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literaila · 3 months

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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.

626 notes · View notes

catherinnn · 1 year

Text

Exes with benefits

summary: Exes to fuck-buddies to lovers. After a year of trying to get over each other, you meet again purely by coincidence and aren't able to resist temptation. But still, you weren't going to date him again, it was all for the sake of how good you were together, or at least that's what you told yourself.

warnings: SMUT +18, pnv, unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, degradation & praise kink, switch! Eddie (but mostly dom! Eddie), jealously, alcohol and drinking, language.

words: 5k

Eddie and you had been broken up over a year now. And it hadn’t been your best year, it wasn’t like you spent it crying the whole time, but the expectation of being newly single was different than the reality. You didn’t go out every single weekend and made out with a different guy every night out, you hadn’t had a proper date in months and you haven’t had sex in an embarrassing amount of time. But it wasn’t like it was the worse year either, you became really good friends with Robin and Nancy, who before used to be only acquaintances, you got a raise at the café where you worked, and you really learnt to be more by yourself and actually enjoy it.

That’s why tonight you were going to have dinner out by yourself. You started doing it sometimes to out for coffee and just sat there alone reading, it was so comforting that every now and then you needed it, and tonight felt like one of those times.

“Hello there, can I help you?” the waiter at the entrance said to you.

“Hi, yes, I’d like a table for one please?”

“We will have one available in about 20 minutes, would you like to wait at the bar?” he offered.

“Yes, that’d be great”

You sat at the bar and ordered yourself a drink, it surprised you sometimes how the barmen wouldn’t ask for your ID any longer, did you really look like 21? It wasn’t that you weren’t, because you did turned 22 a few months ago, but you didn’t know if it was a good thing to look your age, your mom had always told you that it was better to look younger than to look your age. You decided to stop thinking about it that much because it could turn into a new insecurity really quickly.

When you got out of your own thoughts for a second and started to look around, you were welcomed by a very familiar face. Eddie was sat at the bar too, a few seats next to yours, you saw him looking at you too and a surprised expression on his face showed up later to be changed by a smile and a hand-wave. You waved back but then saw how he stood up with his beer on his hand and walked over to you.

“Hey!” he greeted you.

“Hi, Eds” It slipped out of you, the nickname, it was what you always called him, but that was while you were dating, you didn’t know if it was too affectionate to use it now, you actually didn’t know anything about how to treat him now, after everything, where you supposed to forget about anything that happened between you two and just act like he’s a friend who you say hello to every time you see him? It wasn’t that you wanted to ignore him but that did sound less awkward than this fake niceties. I guess this is the price you pay after such a long relationship, where the confidence between both of you used to be the biggest you’ve ever had with anyone. After three years and a half of heaven. No one teaches you what to do when a good man hurts you, and you know you’ve hurt him too.

“What were you doing here?” he asks while sitting down on the bench seat next to yours. This took you out a little, was he really going to stay here and talk as if nothing? Have a drink together? You didn’t know how to feel about that, you liked to see him but you had a feeling you shouldn’t like it.

“I just felt like going out for dinner tonight, nothing special, and you?”

“Well, I did make plans with Gareth to come have dinner together but I’m starting to think he stood me up”

“Oh, wait, really?” you laughed.

“Yeah,” he laughed too. “I was about to call him actually and ask what happened, but then I saw you… and got a little distracted” was the comment a little flirty or was it your imagination trying to trick you?

“Oh, well, sorry for the distraction, you can still call him if you need”

“Yeah, will you wait a second? I’ll be right back”

“Yeah, sure” and he went to ask the waiter for the phone, after a few minutes you saw him hung up and walk back to you.

“Well, turns up he’s not gonna make tonight, do you mind if I… stay here with you or is it too much?” he asked and you could detect the hope on his face and his voice. Also his attempt to evade the puppy eyes he gave you every time he wanted something. You thought twice about your answer, you should say no and avoid a potential awkward evening, but at same time you were a little curious.

“Sure, why not? I’d be good to catch up, right?” you gave him a smile and he smiled back, sitting down and ordering more drinks for you two.

The night went on with a lot of more drinks for you two, and fortunately for you, this helped to get out of the awkward phase, but maybe a little too out of the phase.

“Wait wait, but I wanna know, Steve, did anything happened with him after us?” he asked in between you laughter after you confessed you always felt a little jealous over his deals with Chrissy. “Cause I swear, he had crush on you”

“He sooooo did not!” you said trying to stop laughing. “But you know who did had a crush on me back then? Dustin”

“Oh my god, he so did!” he laughed harder. “I remember he used to get all nervous when you came to our meetings, and blushed every time we kissed or when I talked about you”

“Anyway, that was before that bitch Suzie stole his attention” you joked faking annoyance but then when Eddie started laughing your lips went upwards again and a giggle escaped.

And after even more drinks were ordered by the two of you, Eddie had the idea to dance to the great songs the bar was playing, since there was a space to dance and some couples were swinging to the music.

He took your hand and walked over there. Then his other hand went to your waist and yours went to his neck while the both of you laughed at the way you were dancing. Then, he pulled you closer and didn’t break the eye-contact, faces inches away from each other and you think you never felt hotter.

The next morning presented itself with you waking up with an important headache, not really able to open your eyes from all the light in the room. You sat down and slowly started to see more. Like the window on the wall next to you and the Corroded Coffin poster next to it.

Wait, Corroded Coffin?

This was Eddie’s room, you realized.

Looking down next to you on the bed, you saw him asleep on his stomach but his face turned to your side, his hair a mess. You looked down to your body and were met with that the only thing you were wearing was the tangled sheets on his bed, under that…nothing.

Flashes of last night came back to you, the kiss at the dancefloor, the kiss on his car on the way here, all the kisses that were shared from the front door to his bedroom door, and all the kisses that happened after that on his bed, and the memory of those kisses that weren’t only on the lips but on the rest of your bodies who were all too familiar with each other.

Eddie moved next to you, he opened his eyes slowly and was met by the sight of you tangled in his sheets with him, your hair was messy and your neck and chest were covered in hickeys. He smirked proudly.

“Morning” he said with his raspy morning voice.

“Yeah, hi” you responded and started looking for your clothes.

“Come back here, stay a little longer” he pouted and released his best puppy eyes that he had tried so hard to hold back last night when he asked you if he could stay.

“Stay? Eddie, how are you not freaking out about this?” you questioned him.

“What’s there to freak out about? The reason why we stopped doing this in the first place?” he said sarcastically

“The reason is because we broke up! We’re no longer dating so we shouldn’t be doing this anymore” you said seriously.

“Says who? Cause if they felt like we did last night, they’d change their minds”

“Well, I’m not” you stood up and put on your shirt and underwear.

“Hey, don’t go” he asked while getting up and tried to stop you from finding your pants.

“Eddie, this is not going to change because of last night” you signaled between you and him referring to your relationship.

“Why not? You felt it, you were there! You don’t just have that with anyone”

You didn’t answer and picked up you pants that were under the chair of his desk, and put them on.

“We can’t just forget about this” he fought.

“Well, we’re gonna have to try” you simply said and walked out of his house.

The rest of the day followed slowly, you didn’t like it when you were wrong, and you liked it even less when you had to admit that you were, but Eddie was right. You couldn’t stop thinking about last night. The memory of his lips on yours, on your neck, on your chest, on your breasts. His touch everywhere, like the way you could still feel his hands on your hips while you sat on top of him, probably leaving bruises on either side of your hips, you didn’t dare to see, it would just add fuel to the fire that was your body right now.

The next morning you heard a knock on the door, when you opened to check who it was, the person entered your house before you could kick him out. Eddie, of course.

“Please, do come in” you joked.

“Sorry, but I wanted to talk to you, that’s why I didn’t call before, cause I knew you’d hung up”

“You should take the hint maybe”

“Please, just think about it! Give it another chance, Princess, we’re so good together” He walked closer to you.

“I-I don’t know, Eddie”

“Could you forget about last night? Like you said we should” he asked you.

“Well, it’s only been a day-“

“But could you forget about it for even a second of your day?”

“You’re so dramatic”

“Don’t change the subject, princess” he mocked, but he was right, again. And not only did you hate the fact that he was right, that you weren’t able to focus on anything else now, but also you hated the way you could feel your panties get wet at the sound of that nickname he just called you. And also, how pretty did he look begging before?

“You can’t stop thinking about it even now” he whispered and softly pulled you closer to him, really close. “Are you thinking about how this hickeys ended up here?” he made a path with the touch of his fingers from your neck to the valley of your breasts. “Or how my hands felt holding you again, touching you everywhere again? How they held you while you jumped on my cock again? And moaned into my mouth cause we couldn’t stop kissing? How deep I was inside of you and how fucking hot it was?”

He touched his lips with yours to give you time to pull back, but when you didn’t, he kissed you, slowly and passionate. One of his hands on the back of your neck and the other moved down to your ass while yours pulled his hair just how he likes it, he moans into your mouth. He bites you lower lip as he gives you his biggest smirk, you pull him down to you again and start making out with your guidance.

“Fuck” he moans as he pulls out of you and lays down next to you on the couch, both trying to catch your breaths.

“My god” you sigh and pass your fingers through your hair.

He looks at you and smiles. “You look so hot I could do this even one more time” he tries put you stop him.

“We’ve already came three times, give me a rest!” you laugh.

“See what I told you? We’re so good together”

“You sound so cheesy” you mock him and he laughs too. “We can keep doing it, but I don’t want anything romantic, not a relationship, just… two exes… enjoying…how good they are together” you find trouble trying to define whatever you wanted to be.

“Exes with benefits” he jokes.

“Yeah” you laugh.

Thanks to this new agreement with Eddie, you didn’t only get the mind-blowing sex, but also, this meant that you could hang out with the whole group again. In your relationship with Eddie, you became good friends with the kids and you had to admit that you missed them after the break up, but they were Eddie’s friends first and you had to respect that.

But now, when you were certain that neither you nor Eddie would be awkward hanging out, you decided to accept Steve’s invitation to join him taking the kids out for pizza. He had warned you that Eddie would be there too and you let him know that it didn’t matter.

He picked you up telling you that Eddie was in charge of picking the rest of the kids up.

“So, you sounded pretty sure over the phone when you told me that it didn’t matter to see Eddie again” he said keeping his eyes on the road.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I was gonna have to see him again eventually if I wanted to still hang out with you guys, and I felt that it was about time now” you lied.

“That’s really mature of you, I’m not used to that” he joked.

“You’re one to talk” you joked back.

“Hey!” you both laughed. “But you know, Eddie gave me a similar response when I asked him if it was ok to invite you”

“Oh, did he?”

“Yeah, he said that it was only fair since you haven’t seen the kids in a while and they miss you too”

“Ohhh, do they?” you changed the subject so he wouldn’t think about you and Eddie too much.

“Are you kidding? They’re always telling me that you were so much more fun than me” You laughed again.

When you got to there you had to wait a few minutes because obviously, this is Eddie we’re talking about and he’s always late, so after they all arrived, the boys gave you a big hug, it surprised you that Max also came along, she was secretly your favorite, and she knew that.

The night went on great for you, you never realized just how much you missed them until tonight. Obviously, you had to act a little distant towards Eddie, it had to seem believable.

But Eddie was not having his best night, not because you two had to act distant, but because the waiter you had tonight wouldn’t stop flirting with you, every single time he came over to table.

The first time he came to give you all the menu, he would only look at you while he talked, then when after he took your order he winked at you before leaving, he also asked for your name, but only yours! Not even anyone else’s at the table! But what was definitely too much for the evening was when he asked for your number.

It was when you all stoop up from the table and walked to the door.

“Oh, could I ask you just one thing before you leave?” he asked you.

“Yes, of course” you answered.

“Could I- ask for your number?” he said kind of nervous.

“Oh” you were surprised and of course all the group behind you heard, they were probably paying even more attention to the waiter’s question than you. “Sure, yeah”

Eddie could feel the stares of his friends while you wrote your number on a napkin for the other guy. It was indeed an awkward moment for him, but not for the reasons they thought. It wasn’t because his ex-girlfriend was giving her number to someone in front of him, but because his ex-girlfriend with benefits — as you had defined your relationship now — was giving someone else her number and he couldn’t do anything to stop you, not now nor later when you’re alone, he couldn’t just tell you that he was mad because of that, the agreement was: this is not a relationship, this is just fucking. So he just had to swallow all of his jealousy.

But he wasn’t the only one with this problem. It happened a few weeks after, Steve was going to a party some senior was throwing and invited you with Eddie, Robin and Nancy.

The night had started rather greatly, Eddie had come over to your house an hour before the party, said he wanted to "help you pick the outfit" but it was just his excuse to see you dressing and undressing and also modeling the outfits.

"I prefer the other dress, the black one" he gave his opinion from your bed, laid there watching you.

"Of course you like the black one better" you commented remembering that it's his favorite color.

"You look more metal" he joked. You laughed and took the dress off, you could feel his eyes staring at you, and you turned around and looked back at him.

"What?" you asked innocently.

"Come here" he whispered.

You walked to him with a smug smile and straddled him. "Hi"

"Hey, pretty girl" his hands start caressing your legs, thighs, hips, waist.

You lowered yourself on him and kissed him, his hands go to your ass and moves you. You can feel his hard-on through your underwear and through his pants.

"Eds, wait" you interrupted. "We don't have much time, I still have to get dressed and do my hair and make-up-"

"I'll be so quick, baby" He cuts you to then unbutton his pants and lowers them with his boxers, he moves your panties to the side and touches your cunt with one of his fingers. "Are you always this wet for me? Always ready for me to use you whenever I want?"

And you almost moan at his words, you nod your head and he laughs.

He passes the tip of his cock through your folds covering it with your slick. "Ready?"

"Yeah, please"

"Mmmh" he moans as he enters you slowly.

"Ohh" you moan when he is fully inside. He starts moving you up and down on his cock, guiding your movements and honestly that's exactly what you wanted right now, just him using you.

"Fuck, that's right baby, God, feels so good" he groans, you can't stop your moaning as he increases the speed, he grabs your hips and keeps you in place as he stars moving his pelvis up and down, thrusting into you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, play with your clit, princess, do that for me please" he tells you and you obey. You throw your head back and moan his name amongst some other curses and nonsense.

"Yeah? Are you about to cum, baby?"

"Yes! Eddie!"

His breath begins to uneven even more than before as he enjoys the sight of you jumping on top of him, your tits bouncing in your black laced bra and you pretty face as you're cuming on his cock. He feels your walls clenching around him and that's enough to make him cum inside you, creaming all of your walls and filling you up, moaning and grunting your name.

You laid on top of him, your head on his chest and his hands holding you so you don’t fall, both breathing heavily.

“I’ll clean you up now so you can put on that pretty little black dress, and put on some make-up, maybe that red lipstick you know it’s my favorite, and then we can get going, right?” he asks, you nod your head not being able to form words just yet.

After you got cleaned-up and ready, you got in the car and drove there, when you arrived and walked in, you quickly greeted Nancy and Robin who were later joined by Steve.

You passed the first few hours doing shots and playing games, that’s how you ended celebrating with Robin because you had won a game of beer-pong against two other guys you didn't really know. Then you two walked back into the kitchen to pour yourselves another cup and went to the living room — where most people were. You were chatting and dancing with her when you saw Eddie at a corner of the room talking to a blonde girl, he was laying his back against the wall with her in front of him, smiling, laughing, and clearly flirting.

You tried to ignore them and the uncomfortable feeling in your belly this had caused you. Since you and Eddie aren't dating — you had made that very clear — you weren't going to let yourself suffer or let this give you any kind of reaction whatsoever. You kept dancing with Robin as if nothing happened but every time you glanced over at him again, you could see that they were much more closer that before and she had started to play with his hair while they kept laughing.

Fuck, there's that uncomfortable feeling again.

You wanted to go over there and push her from him, and then ask him what the fuck does he think he's doing. But then obviously, you didn't. You just drank some more until you were properly drunk and danced some more until Steve offered you and Robin a ride home. You didn't see Eddie again that night, luckily for you. Because when you woke up the next morning and started thinking about it again, you came to the conclusion that if you had seen him again while you were that drunk, you would have probably said something that you would now be regretting.

So luckily, you just woke up with a hungover, no regrets and decided that you weren't in any place to feel jealous, he had every right to flirt with others girls, even if it was right in front of you. It's too bad that you had declined the waiter’s offer to go out last Friday, but then again, he wasn't really your type, and you would only be doing that to get even.

Because of course this was all just an attempt to convince yourself that you didn't care what Eddie did outside of your little affair, and an attempt to make you stop thinking about the blond girl so close and touchy with him. But luckily, you were able to ignore that uncomfortable feeling in your gut for a little longer.

A few weeks after that, everything went back to normal for you both, or as much as normal it could be to be having an affair with your ex-boyfriend. So this weekend, after Eddie had told you that he was going to be busy, you invited your friends to sleep over.

"Did he really ask for your number?" you asked Nancy surprised.

"Even after I told him I have a boyfriend, he kept asking and asking"

"What a dick" Robin commented. "But for what I have heard, there's another one who's also having a lot of game lately" she said signaling to you.

"What are you on about now?" you asked her.

"Steve might have told me that a certain waiter flirted with you the whole night and then he asked for your number"

"Oh, god, he’s such a snitch!”

"Not only that, but the waiter even did all of this in front of Eddie" she finally said, Nancy gasped and your face went red.

"And you gave it to him?"

"What was I supposed to do? I can't say no, it would have been so awkward"

"For him! What does that have to do with you?"

"I don't know, it just felt weird"

"And Eddie didn't do anything?" Nancy asked.

"And what would he do? He's not her boyfriend anymore" Robin responded before you could.

"I don't know, it must have been weird for him" Nancy insisted.

"I think he's gotten over it at the party with that blonde girl who couldn't keep her hands off of him" you said before thinking about it, it just escaped off of your mouth. The girls looked at you with a funny expression and you got even redder. "Sorry, umm... should I get more ice-cream? I'll go downstairs to grab it" you quickly offered to change the subject.

What you weren't expecting, neither did the girls in your room, nor the boy climbing up your window to sneak into your room: was what ending up happening.

"Surpriiiii-" Eddie started before he could put his feet on the ground and turned around from your window.

He stopped when he saw that it wasn't you that was on the bed, and the girls who actually were there stared at him with surprise.

When you went upstairs to announce that you only had strawberry left, you were indeed surprised too.

"Hi..." Eddie said nervously when he saw you. "I- didn't know you had company"

"Wwwwhat is he doing here?" Robin asked amused.

"Umm, he's..." you tried while he looked at you as if asking you what to do. Only if you knew.

"Don't try to lie to us" Nancy warned.

"Fuck" you sighed and gave up.

"I'm sorry" Eddie said to you as if ignoring the other girls would make them disappear.

"What are you doing here anyways? You said you had plans" you asked getting angry.

"Jeff canceled, so I thought I could sneak in and surprise you?"

"It would have been very clever to call before!"

"Then it wouldn't be a surprise anymore"

"I didn't want a surprise-"

"Okaaaaay" Robin interrupted. "Stop fighting and explain yourselves"

"Uh, okay, we- are- ummm" you tried.

"Back together?" Nancy tried to help.

"No!" you quickly denied.

"No need to act so disgusted about it" He added.

"I'm not! It's just- what did you call us the other day?"

"Exes with benefits" he said and the girls looked as if they couldn't decide whether to be excited or to laugh at the situation.

"You're both idiots, that's what you are" Robin finally ended it. "Is he going to join us for the sleep over?" She asked you.

"Can I?" He asked you too.

"Ugh, fine" you sighed.

Of course you ended up explaining how it happened and of course you expected them to tell the rest of the group all about the news. What you didn’t know is what happened now, do you keep doing it but without hiding? That sounded a little too serious. So when Eddie met with you at your house again a few days after that, you knew you had to talk.

"Steve and Dustin already interrogated me" he announced.

"I know, Max and Lucas did the same to me" you told him. "I don't know Eddie"

"What?" he asked confused.

"How does this continue? What does this mean for us?"

"Does anything have to change?"

"I don't know... do you want it to change?"

He took a few seconds before answering, like he was debating something in his head.

"Alright, don't freak out, but this wasn't exactly what I wanted from the beginning" he confessed and you did in fact started to freak out.

"Wait, what?!"

"No, no, no, wait! I didn't mean it like that, I just- listen, when I first saw you again in that restaurant I got so fucking excited, I wanted to spend the rest of the night with you, cause if I didn't I got this feeling that I was going to regret it”

"But... you did spent it with me" you said confused.

"Do you remember that I told you that Gareth had stood me up, and that I called him to ask him?" you nodded. "I actually had called him to ask him to not come at all, he had told me that he was running late but I told him that you were in the restaurant too and you were alone and that if I didn't get a chance to talk to you again I would regret it my whole life"

It was your turn to take a few minutes to think, to take in this new information.

“And what do you actually want?”

"I want to get back together. I don't only want the sex. I want a relationship too" he admitted.

"And why did you agree if you knew that I didn't want that?"

"I thought I should take the opportunity, even if it wasn't completely what I wanted, it was still you. That and I was kind of hoping I could make you fall for me again"

You slowly shook your head wondering how you didn’t see this coming, it sounded so… Eddie.

"Could I?" he whispered.

"My God, Munson" you sighed. "You are unbelievable"

He softly smiled and suddenly you ran to him, jumping so he could catch you and take you in his arms. You stared at each other only to make yourself surer that this was the right decision. So then you softly grabbed his cheeks and kissed him.

And after the first news your friends got that you two were having an affair, came the second news that you were finally back together, and with that, a second interrogation from every one of your friends. But this time, they were sure you were doing the right thing.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #dom!eddie #switch!eddie munson #eddie munson angst

893 notes · View notes

sgiandubh · 3 months

Note

@outlanderskin :"For those who have doubts: just research a little about Caitríona's dating history. See how she treated Dave and James and how she talked about them in interviews. See how she wrote about the Irish boyfriend she had in Paris in that article. Compare all of this to the impersonal way she treats or talks about Tony. Bingo🙃"

Good point 👌

Dear Good Point Anon,

You know, it's really serendipitous, as I have just finished a weeklong deep dive in very, very old press articles on (or at least mentioning) S and C, who clearly had a life before OL, thinking it would be nice to put some of my archive work skills to good service.

I think @outlanderskin was referring to C's New York Times article I reviewed and analyzed last summer, but I just found way better: a very long report in the Irish Independent's Sunday issue of July 11, 2004, focused on the next generation of Irish supermodels. Of which there could be only one, at that time: C, who dominates Roxanne Parker's 'Through Thick and Thin".

I am sorry, there is no link available to my knowledge, so we'll have to work with these very poor xerox scans:

I took the liberty of generously using my dreaded highlighter and, for the people who need to translate this post with Google, I am now taking my time to type what I find damn interesting in this almost twenty-year old article:

'If Ireland ever has a hope of having its own supermodel, then Caitriona Balfe is it. Sitting in the Pink Pony Café on Ludlow Street in New York, Caitriona swirls a wad of bread into her carrot and coriander soup while informing me that her musician boyfriend just brought her a breakfast-in-bed of cream eclairs and coffee a little over an hour ago. But that doesn't stop Caitriona from finishing her lunch and chasing it with a large cocoa-dusted cappuccino. Ebony-tressed and ivory-skinned, Caitriona clip-clops down the cobbled street after we leave the cafe, heading towards her apartment in Chinatown with Dave Mailone (sic!), the boyfriend, in tow.'

This reads, in 2024, like an interview with a more benevolent C clone from a totally different planet, indeed. A young, carefree, in love and hysterically funny C, who apparently had no problem heavily dishing out happy tidbits of her private life to her home country's press. A C also very much reminiscing anyone with a brain of the 2013-2018 bantering C, as this quote shows:

Again, you'll have to indulge me retyping it, Anon (tedious, I know - but helpful). She is remembering her real breakthrough, in November 2002, at the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, in New York:

That was the most I've ever been paid for a show. I've got 18,000 euros for one day's work! They made me get a spray tan before the show, and I was still the whitest and the least well-endowed girl in the entire show! So what did she have to wear on the big day? `Not a whole lot! I think I described my outfit on the day as something Wilma Flintstone would wear on her honeymoon night. There wasn't a whole lot to it and it had bits of fur hanging off it.'

And, for good measure, we even have a (admittedly, awful) picture with the season's fiancé, with whom things did not end well:

I know, it looks like a Pravda pic, circa 1957 and I am honestly sorry. But it's still very clear. And, which is more important, very eloquent.

Anon and reader, you draw your own conclusions on this. I know where I stand. The only guy C has similar pics taken with and released in the press or on social media is the peasant some love to bash every single day in here. Their problem, not mine.

Yes, of course Mordor will yell and hiss. Of course they will throw rotten tomatoes at the blunt knife and scream THIS IS OLD. But hey, do you have any better than this poor (but oh, so endearingly authentic) picture or than any given S&C pic before the fucking EFH and IFH, when she gradually started to turn into today's Reclusive, Restrained and Rarefied Greta Garbo wannabe?

Oh, and please: don't give me the 'he's shy' or the paperwork crap again. Her public persona has drastically changed, and not for the better. It's plain to see and there are reasons for this.

Who's to blame? This question is so wrong, in so many ways.

The question should be 'what's to blame?'

I'll stop here, Anon and I hope it was somewhat useful. Thank you for dropping by.

#anon #fandom #shitshow

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pluckyredhead · 7 months

Note

hi! i'm new to comics and i got in through reading your fics and wayne family adventures. i've since started reading more of the mainstream verse and i realized that most comic fans consider wfa to be totally fanon. you're one of the few i saw that disagrees. would you mind elaborating a lil on why? i'm too new to really form an opinion either way but i'd like to know your's!

(also yes i really did stalk your blog back years worth of posts i'm sorry! 😭😭)

Aw I love this! Welcome!

So I think it's really important to be clear on definitions here:

Canon means it's part of an official text. It's literally in a comic (or book or movie or other property) published or licensed by DC.

Fanon means it's made up by fans. That doesn't mean bad or good, it just means that it comes from fandom and is not part of the official text.

Wayne Family Adventures is an official licensed comic by DC, so by definition, it cannot be fanon. That doesn't mean everyone has to like it, but it's not a fan comic. It's an official DC product. It's not fanon.

Now, WFA isn't part of the main DCU canon. It takes place in a separate universe. The Jason in Batman #138 and the Jason in WFA are not the same and they are having very different experiences. (And I'm sure the Jason in WFA would be grateful if he knew.)

But that's no different than a comic that takes place in an alternate universe, like Dark Knights of Steel or DCeased, or a movie like Blue Beetle or a show like My Adventures with Superman. They all take place in their own universes, but all of those universes are canon. None of them are fanon.

What I think most people mean when they say WFA is fanon is that WFA draws on tropes and characterizations that are popular in fandom. Which...yes, absolutely. This is on purpose, and honestly, it pisses me off when people complain about it. (Not you, anon! Your question was lovely, you just triggered my unskippable cut scene of dialogue. Sorry lol.)

Wayne Family Adventures is probably the single best idea DC has had in the 20 years I've been reading comics. (The second best was the kids and YA graphic novel lines.)

I just checked, and WFA has 1.3 MILLION subscribers. That's more than every floppy comic starring Batman sells in a month, combined. It's more than literally any superhero comic has sold in decades - in this century! The combined strips have over A HUNDRED MILLION VIEWS. That is bonkerstown. That is a readership like DC hasn't seen since the 1970s. That is unparalleled success, and it's introducing characters like Kate Kane and Duke Thomas to a whole new audience.

Now, WFA was clearly designed to appeal to Batfans who were active on social media and fanfic sites like AO3 and Wattpad, and Webtoon readers. The readership of Webtoon is mostly young and female. Fandom as a whole is mostly female. The writer of WFA is female.

And maybe I'm not being fair here, but when I see people dismiss WFA as "just fanon," I always catch a whiff of "It's not a real Batman comic. It's a girl comic for girls."

I have spent the past 20 years begging DC (and Marvel, DC is not alone in this) to see women as a viable audience - as their largest potential growth audience! I have watched in dumbfounded frustration as they ignored the juggernaut success of Raina Telgemeier and Ngozi Ukazu and Alice Oseman running rings around the NY Times bestseller list and counted a 50k shipment here and there as a resounding triumph. I have literally seen them throw out survey responses from women because "those women had an agenda." (This is a true story. 2011 was rough, y'all.)

And all of a sudden, they gave us a comic actually catering to women and young people and fandom, and they put it on the most popular, current, modern platform for comics availably - and it's brilliant. It's smart and funny and stunningly drawn and every episode makes clever, inventive use of the scrolling format. They FINALLY gave us a girl comic for girls, and it's a masterpiece.

And yes, it riffs on fanon concepts. It also has its roots firmly in mainstream DCU canon. It references deep cuts. CRC Payne and StarBite know their shit. Jason Todd being a bookworm may be a fanon staple, but he does plenty of reading - including Jane Austen - in the 100% canon mainstream DCU comics.

It's not going to be for everything, because nothing is. It's completely fine if you don't like WFA. No one has to read it or enjoy it. If you're into Batman for the darkness and the crime and the ongoing plotlines and the angst, WFA won't be for you, and that's totally fine!

But to finally, finally be valued as a reader by DC, to have them do something smart and innovative and so, so well executed, and have the exact people they made it for dismiss it out of hand because Bruce has a "World's Okayest Dad" mug or whatever? Yeah, that chafes.

#wayne family adventures #this one's gonna get me in trouble

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cameronspecial · 5 months

Text

Her Guardian And His Redemption

Pairing: Bodyguard!Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Sexual Thoughts, Being Kidnapped, Someone Getting Killed.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 6.7K

Summary: He was supposed to be there to protect her, but he wasn't. And then he made the biggest mistake of his life. How could he fix it?

A/N: This is Part 2 of Her Protector And His Hubris.

Masterlist

Francesca Chambers is not Y/N. It was painfully obvious to Drew as soon as he opened the file about her. Each page details a new fact that tells him he is going to hate working on this assignment. Francesca is the daughter of Senator Chambers and many of these sheets depict her run-ins with the media. One article on a meltdown about not getting the right colour car on her sixteenth birthday. One Reddit thread about a heated argument with someone just trying to do their job. One video of her attacking her friend because they were wearing the same outfit. He didn’t need to do any more research on her to know she was going to be a handful. She was nothing like Y/N and everything like his previous clients. Every single week there was a new party. A new incident. A new thing he had to cover up so he didn’t get in trouble with the senator. To make matters worse, Francesca seems to think that he should be completely infatuated with him because she is God’s gift to the world.

“Drewwww, I need your help,” she drawls out from the bathroom. He sighs and puts his book down. The paperback copy of East of Eden is worn out. The spine is cracking because of how many times he has read it and the cover is missing the corner, lost a long time ago. It is not as nice as the copy Y/N gave him, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it. He knew that every time he looked at it, it would remind him of the danger he put his love in. The cushion of the chair creaks under his weight as he rises from the chair. He makes his way upstairs and stands outside of the door. He wraps his knuckles against the dark wood, “What’s wrong?” “I need you to come inside,” she pleads.

“I don’t think it would be appropriate if I do so.”

“Please, Drew. It’s important. It is a matter of my safety.”

Knowing it could spell out a disaster if he doesn’t check on her safety after that, he enters her bedroom and then the bathroom. He finds her in the bathtub, covered in bubbles. “I need you to get me a towel,” she orders with a smile. He looks at her with tight lips, “That doesn’t concern your safety.” “Yes, it does! I could slip while going to get it,” she argues, batting her eyelashes at him. He doesn’t argue; it would go nowhere. He gets the towel for her, throwing it on the toilet before storming off to his room. This isn’t the first time she’ll pull this type of shit and it won’t be the last.

———

Drew would never admit that his feet are aching. He should be used to this much standing by now. Yet, every time he goes shopping with Francesca, time seems to slow down, causing the blood to pool his feet. He isn’t one to be bashful and he isn’t with Y/N, but without Y/N around, he doesn’t know where to look. Especially because of the store they are in right now. The lacey materials all around the store fill his imagination with thoughts of her. Every garment he sees, he pictures her and all the naughty things he wants to do to her. “I want to try these on,” he overhears Francesca's demand to the sales associate. The other woman puts on a fake grin, “Of course, Miss. All of our changing rooms are currently in use at the moment, but I could make sure you get the next available one. Do you want to keep browsing and I’ll come to get you when it is ready?” Francescar’s eyes narrow and her lips pucker. Drew prepares himself for the hail storm that is about to occur, pretending to survey the store for threats. Although, he probably entered the store with the biggest one. “Excuse me! Do you know who I am? My father is a senator and one for call to him can have you fired,” she screeches, pointing an accusing finger at the employee.

The blood drains from the associate's face, “I’ll see what I can do.” “Good,” his client’s words chase after the scurrying worker. “Can you believe some people?” she mumbles under her breath. Drew gives her a disapproving look, “You were rude to her.” “No, I wasn’t. I was just reminding her of her place,” she retorts. He rolls his eyes, nothing can get through to her. They are soon rushed to the changing rooms and Drew stands at the entrance. Francesca goes into the changing room, coming back out soon after in the first lingerie set. It’s a pastel green set that goes with her olive eyes. Drew can see her vying for her attention out of the corner of his eyes, yet his focus is on something outside of the changing room. It is a pastel pink slip dress. Flower lace covers the breasts and also forms two slits at the bottom of her dress on the sides.

An image pops into his mind. The woman he loves standing in a doorway adorned by pink and flowers. He waits patiently for her to saunter over to him with her arms swinging at her side. She would straddle his hips, sitting back on his thighs. Her finger would raise and curl to beckon him forward. His hands find her thighs, pressing her closer to his crotch. He brings his lips closer to her and captures the beautiful petals. “I love you,” he promises to her. “Drew, you aren’t looking at me.” Francesca snaps him out of his fantasy. Irritation seeps out of him, “That’s because my job is to identify threats in our environment and I can’t do that if I’m looking at you.” He doesn’t glance over at her; instead, he continues to search the store for possible threats. She huffs at the lack of attention, “You are such a buzzkill.” She goes back into the changing room, leaving him to wish he could really say those things to his precious.

———

James Notting isn’t Drew. It was obvious to Y/N that he was a good bodyguard. Except he would never make her feel the way that Drew can make her feel. She knows she is safe with James; it doesn’t feel the same way as when she is with Drew. Drew’s protection made her feel warm. With Drew, it didn’t feel like an obligation. It feels like his life mission to keep her safe. He wasn’t doing it for the money. He was doing it because he truly cared for her on a personal level. She doesn’t blame James for not being Drew; she has a hole inside of her heart James can’t fill. She finishes packing up her work to bring home and heads to the elevator with James following behind her. He opens the car door for her once they get to her car. As she ducks to get into the car, she has to move her right shoulder, which causes an ache to shoot through it. Her hand reaches for her healing wound and this only causes more pain. “Are you okay?” James worries. She nods and continues to sit in her seat.

The car ride to her apartment is quiet. The only sound is the music playing from her playlist. When they get home, Alice is already making dinner in the kitchen. The aroma of the frying chicken instantly hit her nose. She greets Alice with a smile and makes her way into her office to put her work away. She is about to head back downstairs to talk to Alice when a cardboard box catches her eye. She should’ve brought that to the security firm a long time ago. Y/N holds in a breath as her feet drag across the hardwood floor towards it. Her hands shake while reaching for the lid to take it off.

Versace and cigarettes. It surrounds her in its embrace. She immediately regrets opening it and wants to put the lid back on; nevertheless, the items inside draw her in like a siren song. She picks up the item on top. The custom copy of East of Eden she had made for him. Realizing he left it behind hurt her more than she could ever know. She was so proud of herself for thinking of the gift. Every time she found him reading it, a small spark would shock through her heart. To her, the book was a symbol of her love for him and he left it behind as he left her. The next thing she finds is his WCU shirt. He probably forgot it was in her drawers because it became her sleep shirt after the first night they made love. She used to make him wear it for a day whenever it would stop smelling like him, making him laugh with the way she would beg him to put it on right at that second. A coil wraps around her heart and tightens until it squeezes tears out of her. She brings it to her nose like she did on that fateful night, breathing in all the memories she had with him. The late mornings in bed she would spend with that shirt on. He would play with the hem of it while he guided her cooking from over her shoulder. The way he would go crazy to bring her pleasure with it on.

A polaroid is the final thing she can bring herself to pick out. The sunlight from the apartment window gave her an ethereal look. She was focused on the art book in front of her, sketching an outfit for her upcoming fashion show. He brought the Polaroid camera to his eyes and called out her nickname. It caused a smile to bloom across her, which was the moment he captured forever. The photo was printed out and he wrote My Precious in the blank area with a heart at the end. She watched as he put the photo in his wallet. “So I can have you wherever I go,” he said to her, kissing the photo and then her. Of course, like it always did, the kiss turned into passionate sex. Y/N guesses he doesn’t want her wherever he is now.

———

After dinner, Y/N goes into her study to finish up her work. Her eyes double-check the guest list for her fast-approaching event. “James, I have the list for you to look over,” she informs the man somewhere in the apartment. He stoically enters the office and takes the list from her. He closes the door behind him, walking to his room. The sofa chair creaks as he sits to look over the names. He is looking over the possible guests to get a sense of what to expect and to flag any potential threats that she needs to change out. Most of the people are her usual ones until he meets one that causes him to freeze. Francesca Chambers. Shit. She probably invited the senator’s daughter because the girl is known to throw tantrums when not invited to exclusive events. Y/N never would have done it if she knew Drew was Ms. Chambers’ bodyguard. James could tell her that fact, but he won’t. Drew made a mistake and James wants to help him fix it.

———

When the invitation came in the mail, Drew started to buzz with anticipation of seeing her again. He has seen her on social media, but it could never be the same as seeing her in person. It could never beat being able to reach out and feel her warm, smooth skin. Tonight’s event is raising money for the foster system. It would go towards group housing for kids who can’t stay in a foster home, food, and items. Another very important fact that Y/N wants to emphasize is getting children in the foster care system actual bags for their things. He remembers the day she had decided this would be her next fashion event all those months ago. She had watched an Instagram reel of a foster mother and one of the details that stood out was the fact that the children the mother was newly fostering had their personal belongings in a garbage bag. Her heart broke for the children who were already going through a hard time. She wanted to give them the dignity of their stuff being regarded as special. He had to comfort her as she cried for the kids in the foster system. He loves that she always brings her plans into reality.

During the fashion show, he stands at the back of the room, searching for anyone he needs to neutralize. Every outfit is absolutely stunning and pride fills him up. He wishes he could’ve been there to watch her create such beauties. The end of the show is nearing when Francesca has to go to the bathroom. Like a good bodyguard, he follows her and waits outside of the room. He can still hear the noises coming from down the hall. His foot impatiently taps against the floor. Francesca is taking forever. The music starts to fade out and is replaced by a familiar voice. “Hello, thank you for coming to support the event. There are around three hundred ninety-one thousand children in the foster care system. Now, that may not seem like a lot to you. But that doesn’t mean that they don’t deserve better…”

Her voice starts to fade from his ears as he begs the universe to make his client leave the bathroom so that they can make it back for the end of Y/N’s speech. The universe doesn’t answer. Instead, Francesca takes ten more minutes in the bathroom and he discreetly rushes her back to where everyone is. It was too late. No one stands on the stage anymore and everyone is already moving on to where the cocktail party is being held. Francesca picks up her purse from her chair and they head over to the next room. His eyes scan the room, looking for the one person who could make him feel at home even though he is so far from where he grew up. He had been trained for this moment, so he could easily find her. He is too far away to hear the laughter that falls from her lips. Her head is thrown back in delight and he desires to be by her side, whispering how magnificent she has done. How noble this event is. How proud her mother would be of her. He knows those are the words she is dying to hear. Fear floods through him. There are so many people in this room, right now. And while he does trust James to protect his precious, big events like these can be hard to navigate with no help.

Francesca hates charity. Why should she care about people below her? The only reason she is at this event is because she has to see the girl, who has such a strong hold on Drew. No matter how stupid Drew thinks she is, she knows he is in love with Y/N Y/L/N. She has seen the articles around the pair and Francesca wants that love for herself. Even now, she can see the way he looks out for Y/N and jealousy toils in her stomach. She needs his attention on her. She struts over to him and places her hand on his chest. “I really like this suit on you, Drew. You fill it out amazingly,” she flirts, running her hand up and down his pectoral muscle. To her surprise, he doesn’t shove her hands off of her. She takes this as an invitation to continue even if his awareness isn’t on her. Satisfaction comes to her when she catches Y/N’s envious gaze.

How dare he? Y/N and Drew had to keep their relationship a secret, yet it was okay for him to be public about his relationship with a senator’s child. Francesca is a more public figure than Y/N. It made no sense. They both had agreed to keep them on the down low, so she doesn’t understand why this bothers her. Francesca leans in to whisper something in Drew’s ears and he doesn’t react. Y/N is familiar with Drew’s composed demeanour. What kills her even more? Drew is letting Francesca touch him at her event. He broke her heart and now, he was breaking it all over again by flaunting his relationship with another girl. He can’t be clueless about who is hosting the show. Y/N never thought that Drew would go for someone so spoiled and rude. Maybe she doesn’t know him at all. She turns back to Jackie and distracts herself with the other woman’s story about a fashion malfunction.

Drew hates the feel of Francesca’s hands on him; however, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Y/N is safe. That her surroundings aren’t putting her in danger. Like he should’ve done the last time he worked for her. His vision falls on her again. This time, he examines her in full glory. Her red dress helps her stand out against the crowd. It only has one strap that rests on the side of her left shoulder. This leaves the still-healing bullet wound out for anyone to see. The skin where the scar is is taught, puckering in redness. He hopes she is taking care of it and that it is healing fully. If his self-confidence didn’t get in his way, then he would’ve been there to help her do all that stuff. He can make amend with that part of himself by keeping her safe tonight. He spends the rest of the night ignoring his job and fulfilling his life mission.

———

She gets home around one in the morning. Her feet aching from the night spent in heels and her hair giving her a headache from how tight it is. She stumbles to her bedroom, ridding herself of her clothes. She turns on the shower and gets to work on taking her hair down. Once steam starts to fill the room, she checks the temperature of the water to find it is perfect. The warmth of the water causes her to let her emotions out. She can’t distinguish between her tears and the water from the shower head. It makes no difference to her. Memories from the night pass through her brain. The way Francesca would cling to Drew’s suit. The way he wouldn’t even look in her direction. The way that watching him with another girl made her feel like she lost him all over again. To make it worse, every single moment she had with him made an appearance. It feels like every single emotion she has been trying to avoid comes crashing down on her at once.

Her shower ends about half an hour later and she may be tired, except she needs to complete her daily ritual. She gets her ice cream out of the freezer and plops down on the couch. The Office’s theme song starts to play on her TV. The ice cream helps fill the ache in her heart and lulls her to sleep, causing the ice cream to melt as she slumbers.

———

It has been about a month since Y/N’s last event and the exes haven’t seen each other since. In that month, Drew realized he lost his social security card. He couldn’t get a new one yet because his birth certificate was missing too. His brain wracks through the last time he remembers seeing it and bites his lip when he realizes where it is. He left it in Y/N’s filing cabinet. She had insisted he put all his important documents there for safekeeping. His social security card must be there too. This is how he finds himself waiting at the concierge desk of her building. He no longer had access to her apartment without going through security protocols. “Hello, Ms. Y/L/N. There is a Mr. Starkey here. He says that he needs to retrieve a birth certificate and social security card from your residence,” he listens to the concierge call Y/N. The man behind the desk places the phone on the receiver and turns to Drew, “She says you can go up.”

He listens to the elevator music, tugging on his flannel’s sleeves with nerves. He doesn’t know what to expect with being so close to her again. The front door is already open once he gets to her floor. His feet glide against the tile of the floor, scarping a little against it. Y/N is waiting for him at the door. “Where are the documents?” she asks. He gives her a soft smile, “I forgot them in your filing cabinet.” Her slippered feet slap against the hardwood floor as she walks to her home office. Drew removes his shoes and follows her. He catches up to her to see she is already getting out his files from the cabinet. He holds his hand out to take them, only for her to throw them carelessly onto her desk. She doesn’t wait for him to take it for her to quickly leave her office.

He runs after her, not ready to let this conversation come to an end. “Your charity event last month was amazing,” he applauds. She doesn’t look over her shoulder whilst she boils some water for tea, “Really? I didn’t think you had noticed with Ms. Chambers on your arm.” “Am I detecting jealousy?” he kids, hoping it would relieve some of her tension. “Jealous of Francesca Chambers?” Y/N laughs. “Why? Because she gets my sloppy leftovers. Because she is dating someone who promised to protect me, but is the reason why I got shot.” It was cruel to use Drew’s lowest point in life and to pit it against him. She doesn’t care. She needs him to hurt more than she does right now. She can’t stand to be in his presence. Drew’s heart bleeds with pain and it takes everything in him not to start crying at that instant. His insecurity starts to make itself known again. The constant belief of being at fault for his precious almost dying plagues his mind. He deserves this pain. It’s only half of what he deserves. “I never wanted you to get hurt. You know that right?” he justifies, stepping forward only for her to step back.

“Well, I did get hurt, Drew. You couldn’t protect me and I almost died. It was all your fault,” she screams. “Leave. I want you to go, now!” He tries to argue. “Precious, please. I need to hear you say that you know I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he pleads. No matter how irrational, he needs confirmation that she trusts him. That she did believe he would do whatever it took to keep her safe. She needs his anguish to subdue hers. “Please, Precious. Tell me that you believe me.” She breathes out a low chuckle, “Why would I say that? It. Was. Your. Fault.” Words can’t explain the feeling in his heart. The acid of her word burns his heart so it disintegrates. The one thing left behind is the carving of her name, waiting to be filled by her love again.

———

There were three places where James didn’t need to follow Y/N to every room she went. Her apartment. Her father’s house. And her office. At her apartment and dad’s place, James needed to remain on the premises and ready to be at her side. In her office, he could remain in front of her office as long as he checked in with her every hour. An hour isn’t very long; however, it is long enough for Y/N to disappear. “I’m just going to meeting room five-sixty. It’s supposed to be a two-hour meeting,” she fills him in. He bobs his head, “Got it. I’ll check in on you in an hour.” With her notebooks and laptop in her arms, she heads toward the elevator and presses the down button. Being on the twentieth floor meant that she had a long wait down to the fifth floor. On her ride down, people went on and off without her attention because she was absorbed by her phone. She should’ve been watching her environment. Drew used to drill into her brain how important it was to do so if she was alone. It must have slipped her mind.

By the time an unsettling feeling overcame her, it was too late. Her eyes glance up from her phone and she twists to the other person in the elevator. Ahead of her recognition of the figure beside her, a white cloth smothers her mouth and nose, causing her to inhale the fumes. It has a hint of sweetness combined with the familiar scent of nail polish remover. Her orbits start to droop and she is pulled into unconsciousness.

———

She wakes up cuffed to a chair. Her hands and feet are both restrained and she tries to break the chair. A shooting pain goes up her butt while the sound of metal hitting concrete reverberates through the cold cement room. Shit, it’s a metal chair. She doesn’t bother to shriek for help. There is no point in wasting her energy. She tries to think of how to dislocate her thumb to escape the cuffs. It doesn’t come to her. The door in front of her opens with a squeal and her kidnapper makes herself known. Sienna Cox is a carbon copy of her brother. Y/N recognizes Sienna from the pictures Sean showed her during their three dates. The dangerous woman approaches Y/N with a knife in her hand. She circles the chair, letting metal glide against metal. Y/N flinches as the sharp point greets her soft skin. “You are the reason my brother is in jail,” Sienna states, hate dripping from each word. Y/N is never one to back down, “Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s because your brother tried to kill my then-boyfriend, which got me shot. Your brother almost killed me.”

Sienna’s hand harshly tugs back Y/N’s head and the point of the knife connects with her neck. Y/N tries to remove Sienna’s hold, which produces a crimson knick on the side of her neck. “No, my brother is in jail because you had to choose a low-life bodyguard over him,” she growls. Y/N provokes Sienna more, “Hmm, nope. Your brother being an ass and delusional is the reason why he is in jail.” “Ugh, shut up,” Sienna yells, pulling pain from the incapacitated girl by slashing her forearm. Blood oozes from the cut and she can tell it is going to need stitches. She cries out in pain, starting to truly feel her life is in danger. Earlier, she didn’t think Sienna was capable of hurting her. How could she be so stupid?

———

Drew previously thought the day Y/N got shot was the most terrible day of his life. He was wrong. The ringing of his phone stops him from doing his job. He should be watching Francesca at the mall. The phone call prohibits him from doing it. The sole thing more important than James’ call would be Y/N’s. “She has been taken.” No greetings. No pleasantries. No small talk. Those didn’t matter though. Y/N was in danger. Drew doesn’t think about his client and runs to the car. “I want you to pull all the security footage from wherever you are. Comb it for the last seen citing of her,” he instructs. “Get background checks on everyone, and I mean everyone, who has been in the same vicinity as the place where she last was seen in within the last thirty minutes of her being there. Where are you?”

“Her office. She went down to the fifth floor for her meeting. She never got there.”

“Okay, I’ll be there soon. Start with the hallway footage for both the twentieth and fifth floors as well as the elevators. Have a secondary team look through all other footage.”

“Got it.”

He blows through every single stoplight. He’ll deal with this later. James meets Drew at the door and gives him an update on what they found so far. “We know she was taken from the elevator, except we can’t identify the person who took her because a hat is obstructing her face,” James notifies. Drew looks shocked, “How do you know it was a female?” All the women, who don’t like Y/N, never registered as a peril to him. They weren’t the type to get their hands dirty with physical harm. “Height and body shape. We are going through the women who checked in to match outfits with the pictures they took when they checked in,” James clarifies. His brain processes everything, “You probably aren’t going to find her at the check-in. Get the tech geeks to program the computers to extract all the footage with similar clothes to the suspect. I’ll go through all of it myself. I want it done in the next five minutes.”

Y/N’s office is eerily cold without her brilliant smile to light it up. His hand traces against the glass desk's smooth surface. He should’ve been here to stop her from being taken. It’s happening all over again. This could be his chance. He could halt her from being hurt. From nearing the brink of death again. This time, he is going to be there to be the one to protect her. His vows to himself are interrupted by James. “They got what you want.” Drew jogs after James to the emergency base camp for the search. “Show me what you got,” he orders. He inspects the screens simultaneously and finds what he needs. He knows her from the background research he did on her brother. Sienna Cox.

———

Honestly, Y/N would’ve done anything to get away from Sienna. Her villain monologue is a horrible torture method. At least she is too distracted to use the knife more on Y/N. “And when I visit him in jail, they take my phone away. Do you know how hard it is to not be able to use my phone for an hour?” Sienna complains, twirling the knife in her hand. Y/N fights the urge to make a snarky remark. The ruckus from upstairs freezes both girls. “Ugh, what could that be?” Sienna groans, leaving the room.

Drew wanted Sienna to know they were there. It would make it more fun for him and the group. The narrow hallway means Y/N can merely be in one direction. I’m coming for you, Precious. He thinks to himself. Sienna rounds the corner of the doorway and halts at the guns trained on her. She changes course back to where she came from. The rescue team runs after her to find her with a knife against Y/N’s neck. “Take one more step and this Bitch gets a new necklace. A deadly one,” Sienna warns, digging the knife in harder. A sob racks through Y/N’s body until she spots Drew in front of her. A silent connection transcends them with their eyes locked on each other. She didn’t mean those words and she trusts him. On the way over here, Drew found out everything about Sean’s sister and what buttons of hers to push. “Okay. I just wanted to let you know that James over here loves your podcast,” Drew plays into her ego. He discovered if there was one thing Sienna loved more than her brother, it was herself.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t buy his bait and the knife bites more into Y/N’s neck so that blood flourishes around it. Y/N whimpers at the new pressure on her. “You think that you can flatter me into letting your precious Y/N go? Well, you can’t! You guys are the reason why my brother is in jail and I’m going to stop her from testifying against him,” Sienna screeches. Her arm raises in the air with the knife, ready to bring it back down into Y/N. Drew has killed before, but this is personal. He can’t let fear come in the way of what he has to do and he prays that Y/N has the sense to stay still. His gun aligns with Sienna’s head, taking the shot. A coined-size hole punctures her head and blood spews out of the wound. Y/N shouts as red rain showers her. “Get me out of here, please,” she implores, struggling against her restraints. Drew motions with his head to tell James to take care of Sienna whilst he helps Y/N. He hurries towards her, pulling out a tissue from his pocket.

One hand smoothes back her hair and the other wipes the blood off with the tissue. “Drew, you’re here,” she sobs out, reaching for him with her seized hands. Red swelts are starting to form around her wrist and Drew wishes he could kill Sienna a second time. He gently pushes her hand against the metal armrests, “Of course, I am, Precious. But I need you to give me a second, okay? I’m going to get bolt cutters to get you out of here.” Her pleas end his movement. “Don’t leave me, please. I don’t want to be alone.” He nods at her need and wraps his arms around her shoulder. His lips press against her temple, “Never. I’ll never leave you.” He calls out for some bolt cutters and a few minutes later he is given some. “Okay, Precious. I’m going to cut the cuffs off with these. It might be a little loud,” he briefs her. He snips the bracelets around her wrists and ankles. She is finally able to move freely, bringing Drew as close as possible to her. “I was so scared. I thought I was going to die,” she confesses, gripping to him like he is a life raft. He flattens her hair some more, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. She can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Y/N,” a familiar voice hails. She untangles herself from Drew’s hold, tearing his heart apart at the loss of contact. Her father grasps her in his arms. The father-daughter duo cling to each other, weeping at the fear of her being lost. Drew did what he came to do and it seems like he isn’t needed anymore. With his vision trained on the pair, he exits the damp cellar and goes home.

———

Saving her proved to him how much of a mistake breaking up with her in the first place was. Simply apologizing to her isn’t what she deserves for what he did. He could make a big grand gesture to show how wrong he was. Pay for a skywriter. Organize a flash mob at her favourite places. Rent a billboard at Time Square. Those weren’t right for Y/N though. They weren’t personal to her; nonetheless, Drew knew the perfect thing for her.

———

It’s been a week since Y/N was held captive for about three hours. She has already found a therapist, who has been helping her through her trauma. One thing has been killing her since that day and it’s the fact that she didn’t get to say thank you to Drew for saving her. She was horrid to him when he came to get his documents and she completely picked at his insecurities. Even with her behaviour towards him, he was there for her in her greatest moment of need. To add the cherry on top of the cake, he quit his job at the security agency because of her. He was going to get a suspension for leaving Francesca at the mall, so he decided to quit instead. James reassured her that Drew had enough money saved up to be out of work for at least ten years, which eased some of her worries. She glances at James standing behind her and she brings her hand up to knock on the door.

Drew opens the door with a measuring tape around his neck. A dazzling smile crosses her face and her eyebrows form a hairy caterpillar. “Precious, are you okay?” he frets, examining every inch of her to make sure she has no additional injuries. She nods and spots the sewing machine behind him on his table. The sage green fabric is snagged between the sewing needle and the base of the machine. She shakes out of her confusion to verbally answer him, “Yeah, I’m fine. I actually came to say thank you. You know… for last week. You don’t know how much it meant for me that you were there.” She fiddles with her fingers and his hand cups his neck as he rubs it. “You don’t have to thank me, Precious. I know I hurt you, but I will always be there to save you. I’m glad you are safe,” he appeases. She disagrees, “No, I was so rude to you. You didn’t deserve it. I hurt you and you put it aside to help me, like what I should’ve done that day.” He doesn’t need her to tell him what day she is talking about. He already knows.

Silence overcomes the couple and Y/N is again drawn to the equipment behind him. Her finger points at everything, “What’s all of this?” “Oh, um,” the hand on his neck continues its friction of the skin. “I’m trying to sew you a jacket.” One corner of her mouth raises, “You are making me a jacket?”

“Yeah… I made a mistake and I needed to show you how much I love you, so I wanted to make you a jacket that says, Precious.”

Her heart skips a beat and the idea of him learning to sew just for her makes her feel honoured. “That’s really sweet, Drew.”

“Can I tell you something?” he asks. This is his opportunity to tell her who she is to him. Her head hinges up and down. His hand laces with hers and he pulls her into this apartment. He closes the door, “I called you precious because even before we started dating, I knew you would be a treasure to me. It was an instant connection for me and I was a fool to have let you go. I understand if you don’t want to forgive me now. I just need you to know all this.” Her hand reaches up to his chest, grazing it softly with her warmth. “You broke up with me and I didn’t think I could ever forgive you. But you were there when I needed you and with the jacket, I can see how remorseful you are about the decision you made. I’ve made some poor choices too. And if you can forgive me too, then I think we both deserve a second chance,” she admits, not being able to meet his eyes. His finger raises her chin, “I will always forgive you because there is no one else in this world that I was meant to protect more than you. A second chance is all we are going to need. I’m never letting you go.” She jumps into his hold, smushing her lips onto his. His hands grip her thighs to keep her steady and his tongue enters her mouth.

Air eventually needs to enter their lungs, so they break apart with their foreheads together. He sneaks a peek at the fabric on the table and he sighs. “I know I’m supposed to be making it for you, but I’m going to need your help with the jacket. I screwed up somewhere and I have no idea how to fix it,” he fesses up. She giggles, “I can do that, except not right now. There is something else we need to be doing other than sewing.” He grins at the way her eyebrows move and he carries her to his bedroom.

A few months ago, Drew had made the biggest regret of his life. All he saw was his faults and it led him to that decision. Thankfully, the universe saw his pain and decided to help him out. It gave him a chance to prove to himself he was worthy. It gave him his redemption.

Taglist: @loves0phelia @f4ll-for-you @mellillasstuff @jjsmarijuana @thelomlisrafecameron @crlsummer @rubixgsworld

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dudeitiskarev · 11 months

Text

Irresistible: The Beginning

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x virgin female reader

Summary: a first glance, an unintentional touch. This is how it started.

Content/warnings: job interview; smut: nipple play, mutual masturbation; innocence kink; soft and pervert Hotch <3; first person pov (reader’s and Hotch’s).

Word count: 3.8k

Author’s note: yep. it’s happening… if you’re new here, this is the sixth fic of my Irresistible series but this part is actually how it all starts—hence the title, so there’s no need to read the other parts to understand any of it (though it’s just pwp and I’ve posted every fic out of order hehe). Anyway, hope you enjoy! Mwaaaaah.

Read other parts here | masterlist

I wasn’t expecting him to look like anything in particular, but I was still at a loss of words.

He was ridiculously good-looking, and the fact that he was wearing a suit made me feel so underdressed.

I don’t know what part of me thought a sundress was a good idea for a job interview.

“I didn’t know this was a formal interview,” was the first thing I said while holding my purse tight to my body by the thin straps. “I should’ve worn something more appropriate.”

“It’s not.” He welcomed me in with a smile.

God, his voice.

And soft dimples.

“I just wear suits all the time,” he continued. “So don’t worry.”

I smiled back and put one foot in front of the other, like a fawn exploring new territory.

“Please, have a seat.” He gestured at the diner table and pulled the chair out for me.

“Thanks.”

I’ve had job interviews before and I’d been normally nervous for each one. No interviewer had that face though, so my heart quickened in more than one way and place.

“There was a lot of traffic on my way here.” I wiped dry above my top lip with my fingers and huffed out a small laugh. “I thought I wasn’t gonna make it.”

“You’re just on time,” he was quick to reassure me. He reached for the bottle of water in front of me and opened it.

His nearness was subtle. Still enough to let me get a whiff of his soft, manly scent. My mouth was completely dry by now so I barely said a quiet thanks and took a sip without hesitation.

I looked around. It was a very neat apartment, but a little… bleak. Not to say depressing. A few plants wouldn’t hurt.

“You cleaned?” I mentioned as casually as I could. It smelled like lemon.

He mirrored me, looking around too as he responded, “Uh, I did, yes.” He then brought his attention back to me with the ghost of a smile.

His gaze was intense and he didn’t break eye contact once as he began with the questions. There weren’t many. I guess all he needed to know was when I was available.

I nodded and smiled as he told me how unpredictable his schedule was, that he had a son and was a single parent, and that I’d mostly find a toddler mess when he left in a hurry to drop him off at his aunt’s and didn’t have the time to clean.

He had this thing; raised his brows as he spoke every so often. It was lovely.

“...It’s not often that I’m out of the state,” he continued—raising his brows. “But when I am, it's usually for a couple of days, so you don’t have to come as soon as I leave. I’ll just let you know when I’m away, and for how long and you can decide when to come.”

“That sounds perfect, sir.” I smiled.

It really sounded like the perfect job. Being able to manage my own time was the biggest plus since my time wasn’t really my own.

“So you’re in your last year of college?” He asked as if he’d read my mind.

“Yeah,” I said, way too excitedly.

“What’s your major?” Aaron clasped his hands over the table, ready to hear me talk all about it.

Now it was his time to listen. I told him about my schedule, that I lived an hour away from his place, but that I had a car so it wouldn’t be a problem.

“So you don’t have a lot of time, I assume,” Aaron said after I took a moment to drink more water.

My cheeks were burning.

“No.” I shook my head. “So I need a job like this one.”

“I see.”

It ended up being a short meeting, and after that, Aaron took the time to show me around the apartment.

He mostly focused on his son’s room, the bathroom, the living room, and the kitchen.

“If there’s something else you need—” He opened the cabinet under the sink and showed me the few cleaning supplies he kept “—just let me know and I’ll buy it. I just have what I think is necessary.”

“I think that’s more than enough. But of course, I’ll let you know.”

“One more thing.” He took a single shiny key from his pocket and handed it to me.

I frowned a bit and opened my mouth to say something as I stretched my hand to receive it anyway. His fingers grazed mine in the process ever so slightly and his skin almost burnt me.

I clumsily dropped it—of-fucking-course—but he was quick to catch it mid-fall.

“Use it wisely.” He handed it to me again. A subtle smile took over his lips as he said that.

“Of course, sir,” I laughed a little.

“I’ll walk you out,” he smirked. His hand landed on my lower and he snapped it right back. It was an impulse, maybe. “Sorry,” he cleared his throat.

My heart almost jumped out of my chest at his unexpected touch. He barely touched the fabric of my dress, and I wished he’d let himself keep his hand there as he walked me to the front door.

After the interview, we only kept contact through text. After the interview, he was all I could think about, too

There was something about him that made sense to me.

I’ve been so tired of waiting for the one to come into my life—twenty-five years of singleness it’s a considerable amount of time—so a while ago I decided that it’s been in my hands all along and it was time to choose the one.

The hard part was to go through with it. I had no plan, so in the back of my mind I was still hoping it’ll come on its own, I suppose.

Each time I got a text from him saying he’d be out of town, I hoped he’d make it home sooner than expected, so we’d end up in the same place again.

That almost happened.

I’d just finished cleaning his apartment—it only took forty minutes as Jack didn’t leave much of a mess—and went to the parking lot when I bumped into him.

He’d parked next to me, so I waited for him to get out of his car to just say hi.

“I left your place as good as new,” I said instead.

“As always,” he responded with a smile.

There was an awkward silence, but I didn’t let it last long as I unlocked my car and said ‘bye Mr. Hotchner’ before getting in.

He just gave me a gentle nod in response and walked away.

I stayed there in the driver’s seat to process him. Did he get prettier? I shook the thought away and turned on my car. Even if I made a move or simply insinuated my interest in him, I doubt he’d reciprocate.

I took a deep breath while twisting the key a bit further, but my car wouldn’t start. It didn’t even make a noise.

“No.” My head landed on the wheel in defeat.

This same thing happened a while ago—the day of the interview. The real reason why I almost didn’t make it on time. I had to take a taxi to Mr. Hotcher’s apartment that day while my car got towed to a mechanic by some guy.

Now my only salvation was the guy upstairs.

I dialed Mr. Hotchner’s phone right away to just get this over with.

“Is everything alright?” He picked up right away.

“I’m still downstairs. My car won’t start and I… I don’t know much about cars. I was hoping you do?” My voice was shaking.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right there.”

No sooner, he was here with me.

He opened the hood and instructed me to start the car. This time it made a noise. A horrible one.

“It may need to be jumped,” he said loud enough for me to hear through the open window.

I was mortified so I didn’t respond. He went to his car and got some cables from the trunk.

That worked.

“This may get you to the closest car shop. Not more than that.”

“Oh, okay.”

“We can take your car there. Then I’ll drive you home.”

“I don’t want to be a bother. I’ll just call a taxi.”

“It’s late.” He raised his brows and placed both hands on his hips.

We both knew only men worked there most likely.

“I’ll take you there,” he continued. “Then home.”

“It’s… far. Like an hour away.” I winced.

“I know.”

We did everything as he said, and once my car was at the mechanic and we were sure it was in good hands, Mr. Hotchner was driving me home.

“There wasn’t traffic on my way to your place.” I adjusted on my seat, pulling my seatbelt down a bit. His presence made it so hard to breathe. “It was the car that almost won’t let me make it.”

“I know.”

I turned to him. He had his eyes on the road. “Am I a bad liar?”

“A terrible one.” He then glanced at me with that melting smirk, and my stomach and heart fluttered.

“I’m sorry.” I looked away hoping he wouldn’t notice how nervous I was. “I probably gave you an awful first impression.”

“I hired you anyway, didn’t I?”

Emily was taking way too long. It just was a quick bathroom stop at my apartment in the middle of a case.

“Since when is your place so… neat?” Emily pointed out as soon as she hopped back in the SUV. “There were clean towels? A hand-soap dispenser with actual soap?”

“Prentiss,” I snapped at her. “We don’t have time. Put your seatbelt on.”

I didn’t wait for her to put on the seatbelt all the way and drove off.

“There was a plant, too,” Prentiss spoke again. With a slightly different tone. “Is there something we don’t know, Hotch?”

“What do you mean?” I gave her a quick glance.

“You don’t have the time to keep a plant alive, so who does?”

Now her tone was clearer. She was teasing me.

“I hired someone to clean my place every other week,” I merely said, and just like that she took over my mind. “She brought it the other day.”

“Oh.” Emily raised her brows and let the topic go.

I didn’t.

Not since the interview.

It was hard to admit, but I was drawn to her from the very first moment. I had no idea what it was and each time I had the chance to see her—which had been only a few—that attraction grew.

Her lips, her eyes, how soft her skin seemed to be. Her perfume. I wasn’t proud of any thought or any dream and daydream she was in but I enjoyed every second she was close to me, even when it was all in my head.

Every time I came home after a few days of being away, I hoped I’d find her there. Whether it was while picking up Jack’s clothes or washing the dishes.

But that’s what all they were.

Thoughts.

A fantasy.

Until it wasn’t anymore.

This time I’d made it home sooner than expected, as I often dreamed of. She was standing by the kitchen sink soaking wet.

“Oh, Mr. Hotchner, I promise I’m not destroying your kitchen. It’s just– I was just—” she gulped and looked at the dishes behind her then back at me in distress “—I was gonna wash the dishes and the faucet just- it broke and I tried to fix it because I know how but I don’t know what I did that it got worse and—”

“It’s alright,” I interrupted her, tossing my briefcase on the couch and walking up to her.

The floor was flooded, and there was no dry spot I could step on, so I just walked right through it to her. And then I noticed her.

All of her.

Her shirt stuck to her body like a second layer of skin and didn’t leave anything to my imagination.

Anything at all.

“I uh, I have some clothes you can borrow.” I looked away. I’d known she was stunning all along, but seeing her like this awakened something… slightly different.

“Yeah, that– that’d be great.” She braced herself.

I quickly went to my room and took the chance to gather myself as I got some clean sweatpants and a shirt. My body was quick to react at the sight of her. Good thing my pants weren’t tight. Still, I took a moment to breathe and think about something that wasn’t her body.

I cleared my throat and made it back to the kitchen and found her right where I’d left her.

“I left some comfy clothes on my bed. You can change there.” I kept my eyes above her neck, otherwise, my body would react again against my will. “I’ll see what I can do here.” I gestured at the faucet behind her.

“O-okay.” She smiled and walked past me and said a quiet, “Thanks.”

I’d meant to fix the sink for the past couple of days, and I guess I forgot to warn her about it. I’m glad I didn’t, and it was instant karma that the water splashed all over me while I tried to fix it.

“It got to you too,” her sweet and bubbly voice came from behind me after a moment.

I covered it with a cloth and turned around. My shirt on her was big enough to cover her until her mid-thighs and the sweatpants were cuffed significantly. She looked ever more desirable like that.

“Yeah,” I huffed a laugh.

I’d never experienced such intense silence before.

Her eyes were stuck on my chest. I was undoing the top buttons of my shirt and stopped at the fourth to grab a dry kitchen cloth and dry my face and chest.

“Sorry, this is—” I stared down at myself.

She didn't say anything and just walked to the sink and managed to stop the leak, somehow.

We were inches apart now. Her breathing grew heavy and so did mine.

She turned around and in a split second, I was caging her with both arms against the kitchen counter. She didn’t say a word though her hands said it all. She gripped the sides of my shirt and brought me closer to the point where just the layers of clothes were stopping us from touching each other’s skin.

I couldn’t stop or get away from the situation. Why would I? It was such a rush. My body acted on impulse once again and I lifted her by her thighs to sit her on the counter.

She gasped in surprise and held onto me by my shoulders. No words came out of either of us yet. Just heavy breathing filled the room.

I cupped her face. She was even more stunning up close. I wanted to kiss her—inhale her—and finally find out how soft her lips were, but something inside me spoke. If I did, there would be no going back from any of this. It’d be just the beginning.

I still got closer to her, slow, and barely drew random lines on her cheeks with the tip of my nose. Her hands went to my chest and roamed all over. I bet my heartbeat was palpable.

“M-Mr. Hotchner?” She said with a little moan at the beginning.

“Yes?” I barely responded.

“Can I take this off?” She lifted the hem of her shirt. My shirt. It was sweet how she asked for my permission to get naked.

I didn’t say a thing. I just sucked in a harsh breath to prepare myself and helped her lift it over her head.

There was nothing but her perfect skin under. Pebbled with goosebumps and her nipples were perky hard. So biteable.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” I asked. God, I sounded like a pervert, but I had to ask.

She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

I cupped her ribs and slowly made it up until each of my thumbs was covering her nipples. I flicked them with ease and searched her eyes for any response. She was paying attention to how I played with her breasts, though, her chest heaving in and out. She then looked up at me with a soft frown.

There was a beautiful mixture of embarrassment and lust in her eyes. Her delicate fingers touched my chest and traced lines as I massaged her breasts with my whole hands now, tweaking her nipples.

I needed her to say something, so I moved one hand up to brush a piece of her hair away from her face and cradled the side of her face, sliding my thumb over her bottom lip.

She shut her eyes and dragged her hands down to my stomach. She must’ve undone all of the buttons at some point. Or maybe I did. I don’t know. I didn’t know anything at all. I wanted to take her tits into my mouth and hear her make any sound. But she was quiet. Her body was trembling.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I– it hurts– down there.” She gulped.

“Not yet.” I kissed her cheek. “Let me suck on your tits first, alright?” I pulled back.

She nodded, shifting over the counter and pressing her thighs together. She was being so good and it made me hard to the fullest. My cock was peeking through my pants—I’d caught her staring already—but I could wait a little longer to use it and be all the way inside her.

I kissed her cheek once more and dotted kisses down her jaw, neck, and chest until my lips reached her right nipple. She whined at that first kiss, so I kissed her there again, this time with an open mouth. With tongue. With teeth. With heavy breathing.

Her hand flew to my hair once I dragged her nipple out with my teeth and went back to suck on it. I bucked my hips forward and pulled her close to me by her hips. My cock was nestled between her thighs and she did a slow back-and-forth motion that put her in the perfect position. Now I could suck on her tits however I wanted. I went from one to the other, making her moan and shift over the counter like the desperate little thing she was. I was enjoying this way too much.

I let go of her nipple loudly with a pop sound before giving all my attention to her cunt. Not with my mouth, as much as I wanted to. I sneaked my hand inside her sweats and of course, she wasn’t wearing anything under, allowing me to feel her right away.

I was not ready to feel that much arousal. God, she was dripping. “Is it helping?” I murmured close to her mouth, spreading her juices all over.

“Yes.” She exhaled with a blissful smile. “It’s perfect.” Her head dropped to my shoulder. “God, I’ve never—”

I froze and took a moment to ask, “You’ve never what?” as she didn’t finish her sentence.

“I’ve never… done any of these before?” She lifted her head.

I stopped any physical contact and took a few steps back. Ashamed.

“Mr. Hotchner—” she hopped off the counter and stood in front of me, covering her chest with her shirt.

“God, honey, no,” I begged, almost. “I’m not the one for you.”

She was a virgin, and so much younger than me. I was definitely not the right one for her to have these experiences for the first time.

“You are.” She reached for my hand. “You’re perfect for me. I’ve known it since I first saw you.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at her but I didn’t back up either. She got closer and brought my hand up to her lips, kissing my knuckles.

“Please? Be my first?”

“I won’t be your first,” I softened my voice.

“But—”

“No.”

“Let me see you, then.” She brought her hand to my crotch. “Just seeing you.”

I had no idea where her sudden confidence came from. Maybe from my sudden insecurity. But I let her, and we were back right where we were—her on the counter and me in between her legs.

“I’ll let you see me,” I whisper in her ear, “If we promise each other this is the one and only thing we’ll do.”

“I promise,” she laughed a little. “do you?”

“I promise,” I said, harshly undoing my belt and pants.

She was eager and I wasn’t going to make her wait any longer.

I sneaked my hand inside my underwear and lowered them just enough to pull out my cock for her. I was hard and leaking for her. She sucked in a small moan that was more a gasp than anything else at the sight.

“Oh,” she gulped. “Can I touch you?” Her voice came out small yet the desire dripping from her shaky voice was tangible, almost.

I took her hand and showed her how to touch me, even when a second ago we’d promised all she’d do was watch. I let her do it on her own and placed both of my hands flat on either side of her hips over the counter. Her strokes were short and firm.

“Mr. Hotchner?” She stared at my lips. “Can you touch me again?” She shifted over the counter and pressed her thighs down a bit. She was growing impatient.

I wanted to be inside her; coat my cock with her arousal and have her crumbling in my arms.

“Let’s take this off.” I pulled her pants down to the floor with her help and now I could see her cunt properly. Dripping wet.

I bucked my hips closer and tapped, tapped, tapped her clit with the head of my cock. Her body and breath jerked from the sensitivity each time. I then rubbed it, up and down, covering myself with her arousal.

The wet sounds we made were exquisite. I couldn’t make myself stop. There was no reason to. I didn’t. I rubbed myself against her fast and made her moan and squirm and whine with pleasure until I was moaning, too.

I aimed my cum up to her stomach, some even managed to reach her chest and I was not ready to watch her wipe some of it with her finger and lick it clean while keeping eye contact.

She licked her lips and casually said, “You may need a new sink.”

“I think so, too.”

Her soft eyes and smile wrecked me.

I was so fucked.

If you follow this series and have read every part I love you and appreciate you for sticking around <3333

Also I’d love to know what you think and what other things you’d like to read of these two ❤️‍🩹🤭

Thank you for reading!🫶🏻

#aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x reader #Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction

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fastcardotmp3 · 22 days

Text

Ronance; meeting at the wrong time and then again at the right time; past almost-cheating (not on each other); Nancy Wheeler's Joyous Divorce Era; Robin POV; 1.6k Written for @strangerthingsfemslash week day 2: women over thirty read day 1: different first meeting read day 3: secret relationship

“Go talk to her.”

Robin shoots Steve a look for his whispering, for his little nudge of his shoulder against her own, for the sly little smile on his face and the nod of his head out towards the open sliding door leading out to the patio.

“No, yeah, I’ll just go talk to her,” she snarks, throwing open the door to the refrigerator and staring at the collection of drinks and snacks available to her.

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“You put all this work into throwing me a party and you want me to ruin it in one fell swoop?” she glares at him again, but his gaze is softer now behind his glasses, leaning back against the countertop with his hands and body language all open and unmalicious.

It makes something in Robin slump, the sight of him, even in spite of the tension still holding too much attention on those patio doors. Her heart flutters at the thought of it, of just letting it all go and being able to talk like they used to.

Share stories and memories and laughter like they’re still twenty-one and getting legally tipsy for the first time instead of standing here on the day Robin turns forty and Nancy is still—

“I get so stupid around her, Steve,” she exhales, still clinging to the handle of the refrigerator door, the chill of it raising goosebumps on her arms. “I get so stupid, and if he’s here too? I can’t— if he’s here, I just can’t deal with that.”

Steve’s brow furrows slightly, but his posture doesn’t change.

“Have you seen him?” he asks. “You think I wouldn’t warn you if he was going to be here today? On your birthday? Come on.”

He meets her gaze head-on, not a single sign of dishonesty in those big brown eyes that have been by her side through every stumble and triumph of the past twenty years, and Robin exhales. Watches him reach past her into the fridge for a half-empty bottle of Pinot Grigio and pour it deftly into two thin-stemmed glasses.

“Go talk to her,” he insists, pressing one into either one of her hands, and all Robin can do is nod.

Trust that he’s not leading her astray on this.

Walk on unsteady feet to those patio doors and nudge it closed behind her with the thick sole of her boot.

Nancy Wheeler is a vision.

Sitting alone at the small metal table Robin had dragged all the way from her parents’ house a solid decade ago, the light of a new spring day dancing across the smattering of gray taking root in those dark curls, she’s a vision.

But when has she ever not been?

“Hi,” Robin croaks as her body alights with the touch of attention when Nancy startles and turns to look at her. “Can I sit?”

For a moment, Robin thinks she’s ruined Nancy’s search for solitude, a thing which all of them who survived the unsurvivable understand to some degree or another. But almost the instant Nancy lays eyes on her, she’s relaxing again, something calm to her that Robin hardly recognizes in the years since…

“I’d love that,” Nancy smiles and nods to the chair beside her. Close enough to touch, to at the very least feel the warmth that radiates from that soft skin which once upon a time Robin had— she had known.

Even if only the once. The most beautiful of all of Robin’s nightmares.

“Is that for me?”

“Oh! Yes, yeah,” Robin sets down both glasses as she takes her seat, nudging Nancy’s close to her and watching the pink of her lips, listening to the hum of gratitude as she takes a small sip. “Santa Margarita, I know it’s…”

“My favorite,” Nancy is still smiling. Still so impossibly calm.

Robin has seen her many times since they fell into Nancy’s bed together, since Robin saw a door closing as a new man came into Nancy’s life after the last and pushed her way into that gap with the wet heat of her tongue and thrust of her fingers. She had still only been dating him then, not even calling him her boyfriend. Robin had thought…

Well, she had thought.

But she’s seen her since then. It’s been five years, sure, and it’s never been the same as before, but they’re undoubtedly linked by the same group of people here today.

Fighters and survivors and family built from fire and blood. Of course Robin has seen her since the night ended with soft touches and quiet giggles and the morning began with tears and running and slamming doors.

Nancy hasn’t been calm like this in any of those instances, in any of those meetings.

She’s so close. So warm.

She asks Robin if the party is all that she’d hoped, if she’s enjoying her birthday, about her work as an EMT, the new gig she’s taken on training rookies, and the flowers budding in her garden.

It’s small talk, but it makes Robin’s heart race, because Nancy hasn’t asked about her in a long time. Not directly anyway. They don’t talk, not like they used to, because there are too many layers of complication between them now.

There’s the friendship they built in 1986 and the bond that only grew from that point forward, yes, but there’s also the way Robin has been desperately in love with Nancy for more of that time than she cares to admit and that they both know it.

Having sex five years ago was just the cresting of a long-coming breaking point, and this is the fallout. Or at least, it was until today.

Because Nancy asks about her life and she doesn’t shy away from sitting so close and she drinks her wine like nothing in the world is wrong and Robin is confused.

Confusion that is only compounded when she tries to reciprocate, asking, “and how are you? How is, um, how is…” and trailing off as her gaze lands subconsciously on Nancy’s hands. Nails cut short and that same knobby knuckle where she broke it in ‘86 and never properly set it and a conspicuous lack of rings.

Robin’s chest goes tight. She’s too old to feel such violent butterflies racing up her throat.

“He’s fine,” Nancy tells her simply. “Probably fuming over the pre-nup I made him sign right about now.”

It’s been a number of years since Robin was a babbling teenager with a crush on the girl who stood next to her in marching band. It’s been a number of years since she sat in the front seat of Steve’s BMW and lamented wanting to kiss a girl without being marked a pariah.

She thinks maybe that kid in her head never died, though. Not at twenty or thirty and not now at forty either, because something kicks to life in her gut with the realization that—

“You’re getting a divorce?”

Breathy and too hopeful for the topic at hand, Robin clears her throat, looks down at her glass and the drip of condensation around the curve of it.

“Sorry, I just—”

“I’m getting a divorce.”

“Okay,” Robin nods, says it again okay, okay, “I’m just, um, I’m censoring myself, sorry, give me a minute.”

And Nancy Wheeler laughs.

So much lightness to it, something so unbearably carefree, that Robin can’t help but look at her with all the depth of feeling she knows is terribly readable on her face.

Nancy laughs, leans forward in her chair to rest and elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. No ring. No ring. No ring.

“Do you remember what you said to me? When you were,” a breath, “when I…”

“When you were kicking me out of your house after we fucked?” Robin gets blunt when she’s nervous, but there’s humor to it years later that there couldn’t have been in the months she spent crying on Steve and Eddie’s couch about it back then.

Nancy presses her lips together as though forcing down something tremulous, as though recentering herself.

“You looked me right in the face and you told me,” she straightens her shoulders, “Nancy Wheeler, when are you going to stop living your life like survival was a punishment?”

Robin does remember that, but wouldn’t have had Nancy not brought it up. She’s spent a lot of energy on not thinking about that morning, about all the ways she’d fucked up any chance she had at having Nancy in any real capacity, even if she couldn’t have her.

Now, though, all of the sparking energy jumping off her skin sings in response to that day, to that fight, to everything they’ve been through since. All of her energy jolts in the space between them, lightning striking like second chances.

Robin breathes deep into her gut and lets it out slowly as her eyes rove across Nancy’s face. All that calm, all that certainty of having made a plan and watching it play out in front of her by way of Robin herself.

“Nancy Wheeler,” she breathes, “did you get a divorce for my birthday?”

Nancy beams, slow and languid, and leans in until they’re almost nose to nose. Wine on her breath and life in her eyes, Nancy gets close.

“No, that I got for me,” she says, hand coming up to cradle Robin’s jaw and causing a kick-beat in her chest, “but I’m all yours, honey.”

It’s Robin’s bed they’ll fall into at the end of the night this time, giggling and happy.

It’s Robin’s kitchen where they’ll have coffee and breakfast when the morning rolls around again.

No tears, no slamming doors.

“I need you to— Nance,” Robin’s eyes well up, bridge of her nose nudging against Nancy’s as she asks I need you to prove it’s real.

Nancy takes her face in both hands and consumes her with a devouring kiss.

It tastes a lot like self-forgiveness on everyone’s part.

#dot fic #dot post #ronance #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #femslash week #stranger things femslash

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jenflirts · 7 months

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my lovely, jenna

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 : Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎 : Angst

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 : you have been adoring Jenna since you were little

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 : mention of homophobia and Language & also my bad writing

A/N: kings and queens era. listen to the song if you ever want to feel what I felt while writing this lol.

“Jenna, can I tell you something? Promise me you won’t run away or freak out” You said as you sat down under the tree where the two of you often sit just for shade.

Jenna nodded and sat down beside you looking at you adoringly.

Jenna and You have been friends since you can remember—the two of you did everything together whether it’s good or bad—it’s been a few months since she turned eighteen and you thought about asking her for a marriage proposal. You never ran this down to your parents nor hers, but you will once you get her consent.

“Jenna, we’ve known each other since we were kids and I’ve been adoring you since then. I knew what I was feeling is all wrong, I knew that I won’t be accepted for being who I am, but to hell with that—I would go through the depths of hell just to love you freely, I would course through war and have my heart pierced just to make you mine—I love you, every part of you I would be on my knees and worship you just so you could feel how much I appreciate you. I want you to be mine for eternity, I would love to have you by my side and rule this kingdom with me”

Jenna’s look softened when she looked at your hopeful eyes, all her what if’s and worries for what other thinks faded away. As long she’s with you she knows that everything will be fine.

“I love you too, I promise you that you only have my heart and no one else can have it” Jenna replied.

You were content, you have her and no one else can.

It’s the day that you’ve been waiting for, the day that the both of you are waiting for, it’s Jenna’s and Yours special day. Jenna’s practically trying her best to calm down and not panic, overthinking if she did the right thing, if her dress looks good on her, her saying yes to this marriage, and her being a good queen to this kingdom. She wanted you here, but you can’t see her just yet. A knock interrupted Jenna’s panicking mind and told the person to come in and help her calm down.

Emma saw the girl’s state and went to her and gave a box of tissues and tried to calm her down, but to no avail. Emma thought of giving her the letter that you gave her earlier this morning with a light-weighted box.

“Y/n told me to give you this, she said read the letter first then open the box” Emma said as she handed Jenna the envelope and the box.

Jenna hurriedly opened the envelope containing a letter with some tear stains.

My lovely, Jenna

I hope this letter finds you well, I want to apologize for my inappropriate behavior and not attending your special day. I know you want me to be there and I want to be there too, my love, but I want to be the one waiting for you at the end of the aisle. I want to be the one holding you, I want to be the one appreciating your beauty, I want to be the one sacrificing my life just to save yours and I want to be the one assuring you that I love you every single day.

My love, I know you’re doubting yourself and every decision you have made, but I’m here to assure you that you did not. You will be an amazing queen to this kingdom and my brother is lucky to have you as his wife.

I know this is too late to give to you, but once you finish this letter open the box that Emma gave you and read one poem. All of them are about you, my love. If you ever need to let yourself know that you’re appreciated, just read one of my poems because every single one of it is about you.

Jenna, I just want you to know that this is also my last letter to give to you as I will be joining the knights for the upcoming war. Father instructed me to lead them and as a child that wanted to go to the fields I’m honored to lead them. I promise you that I’ll be back and still love you, and if not, I will be waiting for you and hope that I could love you again like I did before.

Congratulations on your wedding, my love.

I love you so much.

Sincerely your loving friend,

Y/N Y/L/N

Jenna was stunned, she dropped the letter at the table and opened the box hurriedly and to her surprise it was full of folded paper—she never knew that it would be full of paper because of it being light-weighted—she picked up one paper and read.

Your eyes, like stars, in the midnight sky, Hold secrets and dreams that make my heart fly. Your smile, a beacon, in the darkest night, Fills my world with warmth and light.

In the curve of your lips, the softness of your gaze, A beauty that leaves me in endless amaze. A secret admiration, I can't help but feel, In your presence, my heart's secrets I conceal.

Though silent, this love in my heart resides, In friendship's embrace, it sweetly abides. For you, my love, are a work of art, A beauty that's etched within my heart.

Jenna knew she fucked up by accepting your brother’s proposal, she knew she hurt you, but she was too blind for it to see, she wanted to let the remarks of her relationship with you to subside that’s why she accepted this. She wanted you, she wanted to be with you for eternity too like the one that you both promised.

#Spotify #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega x you #vada cavell #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x female reader

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tomieafterdark · 1 year

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a/n: So I wanted to give this type of dynamic/pairing a try (YES I KNOW it’s so cliche, I’m a walking cliche for doing this let me live💀) since I’ve seen it around on the Eren fic tag sometimes…btw this is a short drabble. Nothing more. Also click here for part two.

pairing: fem!reader x bully!Eren

cw: degradation, kind of mean Eren, squirting, use of a marker as anal dildo, reader is stuck, noncon, fingering, use of good girl, some praise I guess ?

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CONTINUING TO READ, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT AND THE CONTENT STATED IN CONTENT WARNING

also here’s my masterlist to feed your smut addiction <3 /j

You hated that every year in college they’d make you guys get new lockers. What was wrong with the one you got the first time? This year you were very unlucky, you got a bottom locker. Every students worst nightmare.

It was a Friday afternoon and everyone had gone home, almost everyone. It was just the janitors left and you, the reason you were left was because you had prepared club activities for the upcoming week and you know what they say, time flies when you’re having fun.

You were bent over, trying to reach the last book and pencil in your annoying bottom locker. It’s small but you force yourself to squeeze your entire upper body in there, the only thing sticking out of is your ass. Bad day to wear a short skirt. All you’re focused on is getting that book and the pencil, you’re completely unaware that you’re stuck in a bottom locker on a Friday afternoon in an empty college. You hear someone in the distance..

Eren on the phone: yes I’ll be there soon, I just had some stupid paper to finish or the teacher threatened to fail me…(continues blabbering in the distance as he walks toward you).

“For fucks sake, is that Eren I hear” you think to yourself. You can recognise that voice from anywhere, he has made your life hell all through high school and somehow he ends up at the same college as you. You quickly try to wriggle yourself out so you can avoid him but your efforts are to no avail. This is when you realise you’re stuck and panic hits you, you’d hate asking Eren for help. You wish you had brought your phone in here with you at least, to call for a friend maybe..but no. It just had to be in your bag. As the steps and the voice get closer your movements get more frantic, this is your worst nightmare.

Eren ends his call and sees you. He walks up to you, at first not realising it’s you. “Hey, are you okay in there?”

You try to avoid talking so he can help you out, if he mistakes you for a random student he would definitely help you.

“I guess not” he says and walks away.

“WAIT” you yell. “I’m…we’ll- you see…im stuck. Can you please get one of the janitors to help me out or call my friend-“

“Wait? Y/n? Is that you?” Eren laughs. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart and all that, why are you stuck in your locker with your ass up like in a cheap porno..” the last part gives him an idea. You’re stuck with no one but some janitors around and god knows what floor they’re on.

“Shit happens Eren. Look I know we don’t get along and everything, can you just get me out. Please..”

“We don’t get along? You really think so y/n? Aw my feelings are hurt.” He says in a mean sarcastic tone. “Don’t worry y/n I’ll fix that, today on this beautiful Friday afternoon we’ll get along, we’ll get closer than ever..”

He sounds so sinister right now, it is sending chills down your spine. Eren doesn’t waste a single second, he starts to stomp down on the part of your back that’s sticking out of the locker to perfect your arch. You scream in return, he just laughs at your reaction. “Now y/n, I’d like us to get along so stop screaming and resisting. And keep this arch for me okay??”

You don’t say a word and just sniffle in return.

He kicks your back down even harder, and gives a light kick right where your asshole is. That shouldn’t have felt good but it did, and it made both your holes clench on nothing. You reply with a meek “okay” and make sure to keep that arch up for him.

“Good girl y/n, see we are already getting along. Now spread your fucking legs for me, I think we can get way closer than this.”

Him saying good girl hits a spot inside you, and has you spreading immediately. You feel yourself getting wet and face heating up in the dark of the locker. You feel so isolated and out of control, he can do whatever he wants to you right now and all you can do is take it. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Eren takes of your pretty pink thong and puts it in his pocket. You feel the cool air hit your bare skin, and then Erens fingers all over your thighs, ass and essentially on your cunt. He slaps your thigh and ass, and he purposely slaps your ass in the direction that causes more pain than pleasure. Instead of slapping upwards he slaps down towards his direction, what a dick. Your asscheeks are turning red and you’re starting to cry out, but you know Eren. Saying stop to him means nothing, he will just go harder so you take it hoping it’ll end soon.

He continues slapping, but notices you’re dripping. “What do we have here y/n?? You’re getting off on this? You nasty little slut.” He slaps your cunt this time, slaps and starts rubbing sloppily until he finds your clit. Your legs are shaking, your toes are curling so much it shows even when you have your white sneakers on.

“Why so quiet y/n? I know you want to scream. Your body language is loud and clear!” He says, grinning at how a little clit rubbing has your legs almost spasming. He slaps your cunt again, this time causing you to cry out. “Atta girl, let me hear that pretty voice.”

Eren is so annoying and you hate him but right now he is hitting all the spots with his words and his fingers, you let your moans and cries out. No wonder everyone under the sun wants to have him, you had heard the girls in your math course talk about him and how he apparently made their friend squirt by fingering her ass. You didn’t even know that was possible. Your thoughts end up getting interrupted by Erens fingers entering your pussy.

“Aah- fuck! Eren-“ his fingers were so much bigger and longer than yours, he is reaching that spot inside of you that you were struggling to reach just a few nights ago when you were masturbating. It’s tight, and almost uncomfortable but the pleasure is way overbearing. It doesn’t matter that you’re being stretched out and it hurts a little, it just feels so good.

“See, I told you we’d get along. I’m so nice to you, giving you all my attention when I could leave you here any second with that skirt pulled up, no panties and cunt leaking all over the place. When I could leave you here and tell the creepy janitor there’s been a spill at this exact floor..” he notices how you tense up, believing he would actually leave you. Eren laughs, you’re not wrong for believing him but he wouldn’t go that far. “I’m joking y/n, I am really wondering why people think you’re smart.” He snickers.

“Shut up Eren. You’re not exactly nice to me, you might have scared me for fun and not left me here now but you have been really mean in the past.” There’s a hint of pain in your voice, and anger. Your stupid bully isn’t even taking it seriously, he probably thinks you don’t care. You do put up an act of being annoyed and unbothered but it makes you sad when he is so mean sometimes. Your sadness however quickly shifts into pleasure again, he is pushing on your G-spot and you’re about to have a different kind of orgasm you can feel it. You’re so in the moment you accidentally cry out “Fuck it Eren, I don’t care about our past please just make me cum!” You didn’t mean to tell him that, it was just supposed to be a silent thought inside your own head.

“Oh so that’s how it is? You’re mean and talk back until you’re close to cumming, then you want to use the word please and act all nice and cute??” He stops fingering you.

“Why’d you stop” you whine as you stick your ass out for more. You’re surprised at how fast your demeanour shifted, but there’s something about getting fingered by someone else. You kind of wish you had a boyfriend now, you could get this heavenly treatment without being stuck in a locker and toyed with by Eren.

“I think your pussy got to know me enough, but your other hole hasn’t been getting any attention at all. How rude of me” he says, as he spots one of your neon markers poking out of your bag. “Perfect” he thinks to himself. It’s long and thick, if lubed up with your slick it would be the perfect anal toy. Eren doesn’t hesitate, he quickly coats the marker and puts it inside your ass with no warning. This is the first time you’ve ever done anything related to anal, you don’t know how to react. All you’re doing is crying out, no words just incoherent noises.

Eren doesn’t care he just pushes it in and out, watching both of your holes and how they flutter. His intentions are clear, for the trained eye at least. He wants you to squirt through anal. He starts fucking you with the marker at a faster pace, which has your legs and eyes crossing. When you’re close, he stands up and stomps hard on the marker, your ass pushes it out each time and he keeps stomping. Pushing the rest of you into the ground into the most beautiful slutty arch he has ever seen, oh how Eren wishes he could see your face right now. A few stomps later and you’re squirting all over the floor, messy lewd moans leave your pretty lips. He waits around until you gain consciousness again and puts the marker back in your bag.

“Hey y/n, stay right here I’ll get the janitor. Don’t worry I won’t get the creepy one” he smirks.

“Fucking idiot” is all you reply to that. He could very well get you out himself, he just wants to embarrass you especially now that he has taken off your thong and won’t give it back.

#eren smut #Eren x reader #aot smut #Eren x y/n #bully!eren #eren jeager smut #Eren Yeager smut #attack on titan smut

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oxymorayuri · 9 days

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Hiii i read the acex reader i dont remember the title but its the one where she was the revolver?

I wanted to request more parts for it please BCS THE WAY U WRITE IT ITS SO CAPTIVATING I CANT

So yes thats all i wanted PLEASE DO CONSIDER 🙏

It will get me through my exams 😔🔫

❞𝐍𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬❝

Part two

If you haven't read the first part yet, you can find it here or the overview. ♡♡♡

✦ Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Reader ✦ Warnings: cussing/language, suggestive content ✦ Spoiler: none

A/N: Aw that is so cute! You know what? Why not? I really fell in love with the revolver too. I had to think of something to continue it but see for yourself, I hope you like it sweetie. PS: I hope everything goes well with your studies <3

wordcount: 2488

! ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ !

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓: Ivan Imros

Everything before your eyes appears as if you're looking through a curtain. Time passes more slowly, every touch seems both intense and unreal, but you feel the desire.

There is nothing but desire... the thirst for more.

Light as a feather, you feel as if you are not even in control of your body. But that's not a problem. You enjoy every second, no matter how blurred everything seems to you.

Perhaps because you know that it is nothing more than just a desire. Your movements are rhythmic and you try to intensify the feeling with every thrust, but there are limits to how much you can feel.

Your options are small but you are grateful for what is in front of you.

You can dimly see the lust shining in Ace's eyes, while barely feeling his hands on your hips as they guide you into bliss. Your mind is constantly shifting between lucid yet dazed and one moment you are riding him while the next his lips are caressing yours.

Full of pleasure you close your eyes, your voice says 'more' but you don't feel your lips moving and although your eyes are closed, it gets brighter and brighter behind your eyelids…

You groan in annoyance as you pull the covers over your head. Damn that sucks. This isn't the first dream you've had about Ace, but it's never been as intense as this one.

You cannot escape the images of the things that happened between you and you keep dreaming about that night on the beach. A whole week has passed since then and you and Ace are far from what you could have become and whose fault is it?

Yep, yours.

The angry wiggle in bed gets you nowhere, but you are so annoyed by the situation that you have to let it out.

After your fit of rage, you look up at the ceiling of your room in defeat. Slight dark circles adorn your face because it takes half an eternity for your brain to finally shut up. You don't even want to think about Ace and when you are surrounded by complete silence, his face automatically appears before your eyes. You've spent a few nights tossing and turning in your bed because every time you close your eyes you see him. No matter how tired you were, you couldn't get a wink of sleep.

You tousle your hair. Your ego is so big that you would rather die than approach Ace.

You wonder why you reacted the way you did. After your night, you woke up alone in your room and even though you didn't expect him to be lying next to you, you wished for it.

Loneliness engulfed you and as lonely as you felt, the more you didn't want him to get near you. You felt so available and that's a pretty strange feeling for you… Would it have been different if you had woken up next to him?

You'll never know.

As usual you gave him the cold shoulder but this time you had an additional reason... but somehow you feel a bit childish about it now.

Your thoughts are spinning around. What is your reason anyway? The answer seems to secretly pile up inside you and that makes you nervous.

Should you really have reacted like this? You haven't said a single word to each other. Okay, you haven't said a single word to him… At least he tried, you have to give him that, but after 3 days he had given up. He just leaves you alone and doesn't even get on your "nerves" like before. Nothing nada

Somewhat sadly, you pull your knees towards you and put your head down. You can only blame yourself.

You idiot!

If it wasn't for Jozu, you would probably never have come out of your cabin. He actually managed to get you out of the room.

Well, he more or less dragged you out. He just barged into your room, came up to you without saying a word and grabbed you by the neck. You noticed him, but you didn't have the strength in your bones to really react.

Somewhat belatedly you grab him by his bulky arm but every attempt is in vain and when you realized, that he wanted to leave your room with you, all alarm bells rang in your head.

Like a wild animal, you tried to escape from his grip but no matter how much you scratched him or how hard you hissed, he wouldn't budge. You feisty thing. Without paying the slightest attention to you, he brought you onto the deck and although you were brought here rather roughly, he set you down on the ground with care.

"Touch me like that again and…!!!!!" You are caught off guard when your mouth is suddenly covered with tape; you hadn't expected that. You can only grumble in anger and your eyebrows furrow up furiously as you look up at your commander.

"Hah your stare can't do anything to me you stupid ass!" He makes fun of you while he ties your arms and legs and you have no chance to resist.

The big man took a step back as he watched you wobble pathetically back and forth. You try to free yourself because you are beginning to feel that you are in a critical situation.

Your strength returns and the ropes loosen. Jozu doesn't hesitate any longer and immediately ties you up completely from head to toe, which looks ridiculous. Like a mummy, with only your head free, he leaned you against the ship's mast.

From behind you, you hear Ace apparently going through something similar as you and suddenly he is thrown to the ground in front of you by Marco. He wasn't set down as gently as you were, and with a pained look he rubs his cheek, which has just kissed the ground.

"What's wrong with you guys?" Confused, he looks at the men in front of him who just look down at him with stern expressions and folded arms. Jozu's eyes wandered over to you and Ace's eyes followed his. With shock written all over his face, he looked at you with widened eyes.

Without commenting, he looked back at the two commanders and then Marco broke the silence.

"What have you done Ace." Marco's voice seemed a little threatening. Astonishment spread across Ace's face.

"ME?" Startled, he pointed his own finger at his chest. "I have done NOTHING!" He defends himself with a slightly raised voice.

You want to laugh out loud but the tape stops you.

"I don't know what happened between you, but one thing is clear and that is that the two of you have something to sort out!" Jozu lays out the facts.

"You're so wrapped up in your thoughts that you're constantly setting yourself on fire and even if it doesn't hurt you, it's affecting the people around you." His gaze went to you as he noticed your muffled laughter. "And you? We don't even need to talk about you, y/n. But let me refresh your memory. First you shouted at Ace, then you didn't say a word to ANYONE and then you didn't come out of your room for two whole DAYS!!!" The commander breathes in and out, somewhat exhausted.

You weren't even aware that you were behaving outrageously, but now that Jozu has reminded you, you can't deny it. Ace is bothering you and you are bothering him.

Marco touches his forehead, somewhat distraught.

"Listen, if Newgate gets wind of this, he'll talk to you… is that what you want?!" You both shake your heads in panic at the same time.

"I thought so." - "Ace, you were last with y/n that night and she's been so nasty ever since. Did something happen between you?" Jozu interjects.

He exhales a little helplessly and drops his shoulders.

"hahhh, I don't know… I thought we had a good time but the next day everything was different than I thought and that's why I wanted to talk to her to find out what I did wrong!" He turns to you and for the first time you see a look on his face that you never expected to see. He looks angry with a hint of confusion.

"But SHE doesn't want to talk!" he points his finger at you like a child. Offended, you grimace. Luckily, the tape is stuck to your lips because no matter what you would have said, it wouldn't have made any sense anyway. You're so irrational that you don't even recognize yourself.

The two standing men looked at each other and nodded. You and Ace don't quite understand what's happening now, but you'll find out soon enough.

Marco grabbed Ace by the shoulder and led him ahead of him. Ace doesn't really resist and starts to move. When Jozu approached you, you didn't want to leave the stage without a fight. You tried to move like a worm to escape from your commander and even though he admires your efforts, there's no point in trying to escape, because you're just as fast as a worm - not at all. Jozu has an easy time with you and throws you over his shoulder.

The two of them threw you into a prison cell made of sea stone and before they locked the cell, Jozu freed you from your full body bondage. You are glad that your mouth is free again because now you can finally let out all the bad words you have left for Jozu.

"You son of a bitch! Just wait until I'm out of here, then you'll be given a bloody surprise… I'm telling you!"

But you idiot threw yourself against the bars to grab the big man, forgetting that the bars are made of sea stone and that you now have the power of a devil fruit that you still have to get used to.

The energy sapping feeling in your body is sudden, overwhelming and slowly you go down to the ground.

While the men walk away from the cell, Marco shouts something back to you.

"You stay in there until you've sorted this out!" Grinding your teeth, you roll onto your back with the last ounce of your strength and close your eyes.

If I can't see him, then he's not there...

Yeah, exactly, that will work… You don't really believe that, do you?

"Hey… I'll leave you alone if you want, but the others are right. We take it out on the others and that's not okay. We're a crew…" The word crew makes you open your eyes without wanting to.

You sigh in annoyance and roll onto your side so that Ace can stare at your back.

"Yea, maybe. Leave me alone." Your stubbornness is driving Ace crazy, but he doesn't really want you to be like this with each other. Above all, he wants to know why you're like this to him. What did he do wrong?

He's been racking his brains for days about what he could have done or said that upset you so much. He wants to make things better if you would let him.

"If you're not going to talk to me, at least take the bed. Sleeping on the floor won't do you any good." You have no idea what kind of cheap trick that is. Is he trying to get you to sleep in a bed with him? You look back towards the bed but Ace isn't there. He's sitting next to the bed with his back against the wall.

Unexpectedly, disappointment spreads through you. Wait a minute? Is that what you secretly wanted?

A little confused, you stand up and stop in front of Ace, who looks up at you. His unkempt hair falls back slightly as he looks up at you. How you would like to swallow your pride and fall into his arms, but you have no idea where to start. You don't know what to say because you don't even quite understand what is wrong with you. So you say nothing and stare at him with tired eyes as he sits in front of you with one leg bent and his arm resting on his knee.

Ace doesn't quite know how to react, but he's not one to do nothing.

He stands up just a few centimeters away from you and now you are the one looking up at him.

His gaze scans your face for answers that you can't even give yourself.

"What have I done?" he whispers to you. His pained voice tears apart your heart. You didn't know Ace could sound so vulnerable.

"I…, I don't know." you mumble your words, but your gaze remains fixed on Ace.

You have no further answer for Ace and walk towards the bed and lie down with your back to him again.

"Sleeping on the floor won't do you any good…" You repeat Ace's words back to him, feeling less pathetic since he said it first.

You listen closely as you can make out the sound of his feet approaching the bed. His shadow falls on the wall, which you stare at, waiting to see what comes next.

You feel the mattress go down a little and you automatically hold your breath until you can hear your heartbeat.

Ace looks down at your slender figure. His eyes wander over your delicate curves. He would love to stroke your hips until you fall asleep, but he's not sure how far he can go without making a mistake... but he has a feeling that doing nothing would be a mistake too.

He decides to lie down with his chest against your back. Lying on his back doesn't really work, there wouldn't be enough room and back to back would be awkward. He really makes an effort not to touch you unnecessarily. He's already glad that you offered him the bed.

You try to calm down, but Ace's breathing gives you goose bumps on the back of your neck. You pinch your eyes shut and try to concentrate on Ace's warmth, hoping you'll be able to fall asleep soon.

Luckily for you, you quickly find your way to the land of dreams because with Ace behind you, one could say; he's no longer buzzing around in your head...

Stay tuned for the next Part babes <3

➽ Next chapter

#one piece #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace #one shot ace #ace one piece #portgas ace x you #portgas d ace smut #portgas d ace one piece #ace x you

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reasonsforhope · 3 months

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hey i get what youre trying to say with the taylor swift post but as of a few days ago shes trying to sue a college student who posts her (publicly available) flight logs. she very much does not give a shit about her carbon emissions and she shouldn’t be celebrated for her mediocre attempts to seem climate-conscious

I get what you're saying, definitely. I also did actually know about the thing with the college student when I posted that, so I wanted to give some context about why I made that post:

First, I personally didn't view it as celebrating her so much as celebrating progress. I think that if we never acknowledge wins, we'll end up dispirited very quickly

Second, recognizing when people decide to be less shitty is, at least I think, an important carrot in the carrot-and-stick dynamic of using public opinion to influence public figures

Lastly - and this may well be an unpopular opinion - but I don't actually hold her actions re: the college student against her

Why?

Well, for one, it was a cease and desist letter, not an attempted lawsuit. A cease and desist letter isn't legally binding, nor is it the start of a lawsuit - it's more like she's Putting Him On Notice. A cease and desist order can be followed by a lawsuit, if it's ignored, but it doesn't initiate one. Likely Taylor Swift will try several other steps of resolution before actually telling her lawyers to sue this guy, if only because the headlines would Not look good (x, x)

But more than that, I don't hold it against her because when Taylor Swift says that it's a matter of life and death for her, I believe that's very true.

Like, don't get me wrong, I'm not mad about her flight data being up either. And I'm not particularly a fan of Taylor Swift

But I also think that if I had to read through the rape and death threats she gets on an almost-certainly-daily basis, I'd want to vomit.

And I think that was true before Trump and his minions got obsessed with the idea that she's the keystone in the next Biden-election-stealing Pentagon psyops plot. Now - especially in the days right before the Superbowl, when this alleged conspiracy is supposed to happen - I don't even want to think about the brutality of the threats she's receiving

(For anyone going "Uh, wtf?" about the MAGA Superbowl Taylor Swift conspiracy thing, yes, I hate to inform you that it's A Whole Thing. More info here: x, x, x, x, x, x)

Taylor Swift does have stalkers, and now she has a bunch of MAGA paramilitary conspiracy theorists absolutely furious with her. If I were her, I'd want to do every single thing I could to keep information on my movements and in-the-moment location off the internet, too

tl;dr: I don't necessarily think she cares about the environment, but I'm not mad at her for sending a cease and desist letter because I think without her extensive security, she would be in real danger now, including possibly danger of being killed by armed MAGA conspiracy theorists

You're allowed to be mad at her and dislike her (obviously!), you're allowed to totally disagree with my attitude toward the cease and desist. I just wanted to share my rationale for including the post (and it is something I went back and forth on tbh)

#Anonymous #ask #me #taylor swift #celebrities #private jets #planes #cw rape mention #cw vomit mention #cw stalking #sidenote I'm really not sure why “she's going to endorse Joe Biden at the Superbowl” counts as a conspiracy theory #much less worth KILLING HER over #but they're straight up going on about her being an official asset for pentagon psyops #so #apparently it is #edited quickly to reflect the fact that she's accused of being a pentagon psyop asset #not a deep state member #literally only because she's not in any kind of official political anything I'm sure

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lovemyromance · 2 months

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Azriel, the "entitled incel" of the Bat Boys

So I started laughing my head off as soon as I typed the title for this post. Because it's honestly so, so ridiculous this is even an argument people are using against Elriel.

Let's take a quick trip down memory lane, because people are calling Azriel entitled because of the following excerpt:

This man, is so desperately obsessed with Elain, that he is questioning his religion, their GOD (The Cauldron) on why the woman he loves was given to another. He is tortured over it, losing sleep thinking about it.

How does that scream entitlement? Is it because he says the "third sister was given to another"? Because Rhys assumes "You believe you deserve to be her mate?"

Azriel did not even consider the possibility of a future with Elain because she already has a mate. Not because he's only lusting after her, but because he is convinced that he will not get the woman he loves. He has such low self-esteem and image issues that he doesn't think himself worthy of even touching her skin, and you think he feels entitled to her?

Or is it the fact that you decided he just wants a mate? Nowhere in this bonus chapter does Azriel say he just wants a mate, btw, so not sure where that argument came from. Also, if Azriel just wanted a mate, why tf would he go for the only mated female in his proximity?

Wouldn't he, I dunno, latch onto any available single lady in Velaris over the mated and now forbidden Elain Archeron? I believe a relevant analogy is:

If I had a group of friends I hung out with, all consisting of married couples, basically, and I was the lone single friend. OF COURSE I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE AND OF COURSE I WANT TO BE MARRIED TOO? But....even if I wanted these things so desperately, my first choice for love would not be the married guy in my friend group, whose wife lives far away. Like, no. That's not who I'm going for first, or second, or ever, even.

So then why is Az only showing feelings for Elain? He's had sexual relationships before, why can't he just find someone else, why is he still obsessed with Elain?

Also, the incel thing is such a joke. Yes, he has romantic, sexual thoughts about Elain. And that somehow...makes him disgusting and toxic?

Are we just choosing to ignore Rhys's thoughts about Feyre? How these two mfs nearly risked their lives from a trauma-bargain because they were too horny to show enough self-restraint to not f*ck in the goddamn sky?? Those poor pedestrians of Velaris.

Are we just choosing to ignore Cassian's thoughts about Nesta? Like literally every other sentence from his POV was about her thin frame and massive tits, for ffs. He was absolutely chafing for her 99% of the day. But no one had a problem with that?

Cassian even stated he's jealous of Rhys, what Rhys has with Feyre, their bond. But we just decided to ignore that little tidbit too, huh?

And I know this entire argument is just performative. Because if Azriel had shown any even mildly romantic thoughts about another *ahem* character, that side would be screaming from the rooftops in joy. That's just a guess though, given how much they reacted from just platonic banter and something about sparky glow glow warmth in the bonus chapter. If you give a mouse a cookie, I guess.

Either way, I actually read the books, so Elriel is the only answer for me.

I mean, I thought it was obvious.

#elriel #elain #pro elain #elain x azriel #elain archeron #azriel #acotar

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yourejinx · 4 months

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Undeniable Bonds

Azriel x F. Reader

Warnings: angst, as per usual. SPOILERS for other SJM series. Mentions of blood, descriptions of injuries, mentions of death, feelings. Not proof read.

Author’s note: Merry Christmas everyone! It took me MONTHS but is finally here, hope you like it. Sorry for making you wait for so long, life has been nothing short of chaotic. I'd like to thank @crazylokonugget , I read your comment. It was the rush of inspiration I needed to get back into writing 🫶🏻

CHAPTER SIX

The moon was shining big and bright above the night sky in the city, there was music being played by the river despite the chilling winds of the winter and laughter filled the air around The Rainbow. It all seemed so livid, so peaceful and merry in contrast with the emotional turmoil brewing in your insides.

You were feeling everything at once, every single thing you had tried to keep concealed for centuries now was ready to combust. You felt confused, and angry, resentful, wary…and underneath it all naively hopeful. It would be a lie to say you had successfully gotten rid of your feelings towards Azriel, if anything all the awful things you've done to each other hurted all the more because of that. He was a friend once, and a good one. Gentle, caring, protective, used to actually enjoy the other's presence, go on walks during the nights when the world felt too heavy, just silently supporting each other. Shared laughs at stupid jokes played at Cass and Rhys, sneaking around while in other courts just for the fun of it, knowing no one would ever find you. You were a team. Until one day you weren’t, he just decided it wasn’t worthy and that was it.

How were you supposed to open up to this person, when he hadn’t even seen the worst in you and deemed you unworthy? How could you ever trust him again? Yet, here you were, walking side by side next to the Sidra like the old times. You could punch yourself in the face just for considering this, every anxious trait screamed at you to leave, you didn’t owe him a single thing, didn’t have to explain anything. So why did you keep walking alongside him?

“So…uhm,” He started, nervously scratching at his nape. Trying. He was trying to be open, didn’t hold up that mask of coldness to conceal his emotions, not once. “You and Lucien..?”

“None of your business.” you snapped out of instinct.

He avoided looking directly at you, focusing on some distant light across the bridge.

You let out a deep breath, this wasn’t going to work.

“Just talk to him.” Amren’s voice rang in your head. Try. You had to try, you didn’t have to let him know much just…let the conversation flow, right?

“It was a long time ago, even before Amarantha..” you started, casting a sidelong glance at him.

He turned to you, features soft under the moonlight. Gods, he was unfairly beautiful when he wasn’t an ass. You fixed your sight on the river, if only to keep on track. “Nothing really happened, we were young and drunk at one of Tamlin’s masquerades, we made out and that was it.”

He nodded slowly and cleared his throat, “And now?”

“Is this what you really want to talk about? He’s my friend, not that I owe you any explanation. Or is this your way to ask if Elain is available now?”

You couldn’t help it, the audacity of this male prying into your private life as if he hadn’t been lusting after Lucien’s mate of all people. Hypocrite doesn’t begin to cut it.

“I don’t care about Elain, I care about you.”

You wanted to laugh. “Since when? If I recall correctly you despised me until a week ago, you were either insulting me or just blatantly ignoring me in favor of her, or anyone else really. Then all goes to hell and suddenly I’m worth living for?!”

He grimaced, “You– you remember that?”

You sighed tiredly and sat down on a bench overlooking the Sidra. “Yes, I remember. I just…I don’t understand you.”

Azriel just stood there beside you, shifting his weight uncomfortably, not being quite sure what to do. When he didn’t move or say anything you continued, “I want to believe you,” you swallowed around a lump “but do you hear how it sounds? After all we’ve been through. I trusted you and you threw that in my face, how do you expect me to believe that you care about me?”

This wasn’t going as he was hoping for, but at least it was something. You were speaking to him more than two sentences, which was a lot more than he deserved to be honest. You could yell at him, curse him, punch him in the face if you wished and he would take it. No complaints. Anything if it meant you’d show him how you truly felt, he wasn’t sure he could endure your silence again, knowing how much he had hurt you. He needed you to let it all out, so he could do something to fix it.

“I don’t expect you to believe me right away, of course not. I know that I have to earn your forgiveness and one day if I’m one lucky bastard I might earn your trust back once more. But I also know that even when I try to make things right you may not forgive me at all, and I’ll accept that too. Honestly? I just want to know how you feel with all that has happened. The only thing that matters now is you.”

You let out a shaky breath, turning away from him. “I don't know what I'm supposed to feel, everything is a mess.”

He moved then, crouching in front of you and grasping both your hands on his own, making you look at him. The earnest way he was looking at you, the desperate feeling swimming in his eyes that traveled all the way through the bond. It made you gasp, with all that’s been going on you forgot to put a shield up. Now you could feel him, all of him, which meant he could feel you.

“I have no damn right to demand such mercy from you, but if for a single moment you find in your heart a spec of doubt, a small sign of will to forgive this coward for wronging you so unfairly, I just want you to know how sorry I am, for everything. I regret it all, I wish I could take it all back. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, until the day I part from this earth I will fight for you.”

You were quite sure your bottom lip was trembling as much as his hands were, trying miserably to contain the unwelcomed tears pooling in your eyes. Those were such nice words, the silly part of you that always longed for his recognition wanted so desperately to believe, but there were still too many unresolved things, too many questions still running frantically through your head. And one recurrent thought…

“Did I really have to die for you to notice?” Your words hung heavy in the air, with a mix of accusation and vulnerability.

Azriel, gaze intense and haunted, looked as if you had just punched a hole through his chest. In that moment, the shadows that bound him seemed to soften, and he confessed the truth that had long eluded you both. It wasn't the brush with death that made him take notice; it was the fear of losing you that shattered the carefully constructed barriers around his heart.

"No, it's not about noticing, it's about realizing what it means to lose you," he admitted, his voice a low, gravelly murmur. Azriel's jaw tightened, a small sign that betrayed the internal struggle within him. "It's not so simple. The thought of a world without your laughter, your presence....Losing you was the worst of my nightmares coming true. I've always cared, but I let my past dictate my actions, and I was cruel to you because I couldn't bear the thought of history repeating itself. But I was wrong, and I almost lost you because of it."

“What do you mean?”

You had unconsciously leaned in closer to him and he swallowed audibly at the intensity in your eyes —obsidian black that sometimes showed swirls of violet and blue. Like lightning striking the midnight sky. They were a rare sight, a beautiful one, he knew that only happened when you felt too much. The telltale sign of the emotions you were so desperately trying to hold back from reaching him.

“I will tell you everything you want to know, in time. I will lay my heart down for you to step on if you wish. But I believe that is a conversation on its own, I wish to explain everything to you and I don’t think I can do it tonight.” He looked almost pleading. “There’s nothing that can excuse the way I treated you, I’ve been a coward, and an asshole and you have every damn right to be angry with me, to hate me. That much I understand. I just hope you’d be willing to listen when the time’s right.”

You supposed it was fair. It still made you uneasy and you pulled back a little, ignoring the hurt that flashed through his eyes. Given how strained your relationship was, you guessed it was normal he was still doubtful about sharing too much too soon. You weren’t that willing to particularly share much of yourself yet, if ever.

Gods, you wished you could rage about everything that has happened, and hated the way his words had soothe an ache in your heart you were making an effort not to acknowledge.

Time. It would take time to heal, and trust, and effort on both sides to make this work. Whatever this white flag he had weaved tonight meant. You knew it was the right call to make, for the sake of everyone, to try and make amends. That didn’t mean it was going to be easy, some things were too deeply engraved in your heart to let go.

Did it make you a weak, spineless female to want to give in to him? What was the cost of it?

“Alright,” you muttered, standing to your feet, Azriel followed you. “If I agree to do this, I’ll need you to be patient. I’m not ready yet to let you in, I still have my doubts about this. I think you understand why. But I want to try to be friends again, that’s as much as I can offer you right now.”

Friends. That was a lot more than he had dared to ask for, even if in his heart he desired more. It wasn’t about him, nor his desires, it was about you and giving you what you need. So if what you needed from him was friendship, he’ll take it. Make the most of it.

Azriel nodded, something sparkling to life in his eyes that wasn’t there before. The bond thrummed quietly with emotion. Hope.

“One step at a time?” you offered, extending your hand to him.

“One step at a time.” He repeated, taking your hand.

It was awkward but welcomed, the feeling of something settling within your chest. The mating bond had been neglected for so long that the weight of it felt weird now, as if a missing limb had been spoken into existence. Azriel seemed to notice too, absentmindedly reaching his hand up to rub at his chest.

You tried not to shudder when he gently tugged at it and opened your mouth to suggest keeping the ends closed for the time being. Unless until you were more comfortable with each other. It was way too intimate and overwhelming otherwise, and that you were not ready for yet.

“Maybe we should–” you stopped as you felt something warm and thick dripping to your lips. Pressing two fingers to the spot and watching them stained red. Blood.

Azriel quickly caught up to the movement, body stilling in alert.

“What's wrong?” he asked, stepping closer.

“I don't know,” A strong pang shot too fast to your head making you gasp and causing you to fall forwards. Azriel’s arms instantly wrapped around your shoulders, holding you to him. His shadows were in a frenzy, surrounding you both while he inspected your face for any signs of injury.

“Y/N? Talk to me, where does it hurt?” He sounded agitated.

You could hear Azriel’s voice being muffled and muffled by the second, could feel his warmth and the firm press of his body against yours, but everything was quickly becoming a blurry image. Like some distant dream everything started to fade from sight, the whole scenery changing, twisting and re-adapting.

Velaris had been replaced for a cold, dark room, the air thick and musty. The sound of crashing waves filling the otherwise silent space. Rusty chains hung wicked and ancient from the stone walls, an iron coffin sitting vacant across from you, open and expectantly waiting for its occupier. You couldn’t move a single muscle, only stare through eyes that were not yours, scent with a foreign nose, the smell of fear, and blood, and immense sadness.

You blinked twice — or rather this…person whose mind seemed blending with yours did— and gazed down to gauntlet-covered hands. Iron, yet again. There was a slight tremble to this other body, a female’s body, from pain so deep from within her guts and the fire blazing underneath, it rose and rose and rose, flaring until it was pushed down and forced to remain still.

She looked up again, to the lone white wolf lying a few feet away, already watching her. The animal tilted his head to the side as if in contemplation and blinked three times.

“Are you okay?”

—----------------------------------------------

Sound was the first thing to return to you, hurried, hissing voices coming from somewhere around you.

“I swear on the Cauldron I'll have their heads on spikes as ornamentations for your throne.” A low, deep growl laced with intent. You recognized Azriel’s baritone voice from beside you.

Violet and blue-ish gray greeted you when you finally opened your eyes, immediately recognizing the Town’s House living room.

What in hell had that been? It occurred to you that you had dreamed about her before, the female, recognized the same lemon verbena and crackling embers scent from previous dreams, although never catching a full look at her. Who was she? Was she in danger? Was this a warning?

Frowning you propped up to your elbows to sit, back resting against the couch’s armrest. Feyre gave you a soft smile, sitting down next to your legs.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, worry staining her features.

“I'm fine, just a little dizzy.” You craned your neck back to look at the male standing behind the couch, one of his shadows slipping away to caress your cheek before returning to his master. “What happened?”

Azriel's honey gaze settled upon you, shoulders sagging a bit from relief at the sight of you awake. “You were unconscious for a few minutes, I flew us back here and called Rhys. I didn't know what to do. Are you sure you're ok?”

“Yeah, I'm alright. Thank you.” You tried to smile softly but barely managed to slightly lift the corners of your mouth. He nodded, unconvinced. After a moment to cringe, you added, “Whose head are we having on spikes?”

Silence.

Rhys cleared his throat. “Your brother’s and Damien’s.” Suddenly the room’s temperature dropped. Feyre shifted uncomfortably in her place. We hadn’t openly discussed the situation yet. “If this is a side effect of whatever they did to you, we need to find the–”

“It 's not.” you interrupted him.

It wasn't like you didn't want to find them and finish what had started two centuries ago. But it was your fight, you didn't wish to trouble your family with it. Didn't want Rhys particularly involved out of anyone, he was the reason they came back. Albeit unbeknownst to him. They still lusted after his crown, his throne, they wanted vengeance. Your blood as well as his.

Azriel stared at you, contemplative. You could sense he wanted to ask more but was debating whether it was pushing a boundary or not. It was all new to the two of you, too fresh to know what was appropriate.

Fidgeting with your entwined fingers on your lap, you decided to offer some truth. Even if they didn't believe you, even if it sounded crazy.

“This has happened to me my whole life. It doesn't always knock me unconscious, most of the time it's just dreams.”

Rhys frowned but it was Azriel who asked, “What sort of dreams are those?”

“I can't fully explain because most of the time I don't understand them. But it is almost like my mind goes somewhere else, like I share one consciousness with another. A female. Though I haven’t figured that out until tonight. I've seen scraps of her mind, and the places She's been, but I don't know her face.”

You could practically see the engines in Feyre’s mind working. She had stayed silent for most of the interaction, paying careful attention to each word.

“And what happened in this…dream? What did you see?” asked Rhys this time.

“Not much, she seemed to be in some sort of mausoleum? It was barely lit, few candles here and there. It had to be some isolated place next to the sea, I could hear waves crashing against rock. The air was thick and musty. There was a wolf with her.”

“Do you think it is possible you're dreaming about someone in the Summer Court?” Azriel caught your attention once more.

“I don't know, could be. But it feels off. There were chains on the walls…and an iron coffin. But she was alive, I think. Maybe she’s a prisoner?” You turned to Feyre then. “You’ve been there when stealing the Book of Breathings, does this sound familiar? Some place you may have seen?”

She shook her head. “No it doesn't. That doesn't mean it does not exist, I didn't get to see much of the Summer Court. But why would Tarquin keep an iron coffin?”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I don't know, it doesn't make sense. Why would I be dreaming of a female in the Summer Court? How do I relate to that?”

“What if they're not dreams, per say, but visions? Like Elain's…” she pursed her lips, deep in thought.

Azriel tensed beside me, I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. I hadn't seen Elain around that much after Solstice night, coming to think of it. Does he think it's my fault?

“Hadn't thought of it that way. Honestly, I read too much, since I was a kid. I was convinced my mind made it all up until it started to happen during day time. But either way, I don't think this is the case. I mean, nothing that I dreamt of has happened, and if it did, it didn't involve any of us. So we have no way of knowing about it.”

“It still bugs me. There has to be some explanation to it. It clearly affects you, I don't believe it's normal that these dreams cause you nosebleeds and make you pass out. What if it gets worse?” Rhys pointed out.

“Beats me. I know as much as you do.”

“We’ll have to look into it. Whatever this is, and whoever that person may be. Is there something else you remember?” Azriel's brows were pulled together tightly, but his eyes were gentle when he settled them upon me.

“I just…one time I recall feeling her, here in Velaris. I — she— saw you two.” You pointed to your high lord and lady. Rhys stilled. “But it was like she was falling from the sky, or rather falling through. You were pregnant with little Nyx.” You told Feyre and turned your head to look at Azriel. “I don't remember much about it. I must have passed out, you found me in the hallway shortly after.”

Azriel gave a tense nod. “I remember you lying face down on the top of the stairs, your books thrown all over the place. Your nose wasn't bleeding though, I thought you were drunk.” he said apologetically.

I shrugged. “You didn't know, and I couldn't explain either.”

“If this is a person that's been here without us knowing, then we must start to investigate immediately.” Rhys cut in.

“But where do we start?” I asked.

“I'll see if the wards of Velaris had been tampered with, for starters. Maybe we can find some imprint of magic. In the meantime I’d say you learn about bonds and connections, how they work, check your mental shields. If you have access to her mind then there's a possibility she has access to yours, there has to be a link somewhere.”

“Alright, I'll start to look into it right away. There has to be something in the library about mental connections.”

“You should rest now.” Azriel placed a hand on my shoulder. “I'll help with the research tomorrow. We can go to the library after training the Valkyries. If that's okay with you.”

You nodded and relaxed a little. Ignoring the warmth that his touch had spread across your back.

“Yeah, it's fine. Tomorrow then.”

—---------------------------------------------------

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