#I've dreamed about it for so long I didn't even realize it never happened | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

130K people were victims of a chain letter scam that affected Tumblr in May 2011.

#I've dreamed about it for so long I didn't even realize it never happened

soobnny · 9 months

Text

ten things hwang hyunjin says when he thinks you’re asleep — fluff, established relationship, a twitch of angst

just released a lee know long fic if you guys are interested to read! :)

one. it's been exactly a year since i picked up my paint brush again. god, i still remember when i thought i'd forever let go of art. i've learned to trade my dreams for security anyway, there was no point in indulging in something i had no future in. but then i met you, and i will never forget the moment i realized i was in love with you. that night, i painted until the sun was up. thank you for inspiring me again, my muse.

two. you hold light wherever you go, did you know? that same light you see in others lives inside of you too. i will make sure you know that, even if i have to tell you every day.

three. i think you look prettiest when you laugh and you think no one's looking at you. it always fills me with a warmth i've never known.

four. you make life so achingly beautiful for me.

five. ah, i feel so sentimental tonight. i guess, it's just the thought that years ago, i had my heart broken and i thought it could never get better from there. but you helped me make it whole again. maybe all that heartbreak was always meant to point me to where you are. thank you. thank you. thank you.

six. the loud voices in my head are a little quieter now. i think it's because of you.

seven. remember when chan had convinced us to go hiking with him and his significant other? oh my god, that was a disaster. and i know we said we'd never do it again, but some part of me wants to. maybe it's for the view, or the way you looked when we finally reached the top. you looked so beautiful. i really did feel a great deal of comfort being with you where the whole world didn't know. i didn't even think about the exhausting hike back. just that you were there, the only thing that makes sense to me, beside me. you said you hated it because you paled out, but beautiful things pale out—the sunrise, flowers, you. you’re the most beautiful of them all.

eight. i hope you love me as much as i love you.

nine. you will always have me. please don't ever doubt how i feel for you. i will always choose you, over and over and over again, in every lifetime. without doubt, without hesitation, without second thought. i will always choose you. again and again and again.

ten. i can't believe i've finally found the love i've been yearning for all my life. thank you. i love you. i'm a better person because of you. meeting you was the best thing to ever happen to me.

2K notes · View notes

astridthevalkyrie · 1 month

Text

xavier thinks you're cruel when you smile. everything about you is different, to the point where it feels like you're just a whole different person sharing the same face as the woman he knew. but then, when he met you as a lightseeker, he'd thought the same thing, that you were nothing like his best friend who didn't have any grand dreams of becoming a grandis knight, and only thought of living today to the fullest because she knew she would not see tomorrow. and then he'd fallen for the woman sacrificing her blood, sweat and tears just so that she could be claimed as his. and as predicted, he's fallen for you for the third time now, and he realizes that your personality could change a million times over a million lives, and he will love you more and more each time he meets you. because no matter what you do and no matter what you are trying to be, your smile blinds him each and every time. and that is what he finds cruel, because it must be cruel to make him fall for that smile again and again and again, and surely there is a limit to how many people one man can fall in love with. perhaps he's the exception, or perhaps it doesn't count because you are still one person. either way, it is torture, torture in its sweetest form that he could never hate you for, because you are not actually cruel, you are far kinder than he deserves.

"mister deepspace hunter," you sing, poking his cheek with a chicken plushie, "you can't sleep, we've only seen two movies."

"how many more are there?"

"three more in this series, and then we start the next fantasy series."

"you're insane," he says sweetly, burrowing further under your favorite blanket.

with a giggle, you lay your head down on his lap, hair splayed out on what he deems is your rightful pillow. "it's not a movie night if we don't stay up the whole night."

he's about to tell you that both of you need sleep, that it's not healthy to stay up this late or to pull all-nighters, but then he gazes down to where you're grinning up at him, and his heart stops for a second, because you are so, so, so beautiful, and he's gone.

sleep can wait another day.

zayne thinks you're cruel when you speak. you are reserved around him, and while he never thinks you should limit yourself, least of all on his behalf, maybe this is the most merciful path you can take. because once you do start speaking, once you place your hand over his across whichever table at whichever restaurant to go off on an excited ramble about your latest endeavor, everything else fades way. and it is cruel, to make him lose control all of all senses aside from sound. it is cruel to metaphorically force him on his knees to bend and dance to the sound of your voice and your voice alone. it leaves him vulnerable, to pain, to betrayal, to any and every harmful thing that could possibly be surrounding him, when he cannot observe, when he cannot fight, when he cannot be, while you are speaking. when every individual word you speak has its own unique significance, and he would not be able to kill anyone who interrupts you because he would not even realize it happened, too entranced by the spell you cast. he is not his own in those moments, he only belongs to you. and thankfully, nothing does befall him, because you are not actually cruel, you are far kinder than he deserves.

"what do you think?"

he pauses, hand in yours as the two of you walk, blinking at you a few times. "what do i think?"

"yeah, you, doctor," you tease, squeezing his fingers. "what do you think? i've been talking your head off for five minutes."

he is not jarred because he hadn't been paying attention, on the contrary he'd been hanging off your every word. his opinion simply does not matter as much in his eyes.

"i agree with you," he says, enjoying the way you beam at his concurrence, "but what did you think about the other article?"

predictably, you take the bait and launch into another long rant, and he wills this topic to last forever.

rafayel thinks you're cruel when you sleep. so, so soundly you sleep, sometimes in his own bed because he offers it to you like a fool. you look beautiful when you sleep, which is half the problem, and he knows that it is all sorts of wrong to find you beautiful when he's also paralyzed because of how similar your appearance is to death. from a distance, he could never tell the difference. it is only when he is next to you, holding your slack wrist in his hands, that he can breathe easier by pressing his fingers to your pulse. and he is terrified that one day he won't feel it, because it has happened before. one moment you were there, alive and well and his, and the next you were in his arms, lifeless and limp and somehow still beautiful. so there is no way for him to calm his racing heart when he sees you asleep, and the reason it's cruel is because he knows he cannot disturb you. not you, who works so hard and needs your sleep more than anyone else. he cannot ask you to sit up and breathe and laugh and show him that you're still alive. even though he knows you would should he ask, because you are not actually cruel, you are far kinder than he deserves.

"hmm." your eyes are bleary as they blink awake, hardly aware of where you are.

he slides his arms around you from behind, hiding his face in your neck. "you can go back to sleep, was just making sure you were still alive."

a quiet huff escapes you, clearly annoyed at being woken up for such a ludicrous reason. "don't be annoying."

he wasn't trying to be, this time. "okay," he whispers, "sorry."

you turn all of a sudden, shifting in his arms until you're facing him, with a light glare. another apology is on his lips when you crossly tell him, "i was kidding. you're not annoying."

"i can be. sometimes," he admits softly.

"no." you press a deep kiss to his lips, and he understands now why some humans would rather choose to drown under the sea instead of going back to the surface. "you're not annoying. you're never annoying. i love you. okay?"

his voice is choked the next time he speaks, with your face hidden in his neck, soft puffs of air on his neck letting him know that you're still breathing. a tear runs down his cheek.

"okay."

677 notes · View notes

literaila · 3 months

Text

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

mypoisonedvine · 4 months

Note

NEED to read zemo/bucky/reader and I feel like you would nail it!!!! maybe with 98?? LOVE YOU J.D!!!!!!!!

oh my god I haven't written a threesome in SO LONG and of course this turned into a whole oneshot UGH. oops

98: "what happens next in your fantasy?"

warnings: smut (18+ ONLY!!!), threesome, oral m and f receiving, spitroast, overstimulation, hair pulling, slapping, degradation and praise, brief mention of smoking?, basically just nastiness with almost no plot at all!!

word count: 4.4k

100 random prompts - send me a number and a character!

"I shouldn't have said anything, okay?" you whined, hoping he'd drop the subject-- and Zemo walked in right then, which seemed like the perfect opportunity to change the topic.

"What shouldn't you have said?" Zemo pressed, and you sighed.

"It's-- it's nothing," you shook your head, "I just had a really weird dream last night."

"About?"

You wanted to end it there, but Bucky had to chime in, of course. "Let's just say, this dusty old apartment was getting to see some action for the first time in a few decades," he informed Zemo proudly, who smiled knowingly and continued his walk to the kitchen.

"Ah," Zemo nodded, "I see."

"I swear, I've never had a dream about you like that before," you explained to Bucky.

"I wouldn't take it too personally, James," Zemo suggested as he poured himself some tea. "The subconscious is a completely unpredictable place. We can dream about almost anything, whether or not we desire it in waking life."

"Well, see, that's the weird part," you admitted, shifting nervously in the chair as Bucky stared at you. "You were there, too."

That took his attention away from the tea, certainly; he set down the kettle and came back into the sitting area, leaving his cup behind. "Still, many people believe dreams have meaning... I happen to be one of those people," he added.

"You didn't mention that before," Bucky frowned at you.

"Well, I was going to..."

"I was there, doing what?" Zemo pressed.

"Sitting in the corner reading Machiavelli," you joked. "No, you were, you know... part of it..."

"How was it?" Zemo asked instantly, getting yours and Bucky's eyes on him then.

"Huh?"

"In the dream, having both of us," he clarified, "did you enjoy the experience?"

"U-um, I mean, I don't really remember..." you coughed.

"I don't think that's true," Zemo grinned. "You're wearing it on your face now— is that why you couldn't look at me this morning in the hallway?"

Your face got warmer. "Do I normally look at you?" you deflected.

"More than you realize," he answered cryptically.

"So, it was good," Bucky assumed. "It's obvious, you can just admit it."

You did hesitate, biting on one of your nails, but you nodded, and they both smiled. "Yeah, it was... it was really good..."

"Which one of us was better?" Bucky wondered. "It was me, right?"

"You were... I don't know, you were just different," you shrugged.

"Ugh, that's such a cop-out," Bucky rolled his eyes. "Don't be afraid to hurt his feelings."

"No, really— it's hard to compare," you insisted. "You were sort of, you know, sensitive and... patient, and you—" you looked at Zemo— "were kind of... intense."

Zemo smirked. "I've been told that before, actually. I mean, by people who got the real experience."

Bucky looked with a concerned expression over his shoulder at Zemo. You found yourself biting your lip for a moment.

"I know you won't answer this question, but I have to ask," Zemo began, "did you climax?"

"Oh god," you whined, hiding your face behind your hands.

"See? She did," Zemo smiled, maybe wider than you'd ever seen. "Perhaps even more than once."

"Please shut up," you groaned.

"Holy shit," Bucky smirked, "you really liked it, huh?

"What do you say, James?" Zemo prompted, looking at Bucky, and making you get a little wide-eyed. "Shouldn't we give the girl what she wants?

"Isn't that, uh— I mean, wouldn't that be... weird?" Bucky stammered, cheeks flushing.

"You're so sheltered," Zemo mocked with a small laugh. "Sharing a partner is very thrilling when the correct amount of trust is involved."

"Wait, wait— it was just a dream, I wasn't, you know, suggesting it," you explained nervously.

"I know," Zemo replied, "I am."

There was a tense pause, where all you could hear was your own beating heart.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Zemo offered, “I know it’s a strange thing to say. Just come here, darling.”

Though your legs were shaking, you got up off the chair and approached him slowly. He met you in the middle, reaching up to quickly caress your jaw when you were close enough. Bucky seemed to watch the whole thing in disbelief. “I-I’ve never—” you began.

“It’s alright,” Zemo assured you softly, “I won’t judge you, or mock you— there’s nothing wrong with what you want.”

You nodded slightly, another form of silent permission, and he leaned in to kiss you— gentle at first, but strong enough to make your knees feel a little weak. He deepened it quickly, putting a hand at your waist as his tongue began to tease your lips… but just when you pressed into him, ready for more, he pulled away. He smirked at the way you leaned forward for a moment, but then he looked over at Bucky— you couldn’t quite read his expression, perhaps a bit of disbelief and… more than a decent share of arousal.

He stood up, and stepped up to you two, and you could tell he was in over his head— but you pulled him closer by his shirt, sighing as your hand felt his chest through the black fabric. “I— I’m not sure how to—” he mumbled.

“Me either,” you smiled, “just kiss me, Bucky…”

He did, though he seemed slightly less confident about it. What started as a shy and soft kiss turned into something more almost instantly— something hungry. He pulled you closer by your waist, he slipped his tongue into your mouth; it was clear, somehow, that he had been waiting for this chance for longer than you realized.

You gasped into Bucky’s kiss when you felt Zemo’s lips on your neck. There were four hands on you, running over your body, and you were struggling to keep track of which belonged to who…

Zemo pulled you off of Bucky and spun you around, kissing you roughly again. He was less careful this time, and he was reaching up under your shirt as well; you whimpered a bit, arching your back instinctively and pushing your ass into Bucky’s— oh fuck, he was hard. You couldn’t believe how worked up you were already.

Zemo groped at your chest, purring as he tweaked a nipple between his fingers. You whined and pressed your legs together, feeling him smile before he broke away to look at you with a sparkle in his eye.

“So sensitive,” he praised as he pushed your shirt up to get a good look at you; he sighed at the sight, both hands cupping your breasts and massaging them carefully. “You’re so beautiful…”

When his hands moved down, Bucky’s took their place; you shivered a little at the metal hand’s cool touch, but it was actually more of a relief than anything considering how hot you’d become. He was a little more aggressive with the way he touched your tits— if not quite rough. He was panting in your ear as he held and rubbed them; and Zemo was already pulling your pajama shorts down, exposing you even further… god, why did it turn you on so much.

“Look at you,” Zemo praised with a sigh, running his hands up and down your body. “I know you must be so wet already, darling, look how desperate you are… you’ve been wet since you woke up from that naughty dream, haven’t you?”

You didn’t have to answer— he was already putting his hand between your legs, exploring your folds, both of you groaning at how slick and sticky you were. “Fuck, I can hear it,” Bucky noticed, and you clenched inside as he said it.

Zemo gently pushed a finger into you— but you were so wet it didn’t even feel like a push, it felt like your hole just sucked him in. He was looking right into your eyes as he did it, but that was a little too much to handle for you, mentally, so you let your eyes fall shut just before he slipped the finger back out again.

"Feel inside her, James," Zemo encouraged, "she's so warm."

Bucky sighed, rubbing his fingers around your entrance. "I-I'm going to," he mumbled in your ear, "but... not 'cause he told me to or anything."

You whined when two vibranium fingers pushed inside you, making you lean back against Bucky while Zemo’s hands pushed your shirt up even higher, giving him better access to put his mouth on your tits. “F-fuck,” you sighed, putting a hand on the back of Zemo’s head as he swirled his tongue around your nipple— he was incredibly, annoyingly good at that, but then again, so was Bucky with the way he gently opened you up with his fingers. “Oh my god, just like that,” you panted.

“Who are you talking to?” Bucky wondered.

“Both of you,” you whined, “fuck, don’t stop.”

Zemo moved his mouth to your other nipple, suckling harder at it, making your hips rock on Bucky’s fingers; and Bucky growled approvingly, starting to thrust them a little more confidently inside you. “I can’t believe you didn’t soak through those shorts, doll,” Bucky whispered in your ear, “you’re drenched. You wanted this that bad?”

You could only nod dreamily, too lost in the feeling.

Though you weren’t sure how they coordinated it, they both stopped touching you at the same time; you whined quietly, clenching inside as you longed for either of their fingers to fill you again.

“Take the rest of it off,” Zemo instructed you— but it wasn’t too firm, more just a… friendly suggestion. “Let us see all of you.”

Stepping out of your shorts that had fallen to the floor and pulling your shirt up over your head, you tried to fight the urge to cover yourself— after all, here you were naked in Zemo’s living room, with two fully clothed men eyeing you up and down. It was hard not to feel… scrutinized.

"What happens next in your fantasy?" Zemo purred.

"I-it's not my fantasy, it was just a dream," you insisted.

"Then let me ask you another way: what happens now?"

Instead of answering with words, you simply sank down to your knees in front of them, keeping eye contact with Zemo as you started to open his belt.

The smug look on his face should’ve driven you crazy, but it only pushed you further; Bucky, thankfully, seemed to get the idea of what was going on and began to open his belt and jeans for you. You loved his eagerness, even if the way Zemo seemed content to just let you do all the work was a turn-on, too.

Soon enough, there were two hard cocks in front of you. Just the idea of that was already intimidating— but both of them, at eye-level, was actually nearly overwhelming. You took hold of them both, stroking slowly to try to wrap your head around this as easily as you could wrap your hands around them.

Not sure where to start, you did a mental coin toss and found yourself leaning towards Zemo first, wrapping your mouth around his tip and letting your eyes fall shut. Zemo hummed, pushing your hair back as you bobbed your head. You only sucked him for a few seconds before switching over to Bucky, though you tried to keep a hand stroking each one while you moved back and forth.

It felt filthy and strange and surreal, but your biggest concern was that you were going to get so wet you’d start dripping onto the floor or something.

Yes, you’d watched porn like this before, but you never really thought you’d end up doing it— especially with these two. You felt pretty comfortable assuming they never thought this would happen, either… but they got into it shockingly quickly: soon, you weren’t even the one deciding where you went, they simply got more and more impatient and began to guide you back and forth. You blinked your eyes open a few times to look up at them, but in the end you found yourself totally lost in it, just leaving your mouth open them and letting them take turns fucking it until you weren’t sure who was who anymore.

Not much was said (least of all by you, with your mouth full) aside from a few mumbled curses here and there— except for one moment, where Zemo seemed to mutter to Bucky: “I don’t think she expected to like this so much.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. You were drooling, with tears striping your face— a side effect from repeatedly choking on both of them— and you were nearly desperate enough to rub yourself

Though you weren’t sure how or when Zemo had gotten in your head like this, you had to admit it was convenient right now; “You want more, don’t you?” he noticed, and all you had to do was nod before they pulled you up to your feet. Zemo bent you over quickly, before you’d even really found your balance, and stood behind you.

You gasped as Zemo’s cock slid inside you suddenly, holding on tight to Bucky’s arms for balance— immediately you were rocked forward with hard, needy thrusts.

“God, she’s so fucking wet,” Zemo hissed. You hadn’t really heard him talk quite like that before…

You groaned at the feeling, amazed at how easily he fit inside, but clearly all the anticipation had prepared you well. Bucky only let you have a second to adjust before he shoved your head back down and pushed his cock into your waiting mouth. You were happy to oblige, though, and sucked him even more eagerly than before with fast bobs of your head and more pressure from your tongue.

Bucky’s fingers tangled into your hair, and his hips pushed forward to fuck deeper into your throat; you heard him groan, but it was muffled as he bit his lip. You gagged, and they both moaned lowly. “I can feel when you choke on him,” Zemo informed you with a grunt, “your little cunt squeezes me tighter.”

It must have been Zemo’s hand that slid up your spine and held onto your shoulder— it must have been Bucky that reached down to feel your tits— but if was your hand that ended up between your legs, rubbing your clit quickly simply because you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

“So desperate,” Zemo mocked— or praised, maybe? The difference was hard to define. “You want to come?”

You hummed in agreement around Bucky’s cock, before he forced you to choke on it again. You never expected him to be so aggressive, nor how much it would make you crave even more.

“If you want a turn with her, James, you’d better take it now,” Zemo offered, voice thin as he tried to catch his breath. “Any more of that and I won��t be able to stop myself again.”

Bucky roughly pulled you off of Zemo and sat back on the couch, turning you around to face away from him and pulling you into his own lap; that doll nickname felt a bit more literal when he tossed you around so easily.

You gasped as Bucky slid inside, and moaned as you realized you could so easily feel the difference between them. “Fuck!” you cried out loudly, louder than you really meant to, as Bucky instantly began bouncing you on top of him; you were trying to move with him, but he was so much stronger and basically just using you however he wanted… it made you moan even more and roll your eyes back in your head as you realized that. “Fuck, Bucky, oh my god—”

“See how much louder she screams for me?” Bucky grinned.

“That’s because her mouth isn’t full this time,” Zemo countered with a laugh. “That can be corrected.”

Bucky was certainly much more… impatient in the way he fucked you; Zemo, meanwhile, was as controlled as ever as he guided you to lean forward, gently opened your mouth, and slid just his leaking head inside. He purred as you suckled at the tip, looking up at him with watering eyes.

“Can you taste yourself?” Zemo asked you with a smile, humming when you nodded around him. “You really soaked me, darling— I expect you to be a good girl and clean all that off.”

You moaned at the praise and took him deeper into your mouth, using your tongue to lick up every drop of your own wetness off of him. You surprised even yourself with how shameless you were, pulling your mouth off to run your tongue over him instead, moaning as you licked him clean.

Bucky fucked up faster into you until you could barely focus on the task before you, but you still found a way: you kept Zemo’s cock in your mouth and let him hold your head, keeping you steady while Bucky moaned louder and thrusted harder.

You moaned more and more around Zemo until he pulled you away and you gasped instantly. “Tell me how it feels,” he demanded harshly, holding your head up by your hair.

“So good,” you yelped, “it’s so fucking good!”

He surprised you with a slap across the face, but you moaned right away. “Fucking whore,” he spat. “Look how badly you need to be treated. You want to come, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, “yes, fuck, please—”

“Well, James,” Zemo hissed, “aren’t you going to help her?”

Bucky sighed and moved one of the hands on your hips down between your legs, rubbing you quickly and harshly. Your thighs were shaking instantly; actually, pretty much all of you was shaking.

“She’s coming, James, don’t stop,” Zemo barked out another order, holding you tight by the jaw and looking right into your eyes. “I want you to come until you can’t possibly take it anymore,” he explained with a growl, “don’t tell me to make him stop until then, is that clear? Show us how much you can take, nothing less.”

You nodded as best you could with him holding onto your face, and tried to lean in to put your mouth on his cock again, but he held you there.

“No,” he corrected, “I’d rather get a good look at this.”

Bucky’s hand on your clit was relentless, the pressure almost too intense for you to take— but you had to take it, you had no other choice. It started off almost slowly, a gradual descent into the numbing pleasure of your orgasm, but it didn’t stop; Zemo already made it clear he wasn’t going to let it stop until you were at your limit. Your moans were shaky and broken from how hard Bucky was fucking you, and your eyes were rolling back already but you could’ve sworn you heard Zemo chuckle at the sight of you. Did you really look that fucked up?

“Good girl,” he purred, “keep going. You can take more.”

You whined louder, higher, sharper; you weren’t sure how much more you really could take of this, but you wanted to do as you’d been told and not tap out until the absolute last second.

You knew you were crying, only because you felt the hot tears running down your cheeks. You heard Zemo encouraging you distantly, but you couldn’t quite make out any words, just the dark and sweet tone of his voice. You heard Bucky, too, groaning deeply while you felt his fingers digging tighter into your hips. Could he feel everything he was putting your body through?

“Fuck, stop!” you heard yourself blurt out, and instantly Bucky’s hand moved away— but his thrusts didn’t slow down. It was just the right amount of relief, and you blinked the blurriness out of your vision. It was almost like part of it didn’t even really hit you until then, until the aftershocks reverberated through your body.

“That’s it,” Zemo praised, “you’re alright, we’ve got you.”

“Oh god, o-oh god,” you sobbed, shaking uncontrollably— they were both holding you up, you would’ve toppled to the floor if it weren’t for them

“Fuck, m’gonna come,” Bucky groaned.

“Inside,” you gasped, even with how little mental clarity you had in that moment. “I want it inside.”

“Fuck,” he said again. “That’s so— god, baby, look what you fuckin’ do to me… I’m gonna come inside you.”

“Yes,” you begged with a sob, Zemo grinning as he watched you.

Still numb and clenching uncontrollably inside, you felt the way he pumped harder and harder and harder— until it slowed down and he let out the most delicious, long groan. You whined, but smiled, as he loosened his grip on your hips and relaxed under you, his moans and heavy breaths seeming to drip with satisfaction. “Fuck,” he said, one more time, deeper than ever, before falling back on the couch limply.

Zemo lifted you off of Bucky— apparently a little sooner than he was ready for, because you heard him hiss as he slipped out of you— and guided you with him onto the couch, pulling your back into his chest. He knelt behind you, kissing the back of your shoulder as watched you try to come back to reality.

“I should let you rest for a moment,” he noticed, “but you don’t want me to, do you?”

Weakly, you shook your head.

He moved in closer to you and you felt his cock, still wet with your spit, rub against the inside of your thigh— and even after all that, you arched your back deeper in invitation.

It made you blush when Zemo slid into you again, thinking about him filling you alongside Bucky’s load, especially with the way he groaned lowly into your ear. “You want me to fuck his come even deeper into you?” he taunted, and you whined but nodded. “I thought so.”

Everything felt so… sticky, in a disgusting but sexy sort of way; you were overly-sensitive inside, each thrust feeling so good with the fading sensitivity of your orgasm still present. You leaned back against Zemo with a sigh, letting him hold you close and fuck you however he wanted, more than happy to just be his toy now.

“Look how cute you are when you give in to me. You want me to use you, don’t you?” he noticed with a groan, and you whimpered but nodded ‘yes.’ “Of course,” he growled, kissing along your neck with more and more of his teeth each time. “You want me to fuck you however I want?”

“Yes,” you sobbed.

“But this isn’t about what I want,” he explained. “This is what you wanted.”

“Oh god…”

“You wanted us both to fuck you, at the same time. One cock isn’t enough to satisfy you?”

“Not anymore,” you admitted with a sigh, and he started to thrust faster and harder into you.

It turned very quickly from slow and sensual to rough and ruthless; he wrapped a hand around your neck to keep you close as you moaned and cried, anxious already to come again. “Touch yourself,” he ordered with a hiss in your ear, “make yourself come around my cock.”

“F-fuck,” you choked out, but slid a hand over your body and between your legs to obey him quickly. You were already so fucking close, and you knew you shouldn’t go so hard on yourself when you were so sensitive, but your desperation made you really rub hard and fast in search of that growing tension. “Yes, fuck, m’gonna— oh god—”

“I know, darling,” he cooed, “just let go. It’s alright, I’ll hold you— come for me.”

You didn’t literally black out, but you did sort of… lose time, in that moment. It was like you were just floating in pleasure for a while and then all of a sudden you were laying back on the couch and you weren’t even sure where Bucky had gone and Zemo was proudly holding your legs open.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he informed you, and you blinked back at him shyly.

You expected the warm, sticky feeling as their come leaked out of you… what you didn’t expect to feel was Zemo’s mouth on your pussy, eagerly lapping it up and sucking on your clit as your eyes shot open and you gasped and moaned with surprise.

“Dude,” Bucky grimaced, “that’s fucked up…”

Zemo just hummed and took his mouth off of you, giving Bucky a confused look. “She tastes amazing,” Zemo defended, “maybe even better after our… contribution.”

You laughed a little at the description, until he leaned down and latched onto you again, making you gasp and run your fingers through his hair. “Fuck,” you whined, bucking your hips against his face. Your clit was already overstimulated, and the way that he flicked it with his tongue made you shiver all over.

Your hold on his hair made it a little easier to push him away when he sucked too hard on your sore clit; he was more than strong enough to keep going, but he stopped anyways and let you push him back with a smug, slickened smile. “You really should try it, James,” he encouraged, “you’ll only want more once you do.”

Sighing in relent, Bucky knelt down in front of the couch— yes, at some point he’d gotten off of it, and you were too high on orgasm dopamine to notice it— and Zemo helped you adjust your hips towards him so he could just dive right in.

He gave one long lick over you first, making you shudder, and seemed to get more excited and aggressive quickly as he held onto your thighs and started to push his tongue inside you. “Oh god,” you whimpered, and Zemo watched proudly for a moment before turning his head to kiss up your leg.

“Poor thing,” he cooed between gentle presses of his lips to your skin, “you probably thought we were done with you, didn’t you?”

You were on the couch nursing a cup of tea, your feet resting in Bucky’s lap on top of the pants he’d changed into after his shower; Zemo was on the balcony having a cigarette. That was the scene Sam came back to, and he seemed to notice something was off just by the way he raised an eyebrow as he entered the living room. “Hey guys,” he greeted. “What did I miss?”

“Not much,” Bucky shrugged, “just a pretty quiet morning…”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo smut #bucky x zemo x reader #bucky x reader x zemo

434 notes · View notes

princessmaybank · 2 months

Text

Wet Dream

Pairings: Bsf!JJ x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Talking in sleep, Perv!JJ, somno (?), non-con oral (f & m receiving), talk about p in v, kissing, hickies daddy kink, etc

Summary: You were having a wet dream in front of JJ.

Authors Note: I hope you like this one!

Y/N was laying on the couch, peacefully sleeping while I played on my phone, sitting in the chair across from her. Everyone else had gone to bed already or went home. Y/N and I were spending the night but she was supposed to sleep in the bed.

"Jayj..." She must be awake now. "What's up?" I never looked up from my phone, I waited for a response but it never happened. I glanced at her and saw that her eyes were still shut. She must have just gone back to sleep.

"Mmm Jayj..." I looked back over to her, but nothing. I'm assuming I'm just hearing things, especially because the room was silent for another 10 minutes.

"Mm yeah right there..." My cheeks flushed. I didn't know what to do, I don't think she remembers that I'm here. When I moved my eyes back to her body, she was still sleeping. "Yesss, jus-just like that." Was she having a wet dream..?

Fuck this is the hottest thing I've seen in a long time. But she is my best friend I can't act upon this. "Mmm" She was moaning and making some beautiful sounds. "Jayj, stop teasing.." My heart burst and my dick sprung up. She was having a wet dream, and I was in it.

My hand slowly met my dick through my shorts. I couldn't help but palm at myself while I watched her face and listened to every word she said. "your tongue is cold..." She moaned. It's crazy how well she's forming these little thoughts, but I'm so glad she's able to. I stroked myself slowly through my pants and bit my lip.

At that moment I had a beautiful idea. Was it wrong? Yes. Did I care? Not really. I walked over to her spot on the couch and put my hand on her thigh, underneath the blanket. I rubbed up and down gently. Luckily I've been around Y/N before when she sleeps. She can be a very heavy sleeper. I'm praying that's how she is today.

I flipped the blanket off her legs so it would sit on her torso. My hand went to her pajama shorts and moved them to the side, that's when I realized, she wasn't wearing panties. That's even better.

I needed to see if she was going to wake up or not so I dipped my head between her legs and gave her a small kitten lick. "Mmmm" Her moan scared me but she's still asleep, so I think I'll be okay to continue. Who am I kidding? I would've continued regardless.

My head found its way between her legs again. I started slowly licking stripes up her cunt. After a few good licks, I stopped on her clit. My lips wrapped around the sensitive bud and I sucked on it.

A gasp escaped from her lips but her eyes were still closed. It wasn't until she put her hand in my hair and started pulling, that I realized she was awake. "Fuck yes-don't stop- please..." She dragged out. It was my mission to make her cum now. My middle and ring fingers found their way into her hole. "oh fuck" She almost yelled before I put some fingers from my other hand in her mouth to shush her. "Gotta be quiet *lick* don't wanna get caught Y/N/N" I realized just exactly what I was doing when I said her nickname, but I couldn't stop now.

I tried my best to keep her quiet while pushing my fingers in and out of her noisy ass pussy. "Fuck Jayj- I think I'm gonna cum-" She said and I couldn't be happier. I stuck my tongue in her hole and used the fingers that were in there, to rub her clit in fast circles.

She was wiggling and made little shrieking sounds, so I knew she was close. I fucked her with my tongue a little faster until I felt her warm liquid spill onto it. "oh jay...." she moaned as her hand tugged at my golden locks.

I kissed up and down the inside of her thighs. Once she came down from her high, she came back to reality and gasped. She shot up, fixed her shorts and hid her body under her blanket. Y/N was all balled up in the corner of the couch just staring at me. "What? Do I have something on my face?" I wiped the side of my mouth with my thumb, clearly being a smartass.

I dodged the pillow that was thrown at my head and let out a giggle. "That's not very nice to do, especially after I just made you cum." Her cheeks turned red. "What were you doing?!" She nearly screamed. "Shhh, don't yell, we don't wanna wake up JB and Sarah." I shushed her. "Why did you do that JJ?" She questioned quietly this time. "You were begging for it!" I said and quickly realized when I saw her face that what I said came out bad. "No no no! Not like that! You were legitimately begging me. I heard you moaning my name, and you looked so pretty...I-Im sorry.." My hands flew to my face, I felt like such an asshole.

The next thing I knew I felt someone tugging at my shorts. A pair of hands moved mine away from my eyes and made me pull down my cargo shorts. "What are you doing?" I asked almost like she did earlier. "I can't be the only one to cum Jayj. Since you already made this a thing, I'm gonna at least finish you off so we are even instead of us never talking to each other again."

"You think we'd never talk to each oth-" She cut me off by wrapping her lips around my tip and slowly swirling her tongue around it. "ohhh fuck.." I rested my hand on her head and I tilted mine back and bit my lip. I lightly pushed my hand down to make her start bobbing up and down. "Mmm faster baby.." I didn't care about the nickname right now, I'm sure I'll call her some other things soon. When I asked her to speed up she did, and fuck it felt amazing. "Just like that- fuck just like that..." Y/N was going even faster, and apparently she didn't care about making too much noise...or a mess. There was so much spit on my dick I couldn't fucking think straight. This was the best head I've ever received and I haven't even cum yet. Well, I was about to. She reached down with one hand and played with my balls while the other was stroking some of my length. Most of it was in her mouth but when she needed a moment to breathe her hand had no problem taking over. "I'm almost there, fuck don't stop." My head fell back again.

"Cum for me daddy.." She said which caused me to whip my head up as I came in her mouth. It caught me so off guard, but it did help me cum. I watched as she swallowed my load. My best friend just sucked my dick and swallowed my cum...what the fuck is happening. "Feel better Jay?" She asked innocently while retrieving some toilet paper from the bathroom to clean me up. "So much better."

About 30 minutes later we were cuddling on the couch, setting up a movie. I sat up and she straddled my lap. "I think we need to talk." She said putting her arms around my neck. "I couldn't agree more." I smiled back, placing my hands on her ass. "But that's for tomorrow, let's have fun tonight." Her lips met mine. We moaned into each other's mouths as she grinded her hips downwards onto my dick. "Someone's not satisfied with my impressive pussy eating skills?" I giggled. "It was very impressive from what I was awake for, and you'll have another chance to impress me with that tongue, but I wanna see what that dick is capable of..." My eyes widened, not only did she say I would have another chance, but she also wanted me to dick her down. FUCK YEAH!

"Just gonna sit there with those googly eyes, or are you gonna take me to the bedroom and show me what you're made of bestie?" She taunted.

I picked her up and entangled our tongues once again before walking us to the bedroom.

After I closed the door we heard a loud "THANK YOU" come from John B and Sarah.

"I guess we were a little loud baby." I giggled when I set her down on the bed and crawled between her legs. "Sorryyyy" "Never said it was a bad thing baby..next time we are home alone, I promise to make you scream for me." I smirked and started attacking her neck, leaving only hickies behind.

"You're my bestest best friend ever." She moaned out as I stuck my dick in her. "Stop friend-zoning me, especially while I'm fucking you." I pushed in harder waiting for her to respond. "Fine. Fuck me harder! Fuck me until my legs shake Jayj! I'm all yours daddy!" I stopped what I was doing because she called me that name again. "And that's why I don't call you that! Fuck me Jayj!" She teased. "Call me daddy again..it's fuckin hot." I said as I slapped her ass. "Stick your huge fucking cock in me and fuck the shit out of me...daddy.."

I did as she asked. By the end of the night we were tired, sweaty, and definitely more than just besties.

#outer banks #jj maybank #rudy pankow smut #obx fic #rudy pankow x reader #obx x reader #outer banks smut #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #smut prompts

364 notes · View notes

mcflymemes · 11 months

Text

PROMPTS FOR DEEP CONVERSATIONS * assorted dialogue for thoughtful discussions, adjust as necessary

do you think there's more to this?

will we ever be free?

what are you grateful for?

do you enjoy spending time with me?

when's the last time you spoke to them?

unfortunately, i know exactly how you feel.

this can't be all there is.

i believe in truth.

why are you so unhappy?

what was your first heartbreak like?

you have to trust me on this.

believe in yourself.

what's the first thing you noticed about me?

what are you doing to make the world a better place?

do you understand the gravity of this?

i think we were meant to find each other.

do you believe in a higher power?

if you could live anywhere, where would you go?

i haven't felt this way in a long time.

what are you proud of?

if you knew tomorrow was your last day, how would you spend it?

i can't go on like this.

we have to take a chance.

i never gave up on you.

love is the most powerful thing in the universe.

every time i look at you, i see my future.

that was a life lesson. i learned it the hard way.

i can't help but think i should have done more.

do you believe in fate?

if a genie gave you three wishes, what would you ask for?

i've always wondered about that.

at what point are we good enough?

who are you, really?

if you had a million dollars right now, what would you do first?

maybe this will make you change.

things feel different here.

life doesn't make sense.

i'm not perfect. none of us are.

sure, it's scary, but we can't stop now.

it's easier said than done.

i think you can do it.

who broke you?

how do you know when you're in love?

i know that's not the answer you were hoping for.

i wish i knew what was waiting for me.

would you change anything about me?

i've never seen it like that.

we have to keep moving. we can't slow down.

you've really opened my eyes.

has anyone ever broken your heart?

this could lead us to infinite opportunities.

what would you have done differently?

i have so much faith in you.

who was your first love?

i can take care of myself.

i think you should follow your dreams.

you've changed my life in ways i can't explain.

they always said you were different.

i'm not giving up hope.

how can we make the world a better place?

i want to leave a mark on the world. do you?

how do you feel about it?

how would people describe you?

do you ever say no?

were you expecting something else?

who do you compare yourself to?

do you believe in aliens?

i'm not a child anymore.

do you think we were meant to be together?

i trust you with my life.

you are so much stronger than you realize.

if you could say anything to them right now, what would you say?

i didn't know places this beautiful even existed.

do you remember the dream you had last night?

i don't think we're alone in the universe.

love is the answer.

that's all there is.

do you love them? i mean really love them?

we can't sit around and wait for our lives to happen to us.

have you ever been in love?

do you believe in justice?

i won't give up on them.

you inspire me every day, you know.

1K notes · View notes

makapatag · 27 days

Text

realities, maximalism,and the need for big book™️

some gubat banwa design thoughts vomit: since the beginning of its development i've kind of been enraptured with trying to really go for "fiction-first" storytelling because PbtA games really are peak roleplaying for me, but as i wrote and realized that a lot of "fiction first" doesn't work without a proper sort of fictional foundation that everyone agrees on. this is good: this is why there are grounding principles, genre pillars, and other such things in many PbtA games--to guide that.

broken worlds is one of my favs bc of sheer vibes

Gubat Banwa didn't have much in that sense: sure, I use wuxia and xianxia as kind of guideposts, but they're not foundational, they're not pillars of the kind of fiction Gubat Banwa wants to raise up. there wasn't a lot in the sense of genre emulation or in the sense of grounding principles because so much of Gubat Banwa is built on stuff most TTRPG players haven't heard about. hell, it's stuff squirreled away in still being researched academic and anthropological circles, and thanks to the violence of colonialism, even fellow filipinos and seasians don't know about them

this is what brought me back to my ancient hyperfixations, the worlds of Exalted, Glorantha, Artesia, Fading Suns... all of them have these huge tomes of books that existed to put down this vast sprawling fantasy world, right? on top of that are the D&D campaign settings, the Dark Suns and the Eberrons. they were preoccupied in putting down setting, giving ways for people to interact with the world, and making the world alive as much as possible.

one of my main problems with gubat banwa was trying to convey this world that i've seen, glimpsed, dreamed of. this martial fantasy world of rajas and lakans, sailendras and tuns, satariyas and senapatis and panglimas and laksamanas and pandai... its a world that didn't really exist yet, and most references are steeped in either nationalism or lack of resources (slowly changing, now)

i didn't want to fall back into the whole gazeteer tourist kind of shit when it came to writing GB, but it necessitated that the primary guidelines of Gubat Banwa were set down. my approach to it was trying to instill every aspect of the text, from the systems to the fluff text to the way i wrote to the way things were phrased, with the essence of this world i'm trying to put forward. while i wrote GB mainly for me and fellow SEAsian people, economically my main market were those in the first world countries that could afford to buy the book. grokking the book was always going to be severely difficult for someone that didn't have similar cultures, or are uninterested in the complexities of human culture. thus why GB had to be a big book.

in contemporary indie ttrpg spaces (where I mostly float in, though i must admit i pay more attention to SEAsia spaces than the usual US spaces) the common opinion is that big books like Exalted 3e are old hat, or are somewhat inferior to games that can cram their text into short books. i used to be part of that camp--in capitalism, i never have enough time, after all. however, the books that do go big, that have no choice to go big, like Lancer RPG, Runequest, Mage, Exalted are usually the ones that have something really big it needs to tell you, and they might be able to perform the same amount of text-efficient bursting at the seams flavor writing but its still not enough.

thats what happened to GB, which I wanted to be, essentially, a PbtA+4e kind of experience, mechanically speaking. i very soon abandoned those titles when i delved deeper into research, incorporated actual 15th century divination tools in the mechanics, injected everything with Martial Arts flavor as we found our niche

all of this preamble to say that no matter how light i wanted to go with the game, i couldnt go too light or else people won't get it, or i might end up writing 1000 page long tome books explaining every detail of the setting so people get it right. this is why i went heavy on the vibes: its a ttrpg after all. its never gonna be finished.

i couldnt go too light because Gubat Banwa inherently exists on a different reality. think: to many 3 meals a day is the norm and the reality. you have to eat 3 meals a day to function properly. but this might just be a cultural norm of the majority culture, eventually co opted by capitalism to make it so that it can keep selling you things that are "breakfast food" or "dinner food" and whatnot. so its reality to some, while its not reality to others. of course, a lot of this reality-talk pertains mostly to social--there is often a singular shared physical reality we can usually experience*

Gubat Banwa has a different fabric of reality. it inherently has a different flow of things. water doesn't go down because of gravity, but because of the gods that make it move, for example. bad things happen to you because you weren't pious or you didn't do your rituals enough and now your whole community has to suffer. atoms aren't a thing in gb, thermodynamics isn't a real thing. the Laws of Gubat Banwa aren't these physical empirical things but these karmic consequent things

much of the fiction-first movement has a sort of "follow your common sense" mood to it. common sense (something also debatable among philosophers but i dont want to get into that) is mostly however tied to our physical and social realities. but GB is a fantasy world that inherently doesn't center those realities, it centers realities found in myth epics and folk tales and the margins of colonized "civilization", where lightnings can be summoned by oils and you will always get lost in the woods because you don't belong there.

so Gubat Banwa does almost triple duty: it must establish the world, it must establish the intended fiction that arises from that world, and then it must grant ways to enforce that fiction to retain immersion--these three are important to GB's game design because I believe that that game--if it is to not be a settler tourist bonanza--must force the player to contend with it and play with it within its own terms and its own rules. for SEAsians, there's not a lot of friction: we lived these terms and rules forever. don't whistle at night on a thursday, don't eat meat on Good Friday, clap your hands thrice after lighting an incense stick, don't make loud noise in the forests. we're born into that [social] reality

this is why fantasy is so important to me, it allows us to imagine a different reality. the reality (most of us) know right now (i say most of us because the reality in the provinces, the mountains, they're kinda different) is inherently informed by capitalist structures. many people that are angry at capitalist structures cannot fathom a world outside capitalist structures, there are even some leftists and communists that approach leftism and revolution through capitalism, which is inherently destructive (its what leads to reactionaries and liberalism after all). fantasy requires that you imagine something outside of right now. in essence read Ursula K Le Guin

i tweeted out recently that you could pretty easily play 15-16th century Luzon or Visayas with an OSR mechanic setting and William Henry Scott's BARANGAY: SIXTEENTH CENTURY PHILIPPINE CULTURE AND SOCIETY, and I think that's purely because barebones OSR mechanics stuff fits well with the raiding and adventuring that many did in 15-16th century Luzon/Visayas, but a lot of the mechanics wont be comign from OSR, but from Barangay, where you learn about the complicated marriage customs, the debt mechanics, the social classes and stratum...

so thats why GB needs to be a (relatively) big book, and why I can contend that some books need to be big as well--even if their mechanics are relatively easy and dont need more than that, the book, the game, might be trying to relay something even more, might be trying to convey something even more than that. artesia, for example, has its advancements inherently tied to its Tarot Cards, enforcing that the Arcana guides your destiny. runquest has its runes magic, mythras (which is kinda generic) has pretty specific kinds of magic systems that immediately inform the setting. this is why everything is informed by something (this is a common Buddhist principle, dependent arising). even the most generic D&D OSR game will have the trappings of the culture and norms of the one that wrote and worked on it. its written from their reality which might not necessarily be the one others experience. that's what lived experience is, after all

*live in the provinces for a while and you'll doubt this too!

#gubat banwa #ttrpg #filipino #fantasy #writing #rpg #gamedev #dnd

328 notes · View notes

hellcat8908 · 1 month

Text

Long Gone Azriel x Female Reader

Warnings: pure angst because I've been in a mood

Shielding your bond had become second nature, not that it really mattered if it was shielded or not. The light of it that once burned bright had been slowly snuffed out, leaving it cold and dark. Azriel had taken on more missions that kept him away for extended periods of time. At first, you had begged him not to go, but he claimed it was his duty. After a while, you realized you were wasting your breath. He'd never choose to stay. You had started sleeping in the guest room when he was away, unable to sleep in your lonely marital bed unless it was one of the few times he was home. He hadn't noticed the toll this was having on you, or if he had, he didn't care.

You were left alone once again after Azriel had rushed out for a mission in Illyria. You stared at the half eaten breakfast he had left behind. Your eyes drifted around the house, noticing how it was just a house, no longer a home to you. It used to be full of love, and now it's just a hollow shell, like you. The thought made you laugh, and the more you dwelled on your life, you couldn't help but laugh harder. You were becoming hysteric, laughter turned to tears quickly as you realized how pathetic your existence has become. You couldn't stop crying, reaching out for Rhys to send Madja.

Moments later the they are both in front of you, "sedate me!" You manage to say between sobs. Madja looks to Rhys questioningly. After he prods your mind, with permission, he gives Madja a nod. She gives you a tonic that will keep you resting for several hours. Your eyes flutter closed as the tonic takes effect. Once Rhys carries you upstairs to bed, he orders Azriel to return home. After some back and forth, Rhys shows him why he needs to come home. Once Azriel returns, Rhys tells him about the state they found you in and Madja sedating you before he leaves the two of you alone.

Azriel stares at you, wondering how it took him this long to realize the pain you're in. Madja said you'd be out for hours. He took the time to really take in how much things had changed. He noticed the bed smelled more like him than you, even though you slept in it more, or so he thought. He took in the puffiness of your eyes from crying. Each sign of pain and distress he failed to notice sooner glared at him. He reaches out to hold your hand but stops, wondering if you'd want him to touch you. He sits there in silence as he dwells on the past several months. When you stopped begging him to stay is when he should've realized what was happening. He thought about how lifeless the bond between you had become.

You started to stir on the bed, bringing Azriel out of his thoughts, "Hey, Angel," he says softly. Your eyes are still tired as you try and focus on him. "Madja gave me the good stuff. it's almost like you're actually here." You mumble before your eyes drift closed again. "It's me, I'm really here." He says as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your face. "You're away, you left earlier. Besides, you wouldn't choose me." You mumble before drifting back asleep. He sits in stunned silence at your words. The fact that you'd accept a dream of him being there before him physically being there hurt him deeply. He hadn't given you reason to believe otherwise, though, he thought to himself as he watched you rest.

You wake up later that evening to the smell of dinner. You get out of bed and make your way towards the savory scent, expecting to see someone from the inner circle. You're stunned when you see Azriel cooking with his back to you, you pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming. Once you accept that you're awake, you take a few moments to gather yourself. "Dinner is about ready if you want to sit down." Azriel says over his shoulder. "I thought you were in Illyria." You say as you remain where you are. "I was, but you needed me." You let out a laugh, "That's never stopped you before." You say. You watch as he visibly flinches from your words.

He makes a plate for you and sits it at the table before making one for himself. "I can hear your stomach growling from here. Please sit down and eat." He says gently. You hesitantly sit down and take a bite. The chicken is so tender and flavorful as you savor it. A satisfied grin comes over Azriel. You eat in silence as Azriel keeps a watchful eye on you. "How are you feeling?" He asks. "Okay, I guess." You answer. "No lingering drowsiness or headache from the tonic?" He asks. "No." You answer before gathering your dishes and carrying it to the sink.

You wash your dishes and leave them to dry in the rack. "I guess I am still kind of tired. I'm going back to bed." You say before heading upstairs, not giving him a chance to stop you. You decide to sleep in the guest room, unsure of what to make of Azriel cooking you dinner, let alone him being home. You change into knit shorts and a shirt before climbing into bed and trying to get some sleep. You toss and turn for a bit before finally falling back asleep.

Meanwhile, Azriel sits at the table where you left him. He moves his food around with his fork but doesn't have an appetite anymore. He scraped the remaining food fromhis plate into the trash before cleaning his dishes and leaving them yo dry with yours. He sat down on the couch and debated what to do. He didn't know if you wanted him in bed with you or if he should just make himself comfortable on the couch. After a while, he decided to sleep beside you. He made his way upstairs and into the bedroom, which was surprisingly empty.

He checked the bathroom, and still no sign of you. He sent his shadows to search for you while he checked the other rooms and found them empty until he came to the guest room. As soon as he opened the door, he could tell you spent a lot of time in here. It had been redecorated to your liking, and it smelled of your sweet scent. He found you soundly sleeping in the bed. This was your retreat when he was gone. He could tell how much time you spent in this room. He briefly wondered how he could miss all the signs, but then it would be easy if he was hardly ever home.

His shoulders slumped as his mind raced with more questions than answers. Would you want him to stay with you or should he sleep on the couch, would you ever be able to forgive him, if you did would things ever be like they were when you first got together. The more he thought about it, the more overwhelming it became. Finally, he tucked the covers tighter around you and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead before whispering, "Good night, angel." As he turned to leave, he heard you mumble."Love you, Az." His heart stopping at your words before a little spark of hope flickered in his heart. He quietly shut the door before walking downstairs and laying on the couch. He laid there thinking that tomorrow is a new day for a new beginning, and he was determined to fix everything.

#acotar #batboys #acotar fanfic #azriel #azriel x reader #acotar angst #acotar fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel angst #azriel acotar

258 notes · View notes

naompspsps · 19 days

Text

How they would act when you fall asleep on their shoulder

Summary: You had a long morning, and you didn't even get enough sleep so now you are very tired, But sitting with them in the courtyard during lunch break, while they talk you find yourself falling asleep, your head on their shoulder.

ft. Silver, Cater & Sebek x NB!Reader [Seperate] (+Lilia in Sebek's part lmao, Trey and Riddle only mentioned by me but they aren't in the short story)

Fluff<3

A/n: First post!! but likeee Just a lil' heads up, some parts of them may be OOC, I've been reading too much stories of them that I've forgotten how they act in the game so uh.. Srry, Enjoy tho- You may keep requesting more characters of this summary or different scenarios with different characters if you'd like, so long as their appropriate :3 (click here for my profile)

Silver

Let's admit it, He would be quite surprised but get used to it in seconds. While Silver looks at you, his attention goes to his surroundings, He would love to sleep too, before lunchbreak ends, but he's still cautious of his surroundings, Like.. What if you get taken away? Possibilities are impossible but this man has a crazy disaster of possibilities in his mind.

It won't happen at all, By the way. You're just sleeping for a while before getting back to stressing school works.

Silver's head freezes, Realizing he can't move his head too much as you were moving your head somewhere more comfortable on his shoulder and your hands hugging his arm like a pillow. Silver gently grabs your shoulder, his forearm protecting the back of your head and placing your head on his lap softly. He takes off his blazer, folding it until it's thick enough to be a pillow without moving too much to wake you up. Then he puts it in between your arms, to his surprise, you immediately respond to the folded blazer and pull it into a tight embrace. "That's cute.." Silver whispers, lightly tracing the back of his finger from your cheekbone to your jawline. "I guess a small nap with you wouldn't hurt.."

Cater

Cater would.. Be so happy that 'crushiecakes' finally fell asleep on him!! So happy that he would take a pic of him and you. #cute #staywithme #OMG #ifeelsohappy. Like, he would probably even brag it to Trey and Riddle later in which Riddle does not care, "go back to your room." will be the only thing Riddle will say. but Trey.. He will not know what to say. Congrats??

So yeah, But he would post it, half of Cater's magicam posts is literally either you or you WITH him, so He thinks you wouldn't mind if he just posted you sleeping on him.. He would take down the post if you didn't approve of that though, but.. Yeah. He posts about it.

"Oh my gosh, I can't believe this is happening- Hashtag so cool!" Cater stops talking to himself when he sees your body moving, probably from how noisy he got, but we dont blame him, he's a simp and we love it. So he just keeps quiet, not wanting to wake you up. It's both giving 'don't want my pookie to get off me' and 'I don't want pookie to wake up when they're so tired'

But, aside from all his chaotic energy, one side of him just does most romantic works as his hand creeps up to your waist, keeping you comfortable and making sure you don't fall forward. Cater looks at your sleeping face, smiling at the sight. "Gosh, So adorable." He mumbles under his breath, fighting the urge to pinch your cheeks. He places a kiss on your head, leaning his cheek on your scalp. "Sweet dreams, [Name]."

Sebek

No because he wants you to stay but he also wants you to go, otherwise others would see him with a human, when he always pushes humans away from him infront of others. But this might be his only chance.. You might never do this again because you don't realize it's Sebek you're leaning on!!

So, He just decides to give up in pushing you away and do this once. (probably a lie but who knows, what if he's good at keeping his risky words.)

Everytime students pass by the courtyard, he just randomly starts speaking like... himself. "Stupid human, Why did you even tire yourself out?!.." He mumbles in anger when another student passes by. He didn't see who it was, but it was Lilia. He notices the green haired by his angry mumbling. What Sebek is unaware of, is that he still doesn't realize that Lilia is nearby.

Sebek has his eyes on you. Resting on him so peacefully, unbothered.. How could he miss alot of these?! He's had chances with you that he pushed away, so now he wonders what he missed. His hand moves up to your head, yet it stops mid-way, hesitating. Eventually, he did it. He rubs your head slowly yet comfortable for you. "Hmph. Stupid human. Why do you have to be so cute." He says. "My, My, You have quite the heart, Sebek. Ah, Youngsters these days.. I might aswell tell Malleus and Silver of this golden moment." Lilia whispers to himself before walking off.

Author's end note: IM GONNA CRYQDJCU WHY IS SEBEK SO SOFT BUT ALSO SO AGGRESSIVE. LIKE WDYM "i feel peckish" CMERE HUN IMMA FEED YOU. then theres cater ig, this is what he gets for hanging out with kalim too much. Anddd then there's silver. Being so sweet. IWGWGDU I LOVE THEM SM /PLA

! do not repost or translate my works anywhere. do not copy or use my works in any site, Reblogs are appreciated alot though !

#twisted wonderland #silver x reader #nb reader #male reader #female reader #cater diamond #cater x reader #silver vanrouge #ig #sebek zigvolt #sebek x reader #disney twst

192 notes · View notes

jo-harrington · 1 month

Text

Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Chapter 2: Out of Character

Previous Chapter: Alternate Universe

Summary: Things are starting to get weird in Hawkins. Weird for Eddie, especially. (AKA Eddie Munson and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week)

Word Count: 9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Fluff, Angst, mention of virginity, Smut (male masturbation), sexual fantasies, brief Breeding Kink mention (I SWEAR IT WILL MAKE SENSE bear with me), Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events and characters, Lovesick Eddie, jealousy, satire, a Monkey’s Paw type situation, Cliffhanger, Meta Fiction, Eddie acts a little OOC—it’s in the title

Note: Hey everyone, we're back with hopefully some more regularly posted chapters now that my baby SMVerse is complete. Very sorry for how long this chapter is, the next one is admittedly planned to be shorter. There was just a lot of dough to knead here. Thank you to @dr-aculaaa @powderblueblood and @rosewaterandivy for their contribution to some details of the chapter. IYKYK. And they know. Especially how much it means to me.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

It goes without saying that your newfound independence had led to the most fun you’d ever had.

You weren’t afraid to be by yourself; on the contrary, it was almost like you were by yourself for the first time in your life.

That was the thing about living in a small town, everyone knew everyone else and your friends and neighbors always popped in unannounced, usually to a lot of fanfare and excitement.

There was never a dull moment with your friends.

But every aspect of your life in Port Geneva hinged around them, and now you could really focus on you. Realize that you were worth more than what you did to enrich someone else's life. Now you could enrich your own.

You listened to music you'd never heard before. What music had you even listened to before?

You ate foods you'd never eaten before. If you really thought about it, what had you ever eaten but short stacks with strawberries and sandwiches from the deli and cafeteria pizza?

You saw the world; sketched buildings and landscapes that were so different from the ones you were used to. Had you ever seen a house that didn't look like the ones in your cookie-cutter suburb? Or seen grass that wasn't perfectly manicured?

Who knew that wildflowers existed outside of storybooks?

Sometimes you stayed for a while; got a little room at a motel in a town that reminded you a lot of home and nothing like home at all. Too homesick to keep jumping around but not homesick enough to go back. You'd get a job for a few weeks--always lucking out on an opening for a waitressing or babysitting gig or something--pad your pockets, fall in love with the town and sometimes with the people there.

Then the need to leave simmered in your bones once again and you were forced back onto the road.

There was one town you were almost loath to leave. A midwest town and a goofy guy named Ed who made you laugh and called you sweetheart and kissed you shyly; he really understood you, understood the need to march to the beat of your own drum, because his big dream was to get out of his hometown too and make a name of himself.

Which is why he wasn't mad when it was time for you to go.

You'd always remember Stuckeyville.

But it was no matter; the world was yours for the taking. You'd keep going, on and on to the next destination, until you couldn't anymore.

Then one day, a year-or-so into your trip, it happened.

You'd been driving, thinking of the postcards that were burning a hole in your backpack to be sent back home. It was late, and you were tired and ready to make it to your next destination.

That's when you crashed.

December 1985

"Ed..."

"Hmmm?"

"I've gotta get up."

"Five more minutes."

"You're lying on my arm." He could feel the slight movement of something beneath him. "God, you and your big fat head, my hand is numb!"

Eddie groaned as you pushed at him and before long, your finger--cold and wet with spit--slid into his ear, rendering him fully awake and squirming to get away from you.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed as he hopped off his bed and tried to rid himself of the phantom feeling of your invasion. "Gah, ugh, gross!"

"A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do," you grinned and got up from the bed to stretch. You put your hands on your hips and glared at him playfully. "Especially when she's gonna be late. You should know how Bev is better than anybody."

Violation quickly forgotten, Eddie watched you run back and forth around his room; a satisfied feeling settled in his chest as you picked bits of clothing up to layer back on, fixed your hair, swept the fingers over the corners of your eyes to wipe the sleep from them as you got ready for your shift at the Hideout.

It was a feeling that he was quickly becoming addicted to.

How many weeks had you been dating now?

Not enough to satisfy his rapidly increasing dependence on you.

Dating.

You even called him your boyfriend. God it still seemed like such a dream to him. One he never wanted to wake up from. But it was real. You had dates and you took naps together and talked on the phone; sure it was just easier to cross Forest Hills and sit on one of your porches to chat until it was past midnight and you were dozing off, but as the cold weather rolled in, the phone was the easier bet.

Racked up a bit of a phone bill but who was he to complain?

He always paid Wayne back.

It was worth it.

More often than not he started the call with the obligatory “what are you wearing” despite having most likely seen you earlier in the night. But you, not one to leave a man hanging, would always come up with a comical response: astronaut suit, Princess Leia’s bikini and a clown nose, pajamas made out of the hide of Big Bird himself.

It was ridiculous and nothing less than Eddie expected from his favorite tv character and the one true love of his life.

Thankfully, the two of you decided that sickeningly sweet was not your style. Not like some couples. There was no you hang up first or schmoopsie pet names. More often than not he just called you sweetheart; it rolled off the tongue. And you? Called him your idiot.

Yours.

He'd worried with Paige once upon a time that he didn't know how to be someone's boyfriend. Turned out, he just had to find someone to be a friend first, then the rest just...fell into place.

And aside from some of the nerves he'd had when you first showed up in town, and the ever-present question of just how you came to be in Hawkins--

There was a knock on the door to his bedroom.

"'Right Ed, I'm heading off to work," Wayne said through the door.

"Wait up," you called out to him as you hopped to pull your boots on. "I'm about to leave too."

You stopped briefly to give Eddie a tender kiss, and he chased after you when you tried to pull away. His lips refused to part from yours, his hands found your waist to tug you closer, and his heart soared when you sighed and gave into him a little longer.

--Everything was perfect.

You gave him a dreamy smile when you pulled away, one that quickly turned into a feral grin.

"I'm gonna be late," you whispered conspiratorially. "And the old man is gonna question whether your innocence is still intact or not if we take any more time."

Eddie froze.

Well. Almost perfect.

You took the opportunity to stick your tongue out at him and reached up to honk the tip of his nose, before you bolted from the room to leave.

Once the door to the trailer slammed shut and Eddie was alone, he fell back onto the bed with his hands over his face; his head spun as he wondered how the fuck he'd gotten here. To this point. This moment in time.

Because somehow...some way...you thought he was still a virgin.

"Somehow," he grumbled to himself after a second. "You're the one who told her you were, you idiot!"

And he had.

It was a funny story; it always was with Eddie.

Except this was anything but funny.

It has been the third date and there was just…a natural progression of things on your sofa after a day out at StarCourt. Music was playing, hands were wandering; he’d gotten a bit excited and rocked his hips against you creating a delicious crescendo of moans from both of you.

Then for some reason, Eddie thought back to Port Geneva.

Besides a few sweet kisses you shared with douchebag Mark Fisher, you never engaged in any…physical show of affection. No one did, actually. There had never been anything heavier than hand holding and kissing—maybe the occasional make out—shown on screen. Which, in hindsight he should have rationalized as being obvious; it was a family show on television, after all.

Instead he’d opened his big mouth and asked “hang on, are you a virgin?”

Rather than answer, you got bashful all of a sudden; you turned the question back on him, stuttering all the while.

“Eddie…a-are you a-a virgin?”

What could he say looking into your big wide eyes and kiss-bruised lips, thinking you were nervous and wanting to fix his gaff—especially considering all the blood had rushed from his brain to his cock—but yes?

Next thing he knew you were cuddling him, coddling him, and telling him that you could proceed with whatever next step he wanted, whenever he was ready.

In that moment how could he admit that it was all a lie? That he was an idiot and a liar trying to make you feel better? That he was no bumbling, blushing virgin; he was only saying it because he thought you were.

He knew if he tried to backtrack, you’d either believe he was a jerk or that he tried to lie again to feel less embarrassed.

So he let it slide.

Whatever. Virginity was a bullshit concept anyway.

The truth would come out eventually. It just made everything a little more complicated in the mean time.

“As if everything isn’t complicated enough anyway,” Eddie huffed.

Speaking of complicated, between napping in your comfortable embrace, your kiss, and thinking of the events that led up to the unfortunate virginity confession, he was in a bit of a situation.

Stiff and aching in his jeans, he did what he always did: Eddie took care of himself.

He unbuckled his belt and quickly rid himself of the barriers of denim and flannel, then scrambled to find the bottle of lotion that he unceremoniously shoved into the drawer of the bedside table. Just like all of the other things he tried to hide whenever you came over.

Other things...including the poster of you that he'd cut out of the TV Guide.

There was a spark of desire in him—of need—at the sight of it. Of you.

"I shouldn't," he muttered as his fingers hovered at the edge of the drawer, ready to close it. He'd already found what he needed. Best just close the drawer and crank one out and be a happy camper til the next time the need arose.

"It's just...not right...right?" he tried to convince himself as you stared up at him from inside the drawer.

He weighed the pros and cons, tried to convince himself that it was a normal thing. How many other times had he jacked off to pictures in magazines, or crushes from school. Shit, he'd even done it to the fantasy of you.

But now you were real and his girlfriend. Wasn’t that some kind of moral dilemma?

On the other hand, he would just be using a picture of his girlfriend to get off. That was normal, right?

Except...well...it was you, but not you you. Rosemary Glass you. The real you just left for work. The you in real life and the you in the TV Guide were not the same. You were full of life and energy and affection and not an ultra posed picture on a page.

There was another beat of debate before Eddie made a decision.

"Fuck it," he groaned and grabbed the flimsy magazine page and then slammed the back of his hand against the drawer to shut it. If he spent any more time weighing the moral implications here, he'd lose out on the opportunity.

So, poster in one hand, lotion well-coating the other, Eddie immediately sought out his hard cock and groaned with the brief sense of relief.

"Yeah," he sighed. His tongue traced the seam of his lips and he locked eyes with yours in the poster. "That's it."

Internal debate forgotten, he lost himself to his imagination with every stroke and squeeze and twist.

You kissed on him and your hand replaced his. No, your mouth instead of your hand. His mouth on you? He knew what your mouth tasted like; what about the rest of you? It was a delicious fantasy to explore.

His eyes roamed over the dips and curves of your body; he focused on the way your legs looked in that skirt as he squeezed the base of his cock and moaned.

What he wouldn't give to rip that skirt off of you. No, wait. You deserved better than that. He would undress you carefully, show how much you meant to him, then skink into your warmth. How would you feel? Like Heaven, he was sure.

His hand moved faster now, his toes curled, as he imagined this scenario and that one. What if he fucked you in the backseat of your car? Or shit, what about if he bent you over it? Take a drive out to the quarry and have his way with you.

"Fuck, fuck," he groaned and stilled for a second, savoring the intense build of feelings, before he bucked up into his fist repeatedly. "Yeah sweetheart just like that."

He focused on that sly smile, that tilt of your head.

Would you smile up at him like that when he was buried deep inside you, finding all the ways he could make you whine and keen for him. Shit, finding all the ways he would whine for you, just like he was now. Would you ask him for more?

"I'll give it to you baby," he muttered and bit his lip as the wave of his pleasure began to crest. He closed his eyes again to savor it. Savor the fantasy of you there with him, rocking and riding the wave with him. He couldn't wait for the day. "All of it. Whatever you want. Whatever you need."

Would you let him cum inside? You'd beg for it. Beg for his cum.

"Yeah? You'd let me?" he asked breathlessly.

"Please, please," you'd whine.

"Uh-huh? Yeah?"

"Please." You'd scrunch your eyes tightly, pull him in as deep as he could go. "Put a baby inside of me Eddie."

Eddie's eyes shot open and he choked on air. He let go of the now-crumpled magazine and his throbbing cock with a shout.

Panic gripped him.

"W-what the fuck?" he panted, rapidly coming down from his high like a man plummeting to the earth with a parachute that simply wouldn't open. "What the fuck? Why?"

His mind raced.

How had he thought of that? Where did it come from? He wasn't...he didn't...he'd never fantasized about something like that before. With anyone. Ever. Not alone either. Shit, he'd even accidentally checked out a porno from Family Video once that had a pregnant...

"Blagh," he gagged at the memory and fully lost the edge of his erection. The need to come was now gone; in fact, he suddenly never wanted to come again. Not if it meant that he was going to think thoughts like that?

With intense clarity, he tried to retrace his metaphorical steps. Tried to remember what exactly got him to those thoughts, to that...well, he could hardly call it a fantasy now could he? Nightmare. But he simply couldn't fathom how it had cropped up.

"Fuck," he groaned and looked down at himself. At his softening cock slick with lotion, at the crumpled picture of you with the sparkling eyes and smile. And he was reminded of the moral dilemma that he'd encountered a short while ago.

"No," he shook his head. "Not her. Rosemary Glass. That's all it is. I just...fucked myself up fantasizing about Rosemary Glass and my mind punished me. Haha Eddie, jokes on you, got the girl of your dreams and you'd prefer a picture. That's it."

Yeah, that's all it was.

All it had to be.

Otherwise...what the fuck was wrong with him?

What the fuck was wrong with Eddie Munson?

That seemed to be the question of the day, every day, for the rest of the week.

Well, that was what everyone seemed to ask Eddie; friends, teachers, bullies. To Eddie, though, it seemed like everything else was wrong.

It all started in O'Donnell's history class the following day after the, uh...fantasy incident.

He was excited to show up to class.

No, that wasn't why things were wrong. He'd been passing History, working hard ever since that first study date, excited to show up and succeed and actually graduate. And that day they were due to get a test back, one that he actually studied and prepared for.

So yes, he was excited.

Imagine his surprise when Mrs. O'Donnell placed the packet face-down on his desk and shook her head at him.

"I don't know what went wrong here Edward," she tutted. "You were making some real improvements. Such a disappointment."

Eddie frowned as she walked away, and he quickly flipped his packet over to the oh-so-familiar sea of red pen scribbles and a big fat F at the top of the page.

Not just an F. A zero.

"What the fuck?" he whispered.

He might not have been a star student but he’s never outright tanked a test before. Especially not one he’s studied for.

He went over every question again and every answer, wracked his brain for the responses he knew to be true—he had several B’s and C’s on quizzes to prove it—and then read the wrong answers on the test for all of them. Written in his obvious chicken scratch with doodles in the margins just like he remembered drawing when he took the test. So it's not like someone just wrote his name on their test.

O’Donnell took pity on him at the end of class and said he could sit for the test again during his study hall, especially since he’d been making some improvement. He’d practically kissed her.

Only for him to fail again.

He burned with self-hatred at first, and then simply turned his rage on O'Donnell, because he knew all of the answers. She must have just been a picky grader.

That was it, right? She just had it in for him.

But then other things just got worse.

Jason Carver might have been a tool bag and an antagonistic bully but he’d never been outright hostile before. Not like some of his predecessors.

Not like Tommy…Tommy H.

On an unrelated note, that bothered Eddie too. He couldn’t remember Tommy’s last name. Tommy who bullied him and his friends viciously. Tommy H…Tommy Hayes? Tommy Hagan? Both existed in his mind. And yeah normally he wouldn't give a shit but what the hell? First the History test and now Tommy H?

Regardless, Jason had been especially brutal lately.

Overly antagonistic, even calling Edde a freak in the middle of class. He and the rest of the basketball team had even begun their physical assault on him and his friends openly. The jocks pushed them into lockers, spit on them, and threw things. Gareth even got a black eye when they "ran into" the jocks after gym on Thursday.

Eddie knew he wasn't well-liked, but it burned him deep inside that no one spoke up, students and teachers alike. It was all out in the open, where everyone could see or report to the faculty. Even his friends kept their mouths shut and endured the abuse.

No one seemed to be bothered though; they kept to the status quo. And Eddie wasn’t gonna try his luck with Higgins on his own.

Cowards.

Friday morning, Eddie thought he had the answer; Chrissy Cunningham—Queen of Hawkins High and Jason’s girlfriend—spoke to him in homeroom. Not only spoke to him, but made moon eyes at him in every class they shared and in the hall between the classes that they didn't.

And it was getting annoying.

“Dude, Chrissy keeps looking over here,” Jeff whispered at lunch.

“I know!” Eddie slammed his hands on the table, startling the others. He took a calming breath and repeated himself, softer, to Jeff.

“What’s her deal? Does she wanna join Hellfire or something?”

“I dunno man, something strange is happening,” he shook his head and picked at his food. “I don’t know if she’s in some…argument with Jason and is trying to make him jealous. Or if she’s just bored and is enjoying his torment of the village idiots or something.”

“Maybe she wants to buy some weed,” Gareth piped up. “Slumber party with the rest of the cheer squad. She is the Captain. It’s her job to score.”

“Nah man,” Dave chortled. “I think it’s more likely that she’s trying to score in a different way. Get Eddie to fall in love with her or something and make a fool out of him.”

The guys all started laughing and making kissy noises, much to Eddie’s growing annoyance. Every puckering noise grated something deep within him. And it only pissed him offs more when the freshman started to get in on the fun, with Mike and Lucas singing about Eddie and Chrissy sitting in a tree—

“K-I-S-S-I-N—”

“Shut up!” Eddie slammed his hands on the table and shouted, voice echoing across the cafeteria, practically silencing everyone at the intrusion.

His shoulders heaved as he glared over at the jock’s table, where a certain someone with a bouncing strawberry ponytail waved hello, even as she sat with her boyfriend’s arm comfortably around her. And said boyfriend was glaring knives at him; if looks could kill, Eddie would be done for.

His thoughts spiraled and his ears started to ring.

What the fuck was going on? Why was everyone trying to fuck with him now? Why was everything suddenly out of control in such a short period of time? Was this karma? He got one thing he desperately needed so everything else was going to shit?

Suddenly he had an out of body experience, or at least…that’s what it felt like. He watched it all happen, felt all the movements and the words fly out of his mouth but he wasn’t in control.

One moment he was sitting at the head of his table, hands tented in front of his face as he contemplated life, and the next he was standing. Standing on top of the table, actually, and while that wasn’t an unusual occurrence, it’s what he did up there that was.

“Hey Carver, you have a fucking problem with me?” He shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. “Why don’t you step into my office and file a complaint!”

His arms swept outwards of their own volition and he bowed over to gesture to the table and to his friends.

“Pretty sure my associates have a few choice words for you too.”

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck…

Jason was on his feet immediately, with Patrick and Andy quick to follow.

“What’s your damage freak?” He chuckled sardonically through gritted teeth. “Trying to have your own little David and Goliath moment? Prepare to get toppled.”

“Wait, do you think you’re David right now? You think you’re a hero?”Jeff scoffed and got to his feet, spurning the rest of Corroded Coffin to do the same, sending jeers and taunts across the room. The jocks did much of the same, name calling and shouting vicious threats.

“I’m gonna kick your ass Emerson!”

“Kick? How about kiss! Just like your mom likes to do!”

It kept going until Eddie took a few steps down the table, leant down, and scooped his fingers through Mike’s gloopy mashed potatoes, ready to fling a handful towards the enemies.

He was prepared for the worst as he witnessed it all from inside his own body, as he felt the gravy slip down his hand and into the sleeve of his jacket. An all out war, the need to protect his friends again—worse this time with the Freshman—the dread of listening to Gareth’s fingers breaking once more…it would all start once the first shot was fired.

If there was a God—or some fate writing this in the books of the universe who was just really bad at writing a fight sequence—now would be the time for them to make themselves known.

“Munson!”

Eddie inhaled the air greedily as he regained control of himself, and he marveled at Higgins' sudden appearance: standing in the doorway to the cafeteria with Coach Palmer and Nancy Wheeler standing behind him.

He’d never been so happy to see them in his life.

“Munson,” Higgins shouted at him. “Get down from there!”

Jeff, knowing what was good for them all, pulled Eddie down from the table and he stumbled on legs made weak from the rapid loss of adrenaline. Lucas passed a handful of paper napkins for him to clean off his hands as Higgins and Coach crossed the cafeteria, Coach to take care of his little minions, and Higgins to take care of him.

Despite their tenuous truce, Higgins grabbed Eddie by the arm and tugged him towards the cafeteria doors.

“Detention,” he hissed in Eddie’s face.

“My fucking pleasure,” Eddie replied desperately, suddenly a devout believer in whatever deity he had evoked.

Man, this was getting to be a habit.

As he was escorted out of the cafeteria, Eddie vaguely heard Dustin over the din of classmate whispers.

“Guys, that was weird. What’s wrong with Eddie?”

“What do you mean?” Gareth answered blithely. “He’s always like that.”

"I can't believe you got detention."

"I mean, Higgins could have expelled me. Or tried to get me to drop out again."

"I really fucking hate that guy," you muttered and reached out to grab a box from the shelf. "How about this one?"

"Seen it, fake blood is obviously fake."

"You're such a horror snob."

"Don't deny it," he whispered in your ear and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "That's your favorite thing about me."

You put the movie back on the shelf in a huff and then the two of you shuffled forward down the aisle.

Saturdays were made to be spent together; Saturday mornings specifically. Eddie would take as much time with you as he could, but Hawkins was Hawkins and there was only so much to do. So you designated Saturdays as mornings out before you went to work and Eddie made the rounds to whatever parties he could safely show his face at and make some quick cash.

You traded off on whoever made plans, and today he had pathetically suggested a movie, snacks, and cuddling on the couch, needing to find a respite in your arms after the abject chaos of his week.

He already felt worlds better, more like himself, because you listened and understood.

He ranted and cursed during the drive and you hung onto every word, only interjecting to offer gentle encouragement. You didn't pity him or blame him--well, you blamed him for almost starting a food fight and since he couldn't explain what overcame him in that moment, he accepted it--but you made sure he knew that you had been in his shoes and understood exactly how he felt.

His dependence on you made itself known when you got into the store. As much as you protested his arms latching around you immediately, he knew you secretly enjoyed the proximity and the sweetness that he lavished you with.

Hobbling down the aisles with him practically attached to you; whispered stories, jokes, and terms of endearment; and an occasional raspberry on your neck if and when you had differing opinions about a movie.

Eddie thought The Outsiders was a good movie. You preferred the book. Which was fine. You tried to tell him Rob Lowe was cute, though; that earned you some punishment.

"Oh come on, don't tell me you never had a crush on a celebrity," you snorted and squealed and tried to free yourself from his grasp. Which you did successfully as your words made him freeze. "Or like...a character from a tv show or something."

You didn't know how close to the truth you were.

He felt his world tilt on its axis as you kept browsing and spouting off names and laughing, and with each celebrity or character you named, the more he thought of Port Geneva with intense clarity.

He could hear the theme song, see the neon text of the closing card, and feel his heart skip a beat when you'd show up on screen and greet your friends "Hey guys!"

"Hey guys!" your same voice rang from the other side of the partition of tapes, same emphasis and volume and cheer as you would on tv, as you greeted Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington. "Are those new?"

"Mmhmm," Robin affirmed. "Technically they were supposed to go out yesterday for the weekend, but someone was too busy flirting with Melanie Hartford."

Steve's embarrassed trip-up over a response was overshadowed as you called out.

"Hey Eddie, come here, I think they're putting out some new movies."

Eddie took a breath to compose himself, carefully placed the mask of cool and adoring boyfriend back on, and then rounded the corner to join you.

"If it's Death Wish 3 on tape, it wasn't that goo--" Eddie trailed off as he stopped in his tracks.

He understood why Steve sounded so embarrassed.

Eddie mainly steered clear of Steve Harrington over the years; yeah he was a shithead and a bit of a bully, but especially since the Freshman insisted that Steve was a nice guy, he'd tried to put it all in the past. Best not think of King Steve and all of the opportunities and advantages that he'd gotten, no matter how good of a guy they claimed he was.

Knowing Harrington's reputation and then fall from grace over the past few months though, he wondered if Steve had ever had some unreciprocated crush before.

Because he was certainly acting like he had a crush in front of you.

A crush on you.

Eddie knew what it looked like when someone had a crush; shit, he'd felt that way plenty of times over the years. The shifting eyes, the nervous stuttering. He'd gotten pretty good at hiding it, being able to put on the cool guy front. But Steve was doing it all out in the open.

Steve watched as you and Robin passed tapes back and forth--watched you more than Robin, actually--threw a comment in every now and again. When he cracked a joke, his eyes slid directly to you, and when you laughed, he beamed brightly.

And Eddie didn't know what he was more grateful for: the fact that you seemed oblivious to it all, or that he was there to witness it and put an end to it.

He tamped down the fire that built up inside of him and closed the distance; he threw an arm over your shoulder with a cool greeting to Robin and Steve.

"I've never even heard of some of these movies, have you?" Robin asked with some bewilderment.

"I don't know, this one sounds familiar," you hummed thoughtfully.

"See that's what I told Rob," Steve interjected and Eddie grit his teeth.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Robin scoffed.

"Isn't this the girl from Legend?" You held up a video box to Eddie to show him. He couldn't be bothered to really notice the titles of the movies on display--Ferris Bueller's Day Off, The Lost Boys, Lethal Weapon--and instead he chose to press a kiss to the side of your head and continue glaring at Steve.

You turned back to Robin.

"Do you guys have Legend? I saw it when it came out but it'd be nice to see it again."

"I can show you!" Steve jumped at the chance, but Robin rolled her eyes and pushed him away.

"I've got this dingus," she waved at the tapes on the counter. "If you could finish processing these like you should've done yesterday?"

Steve huffed as you and Robin walked away, but Eddie stayed behind. He leaned over the counter, elbows resting against the edge.

"How've things been Harrington?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Uhh," Steve shrugged but pointedly ignored Eddie's eyes. "Good, fine."

"Did I overhear Buckley right? Going on dates? You finally over Nancy Wheeler," Eddie's voice got progressively louder.

"What the--listen keep your voice down, Jesus," Steve laughed nervously, gaze shifting in the direction that you and Robin had disappeared. "A guy's gotta move on. Can't be lovesick over Nance forever."

Eddie plastered a fake smile on his face and laughed heartily.

"Yeah? Gotta find someone else to obsess over?" The smile dropped almost immediately and he became dead-eyed. "Stop making goo-goo eyes at my girlfriend."

"Hey, Munson, I'm sorry--" Steve held his hands out innocently. "She just came in one day and I thought she was cute; I didn't know that you were--"

"I'm sorry," Eddie mimicked Steve, standing stiff and straight with shaking hands. "I didn't know the freak could have a girlfriend."

He reached across the counter and grabbed Steve by the vest and pulled him forward, close enough so he could get in his face.

"Don't look at her again, don't talk to her again," he hissed. "You can have literally any other girl in Hawkins, King Steve. So you better get over your crush fast."

Yeah, it was harsh, and in hindsight he should have been a little nicer about it. But after everything had compounded on him all week, it was nice to just be a raging asshole like everyone expected him to be.

Unfortunately, you had never experienced Eddie The Villain Munson.

"Eddie, what the hell!" you exclaimed as you appeared in his peripheral vision.

Until right that second.

"Let him go, what are you doing?" you rushed forward and slapped at his hands to get him to release Steve. He did, but continued to glare as he backed away and took several calming breaths.

"Hey, in all honesty," Robin laughed nervously as she returned to the counter. "Dudley Do-Right here probably said something dumb and deserved it."

"What's going on?" you ignored her and whispered to Eddie. "I thought we were just gonna have a relaxing day. You were fine two seconds ago. What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," he deflected. "Don't worry about it."

"We can just go home and hang out like you wanted; you said Wayne has some Bonanza reruns on tape. We can laugh at Hoss and Little Joe and--"

His eyes went wide; the Bonanza tapes were by the TV, mixed up with the Port Geneva tapes.

"No!" he shouted aggressively...defensively; it startled you. "No Bonanza!"

"Oh...kay."

Then your whole demeanor changed.

You crossed your arms in front of you and your eyes went cold and distant; you frowned, deep enough to create lines on your forehead and around your mouth. You suddenly looked a lot older than you were, aged by disappointment and...guilt maybe? He didn't know. He'd never seen you like that before, and he suddenly felt bad.

"Let's uhh...let's just go," you offered quickly, then apologized to Steve and Robin for taking their time.

"Hey wait, I'm sorry," he tried to apologize. "We can still get a movie and hang out. I just...I don't know...I fucked up. I'm sorry."

"No, I...I forgot Bev said she might need some extra help today. Making some changes, I don't know. I need to go in. It's my fault. I'm sorry."

"Sweetheart wait!" he called out as you walked out of the store and towards your car. He looked back at Robin and Steve, who pointedly avoided looking at him, and then huffed a sigh and followed you.

The ride back to Forest Hills was tense and silent.

Eddie knew he fucked up, knew he hurt you, but didn't know what to say or how to fix it.

"What the fuck is wrong with Eddie Munson?"

That was the question of the week, and now even Eddie was asking it of himself. Especially since he couldn't even control himself.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to you when you parked in front of his place. "I don't know...I'm just sorry."

"It's ok," you shook your head. "Seriously Eddie, don't worry about it. You just had a bad week. I need to go to work. We'll hang out another time."

"I'll call you tonight," he promised. "After work."

"Sure," you offered a tight-lipped smile. "Just rest today ok? And feel better."

"Yeah."

"Everything's gonna be ok."

"I know."

He leaned over and gave you a kiss and there was something about the way that you kissed him...that made his heart ache, and he didn't know why.

Eddie watched as you drove away, off to the Hideout to help Bev, or whatever else you could do if it ended up being a lie so you could just get away from him.

He'd fix it; he had to. He just got his wish, got you; he couldn't lose you. It would be the last straw.

He climbed up the porch steps, lost in his own thoughts, but when he opened the door--

"What the fuck?"

--all of his worries were forgotten, because the trailer was trashed.

Wayne was blissfully asleep on the fold-out bed, but there were piles of laundry on the couch, dirty dishes piled in the sink in the kitchen. Empty, crushed beer and soda cans littered the floor; honestly, there was just trash everywhere.

Eddie had only left an hour or two ago, and the trailer...well it might have had some clutter but at least it was tidy. It looked like an atomic bomb of trash had exploded in here.

If he had just been wondering what was wrong with him, he was suddenly wondering what was wrong with the universe again.

"What the fuck?"

The rest of the weekend had been spent cleaning.

Not tidying, literally cleaning.

He'd tried to ask Wayne about it all--maybe some weird trash bandit had come or kids trying to pull a prank, it wasn't like they really locked their doors--but what was even more suspicious was that Wayne didn't blink an eye at the mess.

"I work, you have school," he shook his head and tried to go back to sleep. "Chores pile up kid. That's the way it's always been. We'll get ahead of it again eventually."

And that just made Eddie feel bad; had it actually been this bad all along and he never realized it? Had Wayne done all this cleaning and housework on his own and now the weariness and the years just started to catch up? It must've only gotten worse now that Eddie lived with him.

So Eddie kept his head down and his mouth shut and tried to make it all better.

He cleaned and cleaned, and it seemed that no matter how much he cleaned, everything only got worse. The laundry on the sofa had been put away--more laundry than Eddie or Wayne really even had clothes to be honest. The fridge was somehow both empty--even though he'd just remembered to do a little grocery shopping...or had that been the other day--and full of rotten food at the same time. There was plenty of beer though. The dishes were all cleaned and spotless, only for him to come home from school on Monday afternoon to find them all to be right back again. Has they even used real dishes? Not that he could recall.

Fuck.

He complained to you on the phone late Saturday night--

"I don't know how it happened. It's like suddenly out of the blue it all just...appeared."

"Wayne didn't hold a secret party while we were out?" you asked, although your voice seemed stiff...distant.

"He just rolled right over and went back to sleep."

--but aside from some sympathy, you didn't seem to think anything was weird.

Hell, even his friends didn't seem suspicious.

"The trailer is always dirty," Gareth scoffed at practice on Monday night. "Like...no offense man, it's a trailer park, what do you expect."

It took everything in Eddie not to knock his buddy out right then and there; how many times had he told them how awful and stereotypical that kind of idea was. How hurtful people were when they found out he'd moved in with Wayne. Only for Gare to come back and spit it back at him again?

Instead he put that hateful energy into coming up with some kind of way to make you...forgive him...or love him again or something. He'd floated the idea of a ballad or some kind of love song to the guys at practice, ready to wow you on Tuesday night at the Hideout.

They hemmed and hawed but after he promised they'd all roll with advantage during the following Friday's session, they agreed and even suggested songs to get him back in your good graces.

Now it was Tuesday night. Time had passed by in a flash and he was standing at the door to the Hideout, ready to knock your socks off.

The guys were inside already, setting up, but he'd needed a moment to think of what to say to you.

He paced in the gravel, thought about his apology, thought about the song that he'd picked. The last song of the set, one he'd dedicate to you.

It would be perfect.

He mustered up the courage and walked inside, only to be hit by shock once again.

How many times could someone utter the words "what the fuck" in one week? Eddie had to be going for a world record.

When Eddie had suggested the Hideout when you mentioned looking for jobs, he'd warned you that Bev was a curmudgeon but the nicest curmudgeon you'd meet, and that the bar itself was, affectionately, a shithole. A house turned into a bar on the side of the highway, with a bunch of plywood in the corner that doubled as a stage, a makeshift bartop that was probably older than his uncle, and chipped glasses.

Now, it was almost...nice?

With an actual small, raised stage and a few spotlights hanging from the ceiling, neon signs boasting brands like Old Style and Coors--something Bev had always said was just the glitter and not the gold--and a sleek black bar with a marble top and comfortable-looking barstools. And it all had Eddie wondering if he'd stepped into the Twilight Zone.

That was it right? That had to be it. He'd stepped into the Twilight Zone the minute you'd showed up outside of his trailer and he hadn't returned to the real world since.

"Hey, there you are," you approached him from behind the bar with a tense smile. "The guys were wondering when you'd come in. I got them all cherry cokes to shut them up."

"You didn't have to buy them drinks," Eddie shook his head. "They don't deserve it."

"On the house," you reassured him.

"I'm sorry," he choked on air. "On the...on the house? On the house meaning...Bev's treating? Bev who must've secretly won the lottery or something? Look at all of this." He gestured around the bar and then lifted his feet. "The floors aren't even sticky."

"I told you that she was making changes," you shrugged, but refused to meet his eyes.

"Changes, not...a full renovation, wow." He looked around in awe, then squinted when he saw something on one of the tables. "She even sprung for printed napkins too."

"Yeah," you laughed nervously. "Guess she did. It's as much of a shock to me as it is to you. You, uh, better get the guys before they cause too much trouble."

"Yeah I should," he nodded slowly, but grabbed your wrist when you tried to walk away. "I know I've said it a million times sweetheart but I'm sorry I scared you."

"You didn't Ed, I promise," you tried to smile but it didn't quite reach your eyes.

"Can we talk maybe? After the set? Like really talk? I'll even wipe the tables off for you." You hesitated but nodded, and he gave you the briefest peck on the cheek before running down the back hallway to the little smokers exit to find the guys.

Only to find them in a legitimate green room in what he was sure used to be the storage room where Bev kept the kegs. His friends were all laid out along leather couches that sat along the perimeter of the room, sipping their cherry cokes and chatting. There was a coffee table right in the center laden with snacks and magazines.

"Man," he commented with a whistle, alerting the guys to his presence. "Can you guys believe this?"

"I know," Jeff giggled maniacally and then reached out to grab a bag of peanut M&M's. "Brand name snacks, and not the generic kind we usually get."

"Makes me feel like we're about to hit it big," Dave agreed.

Eddie tripped over his words for a second, not entirely sure that they were as astounded by the Hideout's transformation as he was, but he shook off the bewilderment to tell them it was time to go perform.

They raced back down the hall to the stage, and although the bar had just been empty when he walked in--save for you and some of the regulars slumped in their seats--there was definitely a crowd. Or the beginnings of one. A couple canoodling at a table, a few college-aged people ordering beers, and a group for a bachelorette party or something at the large booth that had been installed in the corner by the door.

"Wow," Eddie breathed out, nerves suddenly overtaking him. They'd never played a crowd like this before. "Hope they like metal."

And they did. They were head banging and once they were familiar enough with the lyrics a few people were singing along.

It was invigorating. Refreshing. Aside from the handful of people who'd been involved in the whole...record label fiasco, he'd really never experienced this many people who were excited for his sound. Their sound.

He wasn't gonna betray his friends, his band, like that again.

There were a few songs that Jeff and Gareth suggested that weren't originally on their setlist, and they really weren't metal technically, but they all knew the songs and the crowd was excited for them, so he couldn't complain.

Towards the end of the set, he felt his stomach churn with nerves again. Worse now, because it was time.

"Uh," he stepped up to the microphone, a little too close as it squeaked with feedback. "Hey guys, thanks for uh...thanks for coming out. Make sure you...tip your bartender...and her lovely assistant." He gestured over to you and a grumpy-looking Bev at the bar.

The audience clapped, even the handful of drunk regulars.

"Now uh, speaking of the lovely assistant, I...um..." he cleared his throat and looked down at his guitar. "I might have messed some stuff up with her the other day, and I know she's still a little mad at me. So sweetheart, without further ado, this one's for you. Corroded Coffin's rendition of..."

He paused. Froze.

The words were right on the tip of his tongue: All Through The Night.

They'd practiced it for hours, really making the cover theirs. They added all sorts of guitar riffs and a sick solo that ended with him sending a kiss across the bar to you. It was supposed to be perfect.

He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Corroded Coffin's All..." He shook, struggled to get the words out. "All...All My Only Dreams. Enjoy."

What the fuck? What the fuck?

He felt that out of body experience again, just like he had in the cafeteria, as his fingers plucked at the strings of his guitar and Gareth and Dave set a slow beat.

It felt like some bad knockoff song from the 60's. Maybe something he heard on one of his mom's records. But he couldn't place it.

What was this song? How did the guys know it? Why had he said that? What was All My Only Dreams?

It was certainly not metal. Certainly not music.

"Every night I pray, I'll have you here someday," he felt himself sing. "I'll count the stars tonight, and hope with all my might..."

He stared at you across the bar as the song continued, out of his control; the couple stood from their table and began swaying back and forth and you stood there behind the bar, wide-eyed with a hand covering your mouth. In shock or disbelief or pain he couldn't quite tell.

"Every waking hour it seems, I only have you in my dreams."

All he knew was, this song kept going and going and he couldn't stop it even if he wanted to. Couldn't stop himself from playing or singing, couldn't stop Jeff from harmonizing with him on certain verses.

Until the song was over.

"If I could have just one request, stay with me girl I'll confess, all my only dreams."

He strummed the last few notes, and as soon as the audience started clapping, he felt whatever puppet strings get cut, felt himself in control again.

Eddie panicked. He didn't even wait for the applause to be over, didn't thank the crowd like he usually would. He just swung the guitar over his shoulder and jumped off the stage with the guys hot on his heels.

"What's going on?" Gareth hollered after him.

"Yeah Ed, where are you going?" Jeff caught up to him and tried to put a hand out to stop him, but Eddie just shrugged him away.

"That was our best performance ever," Dave insisted. "And applause on an original song to boot."

Eddie froze as he reached the green room, and then turned on his friends, hackles raised.

"Original song." He parroted. "Original song? That wasn't an original song!"

"Yeah it was," Jeff nodded. "All My Only Dreams. You made us practice it all night last night so it was perfect."

"We practiced All Through the Night," he laughed dryly. "Are you high right now Jeff? Fuck, am I high right now?"

"Are you?" Gareth exclaimed. "Because I didn't just learn that song so you could make it up to your girlfriend just so you could act crazy like this man."

Jeff walked over to the pile of their stuff in the corner of the room, and fished a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his backpack.

"Here I'll prove it to you," he grumbled and unfolded it. "All My Only Dreams. By Eddie Munson."

He shoved the paper into Eddie's hands and Eddie stared at it in disbelief. His handwriting, again, with words that he didn't remember writing. A little heart in the corner with your name scribbled inside of it, just like he did in his school notebook sometimes.

"What the fuck..." he muttered to himself, and then looked up at his friends, suddenly lightheaded and sick.

He felt angry, he felt like crying, he felt like...like everything in the world was turning upside down on him and it was some kind of cruel joke that everyone was in on but him.

He opened his mouth to start yelling, when your head appeared behind the guys.

"Hey, 'scuse me guys," you announced your presence and Dave, Jeff, and Gareth all parted so Eddie had a full view of you.

You looked just as sick as he felt. Your face was crumpled in a terrible pensive frown, hands wrung together in front of you.

"Can you give me and Eddie a few minutes alone? While you all break down your stuff?" you asked softly, and Eddie felt his heart drop into his stomach as the others left.

You closed the door to the green room behind you and then took a few deep breaths.

This was it.

You were gonna break up with him.

The universe was cruel to let Eddie have you, only to play these games and lose you in such a short amount of time.

He was so caught up in the panic of possibly losing you that he didn't notice you talking until you were right in front of him. Your hands cradled his face and you stared into his eyes, your own full of worry.

"Eddie, Eddie are you ok?" you asked, voice edged with panic.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "Yeah, sorry...I was..."

"It's ok, don't worry," you reassured him. "It's...fuck...it's ok."

"Did you like the song?" he questioned, dumbly.

You let out a snort of laughter and then squished his face between your hands for a second.

"We need to talk," you whispered. "It's gonna be a lot. And it's not gonna be easy to hear, and I know you're gonna have a lot of questions, and I don't...I...fuck Ed...I'm so sorry."

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"I..." You looked lost for a second. "Eddie, I don't know how to answer that question. No...not really."

"Not really isn't no."

"Alright smartass," you scoffed. "No, I'm not breaking up with you. But that doesn't mean...doesn't mean that this thing we've got going on now isn't over. It's...what I'm gonna tell you right now is gonna change everything."

You helped him to sit down on one of the leather couches and then you paced back and forth, nervously chewing your thumbnail and looking for a way to start.

"This..." you began tentatively. "This isn't...real."

"So I am dreaming," he looked around for a moment. "Makes sense."

"No...you're not dreaming. It's just...well, ok, Ed. It's gonna be really hard to understand. But I'm gonna need you to tap into that big imagination of yours. Ok? Because God damn, if there was anyone I could get to understand, it's honestly you. Making up all sorts of stories and fantasies for Dungeons and Dragons.

“I’m sure you’ve started noticing things happening? Weird things, uncanny things, impossible things. And it’s making you go a little cross-eyed, a little crazy, makes you feel like you’re losing your mind because the only person who notices the changes…well it’s you. But it isn’t only you.

"This..." you waved around. "It's all real. It's a real world and we live in it. I'm real, you're real. I can touch you, kiss you. But it isn't. Not really."

He suddenly felt like you were talking down to him, and felt that irrational anger start to build again. You’d made sense up to a point. This was real, but it wasn't real, but it was real enough so he could kiss you? But somehow not real enough because you were bringing up stories he created for DnD, like it was all part of his imagination. But somehow he was also crazy?

"What the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

"Eddie," you took a breath and closed your eyes for a second. "This right now? Everything you see? This room, that song, me, and you?"

"Yeah."

"We're all fictional. We're all...in a fan fiction."

Next Chapter: Lore Dump

There is no taglist for this series, please follow the STFF Updates tag or check the series out on AO3.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #Eddie Munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger than (fan)fiction #stff #stff updates #stranger things fic

146 notes · View notes

scarrletmoon · 2 months

Text

About Powder Blue

This is going to be long. There are going to be discussions of suicide and trauma. This is going to be a bit of a jumbled mess because I can't tell a linear story to save my life. Don't feel like you need to read this, now or ever.

If you're wondering what the issues with PB were, and looking for what's next, read the indented text and skip the rest if you want!

I've had a bit of a...tumultuous relationship with the OFMD fandom. I've made close friends and lost them, made even closer friends who've very patiently reminded me of my worth when I needed that. I'm at a point where I'm still struggling, but I'm getting better. I'm still working on not being afraid. It's a bit of an uphill battle, but I'm still pushing my little boulder. I'm not alone this time, which is nice.

I entered the fandom as a nobody. I had almost 50 fics on AO3 and two had mildly popped off while I wasn't looking, but I wasn't really known for anything. I was a fandom ghost, posting my little fanfics and sharing them with the world because I just enjoyed the characters so much. Like a lot of people, I dreamed of being known for something. I thought that'd be neat.

I'm still in a state of shock and confusion that I've written anything in the past 2 years that people remember and even love. It's weird to be in a place where I never imagined myself to be. I can't stress enough how much I did not write explicit fic before this fandom; in high school, I would've welcomed a porn ban. I was afraid of my own sexuality, convinced it was some sort of monster I had to control. Convinced I was dirty. To other people my age, I was a prude, naive and childish for not being comfortable with it. So I feel for people who lash out now, who insist that attraction is actually fetishization, that if we set enough rules, maybe if we resist temptation, we'll be saved. I see you, and I feel for you. I personally don't think that's a healthy way to live, but if you'd told me that 2 years ago, I would've cussed you out. It's really a realization you have to come to (or not) on your own terms.

Anyway.

I know it's tacky to talk about your own success but it doesn't feel real. I go back and forth, reading other people's work -- and my god, there's some unbelievable talent in this fandom -- and thinking "shit, why would anyone read anything I've written? My stories are kindergarten finger paintings next to museum masterpieces". I am learning, slowly -- very slowly -- that I can't bully myself into a shape I like better. I'll never abuse myself into the kind of writer I think I want to be.

The first chapter of Powder Blue was written on a random day of the week after work. I was in a server -- the first fandom server I'd properly joined and talked in, watching a convo about how funnyt it would be for Ed to be a middle aged sugar baby -- when I pulled out my laptop and wrote for an hour and then posted that chapter to the server. I hadn't written for five years before OFMD. I had never finished a multi chapter fic. I posted that chapter and went to make dinner, and assumed the Google Docs link would get lost in that channel after a few likes.

That's not what happened.

The next few months were...a lot. My 7 year old Twitter account blew up from about 200 followers to 1000 in a matter of months. I was misinterpreted half a dozen times. Suddenly, people knew who I was and had Opinions. Some of those Opinions were Not Nice. I was told to grow a thick skin and get over it. So I figured my extreme reactions -- physical shaking, intense fear, a spiking heart rate, like I was being chased -- were just me being weak. I thought if I just sucked it up and laughed it off, it'd stop affecting me.

Turns out RSD is real and not an excuse I was using to be a baby, and it literally didn't get better until I was medicated! Wild

(This -- "I'm just overreacting and everyone else is secretly handling it better" -- has been a pretty consistent pattern my entire life, so figuring out I'm actually AuDHD has been mindblowing. If you've been wondering why you're so weak your whole life, I've got some screening tests you might be interested in).

Anyway my point is, a few things happened over the course of 2023 that brought me to a level of emotional pain I've never experienced.

At the start of the year, I was taking a self imposed internet break, after being forced to apologize for a tweet thread about Izzy, where I'd made the mistake of suggesting that fans of his should consider thinking about why they enjoy his character, but to only do this if they wanted to and ignore me if they didn't. This was taken as me being a hypocrite, and accusing Izzy fans of being terrible people. I apologized, vowed to never mention him again, and left Twitter for a month. Around the same time, a few things in a very close friend group went very wrong. I assumed it was entirely my fault for misbehaving, picked myself up, and tried to punish myself into a shape that would be acceptable for other people.

It didn't work.

Since I was now marked as an anti-Izzy bully, I couldn't say anything -- either on Twitter or in private -- that wouldn't be interpreted as me trying to start fights, as me being passive aggressive, as me trying to send covert messages for others to decipher so they could come and grovel for my forgiveness. Some of this is my fault -- it took a long time to learn than my private locked Twitter account isn't a diary. it took even longer for me to learn that maybe the people I was hanging out with weren't my people.

During all of this, I was posting Powder Blue after months of tears, pain, heartbreak, frustration and stress. I still don't understand why people write books for work or FUN. It was the most horrific experience of my life. It was valuable and so rewarding but jesus christ did writing PB take a lot out of me.

So as I felt less connected to my friends, as I was trying to hide how I felt because I thought I didn't deserve to be upset about anything (everything is always my fault, you see, and if I just behaved better, these things wouldn't happen to me), someone came to me and said they'd noticed some issues with Powder Blue. I'll refer to this person as the reader.

I was more than happy to hear them out. And it's true that I made some mistakes. The environment that I published PB in was not the one that I wrote it in. I didn't read any other sugar daddy/sex work fics as I was working on PB. PB was never a reaction to those fics. But because of those stories, which had handled things is harmful ways, there was suddenly a responsibility I'd never expected to have. I've never done sex work, I've just spent a lot of time listening to sex workers and trying to understand the legislation and environment as much as I can as a lay person. And since I don't have a personal experience with sex work, I shared my finished but rough draft with the reader, who did.

The problem, ultimately, is not something I could ever have fixed to their satisfaction. The fic doesn't involve dubious consent on a level that I think warrants an archive warning tag -- I tried to make it explicitly clear that Ed never does anything he doesn't want to, and that he's never coerced. The issue is that the nature of Ed and Stede's relationship is inherently uneven -- Stede is rich, and although he gives Ed money that's his to keep, Ed still isn't as obscenely wealthy as Stede is. Ed is poor and has been for a while. He's good at whatever he chooses to do, but he's struggling. That's a very uncomfortable spot to put Ed in. I also put Ed through some things that I've personally been through, as a way to work through my feelings and to try and better understand myself. If I was acting like Ed in real life, the reader is right that it would be concerning. But, importantly, Ed's not real. Nothing in this story is happening to a real person. Nothing in this story is an endorsement of any of his behaviours or unhealthy coping mechanisms.

I still believe the reader had good intentions -- the amount of effort they put into coming to me would be utterly bizarre for someone who was just looking to be cruel for no reason. But that also doesn't change the fact that being told I was having a trauma response and needed to stop working on the fic immediately, pushed me into the most suicidal period I've ever experienced.

That's not their fault. I'm sure that wasn't their intention. I've chosen to not try and find out who they are, or try to contact them again to respect their privacy. Some of the things people said to me, publicly dismissing the reader's pain, were so harrowing to read that it made me feel worse for ever writing PB in the first place. They were right to stay anonymous.

I'm sure the reader never meant for me to have such a massive breakdown that I took down the entire fic and left Twitter (and a few friend groups). It's been difficult to understand that just because someone didn't mean to hurt me, doesn't change the fact that I was hurt.

One silver lining is that I did go and find a new therapist. She's great! And she also thinks that how the reader tried to bring things up to me was wrong. As the reader obviously saw, I have a lot of Trauma, so I'm still not entirely convinced that I didn't deserve what happened to me. I'm not angry at them. I appreciate their concern. I just can't do what they asked of me. In the end, Powder Blue was not a story that was right for them. And that's okay.

My point in detailing all of this, is that I stayed quiet for a long time because I didn't think I deserved to tell my part of the story. I was scared that when people said they respected my choice to take down the fic, that they agreed I'd some something impossibly harmful. People trusted my judgement but I didn't trust myself. But people didn't know that I didn't trust myself.

Additionally, reader can't speak on this without revealing themself in some way. I'm terrified that they might read this and say something anyway. My biggest fear is becoming the kind of writer who sees negative criticism and pushes on anyway, or even blocks people who disagree with me. I don't want to hurt anyone the way I've been hurt.

BUT I've been holding onto this for months. I cannot write a perfect fic that will never trigger anyone. I will never write a meaningful story that won't hurt someone, no matter my intentions. There IS a way to admit you fucked up, or a way to listen and disagree, without turning into a raging asshole. I'm struggling to find that line. I'm hoping I'm making the right choice here.

And honestly, I'm just soft. I am so fucking soft. I talk a big game but I am so soft that a single person poking at my trauma caused me to break down so severely that my partner was legitimately afraid for me. I am learning that this softness doesn't mean I should become a crueler person to cope. But it's hard. There are going to be people who see this post and think I'm being a whiny crybaby looking for attention and pity. And I just have to deal with that.

Anyway. All previous chapters of PB will be up soon. Read them or don't. I will do my best to add more detailed trigger warnings. And I would personally suggest that if you're worried about any of the content in the fic, to run these worries past a friend who's read the fic, because they'll know you better than I ever will. Please don't read Powder Blue if you think it'll harm you. I would rather have fewer readers than triggered ones.

If there's anything I've missed that you think I need to address, know that my inbox is open, that anon is on, and that I'm not in the business of retaliating against people who come to me with an issue, even if they're a dick to me while they're doing it. I'm not going to dismiss someone because they weren't nice to me while they were upset. I'm a bitch but I'm not that kind of bitch.

So. Thank you for waiting for this fic. Thank you for waiting for me. We've got something like 16 chapters to go, and I can't tell you when they'll be up, or if they'll be up soon. But thank you for loving this story. I can't tell you how much that means to me, especially now.

Love,

Scarr

#scarrlet rambles #powder blue #about powder blue #this is also just a really long about me

147 notes · View notes

mcflurryxx · 2 months

Note

I want part two please! English is not my first language but I think it's well written and I love the fluff, I wanna read more 🥺

The fire we share

Alastor x fem!reader. pt.2 pt.1 <- click!

genre: fluff + suggestive

word count: 1.7k

warnings: suggestive! neck biting, bite marks, hickeys, kissing and bold touches. (no real smut included tho.) lemme know if i missed any.

Summary: After Alastor has realized his feelings for you, he's been awfully distant. He wants to keep on doing it, until you decide to interfere.

a/n: Thank you so much for the sweetest words, my lovely anon! I honestly had no idea you guys are gonna like that! I appreciate your feedback with all of my heart, yall are the fluffiest. Lots of love. (Also it took me SO long and I'm sorry if it's shitty.)

Please keep in mind that English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistakes in advance.

After that night, when Alastor returned to the hotel later than normally, the night when your heart accelerated uncontrollably at the edge of losing consciousness, you were constantly dreaming about his lips pressed to the top of your hand. The butterflies never left you and soon you've realized that your feelings might've changed drastically.

You were always trying to find the radio demon, send him one of the most precious smiles of yours and ask him how his day went. Although it wasn't as simple as it sounds. He's grown painfully distant towards you. Ever since that stupid gesture. He's been distant to the point you started to question everything you've ever done, anything you've ever said.

The sound of a subtle, yet audible scratching on the back of your door brought you out of the deep depths of your thoughts, making you stop thinking about the man who had your mind twisted, at least for a moment. You moved from your bed, making your way towards the door.

As soon as you grabbed the handle, opening the door to look out, a familiar, tall and elegant silhouette made you week in your knees. Your eyes sparkled slightly, but you decided not to say anything. Well, at least until you noticed the shallow claw marks, covering the front of your door.

"Did you do this?" You asked with your brow raised, but unfortunately haven't received any answer.

"Alastor, I said, did you do this?" You rised your voice just a bit, realizing he's not going to speak anyway. Your shaking hand reached upwards, towards his slender arm. You gently ran your fingers along the sleeve of his scarlet coat, finishing at his wrist where you stopped with a bit of hesitation.

Alastor squirmed a little, albeit he never rejected you. He hated physical touch. You were expecting him to yell at you, push you away and ask to never talk to him again, but.. None of those things ever happened. The radio demon slowly, but firmly enough, grabbed your wrist with his free hand, guiding you straight to the top of his head. You felt the delicate red hair under your fingertips. With a hint of blush, you started playing with the strands of his silky hair, stroking it softly and affectionately.

Your actions resulted in a muffled groan escaping Alastor's lips.

"Right there.." He managed to whisper despite the growing heat upon his face. He didn't even dare to look you in the eye, nor say a mere word.

As you continued on caressing his sensitive scalp, he blessed your ears with more soft groans and little gasps. You couldn't believe how cute he actually was.

You smiled and scratched him behind his ear, forcing him to let out another gasp. "Still mad at me?" You stopped your actions for a moment, getting lost in his deep, crimson eyes easily.

"I've never been!" He chuckled in his characteristic way, acting as if absolutely nothing happened, which caught you off guard. "Heavens, how could i be mad at you, my darling!" His usual grin returned to his face.

"But you.. Were avoiding me?" You took a quick glance at his hands, glued to his cane. They were trembling again. You knew something was horribly off.

"Me? Nonsense." He brushed you off completely, making you even more pissed at this point.

You took a deep breath, placing your hand on top of his shaking one. With a subtle, reassuring smile, you decided to end this shitty show of his.

"Dear, please tell me what's wrong. Ever since that night when.. W-Well, when you kissed my hand, you've been acting distant towards me. Did i do something wrong? Something to upset you?"

Your words were slow and sweet just like pink colored marshmallows.

Alastor looked down, finally accepting his defeat. He sighed, intertwining your fingers together. "My dearest, it's been hard lately. I've began feeling so weird and i couldn't understand why. Earlier that night when I kissed your hand, I visited cannibal town and took an advice from my other friend." He squeezed your hand tighter. "She told me I'm not sick or anything. And that my disease is just.."

You tilted your head curiously, eager to know the rest of the story.

"Well it's just.. Love." He let out a narrow chuckle, trying to regain his confidence. "Yet i don't know what 'love' is."

You two stood there in silence, admiring each other's presence. Surprisingly, you understood him very well. Due to your lack of experience in serious relationships in the past, sometimes even you had asked yourself what love really was.

"Alright, I know what you're trying to say. And although it might be hard for you, you have to remember I'm always by your side." You gave him a charming smile, caressing the palm of his hand with your finger. "Besides, your feelings are mutual. You don't have to be aware of what the exact feeling is, yeah? I feel the same."

Alastor felt his cheeks getting redder and redder the more you spoke. For the first time in forever, he felt truly understood.

The radio demon leaned closer to you, hovering mere inches over your strawberry lips. He wanted to do this, really bad, yet the truth is..

..he has absolutely no idea how to kiss.

You giggled with literal hearts in your eyes. "it's okay, let me do it." You grabbed his cheek brushing your thumb against it with so, so much care. Alastor closed his eyes, awaiting your next move, his entire body shivering in anticipation. You carefully captured his lips, leading the kiss and keeping it soft, allowing the demon to adjust and learn from it.

One kiss turned into two, two turned into three.

Each one was filled with furious feelings, hidden deep inside of their hearts and finally spilling out. The two held hands the entire time until they broke apart, gasping for air.

you giggled adorably, sitting on the couch and pulling the man after you. Alastor took a seat close to you, his eyes turned towards you and the feelings inside of them? It's impossible to define it and put it into words. "Now that you can kiss me..." You smiled cheekily. "Did you know you can also kiss somebody's neck?"

Alastor blushed once again, his ears twitching a bit at the thought of learning a new skill by your side. He smiled charmingly, rising from the couch. "Well, as much as i want to please you and allow you to teach me another skill, that would have to wait, doll."

You smiled at the new pet name.

"Why so?"

"I'm afraid it's about time for my radio broadcast!" He exclaimed joyfully, getting back to his previous confidence.

"Oh, alright. Have fun, Alastor!"

You moved from your seat and took a step closer to him. Adjusting his bow tie, you said goodbye to him with a little smirk.

----

It's been an hour since Alastor left for his daily broadcast. You were bored and after a whole sixty minutes of missing him and doing nothing in particular, you decided to pay him a little visit.

But before you go, you have to make some tea for him!

(You carried it all the way with you!)

With a porcelain cup of tea in one of your hands, you knocked into the door twice.

"Who's this?" You heard from the other side of the door. Somehow, you were certain he knew it was you. It was possible to guess how much he's smiling.

You entered the radio station, closing the door behind you. "Hello, sweetheart. I've got some tea for you. It seems to be your favorite one, I suppose?" You smirked at him, placing the fancy cup in front of him, careful not to disturb his work. He reached his hand in your direction, encouraging you to come closer. His slightly reddening cheeks made your heart melt. Seeing them so often fills your entire being up with pure joy.

You straddled his lap, smiling innocently and enjoying the moment together as much as you could. Alastor rested his hand on the small of your back, trying to hold the eye contact. "Remember when you told me about the neck kissing?" He began in a heavy, seductive whisper. You shivered before nodding your head.

"Well, dolly, I think you underestimated me."

Alastor pulled you closer to him, now having you leaning against his chest. He licked your neck slowy and sensually, his usual cocky smile present also this time. Surprised, you let out a soft gasp, biting your lip to prevent more from coming. The radio demon repeated his gesture, then suddenly sinking his sharp teeth into the flesh between your neck and your shoulder. You squirmed on his lap, a high pitched whine escaping your trembling lips.

"Oh, doll.." He whispered, gasping as well as he moved to suck on your neck in several places. You couldn't help but moan helplessly, letting him do exactly whatever he wants to you. He left many reds and purples upon your fragile skin, painful bruises scattered allover you. You had your eyes closed, your love for the crimson demon increasing with every passing minute.

Alastor smirked just the way you liked it, kissing every single mark he's left on you. After you regained some of your composure, you noticed a red, flickering light next to the microphone. Your eyes widened, hand grasping your own mouth.

"Is.. I-Is the mic still on?" You stuttered, holding onto the last bit of comforting hope, pushing yourself into the foolish belief that the red, little thing meant something totally different. "Oh? It seems I must've left the mic on, haha! How unprofessional of me, please forgive me, darling."

Alastor stated with a mischievous smirk upon his slightly flushed face. The sarcasm in his voice was hitting you directly in the eye, letting you know that he might aswell have done that on purpose. You hid your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his calming scent and trying to survive the severe embarrassment. Alastor placed his gloved hand against your hair, petting it lovingly. "It seems that the entire town had managed to witness your angelic voice. Why not let them?"

You buried yourself deeper into his neck, hitting his shoulder with your pale hand. "Asshole."

"I liked the other ones more."

Also, I'm doing requests!

#hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel Alastor x you #hazbin hotel Alastor #radio demon #fanfiction #x reader #fluff #hazbin hotel fluff

181 notes · View notes

crazyoffher · 10 months

Text

LETTING YOU GO.

jenna ortega x fem!reader

summary: you let jenna go.

warnings: not proofread, unedited. angst.

word count: 1100+

a/n: small fic while i think about what to do with ‘watchtower’.

“I don’t understand just why you want to keep me guessing!” You shouted, beyond annoyed with Jenna’s antics. Your thumbs swiped against your forehead, frustration clear on your face.

You and Jenna were in the midst of a fight. You have had enough with her—the ignoring, the yelling—she wasn’t who she once was.

“I’m sorry that I have a job! That I have a life outside of you, that I-”

“This is not about that!” You practically screamed. Jenna stepped back, clearly shocked by your yelp. You had yelled before, but not with the same amount of anger in your tone as right now.

“This is about your insufferable attitude, your ignorancy; you forget about our anniversary, for fuck’s sake! You can blame it on your jobs all you want, but I've been here with you throughout most of your career, as friend and girlfriend, and this is not just because of them.” Your hand found it’s way to your hair, pushing it back. Jenna's eyes were filled with guilt. She knew her attitude was inexcusable, and she went to reply, but you weren’t done.

“Seriously, what have I done or said to make you feel this way? You won’t ever talk to me, and I’m tired of it! I’m tired of you, Jenna.”

Your heart was breaking with every word you spoke; the pain built up in you at being ignored and feeling unloved meant that every word you thought you’d never speak came out of your mouth, more unbearably as the truth.

“I-” Jenna tried to explain herself, but her brain shut off at the thought of it. “I’m sorry,” was all she said.

“So, no explanation?” You shook your head, a heartbroken smile plastered on your face, at her audacity. “No explanation at all? Pouring my heart out to you, trying my hardest to communicate with you, and you still won’t talk to me?”

Jenna wanted to tell you everything—what she’s going through, why she’s acted like a bitch, how badly she’s wanted to just be with you—but the words were caught in her throat with no way of escaping.

“I’m sorry.” She repeated, a tear falling from her eye, stricken with emotion. She wanted to talk this through with you so badly, but her body wasn’t letting her. Her body wanted you to leave, despite her mind knowing that was the opposite of what she ever wanted to happen.

“Alright, well,” you wiped your tears away, now noticing that they fell despite your attempts to keep them at bay, “I think I’m better off alone then.”

Your words caused Jenna to perk up. Her eyes widened, and her eyebrows morphed into a frown-y expression. “What?”

“Don’t act so surprised, Jenna.” Your mouth clenched shut, and tears still fell from your eyes, but you could care less now. You had grown immensely irate with her, and in your mind, she didn’t love you anymore, so why should you care about her feelings?

“I’ve been done with you for such a long time. I don’t think even you know how long you’ve been acting this way. First you want to hate me, then you want to love me; it’s so tiring figuring out your next mood.”

“Please, (Y/N)-”

“No, Jenna.” You cut her off. “I’m letting you go because I feel that I’m not who you want.”

Breathing excessively; you didn't even realize you'd been holding your breath. Jenna shook her head, disagreeing with your words because they simply weren’t true. You were what she wanted. She woke up every day happy that she was with you and that you chose her. She didn’t know what she’d do without you.

As you headed for the door, you felt a tug on your wrist. Jenna’s hand was on your arm.

“Please don’t go.” You could barely hear it. You wanted to break down from the tone of her voice, whispered so low and in a crack, a word away from crying her eyes out.

“I can’t be with someone who lives their life as if I don’t exist.”

You woke up. You wish it was actually a dream, but it wasn’t.

Sitting up, you threw the covers to the side of the bed, treading into the bathroom in your hotel room. It was the same thing every night for the past two months: reliving the memory of your breakup. Though each night the dream got shorter and less lengthy, it used to go up until you got into your car, with Jenna at your car window begging you to get out, and then it’d cut.

Turning on the light, you drowned your face in cold water to wake yourself up, afraid that if you fell back asleep, the dream would continue. Saying you missed her was an understatement, but it was for the best.

You wished that she wasn’t famous, that you wouldn’t hear her name everywhere, and that her fans wouldn’t still be sending you hate that you didn’t deserve. You wished that after Stuck In The Middle, she would’ve quit as she once planned, but she didn’t, and you supported her in every way you could until you couldn’t anymore.

“Jenna Ortega finds a new love interest after (Y/N) (L/N), maybe? New photos spot her with co-star (NAME REDACTED). They’re a little too close for comfort in friendship, if you ask me.” The TV blared from the other room. You completely ignored it when you got up, forgetting it was on and playing all night.

Your head turned to the sound, toothbrush in hand. You set it down, opening the door to the bathroom and eyeing the TV.

“The co-star in question, (NAME REDACTED), has a history of being with multiple women per year, seemingly never committing to one. Will Jenna finally make him commit, or will he just add her to his list?”

You knew him. You met him when you visited Jenna on the set, and you could tell of his interest in Jenna by the way he acted toward you. Immediately, you knew that the “relationship” was a PR stunt, the idea coming up to Jenna by her agent not long after you had met him, to which she turned down. She was happy with you, or was at the time.

Still, it didn’t prevent your heart from burning at the thought that, in order to make their relationship believable, they’d have to hug, kiss, and be with one another constantly. It made you want to gag.

Slowly and surely, you were getting over Jenna. It just... was harder than you anticipated getting over breakups to be when you were younger, before ever getting into a relationship.

You sighed, heading to the nightstand beside your messy bed and turning the TV off. Your wrist was on the doorknob to the bathroom when there was a knock at your door. Sighing, you moved to open the door in your disheveled state.

“Hey, don’t worry about the housekeeping; I’ve got it all — Jenna?”

☟ ☟ ☟

thinking about making a taglist what y'all buds think? also might not make a part 2 to this and if i ever do, it’d be after i finish my watchtower series :)

#Spotify #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday #the fallout #celebrity x reader #fanfiction #angst #jenna ortega angst #wednesday addams #wattpad #lesbian

738 notes · View notes

scarletevening · 3 months

Text

STARTERS [ SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY ]

cw: none, strangers to lovers, first meeting, not beta read, might be military inaccuracies because im not in the military, medic! fem!reader. notes: i've worked so hard [exaggeration] to make this look cute but ik its gonna devolve in 0.5 seconds. this is part one of a series. words: 1,065.

"This won't be easy."

A fair warning, a meager one too, from your new, technically, superior, Kate Laswell. You had accepted her offer as a combat medic, seeing as their next mission was supposed to take months. But those months weren't even this year, they were the next.

This year, it was your mission to become familiar with your crew, have a starter and a taste.

Considering you've dealt with plenty of irritable, ill-mannered patients in the E.D. before, it shouldn't feel so stuffy when you enter the base. You I.D. card was scanned, and you were permitted entry past the intimidating security guard who's eyes nailed you like you were his prey. You might've been.

Heels clacking, you rushed to your new office,

MEDICAL WING

A sign read, in red, right above your head. You wanted to feel like you were walking into a new life, but the stares and exhausted attempts at a smile the veteran nurses tossed you made a breath you didn't realize you were holding leave.

Luckily, offices were assigned, and yours was on the first floor.

Empty and quite sad, you tossed your backpack and purse onto your desk, which didn't even have a chair, and put your hands on your hips. Laswell had told you that they wouldn't be back until evening, it was morning.

It felt like walking into your first job, gingerly taking your steps to the staff lounge where you introduced yourself to the nurses who were lounging. They returned the gesture graciously, luckily understanding of your nerves.

Soon enough, your actual superior came to greet you, smiling and laughing with the rest of the staff as she raved about you. As soon as basic information was given, you were tossed out of your nest, bidding you a good flight. The ED never waits for anyone after all.

⚬

As your first day ended and your night began, you sat in your office, which you finally got a chair for, to sift through paperwork. Boring things never really last for long, and as much as you'd like to one-go your work, it definitely wasn't happening. Especially when your sweet nurses and the other doctors bombarded into your office, playfully asking, more like dragging, you to come with them to the mess hall.

It's impolite to say no, isn't it?

It was fun. It was like being in high school again, smiling and giggling before everyone leans into to whisper, bursting back out into laughter. Oh, and it was juicy. Real juicy, juicier when they mentioned him.

"Ghost?"

You ask, tilting your head as you raise a brow, "What kinda' callsign's that?" There was a strange inkling of familiarity of the name, just right under your nose. The nurse who was telling the story went wide-eyed, grinning at you,

"Oh, honey, he's the one with the skull mask."

The mask. The fucking mask.

Everyone could see it, how you face paled like snow, your head dropping as you gawked at them. They all laughed at your reaction, it was quite comical, though they found it funnier for reasons different than yours, teasing, "I haven't even said the story yet!"

Well, Laswell did. God, were you stupid? He was from Task Force 141! They all, allegedly, saw him in the gym, allegedly lifting double his weight, and allegedly you were blushing at the idea of the number, allegedly. And that was essentially the whole story. The nurse beside you poked as he cooed at you,

"Aw, does the doctor have a crush on her first day?" Laughing as you smacked his arm playfully, a stupid grin on all of your faces. The conversation moves on, talking about the soldiers that got into a fight, and how funny it was when one got a rhinoplasty. It felt like you were half-present, like a fever dream as your thoughts swirled together. Maybe your shift was a little too long.

But you couldn't stop thinking about him, your fork spinning the lukewarm pasta as you blandly laughed with your caffeine-high colleagues. Was he really that fascinating?

You couldn't stop thinking about him, your fork spinning the lukewarm pasta as you blandly laughed with your caffeine-high colleagues. Was he really that fascinating? Your mind ran with every though, you hadn’t even seen him today, and yet here you were imagining him, strong, tall, muscular. And of high status? he sure seemed like the pear most imaginative women would like.

But you can't expect him to be a perfect romance lead, especially the more you listened, seeing as he was quite the topic.

Everyone else seemed to just know him, know him in the sense that he was a figure of admiration. The strongest, the fastest, the most intricate, coolest man on one of the greatest task forces affiliated. They knew every little intricate detail of his service. But you didn’t. You don’t even know what they mean by a ‘skull mask’, was it a full skul? does he do face paint like a 3-year-old? You've never seen him, not that you were reluctant to the chance to.

Maybe you were insane, especially since there was the entire rest of the task force for you to get familiar with too. Well, he was one of them so you should go one by one, right—

"Ya' like to talk, dinnea ya?"

You twitched at the voice, "Scottish," You thought to yourself, "John 'Soap' MacTacvish." Laswell had some comments about him, mostly about his inability to speak understandable English, and his refusal to get a military standard haircut, aka he has a mohawk. But it wasn't just the Scot, the devil answered when his name was called.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley.

It was almost as if he knew who you were the moment your eyes met, like a fuse set off between you. Brown eyes, deep like dark chocolate, and cold like the tundra, and more magnetic than any other man you've ever seen, he stared at you, speaking to his friend,

"Seems like they do, Johnny."

Gravelly and low, almost inaudible if it weren't for your fixated ear, his voice whispered to Soap, his eyes never leaving yours. Soap, or Johnny as Ghost had so endearingly called him, grinned, plopping beside you,

"Aye, yer that new medic Laswell's been talkin' 'bout?"

You blink a couple times before you smile, nodding as you introduce yourself. Soap smiles back, polite yet inked with a bit of his eccentric personality, taking your hand into a firm shake. You smile up at the masked figure,

"You must be Ghost, right?"

He gave a bland grunt, not that you expected much more from a quiet man. Soap grinned, ignoring Ghosts lack of proper manners to introduce himself. With small conversation, they left, almost.

Although he walked away, he never left your mind, and you never left his.

⚬ ☠︎︎ ⚬

i think i'm just gonna set the reader to female bc ik i'm eventually gonna do suggestive bits so it'll be easier in the long run. lmk if you have any ideas for simon. [or the others i wrote about!!] also lmk if i should make a taglist. [part two]

EYES THAT HOLD SECRETS