to have someone blunt and straightforward but still patient enough to put up with him.

spencer doesn’t like physical touch but ever since your first week he made you the exception and if you could, you would parade the privilege around like a badge. what can you say, you’re proud to be spencer’s little exception, anyone would be. he makes you feel special, differently than the others do and what’s a girl to do? to have that great of a relationship with a coworker and not be work spouses and not be actually head over heels with the guy? how laughable.

it’s not something you’re proud of, however. you know it’s a lost cause, chasing after spencer. it hurts, sometimes, but you always patted yourself on the back with an ‘it is what it is.’ spencer, as sweet and vulnerable as he is, has layers behind his thinly veiled heart. he talks a lot but he never talks about himself and he never talks about the past so he doesn’t have to revive it, so all the memories are just wounds left out and neglected to burn. spencer’s trouble, definitely trouble, but it’s hard to be aware of the workload that spencer reid is when he’s rambling to you about something as innocent as halloween or knocking his knuckles on your knee during a flight trying to get your attention.

spencer blinks sheepishly, settling criss cross apple sauce on the ground, lanky legs twisting uncomfortably. “you didn’t come into work and you didn’t answer your phone,” he explains. “emily told me to go check on you.”

you nod. he’s here because emily told him to. it makes a lot more sense now. “i’ll head in the office now,” you say, making your way out of bed, wiping at your eyes. “sorry—“

“no you’re not,” spencer says immediately, not even hesitating. he places a hand on your upper chest, pressing you back down on the bed. the butterflies at the pit of your stomach throws a fit. you know he means nothing by the action—has spencer reid ever been the one knowledgeable about romance?—but knowing that doesn’t help the heat that spread up your cheeks that’s definitely not from the sickness. “you’re burning up,” he says. “i’ll get you some water. you should clean up,” he says, uncrossing his legs difficultly and then stumbling out the room, mismatched socks slipping on the hardwood floor.

you take advantage of the time that spencer’s not there and race to the bathroom, ignoring the blackout and the dizziness that threatens to make you faint from getting up too abruptly. you squirt some toothpaste onto your toothbrush and by the time you exit the bathroom, spencer is already there, waiting, except he’s by your desk, hands on a book.

typical.

he perks up when he hears your footsteps pad into the room, turning around, looking like a child who’s been caught with your book in his hands. you smile at him, albeit it’s a pathetic smile. you feel dizzy.

“you like toni morrison?”

“i love toni morrison,” spencer chirps, excitement bouncing all over his face. “especially her masterwork, beloved,” he looks back down at your red copy admiringly then sets it down. "get back in bed," he says, and you can't wrap your hand around how ridiculous the situation is. your coworker, or work crush, is at your house, checking your temperature and shooing you to bed to rest. "i bought you soup so you can eat up, i--"

“you bought me soup?” you ask, incredulous. spencer nods seriously.

“it's proven that eating soup makes people feel better, not just some stereotype. the right amount of sodium can help help relieve sore throat pains and the vitamins and minerals found in soup can play a very large part in recovery...i had a feeling you were going to be sick, it’s the weather, you know? everyone is catching the cold. you need to eat it before it gets cold, the heat helps with nasal digestion and also sinus pressure and it'll be useless if you ate it lukewarm...i’ll be right back…” and with the babbling his voice fades out as he walks back out to the living room, leaving you alone standing on the side of your bed. you look at the forgotten copy of beloved set carefully back onto your desk, smiling to yourself slightly before climbing back into bed, because spencer says so and spencer’s always right but mostly because your legs feel like they’re going to give out.

spencer is speedy, striding several steps at once with his ridiculously long legs that looks unnaturally lanky but once he reaches your room again, soup and spoon in hand you were already nodding off, head lolling and eyes slipping shut. spencer stops at your bed stand, thinking to himself for a second before balancing the plastic bowl of soup on one hand and using the other to gently nudge at your face, waking you up. he grimaces when he feels that your skin burns to the touch, a bright tint to your cheeks that he hates himself for liking because you're sick, he shouldn't be thinking that you're pretty or stuff like that.

spencer waves the thought away, determined to focus on his mission. deliver soup, make sure you're okay, and send his farewells. that's what emily told him to do, and even though derek added a "kiss her goodnight too, loverboy!" he's only going to listen to emily, because emily knows best.

yes. perfect. that's exactly what he's going to do.

"hey," he whispers, caressing his thumb across the lightly purple patch under your eye, frowning to himself. you haven't been getting good enough sleep, and he feels guiltier for waking you up, but then straightens himself up resolutely--no. emily said the soup must be delivered and consumed--just to melt again when your eyes flutter open, confused and traces of sleep still floating around your facial expression. "sorry," he mumbles, feeling oddly embarrassed. "it's just--i mean, you don't have to, jus' want you to eat something before you sleep again."

you sit up slowly, and once you're fully awake again, the smell of the soup hits you like a bucket of ice and you suddenly feel your mouth watering. you feel like a princess, sitting there with your hands crossed in your lap while you wait for spencer to unwrap the plastic utensils and tissues from its clear packaging, carefully opening up the lid of the soup on the night stand and hot steam floats around the room, engulfing both you and spencer in a bubble of tomato soup.

spencer, a planner that he is, didn't let you eat directly from the plastic take-out bowl from the restaurant and had rummaged through your kitchen for a bowl and pours half the soup into the ceramic, no spillage and perfectly clean. then he hands the soup to you, and you eat.

to say that spencer is concerned is to say the least. you're a profiler, and you're trained to pick up on this sort of thing but you only need to be a child with an undeveloped brain to work out that spencer's worried, watching your every move and monitoring that you eat enough, the crease in his brows deepen whenever you set the bowl down so you pick it up again and stuff two more spoonfuls in your mouth, to hopefully make him worry less.

the silence is awkward, the only sounds in the room is you biting down on the spoon occasionally as you drink your soup and spencer watching intently, hands on his chin and unaware of his staring problem. you and spencer rarely has these kind of silences, the silences where you scramble for things to say because the atmosphere would always be too comfortable. you sneak glances at him as you eat. since spencer's completely oblivious to the heaviness of the silence, you feel it's up to you to break it.

"i'll clock in once i'm finish eating this, don't worry," you say, trying your best to sound reassuring as you try to choke back a spoonful of soup too big. you lick your lips, and spencer is biting his, a bad habit.

"no you're not, y/n," he says, exasperated. normally, when spencer uses his 'i'm right so you should listen to me' tone like this, it means he's geared for an argument and you would be happy to challenge him, but now you can't find the energy for it. yet you muster enough up anyway.

"i'm only a bit shaken up 'cause of the weather," you say, trying to sound as convincing as possible, still in the calm before the storm of the bicker. "'m not immobile. and i already used up all my off days visiting my family--"

spencer, however, didn't bother for the peaceful offering. "you're not coming in today, y/n," he says, and he sounds a bit anxious but you know his true intent. his eyes are mirthful with confidence, and he knows he's already won the argument. despite the buzzing in your ears and the fuzziness in your brain, you can't let the bastard win. you can't.

“i can’t miss anymore days spencer, and i won’t,” you say coldly, but you slurping on the soup hungrily like it’s your last day on earth sort of ruined your cool facade. “i’m not too sick, either, it’ll be useless for me to stay home—“

spencer reaches to press his palm against your forehead, his skin cold to the touch. you close your eyes instinctively.

“you’re burning up,” he announces. “means your sick. you’re not coming in today, y/n.”

“says who?” you say defensively, feeling a bit like you’re loosing.

“says me,” spencer says cooly, cheeky smile at his lips. you should hate it more than you do. “who’s a doctor.”

you scoff. “so now you’re an actual doctor? you got a medical phd on you?”

“i have a bachelor in medicine and enough doctorates to make me slightly knowledgeable in every field,” spencer quips and you didn’t even know that he had a bachelor in medicine. how many fucking degrees does this guy even have on his resume?

“whatever,” you grumble, sounding a lot like someone who’s just got defeated. you set the bowl of soup down on the nightstand and spencer hands you a bottled water before you could think about needing water. you pluck it from his offering hands, muttering a “thanks” under your breath.

spencer laughs quietly, watching you drink patiently and putting the cap back on when you hand him back the bottle, setting it next to your soup. you feel ridiculously babied and your cheeks burn with the guilt you feel. you’re talking him off his office hours just to be here and feed you stuff and make sure you’re taking care of yourself.

spencer, the 24/7 profiler, notices. "is something wrong?" he asks innocently, round eyes blinking and oblivious. bless him. "you got redder. is it too hot? i can adjust the a/c."

“fine,” you mumble, still a little embarrassed with your realization. “little cold, actually.”

“it's the chills from your fever,” spencer informs you. “i…” he pauses, frowning again, frustrated from not being able to finish his thought. he abandons it. “do you need anything else?”

“no spence,” you laugh sort of pathetically, throat strained. “you’ve been an angel already. you can go back to the office, if you want.”

spencer thinks back to what emily had told him. soup. make sure she’s ok. leave. he’s done the past two steps. it’s time he completes his mission.

but…

“are you sure?” he prods, a little bit of him hoping that you'd say no. he doesn't know what it is; something bothering him, making him dread leaving.

you didn't get the cue. "mhmm," you shoot him a reassuring smile. as reassuring as you can manage, anyway, grimacing at the insistent throb in your head. spencer gnaws on his bottom lip, indecisive. you don't know what he was deciding between.

whatever battle it was, he wraps it up quick. "okay," he repeats. "i'll get back."

"you do that."

"remember to drink water."

"i will."

"do you need me to bring you more?"

"i'm okay."

"okay."

"okay."

the conversation feels incomplete and spencer isn't interested to complete it, booting out the door, except he lingers for a bit and awkwardly turns around, hand on the frame. you are already looking at him when he looks at you.

you and spencer are never this awkward, never this hesitant and strange. the tension that suffocates your room feels like signature first-date-tension, the kind of nervous excitement and tip-toeing blind lovers and uncertainty.

"are you sure?"

i'd rather you stay. you push the response away. "i am."

"you have medicine right?"

you do have medicine. for a brief moment, you want to lie about it; want to say that you ran out this morning and then he would run to the store for you and return and then spend more time in your insufferable, sickly presence. you brush the thought away within a second. never in a million years do you want to bother spencer, especially not with a thing as selfish as that. maybe it's because of your biased vision but spencer is looking like he's desperate to leave, practically screaming for outlet at the door. it's time you let him go and indulge in the worst sleep you'll ever have.

"yeah," you say, clearing your throat. "i do."

"okay," spencer says. "i'll go."

"thanks," you add awkwardly. "for the soup. and for coming."

"'course" spencer says absentmindedly, lingering at the door frame but not looking at you in particular, not looking at anything. he snaps back and sends you a wave. spencer has a power to him where everything he does looks unplanned, like he's doing it against his own will.

he leaves. if you had change your mind and ask for him to come back, for him to stay, he would've. no hesitation. but you didn't, and he wiggles back in his broken in converses and return back to the bau with no elevator partner.

maybe another day.

a/n: sorry for the ending, this was getting too long so i had to cut it short 😓😓but i think it's kinda fitting! lmk if you guys want a part 2 <3

[animeomegas]

The Quest for a Second Life - Part 2 - Potions and Magic and Sex, Oh My! (1)

ITACHI x ALPHA!READER

Summary: Porn logic, you quickly discover, is great for your soul and general self-esteem, but rather intensive on your poor heart. Your first day in an erotic pocket dimension and the horny shenanigans are only beginning. Also magic? That shit was the coolest thing you'd ever seen. GN!Dom!Alpha!Reader x Multiple Naruto Characters

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Sexual tension and adult situations, although no explicit sex. GN alpha, but all alphas have penises fyi.

A/N: I decided to split these chapters in two because they were getting very long haha! Not much porn in this one, as it's slightly more slow burn compared to Books 2 and 3. There will be a lot of porn in the second half, but this one just needed that build up imo. It's still too early to say Happy Holidays, but seeing that @omeganronpa is sick right now, I will say 'Get Well Soon!' instead :D I tried to get this finished in time to meet the request for softboi hours lol. I hope everyone enjoys!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Epilogue

Waking up when you hadn’t been asleep was somehow worse than normal waking up, and considering how much you hated to do that, it was almost impressive.

Your head was fuzzy with disorientation, and your eyes felt glued together with enough grit to pave a driveway. All in all, you felt pretty rough. It took you a few seconds to remember where you were and what was happening, but once you managed to pry open your eyes, met immediately with an unfamiliar ceiling, everything clicked into place. You were inside your first pocket dimension.

The spike of excitement that shot through you was so strong that the grogginess dissipated almost immediately, and any thoughts about snuggling back to sleep fled with it. With some difficulty, you wrestled an arm from the heavy weight of blankets on top of you and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. Free of grit, you were finally able to examine your surroundings.

Your first thought was that you’d somehow fallen into the ‘Autumn vibes’ Pinterest board that you’d made in the middle of the night that one time when your desire to flee into the woods had been at an all time high. You were bundled up on a sofa in a living room dominated by a gorgeous stone fireplace that held a pleasantly crackling fire, various fire related tools and a small amount of wood storage.

There were floor-to-ceiling shelves everywhere, filled to bursting with artwork, old books, trinkets and pots of unidentifiable but colourful liquids and powders. Dried flowers and large, green house plants dotted every corner of the room, surrounded by candles of every shape and colour you could imagine, all of them resting on a collection of layered, patterned rugs.

Along with the sofa you were laying on, the seating consisted of a cosy armchair in a deep burgundy colour, and a little window seat filled to the brim with a mismatch of cushions and blankets.

The entire room was bathed in a warm, orange glow. It was utterly enchanting.

Distantly, over the crackle of the fire, you could hear someone humming from behind one of the doors. The voice was deep, but not excessively so, and accompanied by the occasional clanging of pots and pans.

That door must lead to the kitchen, you thought.

This little cottage felt so incredibly real and lived in. You had wondered if there would be some kind of giveaway that this was a story premise based in a fake, manufactured world, but so far you had found nothing. It was so much better than you could have dreamed.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t have questions though. Dazzled though you may have been, you needed to know a little more before you came face to face with the first omega. James had said you could communicate with her mentally, so first things first, you needed to figure out how to do that.

‘James?’ You tried using your internal monologue to speak, just with a greater emphasis and purpose than normal. ‘Can you hear me?’

‘Human alpha,’ James acknowledged, her voice sounding just as loud as your own in your head. You flinched a little at the strange sensation of a foreign presence invading your mind. Despite it being vaguely weird that someone could hear your purposeful thoughts, you were grateful to have a guide in an unfamiliar world.

‘I was wondering a bit about free will,’ you said, pausing as you tried to figure out how to phrase the question. James spoke before you could continue.

‘I’m not allowed to give humans any information about free will, religion, the afterlife, aliens, alternate realties, time travel, dead people, living people, or the secret behind the correlation between motherhood and the ability to find objects that accidentally fall into micro pocket dimensions.’

‘No, I meant like in these stories.’ You stopped, processing what James had just said. ‘Wait, motherhood and micro pocket dimensions? Is that why my friend’s mum was able to find the remote in four seconds after we searched for it for three hours that one time?’

‘What part of ‘I’m not allowed to discuss such topics with humans’ did you not understand, human alpha?’

You mentally shook your head, returning to your original point, ‘I was wondering how much free will the people in these books have. Do they have to follow a story, or a script? Will they fall in love me with no matter what I do or say?’

‘These stories are premises,’ James explained. You could so vividly imagine her face as she spoke. ‘They set the world, the rules of the universe, the people and their backstories, their motivations and inclinations, but they don’t provide a script. These characters are just as real as the people from your world by most interdimensional regulations and definitions. They have inclinations towards certain behaviours, but that is no different from your world, yes? People are defined by their experiences and behave in ways that fit their psychological profile and motivations, that does not mean they have no agency.’

You let out a relieved sigh, ‘That’s good. I was worried that they’d be forced to do things with me by the narrative.’

‘Rest assured, human, even in an erotica, if a person chooses to copulate with you, they will have done so of their own volition.’ You snorted at her phrasing, but her words were greatly comforting.

‘Wait, does that mean they can reject me all together?’ you asked, a sudden realisation popping up.

‘Technically yes. It is fairly rare… Although it does tend to happen more frequently with humans who choose erotica stories for some reason.’

Many, many people popped to mind as she said that, from incel forums to the creepy people you’d been unlucky enough to encounter in real life. You were certain that, given the opportunity, most of them would jump at a chance to live as the protagonist of an erotica novel. You were also certain that they’d immediately feel entitled to nonstop sex and a whole manner of other creepy things. It was honestly quite amusing to imagine them getting rejected by the ‘fictional’ love interests they so desperately clung to, and you wished for a moment that you could have had James’ role of fly on the wall to those rejections.

Personally, you weren’t worried about coming across as super creepy and you certainly weren’t going to be forcing anyone into anything. You were confident that, with two attempts, both literally designed to push you and a love interest together, you’d find some kind of fulfilling relationship.

The humming from the kitchen got louder all of a sudden and you wondered if you’d find that relationship with this mysterious omega.

‘Now, human, I will run through the general premise of this world to aid you in your first interaction.’ Even as a disembodied voice, it somehow felt appropriate when James cleared her throat. ‘You are in the world of ‘Potions and Magic and Sex, Oh My!’. You have taken the role of MC, a mysterious alpha that was rescued by the book’s love interest, Itachi, unconscious and in the middle of a snowstorm.’

‘Wait, what was he doing out in a snowstorm?’

‘Please try to remain focused, human alpha. MC, struggling with recalling any memory of who they are or how they got there, relies on Itachi to brew a potion to retrieve their memories. Shenanigans ensue, although the exact type of shenanigans will depend on how you conduct yourself. You have a great amount of power to affect the story, especially considering the MC is an amnesiac. As long as you account for how they ended up in the woods, the backstory is fully yours to fashion. But I advise you to heed my warning.’

You remembered it loud and clear. When picking a backstory, you were going to keep one acronym in mind: MLHH (Money, Love, Health, Happiness). That should serve your needs well. Regardless, you were glad you had time to think about the details while you were playing the amnesiac role.

The weird feeling of presence in your mind faded as James fell silent. You took a deep breath. You could do this. You were going to have fun with a pretty omega, treat him with respect, see real magic (and real porn logic), and all of that would be contained in your dream witchy cottage. As long as you avoided complete disaster, this should be one of the greatest things you’ve ever done.

It was only when the sound of the kitchen door unlatching reached your ears that you realised the humming had stopped.

Your head snapped to the side and your eyes landed on the most beautiful omega you’d ever met. This must be Itachi.

Itachi had long, dark hair that was drawn back into a low ponytail, although he’d left a decent amount loose and framing his pale, heart-shaped face. His features were sharp, especially his eyes, and although he moved gracefully, he also seemed to command attention with a presence that felt both strangely out of place and intimately natural for him.

He wore a cosy collection of warm-coloured, loose clothing, including simple brown trousers and a woollen jumper, finished with a pair of simple, black house slippers. The jumper was sliding slightly off of one shoulder, revealing an extra sliver of bare skin that was strangely hypnotic.

“You’re awake! I was just debating about grabbing some smelling salts,” he said, his intense brown eyes focused directly on you. His voice was as pretty as the rest of him.

Quite frankly, he was stunning from head to toe. You weren’t even slightly surprised that he was the romantic interest.

The man (the witch, you reminded yourself, a little incredulously) approached you until he was perched on the edge of the sofa at your waist. Without hesitation, he reached out a hand towards your head and rested the back of his palm on your forehead. He felt neither hot nor cold, and a moment later he withdrew his hand, staring down at you stoically.

“How are you feeling? Any nausea? Black spots in your vision? Can you move all of your fingers?”

“No, no, and” -you wiggled your fingers under the blanket- “yes. I’m feeling fine, just a little groggy from waking up.”

“That’s to be expected. You’ve been asleep for at least twenty-five hours. I found you unconscious at the base of a tree in the middle of a storm last night. It was so cold; I was worried you—” he cut himself off with a shake of his head. “That doesn’t matter. You’re safe now.”

“And I appreciate that,” you said, sending him what you hoped was a charming smile. “I prefer having all my fingers attached generally.”

“As most people do,” he replied, solemnly, not seeming to pick up on the joke. You almost made a woosh noise, until you remembered that for him, that had likely been a very genuine concern after finding you, so you let the joke die.

“Why were you—” the word caught in your throat, and you suddenly began to cough, only now realising how hoarse your throat was. Right, you’d been asleep for over a day.

“Oh, you must be thirsty,” Itachi said, frowning. You were overcome with a desire to make him smile. “One moment.”

You were expecting him to get up and fetch a glass from the kitchen, so when he suddenly began leaning towards you, reaching over your head towards the side table, you were a little surprised.  That was nothing however to the surprise you felt when he inadvertently gave you a rather spectacular look straight down his shirt. Your coughing spiked and your face warmed.

“Here.” Itachi leant back down, a glass of water clutched in his left hand. With his right hand, he helped you sit up before handing you the glass. You grabbed it and drained the whole glass immediately. The cool reprieve from the irritating scratching was a welcome feeling. Almost welcome enough to make you forget about Itachi’s blush pink nipples. Almost.

Realistically, you weren’t sure how could you forget a view so enticing. No, stop it, brain, now was not the time. Except… this was the time. This was a pocket dimension based around porn logic and that was your first taste of it.

Wow, who knew porn logic was so delightfully pink and round, you thought giddy.

“Are you feeling better?” Itachi asked suddenly, knocking you out of your thoughts. His jumper was firmly back in the place it was supposed to be.

“Uh, yeah, totally fine.” You knew you must have had a stupid, dazed grin on your face, but knowing about it didn’t make it any easier to stop. “You’re very pretty, by the way.”

Itachi froze, and for the first time since you’d met him, his composure slipped, a tiny, almost unnoticeable blush bloomed high on his cheeks. It was a similar colour to his—Nope, going to stop you right there, brain.

“Oh.” He didn’t say anything else, only staring at you, wide eyed. You were surprised by his surprise. Surely this man was more than used to people fawning and falling all over him; he was objectively beautiful. Although, living in the woods like this, was there anyone else to tell him that he was beautiful? “Thank you.”

The blush lingered for a few more moments before vanishing. Any amount that you had succeeded in flustering him was now locked behind that stoic, but not unkind, face.

“I need you to give me the name of someone I can contact for you, someone willing to escort you home and stop you wandering alone in the woods during a winter storm.” You could feel the gentle rebuke in his words. “I have methods of contacting the nearest towns and villages, I just need to know who to send for. Who should I ask for?”

Right, this was your first attempt at properly engaging in the story, in your character. You had almost forgotten that you weren’t fully yourself in this world. At least your supposed amnesia would be an excellent shield as you came to terms with this experience.

“I don’t know,” you said simply, trying hard to look baffled.

Itachi sent you a sympathetic frown, “You don’t have anyone to contact? Then tell me where you live, and I can escort you home myself.”

“No, I mean, I don’t remember.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You don’t remember?” he eventually repeated, brows furrowed.

“I- I don’t know where I came from, who I am, or why I was in those woods.” This wasn’t your best acting work, for sure, but it seemed like enough to convince Itachi, whose frown deepened even further.

“How is that possible?” Itachi murmured, mostly to himself. He scanned your face but didn’t seem to find anything of note. “Do you remember anything at all?”

“Only basic things, like my name and how to eat and drink.” To prove your point, you gave him your name and rough age.

You watched as Itachi’s frown melted into something a little more determined. His eyes took on a hard edge, and despite his gentle kindness, you acknowledged that he had the potential to be rather intimidating.

“I will help you,” he said firmly, looking you straight in the eyes. “I’m a witch; I can find some way to recover your memories and get you home, I promise. Until then, you are more than welcome to stay with me.”

He really was a kind man, you thought, ‘fictional’ or not.

“Thank you,” you said earnestly. “It means a great deal to me that you’re willing to help.”

Itachi smiled politely as he stood, “Then I will start searching for a spell or potion that can help. First though, you must be hungry. I think it’s time for some dinner.”

Oh, this was going to get you good; you had such a thing for pretty people cooking for you. There was just something about it that satisfied that part of yourself that wanted to be doted on. You were going to enjoy this. Actually, you should probably check one important thing first.

‘James? Does this body have any allergies or intolerances of its own? Or did I just bring mine with me?’

‘Neither. Allergies and intolerances are inconvenient for erotica stories and thus do not exist.’

No allergies or intolerances at all?

‘James, this is the best day of my life and I want to kiss you on the mouth.’

‘You are supposed to kiss the omega right in front of you, human alpha, are you confused?’

You didn’t reply. Itachi started walking back to the door he’d come from. Just as he reached the doorway, he turned back to you.

“Oh! My name is Itachi,” he said. You knew that, of course, but it was still nice to hear him say it. “Take your time getting up, I’ll set the table and finish up the cooking.” He disappeared round the corner, although he didn’t shut the door behind him.

Ignoring his instructions to take your time, you cheerfully threw back your blankets and stood up, taking a second to shake out your limbs and run your fingers through your hair. You looked exactly as you remembered yourself looking, just dressed in different clothes. You were wearing a very simple long-sleeved shirt and pair of trousers that looked like they would fit in with whatever pseudo time period this was. You wondered briefly if these were your clothes, or if Itachi had dressed you in something of his. The clothes did seem to fit you too well to be borrowed, but you weren’t sure if porn logic made everything that much more convenient. No amount of convenience with clothes would ever trump convenience with food. You had no allergies or intolerances, and you’d never develop them in the future either!

The living room looked a bit smaller now that you were standing, but it only added to the cosy vibe. You took a deep breath, savouring the smell of the firewood burning and whatever was cooking in the kitchen mingling in the air. You followed Itachi into the kitchen, feeling like you could skip with glee.

Stepping in, you were grateful you had socks protecting your feet from the stone floor. The kitchen was small, containing only the necessary kitchen supplies and a tiny, two-person table, although through the window you could see hints of an outdoor kitchen with a fire pit and grill, and a much larger dining table, probably for use in the summer. The clutter from the living room continued into the kitchen, with pots of wooden spoons, pans and dried flowers hanging on the walls, and an impressive spice cabinet that took up almost the entire back wall.

It also looked like something straight out of your Autumn Pinterest board.

Itachi was at the oven, stirring a pot of something that you couldn’t see.

“It smells great,” you said earnestly, sliding up beside him and peering into the pot. It seemed like some kind of stew.

Itachi turned, and greeted you with what seemed like his first proper, genuine smile, “You think so?”

“I do. Thank you so much for cooking.”

You weren’t quite confident enough to stake your life on it, but you were pretty sure that, if the pot on the stove wasn’t bubbling so loudly, you’d have been able to hear him purring. The way he suddenly just so happened to be pressing one hand to his mouth only supported your theory. Clearly, this omega hadn’t been praised enough in his life. Thank goodness you were here to rectify that.

“Is there anything I can do to help? I can lay the table if you tell me where everything is.”

Itachi cleared his throat (and you could swear there was a hint of a purr in there!), “No, that’s alright, just sit down, I’ll handle it.”

“Are you sure, because—”

Itachi clicked his fingers and out of one of the cabinets floated two bowls and two glasses. You watched, completely stunned as they floated to the table and set themselves neatly in front of two of the chairs. Itachi then waved his hand at one of the drawers and two forks and two spoons did the same as the dishware, laying themselves neatly alongside the bowls.

Magic.

Real life magic.

Holy shit, you hadn’t thought about the fact that he was a witch, not really. Magic was real. Itachi just laid the table with magic. You sat down heavily in one of the chairs, mouth hanging open slightly.

‘James?!’ you mentally asked, desperately.

‘I cannot kiss you, human alpha.’

‘What? No! James, is it possible for me to learn magic in this world?’ Please say yes, please say yes.

‘Yes, everyone in this world has the ability to learn at least some kind of magic. It will not become clear how much magic you have until you are actually apart of this world, but I should imagine you will at least be capable of brewing potions.’

Yep, this was definitely the best day of your life. Or afterlife? Either way, if you picked this world, you’d be able to learn at least some magic. That counteracted a lot of the downsides of living without modern technology that you had been considering. Not having modern medicine was moot if potions were just as effective. Not having electric heaters was fine if warming charms existed.

Itachi knocked you out of your thoughts when he came over with the pot and began gently ladling the stew into your bowl. You would explore magic later, right now, was time to eat.

…

You had eaten most of the stew in a silence that neither you nor Itachi felt compelled to break, although you had noticed him sneaking glances at you every so often. The stew tasted homey, hearty, slightly sweet, and all around delicious.

‘James, I am so happy right now.’

‘I did not realise humans were so passionate about stew. I will make a note.’

You shook you head lightly, vaguely amused by James’ shenanigans.

Even with the display of magic earlier, things felt weirdly normal. Baring the nip slip from earlier, there hadn’t been any other porn logic that you’d noticed. It was kind of a relief. Although you were still incredibly excited to be horny on main forever, being able to just breathe and enjoy a nice meal was good too. No one wanted to have sex shoved in their faces 24 hours a day.

You attracted yet another glance from Itachi, but this time, you noticed that he had a tiny splash of stew at the corner of his mouth. Despite just finishing establishing your relief that porn wasn’t going to be shoved in your face, you felt immediately compelled to test some porn logic. You didn’t want to ruminate on what that rapid 180 mental turn might suggest about your psyche.

If porn logic was at play, could you just… reach and wipe his mouth for him? Would he take that positively? You debated on it for a bit, but ultimately decided to try it; you had amnesia for an excuse if he didn’t take it well, and it wasn’t so creepy that he’d hate you, hopefully. He was your love interest, right? You needed to flirt with him.

“Itachi?” you said softly, shuffling your chair slightly towards him. His head snapped up to yours, spoon hovering over his bowl. “You have a little something.”

Slowly, allowing him plenty of time to reject your advances, you reached a hand out towards his face. Itachi watched you, wide eyed, but didn’t move.

Slowly, your thumb made contact with the corner of his soft lips. In what seemed like some kind of automatic impulse, Itachi’s lips fell apart slightly as soon as you touched them. You could feel his hot, stuttering breath, and as you swiped the stew away, you were treated to the smallest flicker of his tongue. You shivered as the wet warmth brushed against you; the atmosphere was electric.

You took in a breath of Itachi’s scent which was suddenly twice as strong. Yeah, you were definitely in an erotica, fuck.

Itachi’s spoon clattered back into his bowl, splashing droplets of stew over the wooden table and shattering the heated moment. Itachi stood suddenly, his chair scraping across the stone.

“I- I’ll wipe up the spill,” he said, rushing to the counter to grab a cloth.

You cleared your throat, trying to hide your smile, “Right, you do that.”

Pretty omega, inviting you to stay in his home, cooking for you, accepting your flirtations. The heat in your stomach was no longer just from the food.

The electricity died as Itachi wiped up the stew and took the bowls in one fell swoop, leaving everything feeling normal. You tried to offer to wash up, but Itachi declined, escorting you back to the sofa ‘to rest’.

“I’m going to go and check in my study for any information on amnesia. Please make yourself at home, but don’t go outside; if you faint in the cold and I don’t realise, it could end up worse than last time.”

You were about to argue that you weren’t going to drop dead the second he took his eyes off you, (you wanted to see the magical woods you were in!), but the words died when you realised that from Itachi’s perspective you were sick and had already fainted in an inopportune location once before. He was just looking out for you.

“I’ll stay inside,” you promised, reluctantly. “But you have to give me a proper tour of the woods at some point, okay?”

He inclined his head, “Of course. I won’t be long.” He then disappeared through a door on the other side of the living room.

The second he was gone you went back into the kitchen and washed the dishes.

Then, unable to see the woods, and not wanting to be creepily exploring the rest of the house without your host, you found yourself in front of the fire, searching through Itachi’s books. Unfortunately, Itachi seemed to keep all the magic books somewhere else, which wasn’t surprising you supposed, but you did manage to find a book on fairytales. How different would this world’s fairytales be? To be honest, you hadn’t expected the world to be so in depth as to have its own fairytales at all.

You flicked through the book for a few minutes, enjoying the illustrations more than anything.

‘James, are any of these stories based in truth in this world?’

‘Oh, I should think only around half have any significant amount of truth to them.’

‘Half?!’ you said mentally, trying not to choke. ‘I’m in the middle of the woods and vulnerable! What do you mean half of them are real? That big foot esque thing with horns and jagged teeth on page three isn’t real though, is it?’

‘Not anymore!’ James said, as chipper as can be.

“Right,” you said breathlessly. “I think I’ve had enough of reading fairytales actually.” You closed the book, intending to slot it back onto the shelf when a single page fell out and fluttered to the floor, dangerously close to the fire. Fuck, you were left alone for an hour, and you were already wrecking things. You snatched it up off the ground, intending to slip it back inside and not mention it, when you realised that the page didn’t look like it belonged to that book at all.

In fact, you held it up closer to your face, it looked like a potion recipe!

“’Amnesia Reversal Potion’,” you read out loud. “No way.” What were the odds on finding this? Actually, erotica books didn’t normally have complicated plots, so the odds of this literally falling into your lap were probably quite high.

You stood up, recipe in hand, and went to the door that Itachi had left through earlier, “Itachi?” You got no response. It was his study, so maybe he wouldn’t mind you just poking your head in. You slowly pushed open the door and slipped your head in. “Itachi? I think I found something to—”

Oh.

This was his study and his bedroom.

And you had just walked in on him changing.

Itachi jumped in shock, grabbing the nearest blanket and holding it over his chest while you stood frozen in the doorway.

Yep, those beautiful nipples were absolutely haunting your dreams tonight.

…

After many apologies were handed out and the awkward horniness of receiving your second accidental flashing had dissipated somewhat, you and Itachi were sitting in front of the fire together, looking over the potion recipe that you’d found.

It was dark now, and the vicious Winter wind shook the windows and billowed around the chimney. Thankfully, having Itachi pressed against your side was fighting the chill away. The hot chocolate that Itachi had made was helping too, served in mugs carved with runes that kept the delicious drink at the perfect temperature.

You had also been delighted to discover that Itachi wore glasses when reading, and he looked rather adorable when he adjusted the thick, black frames as he scanned the recipe.

Itachi made a considering noise as he went through the ingredient list, “The potion is simple to make, but has quite a long ingredients list. I have most of it, thankfully, but there are a few things I’ll need to go out and buy or collect.” He put the paper down and took a sip of his hot chocolate, making a little sinful noise of pleasure as he did. The hot drink fogged up his glasses, so Itachi took them off. “There isn’t much we can do tonight, but tomorrow I can start collecting everything we need.”

“Can I join you?” you asked, shuffling a bit closer.

Itachi seemed surprised, but soon that melted into a smile, “Of course, as long as you’re feeling up to it. I’ll charm all your clothes against the cold, just to be safe.”

A fair request seeing that he lived in the middle of a freezing forest. It did bring up some of the questions you’d had for him though. You weren’t sure if James knew about Itachi’s backstory, but it felt wrong going behind his back regardless. You’d rather hear it from him.

“Can I ask you some questions? About you?”

Itachi hesitated for a moment before seemingly forcing himself to relax, “Of course.”

“Why do you live in the middle of nowhere? Do you… have friends?” You hesitated before asking the next question. “Family?”

“I used to live in a village not too far from here,” Itachi said slowly, staring into his mug. “It’s where I was born and where my family is still living. There was an… incident, when I was a teenager. The council decided that it was in everyone’s best interests that I lived out here instead.”

“What kind of incident?” You didn’t want to push him too much, but you were deeply fascinated as to how he had ended up here. Also, to make a decision for your forever pocket universe, you wanted to know as much as possible about the omegas that’d be joining you.

Itachi gripped his mug tightly, “I don’t want you to think badly of me.”

“I don’t think that would happen,” you said with quiet confidence. “Even if you did something bad as a teenager, I’d much rather judge you on who you are now. And the person I see in front of me is someone kind, someone who tries to help complete strangers, and forgives the stupid alpha who came blundering into his bedroom at an inopportune moment.”

Itachi breathed out, amused.

“I think you’re wonderful, Itachi.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, quietly. “Maybe I’ll tell you the full story someday. In a way, I’m very grateful to have my own space, and I still meet with my family sometimes when they can make the trip to me. I do not dislike my life.”

“Tell me about your family,” you said, brushing a stray piece of hair out of his face. Itachi leant into your hand ever so slightly.

“There were four of us in our household, my father, mother, and my younger brother, Sasuke. Here” -Itachi bent forward and dragged a rather large, leather-bound sketch book out from under the sofa- “I have some sketches of him.”

He propped the book up on your laps and opened it, revealing countless sketches of trees, fruit, plants, even some of the living room you were sitting in. You noticed immediately how few there were of people.

Itachi flipped until he reached a page filled with sketches of a grumpy looking preteen, “This is Sasuke, he’s just turned 13, although the most recent sketch is this one from his 12th birthday.”

You focused on the sketch that Itachi had pointed out. Sasuke looked like he was scowling over the top of a birthday cake. “He seems… happy?”

Itachi didn’t notice the questioning tone, only smiling to himself, “He was, it was such an amazing day. I’ve met him a few times since then between our homes, but that was the last time he was in my home.”

“I can tell that you care about him a lot,” you said, gently tracing one of the drawings with your finger. “You must miss him.”

Itachi didn’t speak and you were worried that you had offended him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“No, you’re right,” Itachi said, giving you a sad smile. “He’s my baby brother. He’s everything to me, but that’s why I had to distance myself, to keep him safe from the burden of guilt by association.”

“Aren’t you lonely here though?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted, voice heavy like he was confessing to a dirty secret. “All I wanted when I was younger was to have people leave me alone, to have the pressure lifted for just one day, and I do relish it, being able to study the kind of magic that I want, to learn to cook and bring my garden to life, but… It’s not bad here, not at all, and once my brother is old enough to make the journey to see me by himself, I think things will be even better.”

You could tell that there was so much that he wasn’t saying, so much that he was implying, and so much about his own life that he hadn’t come to terms with yet, but you held your tongue. It sounded like he’d been pressured until he exploded, and then been punished and sent away for it. Whatever details you were missing wouldn’t stop you feeling outraged on his behalf.

With the snap of the sketch book shutting, you understood that he was ending the conversation though. You would have to give your passionate and ill-informed defence of his unknown past actions on another occasion.

Itachi leant over to put the sketchbook back away under the sofa, but on the way back up, he accidentally knocked what was left of his hot chocolate all over your lap. You gasped as you saw the liquid pooling on the blanket, the warmth bleeding into your skin moments later. You tried to push the blanket off your lap, but you weren’t fast enough to stop it leaking through to your clothes.

“I’m so sorry!” Itachi said, helping you drag the blanket off. “I don’t know what happened, I’m not normally so clumsy.”

“It’s okay,” you said, cringing at the feeling of the hot liquid rolling around. “Accidents happen.” You awkward shuffled off the couch with your hips raised to limit the damage. “At least it isn’t boiling hot.”

“Regardless, I’m sorry,” Itachi said again, grabbing a random cloth off the side table. “Stand still.” Itachi crouched in front of you and with the cloth, began dabbing firmly at the hot chocolate stain. Yes, the stain that was directly over your crotch.

You sucked in a breath, “Um, Itachi?”

“I’ll have to grab you a pair of pyjama trousers to borrow,” he said, almost comically unaware of what he was currently doing.

He continued to dab forcefully, rubbing at the stain in an attempt to limit the damage. This was going to be dangerous in about three seconds because an omega was pawing at your cock and your stupid body didn’t care about the difference between this and the other kind of pawing.

“Itachi!” you said, more urgently this time, aware of the direction your blood was now flowing.

“Yes?” He looked up at you, eyes wide, at an angle that really didn’t help resist the tide of dirty thoughts. You wondered how he’d look with that beautiful face covered in your--  

Too late. You now had a massive boner and Itachi’s hand was resting right on top of it.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, “Your hand, Itachi.”

You watched as Itachi slowly put the pieces together, his eyes tracking from his hand to the area his hand was resting on, up to your face, and finally back to your crotch. You saw the exact moment that it clicked in his head.

“Oh.” Itachi froze, hand still resting on your erection. The cloth dropped to the ground as Itachi’s grip weakened, revealing the outline of your cock straining against the fabric of your trousers. The soft, malleable fabric didn’t leave much to the imagination. “That’s… big.”

You snort-laughed, mainly out of surprise, “Itachi!”

That finally did the trick, knocking Itachi out of his trance. He yanked his hand back like he’d been burnt, “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.”

You burst out laughing while Itachi buried his red face in his hands. It was extra amusing because it was stoic Itachi who had accidentally been two pieces of fabric away from giving you a handjob. Porn logic was equal parts horny and hilarious, it seemed.

“Don’t worry about it.” You continued to giggle through the words and helped Itachi to his feet. “Can you grab me some pyjamas and point me in the direction of the bathroom, please?”

“Right, yes, of course, the bathroom is through that door, I’ll go grab you something to wear and leave it outside the door.” Itachi scurried off, cheeks pink, and you followed his directions into the nearest bathroom, pushing open the door and closing it behind you.

It was weird to see a bathroom lit only by warm candlelight, but there were certainly enough candles to do it. Every surface had at least three candles and a plant, arranged in a way that made you once again think of your Pinterest board, but also of the massive fire hazard this would surely be if Itachi couldn’t do magic.

You leant against the bathroom door and pressed a hand over your chest to calm your rapidly beating heartbeat. This porn logic thing felt good for your soul and bad for your heart. That whole series of events had been pretty funny though, and you certainly weren’t going to complain about having Itachi’s hands on you. Even though you’d only known him for a day, you were already very happy with your choice. Actually, that brought up a great question.

‘James? How long do I have in each of the pocket dimensions?’

‘Long enough, human alpha.’

You huffed; that was so unhelpful. What was also unhelpful was your massive boner. While this was an erotica, things hadn’t moved so quickly that you thought Itachi would be down for going all the way on your first night, and you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. You wanted to move a little more slowly, to make sure he was comfortable and savour the moment. You also refused to blow this like those incels James had mentioned. You were above that which meant the boner had to go.

“Please go down?” you tried asking politely, taking off your stained trousers. It stayed stubbornly upright, not even wilting slightly once exposed to the cold air. You sighed; that never worked. Well, here goes nothing.

You moved over to the sink and turned on the cold tap, a grimace already forming on your face.

‘James, wish me luck.’

‘Why do you need—’

You yelped loud enough that some birds outside the window took flight in shock. Fuck, that was cold!

…

When that was sorted, you opened the door to find a neat pile of pyjamas, shower supplies, a towel, and toothbrush waiting for you. A quick (and almost certainly magically warmed) shower later and you were ready for bed.

Exiting the bathroom, you realised that the sofa wasn’t made up as a bed anymore, the way it had been when you’d first woken up. Itachi was nowhere to be seen, so you went to his bedroom door to find him. Having learnt your lesson from before, you knocked and waited to be called in.

“Hey,” you said softly, entering his bedroom. You watched as he extinguished some of his candles with a candle snuffer, bathing the room in a much gentler light. The large candle shaped like a black cat that he had on his chest of drawers made you smile. You hadn’t seen it the first time, probably because you’d been distracted by two very cute, pink, round things, that you were not supposed to be thinking about brain, now was not the time!

“Hello.” He turned around and you pretended not to see the way his eyes flickered straight to your crotch before settling on your face.

“I was just going to ask if we could set the sofa back up into a bed,” you said, trying not to preen under the attention your cock had garnered from the pretty omega. Maybe he’d be thinking about that while you were thinking about his pretty nipples.

Itachi averted his eyes for a moment as he put down the candle snuffer, “It’s very cold tonight.”

“It is.”

“I’m worried that I don’t have enough blankets to keep the both of us warm, and you might still be unwell from fainting in the snowstorm, so I was thinking, do you… I mean, would you want to share my bed? With me?” Itachi spoke quickly, like he was pushing the words out as fast as possible while he still avoided making eye contact.

A grin slowly bloomed on your face; he was so cute.

“If you don’t mind, that’d be great,” you said, trying to keep your grin from coming across as creepy.

“Really?” His head spun around to face you again, his hair, which you only just realised had been freed from his ponytail, fanned out around his face. “I mean, that’s great.”

You stepped closer to him, “Great.”

He stepped closer to you, “Yeah.”

Somehow that electricity from earlier was back in the air and you felt like you were being pulled into Itachi’s orbit. Without your conscious permission, one of your hands rose and gently cupped the left side of Itachi’s face, rubbing the soft skin there with your thumb.  

You searched his face for any sign of discomfort but found none. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.  

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, reverently. Itachi’s eyes looked glossy for a moment, but he blinked the moisture away, his long, dark eyelashes fluttering open and closed as you studied him. “I know I’ve only been here for a day, but… Is it strange to say I really like you.’

Itachi took in a sharp breath, but slowly shook his head.

 “Then, may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Itachi breathed out, immediately closing his eyes.

Good, because he was irresistible, and although you knew it wasn’t time for sex just yet, you hadn’t chosen erotica because you wanted a slow burn.

Slowly, giving Itachi ample time to change his mind, you inched your face closer to his until you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. You expected to feel his breath too, but you quickly realised that he must have been holding it. How cute. Well, there was no need to leave him literally or figuratively holding his breath any longer.

You pressed forward and made the connection, warm lips against warm lips, your own eyes falling closed now too. Itachi let out a very quiet noise of surprise that you only heard because you were so close to him. You let out a little hum of your own, less out of shock and more out of satisfaction. You may have only known him for about five hours, but you’d been wanting to kiss him for at least four and a half of them.

The outside world faded away as you gently guided his lips with your own. The sound of the wind howling and the cottage walls groaning, the fire in the living room crackling, all of it was secondary to the kiss.

With your free arm, you looped Itachi around the waist and tugged him closer until your chests were pressed against each other. Itachi steadied himself with one hand on your raised elbow and the other on your shoulder. Being this close was making your alpha instincts incredibly smug. He felt safe with you so soon, willing to be vulnerable in your presence, to let you love him.

With just a little bit more pressure, Itachi’s lips parted for you. The tips of your tongues met ever so slightly, just flicking against each other as the back of your throat now burnt with Itachi’s scent. The open-mouthed kissing managed to coax another, louder, noise from his lips.

“So good,” you murmured against him, relishing in the gasp that generated. You had been right; Itachi loved being praised. He was still hesitant though, only moving his lips in ways you had already moved them. He was allowing you to guide him. You wondered if he was lacking experience.

You caught Itachi’s bottom lip between your teeth and were rewarded when he bucked his hips forward, brushing them against yours. You shouldn’t have bothered getting rid of the erection earlier, because it was now back at full force. And by the feel of it, Itachi was joining you this time.

A strange flash of light bled through your closed eyelids and forced you away from Itachi with a confused noise. What on Earth?

Itachi whined, looking incredibly dazed with heavy lidded eyes and no control over his scent. He fisted one hand in your shirt like he was trying to pull you back. For a second, you thought you saw his eyes flash red, but it was gone in the next moment, and you wrote it off as a trick of the light.

What was that light, anyway?

Oh, damn. You glanced over Itachi’s shoulder and were greeted with the three remaining lit candles burning out of control. Their flames reached up at least two feet above the wick, and they were burning… pink?

“Um, Itachi? Your candles are kind of going crazy.”

He whirled around, still looking a bit dazed. With a wave of his hand, the candles returned to their normal height and colour. Itachi cleared his throat bashfully, “I didn’t mean to do that, my apologies.”

It was kind of hot that he got so into the kiss that he’d lost control of his magic.

“It’s okay,” you brushed his fringe from his face, making sure to be ever so gentle with him. Itachi was not a weak person, that’s something you were sure of, but he was weak for gentle affection and praise. The vaguely stoic man you had met hours earlier was nowhere to be found now, as Itachi gazed at you, eyes wide and open, vulnerable. “Bedtime, hm?”

“Okay,” he said, softly. Despite his agreement, he made no move to the bed, only latching one of his hands onto your shirt again. Softly you pushed on his back a little and guided him towards the bed. Only once you fully tucked him in did he let go of you and allow you to climb into the other side.

Disappointingly, Itachi made no move to cuddle, staying firmly on his own side, but you understood that he probably needed some space to process what was happening. In fact, he had kind of looked a little like some of your old partners had done when you’d put them in subspace. But that couldn’t be right, there was no way you had put him in subspace just from kissing him, right? No, that was ludicrous, he was probably just a little overwhelmed; you would leave him to his own space for now.

It had been one hell of a kiss though, you thought, touching your lips as you got yourself comfortable in the bed. Itachi was doing things to your brain and your body. You didn’t know if it was him, some kind of magic, or the effect of living inside an erotica novel, but every touch felt like so much more. You were chomping at the bit to eventually get to explore more of Itachi’s body and the way you could make each other feel.

You yawned, thinking over the first day you’d had. It had been really fun. You still had to consider the specifics of what kind of backstory you wanted to give yourself, but you had plenty of time to figure that out later. You didn’t know how you were going to explain wandering the woods in the middle of a snowstorm what sounded like miles from the nearest village. You were also going to have to get your hands on a map at some point so you could name an actual place that you were supposedly from. That was a problem for future you though.

The quaint, cottage core existence had been treating you well, supplemented by magic of course. It was making you feel warm and fuzzy, like part of you was being healed by living like this. It was simple and relaxing, and all around nice. Tomorrow, when the search for the ingredients began, you were looking forward to seeing more of the world.

Just as you had finally found a comfortable position on your back, and your thoughts had begun to drift, Itachi turned over so that he was facing you. You couldn’t tell if he was fully asleep, or just tired and acting on impulse, but he quickly plastered himself to your side, tucking his head into your neck, wrapping an arm around your torso, and hitching a leg over your hips, inadvertently grinding his hard cock straight into your thigh. Once he was comfortable, he let out a big sigh and relaxed completely. It didn’t surprise you that someone so lonely and gentle wanted to cuddle in his sleep.

You weren’t going to move him, and you were too tired to think about the hard warmth that was currently poking you, so you simply allowed the sound of his quiet purrs to lull you to sleep. You would make sure he was satisfied once you’d both had a good sleep.

‘Goodnight, James,’ you mentally slurred out, tucking your face into Itachi’s hair. You vaguely heard her reply before you drifted away, comfortable and completely exhausted.

Next Chapter

[tarjapearce]

Hi hi! Thank you for letting me go ahead and send it through! I didn’t want to overwhelm you, that’s absolutely fine still take your time and keep taking those breaks mamas!

I’ve seen a lot of single dilf Miguel x reader but I don’t think I’ve ever read where reader was a single parent. So I was thinking reader is new to spider society and on the day she’s told to join she has to bring her baby because she didn’t have a babysitter. Well Miguel sees her and it’s like he’s instantly drawn to her like sunflowers are to the sun, sunflowers move where the sun goes and when the sun doesn’t shine they face each other (She’s kinda like his day and night if that makes sense) but instead of acting on it he dismisses her but kinda admires her and her baby from a distance.

Well one day she’s having a small part for the main group and she invited Miguel because she always felt the feelings but also dismissed them. Then after the party he stays to help and the end up getting closer and yeah. It can be nsfw I don’t mind, I also hope this makes sense it’s been in my mind for a while and you’d be so good for this!

The rest is all up to you if you decide to write it pretty girl. Just remember to take your time and all the breaks you need. Mental, physical, and emotional health is important don’t overwork yourself 💕

Im so sorry this taken me soo long. Hope this make it justice 😊❤️. Thanks for requesting dear.

If it wasn't for the webs that stopped Rhino as he was about to deliver the last blow to you, you'd be certainly gravely injured or worse.

Another Spiderwoman, clad in a red, yellow and black suit had helped you through. Both of your minds in sync, that soon earned you the win over a now unconscious Rhino.

She introduced herself as Jessica Drew. Another Spiderwoman from another universe. At first her explanation of what the Arachnohumanoid-Polymultiverse was, had your head spinning and confused, but after quite a while of visiting you on duty, and clearing up as much questions you needed, you had been officially 'invited' to join, by Miguel’s orders.

You've never met the man, but the way people talked about him, made you not only curious but excited to meet him. Everyone described him as a good yet scary boss.

----

"Let's go"

"Hope you don't mind?" Your nervous smile reached Jess as you packed in your child's stuff in the baby sling. A couple of diapers, extra clothes and bottles.

"Look at this beautiful boy" Jessica held him as you finished packing up stuff, "Didn't know you had one"

"Oh, well. You never asked. Plus we always met on duty. The babysitter I get for him called in sick and I have none as a back up. Hope Miguel doesn't mind."

"What about his dad?"

Your head shook softly and sighed.

"He decided to not be part of our lives."

Jessica just nodded, lips pursing.

"His loss, really. Anyways, ready to go?"

------

Not even in your wildest dreams you'd imagine something as The Babylon Tower or HQ as most Spiders called it, could exist. Different sort of Spiders paraded around and greeted Jess upon her arrival.

Some even greeted your toddler that cooed and giggled upon the many heroes that came his way.

"Let's get you to Miguel." Jess walked ahead and you followed, you baby's eyes wandered, marveling at the different colors and people. You'd sometimes make hamocs and web playgrounds for him to be more active. Your babysitter was the only person you could actually trust your identity, she had even helped you sometimes by calling the cops, or even fixing your suit.

Another man in a pink bathrobe approached and gasped at your baby

"Please tell me we're getting a Spider Parents exclusive division now."

You chuckled and Jess just rolled her eyes

"Sweetie, this is Peter."

"As in Peter Parker?"

"Nah. As in Peter Benjamin 'B' Parker."

"Oh... And whose that cutie over there?" Your eyes trailed to Mayday as she beamed at you.

"Mayday. A lil spider in growth"

"She has spider powers?! Oh my goodness!"

"It's chaos, I know. What about yours?"

"Normal baby so far. Should I be concerned?"

"Not really, it comes in the least unexpected moment and them BAM! Spider baby. "

You giggled as you made your way through the halls to a much more secluded and dark area.

"Miguel?"

Your baby couldn't help but babble as a hulking figure approached from the furthest corner.

"He's so dramatic" Peter whispered and again, you giggled under your mouth.

Jess introduced you both and explained your progress to him. Apparently they had been observing you for quite the time.

" I apologize for bringing my child. My babysitter called in sick."

"No problem."

Even though his voice was calm, the coldness in it made you recoil to yourself. His scrutinizing gaze fixed on you and your baby. By instinct you held him close.

Red eyes settled on yours, but the subtle stare contest was interrupted by the anomaly alarm.

-----

As your time in the Spider Society advanced, your interactions with Miguel improved significantly, and by that it'd mean longer conversations, a joke here and there and of course moments so subtle between you both that you had to be quite analytical to know that he gave glances your way or lean to you slightly whenever speaking to him.

Not that you were inmune to his looks, but his patience stood proudly among his other virtues. And to your surprise he seemed to handle Mayday well enough. What actually made you to be drawn to him is that in one of your many occasions that you couldn't leave your baby boy alone, and brought him into HQ with you, he'd be instantly looking for Miguel.

Your cheeks would flush impossibly red as your baby clung to his leg and erupted in a bubbly laughter.

"God, I'm so so sorry, he just... seem to like the blue alot."

An airy chuckle was everything that escaped his lips. Of course there was so many questions he'd want to do out of curiosity. He had noticed you didn't wear a ring, neither talked about the baby's father. It was something he never seemed to coax out of you. No matter how subtle he was about it.

Pa pa

You both froze as your baby mumbled and grabbed a few strands of his hair.

"I'm so sorry..." You pried the baby away from him and fled the place as soon as you could. He just watched you leave, the inner turmoil in his heart was surely playing dirty. The way the baby had clung to him, and climbed ontop of his chest made his heart to leap after a long long while.

-----

You had been avoiding him, for sure. Ever since your little incident with the baby mumbling his first words, you had taken your distance with him. Of course you weren't ready for your baby's actions, but the fear of going through all that again, had surely dismissed all possible blooming feelings you had for your boss. Besides he seemed way too busy and aloof to try and pursue anything with anyone.

Not that you blamed him, the multiverse depended basically on him. It was for the best.

----

The moment you were falling asleep, your Spider senses tingled so hard you had a little headache coming your way.

Dread settled on your brain as your baby boy screamed and wailed.

No No No!

You were already darting towards his room, and pulled him with one of your webs towards you, holding onto him for dear life as the creature shredded his crib to bits with its elongated talons.

Your eyes went wide at the sudden action, your baby kept wailing in fear, earning the humanoid like creature to snap it's attention to you. You were fast, but the creature was faster and sliced through your flesh in one of your sides. You fell on your back protecting your son from the impact with a groan.

You needed to get out, or at least put your baby out of danger.

Survival mode kicked in as you dodged and took as much damage as you could from the creature that seemed way too keen into hurting your child.

You fought but exhaustion was taking over, the blows of the creature only seemed harder and powerful, but no matter what your priority was to keep your child safe, even if it costed your life.

The creature pounced on you, but the final blow never came. There was a commotion as you tried to get up, all you could hear was inhuman shrieks, growlings and finally the engine of a too familiar motorcycle revving up.

Your baby was pried away from your hands and you whimpered

"N-No!" even in your injured state, your mother instinct kicked in.

Your name was called, several times until you were held against a sturdy yet warm body with such care and tenderness that stilled your thrashing body. Vision blurred, but the last thing you saw the led lights of a blue and red suit, red eyes staring at you with concern.

-----

You woke up in HQ's medical bay. Pain surging through your body as you tried to sit down, Miguel's hand stopped you. Face with his ever permanent frown and something else. Worry.

"Where's... Where's my baby?"

"He's fine. Out of danger." His hands reached for a new set of bandages, he took your arm gently and began replacing the bandages himself, some were stained in a fresh layer of blood.

The silence fell upon you both until he decided to break it.

"You... were brave. We still don't know what that creature was, yet you didn't hesitate to fight back."

"It was going for my son... If I would've got there a second too late..." Voice broke and eyes filled up with tears.

The knot only tightened around his throat upon remembering the anomaly alarm in your world and saw you fighting for your son's life. He didn't think twice before jumping into action.

"The anomaly was terminated."

Terminated, not contained.

"I see"

"Your safety is all that matters to... this organization"

To me

You nodded

"Thanks."

----

He had learned that you were a single parent thanks to Jessica. Something he had trouble understanding sometimes. How could a man abandon his own family? He'd give everything to have one more chance and at least make things right, he wouldn't interfere with Gabriella, no matter how much he'd like to, just to keep her safe and alive.

But seeing you fighting for your son, made that side of him he thought buried forever to claw back full force on him. You were a great mother that wouldn't hesitate to attack and lash out at everything that menaced your son. It was the last straw for him.

----

A couple of months had gone by since your incident, and as a retribution you had decided to do a small gathering. Not only to say thanks to them, but to also celebrate your son's birthday.

Wounds were properly healed thanks to Miguel's attention and cares. Music echoed through your apartment. You weren't sure he'd show up, but the invitation was delivered to him.

Your son was having the time of his life as Peter and Jess played with him. Mayday was such a great play date and everyone seemed to have a great time. A portal was open to your kitchen and Miguel stepped out. Suit underneath civilian clothes. It was weird to see him out of the blue and red suit you were always used to see.

"Hey" You smiled and he placed a little present in your hands.

"Hope he likes it."

"I'm sure he will, thanks."

Your smile turned bashful as he leaned on the kitchen counter. Your place seemed normal, cozy even. Full with your son and you pictures. One was cut out and the only trace of a man existing in your life was the forgotten hand you were oblivious in cutting out. And even so, he seemed unsure since his fingers were barely touching you or your son.

"Here." You offered a plate full of food, which he took and scarfed down.

"When was the last time you actually ate?"

His eyes locked on yours, wide by the sudden question.

"There is more if you want to."

"I don't want to overstep-"

"The rest already had their portion. And I frankly went a bit overboard with it. So it's fine."

Your baby's laughter roared from the other side, earning you a chuckle.

"I'm... sorry though"

"For?"

"Him, calling you that. I know what happened and I'm sure it's not nice to just-"

"Couldn't blame a baby. Is it... ok for me to ask what happened to the father?"

"He just decided that we weren't enough for him. So he went for a new one. Away from us."

His eyebrows knit deeper and a light scowl drew in his face.

"But, it's fine. It's less of a burden knowing that you don't have to raise another man child."

He chuckled and nodded

"You're a great mother." You served him another plate but stopped when the corner of his mouth was doused in sauce. Giggling you reached for napkin and got in your tip toes.

"Excuse me" You wiped his mouth and smiled, "Sorry, can't help it"

His hand went to the back of your nape and leaned down for a kiss.

"Lo siento..." (Im sorry)

It was something that felt out of his character, he knew much, but it couldn't be helped. You had come like a little storm that turned into a hurricane in his heart. And that harrowing night where he saw you fighting with everything you had, only grounded him into allowing himself to feel and experience for once.

You got in your tip toes again and pulled him down for a kiss. There was no words needed, just a look of mutual understanding and complicity between the both. A kiss in the palm of your hand sealed up the implicit deal.

You were his now.

[revehae]

hurts so good (2)

pairing ↠ mark x you x jeno

genre .. warnings ↠ unprotected sex, degradation, slapping, impact play, cheating, cuckolding without the marriage, brief mention of nonconsented recording

summary ↠ jeno proves to be the perfect remedy to your bedroom problems with mark, but not without cost. the longer you lie to your perfect boyfriend, the more guilt builds like a plaque in your chest. but is it enough to make you set aside your pleasure?

wc ↠ 3.9k

a/n ↠ this the second and final part of a repost. part one here! happy readings lovelies!

don’t like it, don’t read.

“fuck,” you moaned.

“don’t talk.”

you bit your bleeding lip, trying hard to comply in spite of knowing your attempts would be in vain and you would ultimately earn yourself a smack. later you would have to explain to mark why you had a bruise on your bottom lip, and likely the rest of you, but you were of no mind to be worried about that right now. 

not when jeno was currently pounding you out against a wall.

you met his heavy stare. even his gaze made you feel small and dainty, like you could break if he just looked at you for too long. looking at you, jeno thought the same thing. you were such a pretty, fragile little thing, but you liked being broken just as much as he liked breaking you.

you wanted to loathe how good jeno made you feel in spite of hurting you all the while, but your body couldn’t lie and you were clenching around his thick cock, fighting back the most pathetic of whimpers. he was dangerously deep inside you, borderline fucking you into the wall as he tried to coax himself even deeper.

“jeno,” you cried out at a particular thrust, your back roughly hitting the wall. like he was of a mind to force you through it. 

your legs tightly coiled around his waist, drawing him into you like you were afraid of letting go, gave jeno the perfect opportunity to wrap his hands around your throat, hissing, “i said shut up. i’m not afraid of choking you unconscious if it means you’ll shut that big mouth.”

one of your arms dangled from his neck, and you used one to weakly try to pry his hands off your throat, though to no avail. jeno was stronger than you could ever dream to be. “i can’t… jeno, i…,” you choked out, struggling to speak and breathe.

jeno chuckled darkly, tightening his grip. “you can’t what, baby? say it. i fucking dare you.”

though you tried, it was difficult given that jeno had you pinned to the wall by your throat. you loved how effortlessly cruel he could get, firmening his hold because he knew damn well what you were trying to say.

he knew that you were struggling to breathe, and he didn’t care, cruel enough to choke you out even harder. you adored his cruelness because it was everything you wanted and everything you knew you could never have in the long run. he was your biggest, most tantalizing temptation. when you left his apartment that day, you told yourself over and over that it couldn’t happen again, but you knew when you looked jeno in the eye after he came inside you that this couldn’t be a one-time thing.

and so it happened again. a few more times.

you were beginning to lose count of how many times you had made the poor decision of getting into bed with him again (or, in this case, onto a wall), but you tried to fight off the urge and ultimately succumbed to your need for twisted pleasure. a kind you could only find in jeno.

it made you feel bad when you lied to mark, a gut-wrenching feeling that made you bristle with self-disgust. don’t lie to me. that’s the worst thing you can do, said his sweet voice, replaying on repeat like a mantra in your head. you could see the look on his face when he found out, the sting of betrayal. with his best friend, no less. but you were too far gone to stop now.

the most sickening part was that you had a terrible feeling that mark wouldn’t even want to break up with you, he wouldn’t fault you. he would beat himself over it and find fault in himself, which was even worse because he had done nothing wrong. 

so why were you letting jeno have what you swore to mark was only his - why did you keep running back?

you had tried to break things with jeno off, to restrain yourself and be a good girlfriend, but it never lasted for very long. it got to the point where whenever you told jeno that it had to be the last time, he would merely laugh in your face and scoff that you weren’t going anywhere.

he knew you too well. much like mark. it made you contemplate.

jeno let you breathe when you tapped his fist with your fingers and you sucked in a large breath like it was the last time you would ever inhale again. you never really knew with him.

“know a girl like you can’t keep quiet,” jeno said snidely. “feels too good, doesn’t it? you like being fucked like a whore too much to shut up.”

you tried to say no, to save what was left of your pride, but only a squeaky noise rose from the back of your throat. 

jeno asked teasingly, “do you get this noisy with mark too, or just me?”

you didn’t want to answer, face hot with shame because you knew the answer and it didn’t in any way make you look good. jeno, of course, already knew the answer. he had heard enough about you and mark’s sexcapades from both sides. he just wanted to hear it from your own mouth.

jeno grabbed your hair, not in any way gentle, and growled, “that was a question. don’t act all shy now.”

“no,” you whispered. 

jeno scrunched his brows as if he couldn’t hear you, pulling your hair even rougher. “what was that, baby?”

“no,” you cried out, partially from how forceful he was. “just you, jeno.”

jeno merely laughed and released his hold again. you swore it gave him some kind of ego boost to know he fucked you better than mark. you wondered if he cared, given that he was just as guilty as you for sleeping with his best friend’s girlfriend on more than one occasion, but he never seemed to give a damn. part of you envied his carefree nature, but another part of you wondered how he could be so shameless.

not that it mattered. you knew as well as he did that it wouldn’t stop you from crawling back.

“you’re the prettiest like this, you know,” jeno whispered, though not necessarily meaning it affectionately. “when you look like you’re falling apart, all these marks all over your body.”

you were so close to orgasm it was mind-numbing. and jeno was unintentionally going to be what brought you to the end, dangling over the edge.

“you’re close,” jeno stated, not even needing to ask. it was both awful and astonishing that he learned to recognize the signs. once upon a time, only mark knew your body that intimately. 

you nodded. then, begged, “can i please cum?”

“cum around my dick, princess. just moan my name when you do,” was all he had to say in retort.

and a couple of moments later, you were doing as told, arms looped around his neck as you clang to him and your legs tightening just below his ribs. you sang jeno’s name, and the cry was so sweet it brought about his own climax, an even sweeter sound leaving you when you felt his load inside you.

then, jeno carried you over to his bed in his brawny arms and threw you on top of his mattress to fuck those sounds out of you again. and likely all of your sense.

“we really need to stop,” you told jeno after a couple of rounds.

jeno groaned, half-tempted to duck tape your lips. “you keep saying that. then, you hit my phone when you need a fuck and you’re on my dick again. make up your damn mind.”

“but i like it too much,” you whined. 

“i could have told you that.”

you gave him a look.

“listen, it’s not my fault you keep spreading your legs for me. what the fuck do you want me to do when you’re the one begging me to fuck the shit out of you? tell you no?”

yes, because someone needs to control me. i can’t do it myself, you mused, having no rein on yourself whatsoever. your urges had a mind of their own. you couldn’t be the one to make yourself stop, and if he didn’t, then nobody would.

“don’t you feel the least bit guilty?” you asked, sorrow in your eyes. post-nut clarity was a bitch.

jeno shrugged. no, was the simple answer, but he didn’t feel like explaining himself right now. “is guilt stopping you from lying in my bed right now?”

“this isn’t about me,” you groaned. 

jeno laughed at that. “please. this is all about you,” he said. “i’m the middleman here. i’ve only been doing what you wanted.”

“you should stop doing that.”

“then, leave,” jeno said nonchalantly, picking up his phone as he pretended not to care. “you act like i’m making you stay here. you have free will. but i bet you’ll be back in no time at all.”

and you were.

it was maddening that he was always right. what the hell were you thinking? you couldn’t give something as good him up for another girl to fuck, because you knew you could be replaced in no time. you couldn’t even convince yourself that you didn’t want him. 

god, you had only been fucking him for a week and you were already addicted.

one night, you crawled into bed with mark after a hot shower, washing away jeno’s scent. you were facing mark, just staring at each other with complete awe, but a tear fell from your eyes.

mark immediately fretted, kissing your cheek chastely like he knew to and asked, “why are you crying?”

you shook your head. you couldn’t tell him. it would break you. “no reason,” you lied, whispering. “i love you.”

“i love you too,” mark said without a second of hesitation. he knew in his soul that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. “i love you more than anything.”

don’t make this harder on me, you whispered to yourself, falling apart as you let your hand touch his pretty face. mark smiled at your touch, and you gave him a smile back. on nights like this, you could pretend everything was alright.

on the other end, mark didn’t know how to feel. you really thought he was a fool. and maybe he was. maybe he was foolishly in love with you, and that was why he pretended to not know. it was almost better that way. 

he was still thinking about last friday. 

how’d it go?

how do you think? 

she’s glowing. what did you do? 

it’s not that hard, mark. all you gotta do is slap her around a little. 

i’ll keep that in mind.

still on for friday?

you bet. 

wanna see? 

mark furrowed his brows. what is there to see?

[jeno sent one attachment] when you jack off to that later, don’t let her see. 

mark’s jaw slacked when he realized what the video was. you recorded it? what the fuck, dude? 

you’re welcome. 

you never noticed the far from perfectly hidden red flashing light, especially not bent over, too absorbed in how perfect jeno had been making you feel. mark had been reluctant to open it at first, but ultimately caved in to temptation, and he had gotten off to it countless times since then.

it made no sense how beautiful you looked being fucked into oblivion by a man that wasn’t him. 

on friday when mark left to run errands, you were back at jeno’s door. he gave you a scan. he could feel your anxiety from a mile away. 

“don’t say a goddamn word,” you hissed, walking past him and into his house. 

jeno closed the door behind you, chuckling in amusement. and as if he didn’t hear you, said, “i gotta give you some credit. it’s been like, what, five days? you lasted a lot longer than i thought you would.”

you narrowed your eyes at him and snarled, “didn’t i just say…”

jeno cut you off with a kiss, backing you into a wall. it was intense and greedy, and you could barely keep up, letting him take the lead while his hands roamed all over your body. the more you moaned into jeno’s mouth, the rougher he kissed you. if you didn’t know any better, you would say he had been impatient himself. 

you were both shirtless by the time he had pulled away from you, and your bra was thrown across his sofa in the heat of the kiss. you could see the arousal in his eyes, feel it in his touch, and it was driving you mad. 

“i’m tired of listening to you,” jeno growled into your ear, breath against your neck. “you’re gonna do what i want.”

all you could do was nod. jeno crashed his lips against yours again and kissed you the whole way to his bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in your wake.

you were so engrossed in the way his lips felt on yours that you didn’t even notice the other man in the room.

“breathe,” jeno told you when he pulled back, chuckling. 

you giggled, trying to catch your breath, but when you caught a glance of the bed through the corner of your eye, you nearly leapt out of your skin, shrieking, “mark?”

mark was silently sitting on jeno’s bed, eyes fixed to you. the look on his face was so unreadable that you couldn’t tell what kind of thoughts were running through his mind and you were borderline afraid to. your heart was racing quicker than you thought healthy. you glanced at jeno, baffled, but he merely gazed back at you with a smirk.

you stiffened. “mark, i... i thought you were… what are you…”

“i overestimated you. i thought you were smarter than this,” jeno teased, shaking his head.

you were frozen in your skin, scared to speak. 

“well, i technically was running an errand because i was talking to jeno about something, but you got here earlier than expected,” mark mumbled. 

jeno chipped in, “in other words, you’re so needy you did all the heavy lifting for us.”

“i… don’t understand?”

jeno threw his head back. “how much more do i have to dumb it down for you? mark knew about us this whole time. he set you up.”

you paralyzed with cold realization. it was all beginning to add up now. jeno’s nonchalance and detachment in contrast to your nerves. he’ll be glad it’s just me instead of somebody else, jeno had once told you. to which you replied, you say that like mark himself told you that.

because he did. 

you covered your tits, throwing mark a fretful glance. 

mark knew you better than anyone and spoke up before you could, “i’m not mad.”

“why?” you asked. he should have been furious. he should have ended things with you then and there, if not a long time ago. 

mark met your eyes tenderly and whispered, “because i just want you to be happy.”

this fucking loser, jeno scoffed to himself. “because he gets off to knowing somebody else is getting you off,” jeno added. “you know he asks me every detail of every fuck we have? he’s just as freaky as you.”

mark flustered. and so did you. maybe you were a match made in heaven.

“you both annoy the shit out of me,” jeno said, deadpan. then, he leaned into you and asked quietly, “wanna give your boyfriend a show?”

it was jeno touching you, but your eyes were fixed to mark. at those words, you noticed the slightest bit of excitement become visible in your boyfriend. what he couldn’t conceal, you saw glimmer in his eyes. so, without breaking eye contact with mark, you nodded.

“good girl,” jeno praised, before switching on a dime and growling, “bed.”

you knew what that meant. with no hesitation at all, you climbed into bed and mark gawked in astonishment at how quickly you presented yourself in a perfect arch at jeno’s command. he had you completely trained to bend to his will as if you were some sort of pet.

jeno was right behind you, grinning with unadulterated pride. he knew you belonged to mark, but you were also his now in some sick, twisted way. and he wasn’t about to give you back up. “good. you’re already watching each other,” jeno commented, amused. “don’t take your eyes off of him.”

“or else what?” 

jeno grabbed you by the throat, but it wasn’t harsh at all, much more like a warning. “fuck around and find out,” he replied darkly.

that sent a shiver down your spine. 

mark watched jeno position himself behind you, silent as could be. jeno slipped your panties to the side, not bothering to prepare you in spite of his size. he couldn’t imagine it. to mark, you were like some deity than deserved absolute worship. you moaned when jeno pushed inside you, tempted to tip your head, but fought it for now.

mark could feel his heart racing and arousal gripping him by the throat. he couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something about this that made him mad with lust.

your lips parted, tears making your eyes burn. you could still feel the lingering bruises jeno had left on your body that you desperately tried to hide from mark, because not only were they proof of your trysts, but mark would probably kill anybody that hurt you. except for jeno, apparently.

“she’s so tight, mark,” jeno groaned like you weren’t even there. “it’s like she gets tighter every time she runs back to me. do you ever fuck her?”

“it’s been a while,” mark said, sucking in a breath. he was getting hard. 

“clearly,” jeno mumbled. 

you whimpered, nails digging into the sheets to anchor yourself when jeno picked up his pace. which wasn’t after long. he was fucking you into the mattress before you even knew it yourself, making it all too difficult to hold eye contact with mark, and you broke it, glancing downwards. it was an impossible challenge from the start, that all three of you knew.

“jeno,” you whined, trying to pry his fingers from your hips.

jeno glanced down at you, seeing what you were doing, and asked, “where does it hurt? here?”

you bobbed your head. 

instead of making an effort to be more careful, jeno pressed his fingers down on the bruise, chuckling to himself when you cried out in a mixture of pain and shock. “eyes up, princess,” he whispered icily.

you brought your eyes back to your boyfriend’s, silently observing each other with a kind of telepathic communication. you had mastered that art in the past couple of years. there was no need for words. 

it was lewd and taboo. never had you done anything that felt as wrong as this; letting your boyfriend’s best friend fuck you right in front of his face, watching each other the whole time. but he made no move to stop either of you, merely standing there like a complete fool.

ironically, you were starting to understand each other better that way.

you looked pathetic as ever right now, tears rolling down your eyes in a stream. you made the wise choice not to wear makeup today, but jeno wished you would have. he always loved the look of streaks of black mascara running down your cheeks. it made you look even more ruined. but you never got like this for mark; most of the time, it was you ruining him. you liked making mark fall apart without doing much at all.

though to be far, you had never seen this side of mark either. had you known he liked it that much, that would have made everything a hell of a lot easier.

maybe this new situation could mutually benefit the three of you. you loved the grunts jeno made when he was pressed deep inside you, dragging his cock against your velvet walls. you liked when he put his hands on you and you could feel the sting for days. and you knew jeno loved fucking you, almost as if he couldn’t get enough of your body. 

“harder,” you cried. 

jeno cocked a brow. “you want it harder? you look like you’re about to break, princess.”

all you had to say to that was a hoarse, “break me.”

that jeno had every intention of, with or without your blessing.

mark was painfully hard at this point and made a move to take his clothes off, but jeno interrupted, “don’t touch yourself.”

mark shot him a look, flabbergasted and unsure if he should have listened or not. 

jeno beckoned him to approach the two of you. it was as if he had taken control of your relationship now. he flipped you onto your back, resulting in you emitting a loud sound of surprise. “hit her, mark,” jeno commanded, watching your face tense. “do it.”

mark stammered, “i… i can’t.”

“oh, for fuck’s sake. must i do everything for you?” jeno groaned, irritated. “it’s easy. i’ll show you.”

the pleasure of knowing he was about to hit you fused with the pain of his palm on your cheek and blended into something inexplicably erotic.

“see, the freaky little bitch likes it,” jeno commented, pointing out the dazed look on your face. “your turn.”

mark hesitated. he never wanted to hurt you, that was why he had gotten jeno to do the job. well, part of the reason. inwardly uttering a couple of motivational words to himself, mark gave you a weak smack to your cheek.

“lame,” jeno deadpanned. “but progress is progress.”

“harder, mark,” you whimpered, smiling up at him. “please? for me?”

mark could never tell you no when you looked at him like that, begging him with that sweet voice. so he gave in, hitting you again, even harder. you made a noise, face turning to the other side, which worried mark before he ultimately realized it was a sound of pleasure.

jeno laughed, on the verge of applause. “would you look at that.”

“did you like it?” mark asked bashfully. curse his need for validation. 

“mm-hm,” you hummed, sighing out in content.

mark smiled a tiny bit and his eyes fell down the rest of your body, spotting bruise after bruise. he had to give you credit; you had done an amazing job at concealing them, though the lack of sex definitely helped. now that you were naked, they were everywhere. apparently, jeno only put them in areas where they wouldn’t be immediately visible. he started to kiss them, one after the other, and much to your surprise, his tenderness somehow brought you even closer to finish. 

“i’m so close,” you told no one in particular, merely putting it out there. 

“come on, baby. show mark what it’s really like when you cum,” jeno said, grabbing a handful of your hair. “gonna let me fill you up with your boyfriend right there?”

you could do nothing but nod. you were chasing relief, chasing satiation. 

then, the thread snapped, and you came hard as ever. jeno was whispering mean words in your ear and all the while, mark was showing your body in affections, the contrast strong enough to give you whiplash. you moaned when you felt jeno finally cum inside you, and he pulled out to watch it drip from your stuffed cunt.

jeno glanced to mark and asked tauntingly, “need another tutorial or do you got it this time?”

you tried to catch your breath. maybe you could get used to this.

[thetriumphantpanda]

Scandal-Hit Princess

One Day I'll Fly Away - Chapter One

Chapter Summary | A scandal-hit Princess, ink barely dried on the divorce papers and a lone rancher with no interest in the inevitable media storm following her meet for the first time - it’s a recipe for disaster, right?

Word Count | 2.6K

Pairing | Joel Miller x Princess F!Reader

Chapter Warnings | foul language, descriptions and mentions of divorce and infidelity, Joel being a rancher and kinda aloof and unbothered, mentions of body image issues and stress, mentions of the British royal family, no-outbreak AU, no use of y/n, smut in future chapters but nothing else at this point.

Authors Note | Well, here she is - Miss Scandal is ready to meet you all! This has been such a labour of love for me already and I cannot tell you how excited I am to bring you this story. It’s different, but I love it, and I hope you will too! As always, thank you to @undercoverpena and @hellishjoel who have been on the receiving end of so much shouting and screaming about this! Please, if you do enjoy this, consider leaving a comment or reblogging - I will love you all forever! And you can support me further by donating to my Kofi account if you want to.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Kofi | Series Playlist

Rage is the only thing you really feel anymore. The feeling of betrayal, that’s gone. The feeling of sadness at losing the life you had, that’s also gone.The only thing that remains is the rage, bubbling slowly under your skin. You’ve been sitting in it for six months now, sitting with the injustice of it all, how someone had taken one singular conversation and flipped it on its head. The more you think about it, the more you can understand the conclusion everyone had come to, especially when the man wearing the crown had spun the story to suit him, his family, and his fucking son. Traitors, the fucking lot of them.

It hadn’t always been bad. You wouldn’t have said yes to the wedding if it had, regardless of how big the ring had been. He’d been sweet, charming, and despite the fact that your family came from money, he’d given you a life you could only have dreamed of. Sure, the endless flying around the world to shake a few hands and stand for a few photos, tilt your head down and look placid when you talked to anyone, took flowers from children and gripped the arms of people in distress, that all got tiring, but the fairytale had been all worth it really, until it hadn’t.

When the papers became more interested in who made your clothes, or the fact that the colour you’d worn didn’t suit you, or worse, sent some kind of subliminal message, or why the angle of the camera made you look pregnant when you weren’t, or how there must have been an argument between you and your husband because you hadn’t looked at him for the entire time you’d been at the ballet one time. When the focus shifted from what you were trying to do - shine a light on suffering or simply cheer people up by your presence, to trying to find fault in every single thing you ever did, that’s when you started to wonder whether it was all worth it.

Then came the control. The rules. Don’t eat that. Don’t wear that. Don’t paint your nails that colour. Don’t say this. Don’t stand like that. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. And it never seemed to matter how much good you did, how many initiatives you visited or how many sick people’s bedsides you sat next to , someone always had something to pick on. You could be the strongest person on earth, but the more someone picks away, the harder it gets to be yourself. But then, that’s what they wanted wasn’t it? Take the ideal woman on paper and grind her down until she was the ideal woman in real life - someone who kept her real thoughts to herself, behaved properly and didn’t rock the boat.

It strikes you now, in the solitude of this hotel room, that by trying to mould you into that person, you became the very thing they were terrified of all along. Someone who didn’t just rock the boat, but well and truly capsized it. It’s something of a comfort really, sat in this room like a prison, a nice and comfortable prison, but a prison none-the-less, that all it took was one woman who’d had enough to start tearing the family down from the inside. And it’s not like you’d really tried that hard to do it anyway - it hadn’t even been your intention. It just so happened that you’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time and someone had twisted your words - and his - to mean something they absolutely were not. If it hadn't been for what it had cost you, a one way ticket to the middle of nowhere and a reputation in tatters, you might find all this quite funny, but alas, there was nothing about this exile - or rather banishment - that was funny rot you right now.

You slam the magazine you’ve been trying to read down on your lap in frustration. The heat in this place is fucking stifling. Who the fuck suggested Texas as a good idea? Sure, it’s a world away from where you’d just come from, and for now, the press, obsessed with you since day one, hadn’t quite figured out where you were yet, but it was only a matter of time really. Someone would tip them off for a hefty sum, poor Nancy and her hotel would be swarmed and it would be up and on to the next place to try and lie low. You’re bored and bored is dangerous.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, stretching out your back before you stand, slip your shoes on and open the door. You look up and down the hall, quiet, no sign of Rob, head of the security detail you’d been given following your divorce. It would have been nice of them if it hadn’t been a way to keep an eye on you. You knew Rob was giving updates to the people back at home.

You lightly pad down the hallway once the door to your room is closed, taking the steps down to the reception quickly, stepping on your tiptoes until your hand traces over the front reception desk, Nancy immediately looking up from her papers.

“Your Highness.” Has become the greeting, with a slight curtsey, it’s wrong, but it doesn’t really matter anymore does it?

“Can I get you anything?”

You smile at her, leaning your elbows on the reception desk, cheek resting on one of your palms.

“Well, Nancy, I’d love some of those peaches from a few days ago, do you still have any?”

You watch as her expression drops, her skin tone draining like she’d made the biggest faux pas possible.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” She gasps, “You liked ‘em so much we used ‘em all making dessert for tonight.”

“Sounds delicious,” You smile, big and broad, charming, “What are we having?”

“My famous peach pie,” Nancy taps the side of her nose, “My mama’s recipe.”

“With ice cream?” You ask, adding a wink at the end.

“Anything for you,” Then she adds, “I can send out for more peaches if you’d like them.”

You think for a moment, because they really are delicious, especially warmed from the sun where they’ve just been freshly picked, “Where do you get them?”

“Oh, at the Miller ranch, it’s a little way out of town, but he’s famous for them.”

“You know, I might go and get them myself.”

Joel Miller scoffs into his coffee as his eyes scan the front page of the newspaper. Scandal-hit Princess in USA. He knew she was here. The town was abuzz with gossip that Nancy, owner of the nicest, fanciest hotel in town, was hosting her. Cleared out the entire top floor of rooms just for her. Restaurant closed whenever she wanted to eat. Someone had driven up to his ranch three days ago, asked for a boxes of peaches for her. Her favourite fruit apparently. He’d handed them over without much thought, asked for the usual price and then found himself with a very generous tip, folded into the back pocket of his jeans. He looks at the grainy photograph on the front page, taken through the window of the hotel, Princess sitting pretty, head down looking at the table. The photo is grainy, definitely not the best paparazzi work he’s seen splashed across the front page, but it’s enough to see her hand on the back of her neck and the hunch of her shoulders, trying to make herself look smaller than she is.

It’s a far cry from the woman he’d seen on the TV two years ago. It had been madness in his mind, that the entire world had ground to a halt to watch two people get married. Sarah had insisted that they all sit and watch it together, and he had thought Ellie would have his back, but she was just as enthralled watching her walk down the aisle. Weirdly, he remembers the dress, the white tulle, short lace sleeves, something sparkly peppered through the material, catching the light when she walks. But what he remembers more than anything, is her smile. The way she beamed when she was handed over, hand slipped into her soon-to-be husbands. It’s strange that divorce touches everyone, and no matter how big you smile, it’s always hiding something under the surface.

He looks briefly to his watch, realising he’s late for feeding and those sheep are going to give him hell if he doesn’t feed them soon. He downs the rest of his coffee, shoves the newspaper into the recycling box, he doesn’t really read it anyway, even when the news isn’t splashed from cover to cover with gossip about what that damn princess did or didn’t do, so he’s definitely not going to indulge it now, and then he’s out into the truck and heading down to the barn to stock up on feed.

It’s a strange world to him, this ranch life. For as long as he could remember he’s wanted to do it. Maybe it’s the solitude it offers him, the way he can finally think for himself after years of raising his daughters. Maybe it’s the way that unlike his daughters, his flock of sheep tend to do what they’re told, unless it’s this morning and he’s twenty minutes late to feed them, then they’d gather around his legs, bleating senselessly until he drops their feed onto the ground to appease them. What he really thinks is that it gives him a purpose. He grows fruit, peaches mainly, but a few other crops, that he gives to Nancy down at the hotel, or offers to Steven who owns the bakery, fruit that feeds his community. He shears his sheep, gives their wool to Betty and Ines to make clothes with. Sat out here, on the fringes of town, with more land and space than he knows what to do with, an empty house no longer filled with his daughters, this place gives him a reason to get up each morning. They all need him in some small way.

Once he’s finished with his morning chores - feeding the sheep, plucking the ripe peaches from his trees into crates, fixing up some of the fences that a few of the more boisterous sheep had knocked over and serviced the small tractor in the barn - he jumps back in his truck, the warm Austin sun, blazing at midday, licking at his skin, bringing sweat beading across his body, and goes back to the house. He’s just stepping out of the truck, rubbing his dirty hands with a rag from his back pocket, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck, when he notices a car pulling in to the bottom of his driveway, driving slowly up to come to a stop at the front porch of his house.

As he rounds his truck, he can see that the car is nicer than anything he’s ever seen in town. Sleek black, clean as a whistle, windows dark so he can’t see into them. It sits idling on his driveway until he climbs the steps at the back of the house, rounds the porch and stands at the top of the steps, leaning against the side of the stairs, fingers looped in one of his belt loops.

The front passenger door opens and bulking man gets out, sunglasses over his eyes, black t-shirt and jeans and a bald head. He nods at Joel, one of those classic nods that men understand when they give each other, then he opens the back door wide. Joel sees one leg step out of the car, then another, long, loose-fitting white trousers, then the rest of the body comes into view. He can’t quite believe it when he realises the person standing in front of him, pushing her sunglasses onto her head so she can look right at him, is the same person from the front page of the newspaper. The People’s Princess herself.

“Joel Miller?” She asks, voice sweet, lilting, as she holds out her hand for him to shake when she’s stood close enough to him.

He looks down at her hand - perfectly manicured, soft, by the looks of things, never seen a day of work in their lives - then looks at his, bigger, covered in filth, hard and calloused, definitely not the kind of hand she wants to be shaking. He thinks this must be muscle memory for her, the only work she knows how to do is hold out her hand and talk nice to people.

“I gotta bow or somethin’?’

She smirks at him, drops her hand, “I don’t think that’s necessary these days.”

“Can I help you?”

“Well,” She starts, voice sweet and peppy enough to start to annoy him, “I’ve been eating these peaches since I got here, the sweetest, juiciest I’ve ever eaten, and we’ve run out,” She brings a foot up to rest on the bottom step, Joel immediately stepping forward to stop her coming any closer into his bubble, “And I’ve been told you grow them, is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“Well,” She tilts her head, “Might I buy some more?”

“How many d’ya want?”

“A crate, please, if you have enough to spare.”

Joel spins on his feet, takes heavy footsteps back around the house to his truck, picks up the crate of peaches he just picked, the one with the most fruit in it and makes his way back to the front of the house where the Princess is still waiting.

He offers her the crate, holding it out in his hands. He watches as she turns to the man who opened her door for her, nods her head towards the crate, watches as he takes it from Joel. She stands up on her tiptoes as the crate passes her, plucks one of the peaches from the top.

She looks at Joel, right in his eyes as she bites into the fruit, obscene slurping sound in the air as she sucks the juice into her mouth, bringing a finger up to catch the drops that fall onto her chin, making sure she doesn’t drip it onto her pristine white suit.

“How do you grow them to be so perfect?” She asks, taking another bite from her peach, teeth dragging through the delicate skin.

“Plenty of sun,” Joel shrugs, “Good soil.”

She hums, nods her head in agreement, “Well, thank you for these,” She turns back to the man who has just put the crate in the boot of the car, nodding at him, “I’m sure I’ll be back for more.”

The man offers Joel some money, enough for at least three crates of peaches, but he finds he doesn’t argue, takes it like he did the first lot, slips it into his back pocket. He doesn’t wait for the car to leave, just turns on his heel, heads into his home, praying that her promise to come back was an empty one - if there’s one thing that Joel needs less than a hole in the head right now, it’s a hoity Princess sniffing around.