#but then he attacks my roommates or someone on a walk

[literaila]

house rules (roommate au)

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary:

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

so immediately you slam the door. 

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

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

oh, fuck. 

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

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

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

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

"and you're less than dressed." 

"i thought you stood me up." 

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

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

"i didn't cancel. i'm here." 

"you're late." 

"so i've heard..." he drawls. 

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

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

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

"are you going to apologize for being late?" 

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

"really?" 

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

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

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

you slam the door against his foot again. 

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

something in his voice already implies that it will. 

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

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

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

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

"ten minutes. maybe twenty." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you attempt a fake smile. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"um... sort of." 

"sort of?" 

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

gojo hums. "why'd he move out?" 

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

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

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

"okay, good, 'cause that's hideous." 

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

"did you change rooms?" 

"what?" 

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

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

gojo snorts. 

"what?" 

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

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

"you're not going to look around?" 

"it looks like the pictures." 

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

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

"not that i know of..." 

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

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

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

"yes." 

"can i see?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"can't you?" he asks, challenging. 

"no." 

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

and somehow you doubt that. 

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

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

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

"yes." 

"such as?" 

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

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

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

"okay." 

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

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

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

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

"these are not negotiable." 

he only continues to smile at you. 

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

"fine. you still want to live here?" 

"mmhmm." 

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

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

*

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

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

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

but satoru gojo is hard. 

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

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

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

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

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

and honestly, gojo's just asking for it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you ate my ice cream?" you repeat. 

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

"i might kill you." 

"i thought we banned homicide from the apartment." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you blink. 

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

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

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

you laugh. 

"clearly you've never been." 

"i'm still expecting ice cream." 

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

"like you've never skipped a class." 

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

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

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

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

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

"i seriously doubt that." 

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

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

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

"nor ever will," you grind out.

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh, wait. it does. 

you frown at him. 

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

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

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

"do you own this bar?" 

"what? no." 

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

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

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

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

"nanami," you cut in, "hey." 

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

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

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

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

"because i didn't realize." 

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

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

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

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

"he promised me alcohol." 

she nods knowingly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru laughs, not questioning this, and walks away. 

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

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

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

how long had that taken? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"are you ready to go home?" 

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

you don't, for whatever reason. 

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

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

"oh, really?" 

"learned when i was a kid and everything." 

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

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

like he's an actual toddler.

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

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

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

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

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

he smiles at you. you roll your eyes. 

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

but were you really expecting it to? 

*

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

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

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

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

you try not to laugh. 

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

"sorry?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"did you lose some pigment in your hair?" 

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

"from what?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo looks like he might start crying.

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

"don't you have a room?" you ask. 

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

"no." 

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

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

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

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

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

"clearly." 

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

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

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

"a book." 

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

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

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

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

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

seriously, his presence is impending doom itself. 

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

"i crave my fist on your face." 

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

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

"probably?" 

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

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

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

you groan and he laughs at you.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you're cleaning air?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"nanamin," he interrupts. "go." 

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

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

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

you raise your brows but do as he says. 

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

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

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

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

"satoru, she's just watching--" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

from suguru :p : 

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

can you please kick him awake? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"telepathy. now get up." 

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

"suguru said you'd say that." 

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

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

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

"why are you so mean to me?" 

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

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

"i'll sue back for mental damages." 

he laughs, and wiggles from your grasp. 

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

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

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

"yup." 

"he's a terrible friend." 

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

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

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

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

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

"what class is it?" 

"theoretical physics." 

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

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

"i can imagine." 

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

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

"no, suguru just thinks i'm lazy." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"really?" 

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

he grins. "cruel." 

"and i'll record it." 

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...and?" 

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

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

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

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

"how did you even find the library?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you're a part of a study group?" 

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

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

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

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

"nope, again." 

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

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

"do i seem worried to you?" 

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

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

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

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

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

you squint. "did you actually?" 

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

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

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

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

"flip night." 

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

"it wasn't that bad." 

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

gojo smiles. "consider yourself lucky." 

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

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

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

you laugh that thought away as soon as it comes.

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

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

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

"why not?" 

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

"do it in the morning." 

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

"then don't study." 

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

he grins. "i get it from you." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...going home?" 

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"no." 

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

"i told you, that's not mine." 

"so you gave it away?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"yes." 

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

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

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

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

"well, it was true then." 

you roll your eyes. 

"i wasn't going to say that anyway." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"whatever will i do now?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"getting turned on by my pain?" 

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...are you sure?" 

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

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

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

"what?" 

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

your brow furrows. "about what?" 

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

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

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

"no, and i don't dance." 

gojo rolls his eyes. "everyone dances." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you left me--" 

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

"you'll get me that anyway." 

"i'll let you pick it this time." 

"that's usually expected, you know?" 

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

"i don't know that, actually." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

it's probably just the alcohol, though. 

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it sounds like something else to you.

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

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

"'cause you deserve it." 

he laughs and leans in, so you follow him. 

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

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

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

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

"really?" 

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

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

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

"you okay?" 

"i think i might be a little drunk." 

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

"you're a lightweight." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i don't look at you a lot." 

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

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

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

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

"what?" 

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

"i'm not?" 

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

"why not?" 

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

gojo's brow furrows. "how?" 

your brows furrow. "how what?" 

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

"you'd have to ask him." 

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

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

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

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

"hey," gojo says, interrupting that feeling. 

"what?" 

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

"i'm not?" 

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

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

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

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

"they do?" 

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

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

how long has it been now? 

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

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

*

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

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

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

he just smiles easily, ruffling your hair.  

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

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

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

*

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

and so maybe you hang out with him sometimes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

"to the store." 

"it's eleven." 

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

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

"i need stuff." 

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

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

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

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

"you can't leave right now." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i can do whatever i want." 

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

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

"when i realized how weak you are." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you are ruining my mood." 

"oh, good." 

you scowl. "move. right now." 

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

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

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

he snorts. 

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

"what is that?" 

you frown. "what?" 

"what's wrong with your face?" 

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

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

"don't talk to me. ever again." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

"gojo?" 

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

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

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

"where were you?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru only smiled a little bit at your question.

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

you'd frowned. "what?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i'm busy, gojo." 

"no, you're not." 

"i am doing homework." 

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

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

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

he sighs again. "canceled." 

"why?" 

"my dad had a meeting or something." 

"oh." 

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

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

he shakes his head. 

"do you want me to make you something?" 

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

"not intentionally." 

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

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

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

"that's not what i asked." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

this shouldn't be happening. 

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

he should not be this close. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"there's at least five." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it wasn't fair like this. 

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

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

like you're doing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"gojo, i'm really--" 

"no," he interrupts, taking a step towards you. 

"what?" 

"that's not my name." 

you frown. "yes it is?" 

he shakes his head. "no, it's satoru. you've said it before, you know. you should keep saying it." 

"when have i said it?" you ask, momentarily blinded by how he demands this. who is he to demand anything? 

"when you were drunk." 

you scoff. "i'm not just going to call you by your first name cause you want me to," you tell him, "who do you think i am?" 

and then satoru laughs, shaking his head at you, his grin full-force on his face. "are you serious? you kissed me and now you don't want to call me by my first name?" 

you freeze. "i said i was sorry about that," you say, weakly. 

you feel like who you've always felt around him. not as easy, not as cool, never as smooth. you feel like a child caught doing something they're not supposed to. you want to run away from him, but he knows where you live. 

"you're sorry?" 

"i didn't mean to." 

he quirks a brow. "you didn't mean to?" 

"it was an accident?" 

he takes another step closer. "it was an accident?" 

"are you just going to keep repeating everything i say?" you ask, voice hard. this must be a dream. 

satoru shakes his head at you. "no, but i have a question." 

"...okay." 

"if i try to kiss you right now, are you going to try and murder me? i know that we're away from the apartment right now, but it would really ruin the mood." 

you stare at him. 

it must be answer enough because he steps forward and he kisses you again. but this time, it feels less mechanical. his lips are soft and smooth as they push against yours--and he pushes like he's demanding something from you. like he knows more about what you can give than you do. 

and he grins against you like he's doing everything exactly right. 

but when satoru pulls back, your eyes stay shut. you try and banish the feeling in your stomach from your body, but it doesn't respond to idle threats. 

"we shouldn't do this," you whisper to him. you don't open your eyes. you don't want to see his face and fall victim to another one of his schemes. 

"why not?" 

"the last time i kissed one of my roommates..." you imply, hoping that you don't have to tell him that you're scared. 

"oh, right," he brushes some hair from your face. he has not moved an inch away from you. "i forgot that you're experienced." 

"wasn't it obvious?" 

he laughs, and then nudges your cheek with a finger. "look at me." 

you shake your head. 

"c'mon, just a little." 

his voice is so soft. satoru is whispering like it's just for you. and you've never heard him like this and you don't think you want to see him. 

"please, sweetheart?" he asks, one last time, and you have to. if only to put yourself out of your own misery. "good. now listen--" 

"don't tell me what to do." 

he rolls his eyes. "listen," he repeats. "i know you don't like me very much. and i know that you only keep me around for my rent money and my pretty face--" 

you kinda want to hit him. 

"--but i've wanted to kiss you for weeks. and i'm not good at the..." he swallows, blinking just briefly. "all of the telling stuff, but i want to be. with you. for you." 

you're not sure if that's the end, or if it's the beginning. your eyes are stuck on his smile, and you're not listening to anything he said. 

he's very close right now. so accessible. and it's just another reason to want to push him away. 

satoru clears his throat, nudging your head with his nose. "and i'm tired of shoko and suguru calling me a coward, so it'd be great if you'd mention that you kissed me first." 

your brows furrow. "you told shoko and suguru?" 

"i didn't say anything," he almost swears. "they tricked me into admitting it." 

"when?" 

"...the day after i introduced you to them." 

you pull away to observe his face. "really?" 

he groans. "stop looking at me like that," he says, "it's mean." 

you almost smile at him again. then close your eyes. "okay."

"havent you listened to anything i've said to you?" he asks, rhetorically. "i flirt with you every day." 

"you flirt with everything." 

"mmm, true," he leans his chin against your head, breathing you in. "now that i've poured my heart out for you, can we go home? it's cold out here, and i'd rather make out on our couch than that bench over there." 

"who said anything about making out?" 

"please," he wraps an arm around your shoulder, and smiles down at you--with all of the typical swagger--and maybe this time you let him. 

*

#gojou satoru x reader #jjk fluff #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #satorugojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru au #gojo satoru fluff #jjk gojo #gojo saturo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo fluff #satoru gojo #jjk satoru

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Room Away

Requested Here!

Edit: Part 2 Here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Tired of Tim's bad moods, Angela gets him a new roommate: you. As Tim gets to know you and learns about your past, you slowly become more than his roommate.

Warnings: mentions of past domestic abuse (reader and Tim), reader has chronic migraines from past head trauma, nightmares, reader has a panic attack, angst, fluff, Nyla and Angela. (roommates to lovers)

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

A/N: Parts of this are so self-indulgent. The migraine depictions are based on my migraines, but I think they're some of the most common symptoms. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! (I'm still trying to get Tim's character down, so apologies if he's OOC.)🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim sits in the back of the room for roll call, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as unimpressed sighs escape him. Angela is getting tired of his seemingly perpetual bad mood. Clearly, he’s lonely, but he will never admit it. And that loneliness makes him mopey and broody (Angela’s official motto for Tim Bradford) until he has enough and snaps at someone.

Sitting at her desk, Angela watches Tim yell at a boot. He’s always harsh with them, trying to prepare them for anything, but now he’s using them as punching bags for his forbidden feelings. 

“What’s his problem? He’s grumpier than usual,” Nyla says as she joins Angela.

“He’s lonely,” Angela answers. “Won’t admit it or do anything about it.”

“That man needs a girlfriend,” Nyla muses.

Angela sits up straighter and smiles. “You’re a genius, Harper.”

“I know.”

Angela opens a website on her computer, and Nyla pulls up a seat to watch her intervention into Tim’s personal life.

“You’re going to rent out his spare room without telling him? This’ll be fun to watch,” Nyla says, laughing.

“He has way too much room for just one guy. Getting him a roommate and a girlfriend will surely help with.. that,” she finishes, gesturing toward Tim.

“A roommate and a girlfriend, or a roommate who becomes a girlfriend?”

“Either should work.”

“That’s your number.”

Angela nods, putting her contact information on the listing. “Tim would shut it down after the first call, so I’ll interview them, run background checks, whatever, and find the perfect one.”

“Well, Mrs. Right is always found on Craigslist,” Nyla jokes.

“This isn’t Craigslist.”

“Semantics.”

Angela posts the listing, and she and Nyla hope getting Tim a roommate will help nudge him out of his bad mood. He needs someone to talk to and bond with, but he’ll never come to that conclusion on his own. Which is why Angela considers herself to be such a good friend.

✯✯✯✯✯

Los Angeles is a big city, which is part of why you chose it without another thought. Full of opportunities and a chance of fading into the background, it’s the complete opposite of your home, which overflows with memories. The patched drywall you were pushed into, the stained tile where you thought everything was going to end, and the china cabinet with the shattered glass are left behind and traded in for a minimum wage job, a used car, and a lot of panic that you won’t be able to find somewhere to live.

You’ll need a roommate until you can save enough money for your own place. However, finding a decent place with a decent roommate is nearly impossible in your price range. Browsing online listings, you see one that could be promising. The information at the bottom says there is an interview process, which catches your attention. Sending a text to Angela Lopez, you cross your fingers for good luck before walking into work.

By the end of your shift, Angela has replied and asked you to meet somewhere nearby. You want to go home, a dull headache building at the base of your skull impairing your mood. But you also really want a better place to call home than the pay-by-the-month motel you’re currently living in.

Angela gives you a firm handshake as she introduces herself as an LAPD detective. She asks questions about your life, job, hobbies, and finally, why you moved to Los Angeles.

“I just needed a change of pace; was ready to leave my old life behind, find something bigger and better,” you answer, a simplified version of the truth.

Trying not to show it, Angela immediately takes a liking to you. Each of your answers solidifies her gut instinct that you’re a good fit for Tim. You ask why her name was on this listing if it’s not her house, and she follows your lead and gives you the truth, but not all of it.

“Tim, the owner of the house, is a coworker and friend, and I’m just trying to help him out while he’s busy with work,” she explains.

As you leave the meeting, Angela gives you her personal number, as well as someone named Nyla Harper’s number, “just in case you need anything.”

She texts you a time and address, telling you to meet her at your new place the following afternoon. You thank her repeatedly before driving to the trashy motel one last time.

✯✯✯✯✯

Parking outside the house, you fall in love with the neighborhood and the cute architecture of the home. Angela meets you in the driveway, seeming more nervous than excited. You realize she may not have been totally honest with you as you follow her to the door.

An incredibly handsome man opens the door, sighing when he sees Angela. He lets both of you in, seeming to trust Angela completely.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim knows he will regret opening the door, but the woman with Angela is beautiful, and deep down, a small part of him wants to know who she is and why she’s on his doorstep.

“This is your new roommate,” Angela announces, giving Tim your name.

“You didn’t,” Tim responds. “Please tell me you didn’t rent out my spare room without asking me, Lopez.”

“I won’t tell you that, then.”

Standing quietly to the side, you anxiously watch their argument.

“Um, sorry,” you begin, interrupting them. “But I can go, and find a new place, since this is clearly not what you signed up for.”

You move toward the door before stopping when Angela demands, “Don’t go anywhere.”

She gives Tim a stern look before cocking her head to the side. He sighs like he has accepted his fate, a tragedy based on his reaction. Gesturing for you to follow him, he gives you a quick tour before showing you to your new room and bathroom.

“I’m not home a ton, but when I am, I’m usually watching a game or just hanging out, so,” he tells you before trailing off.

You nod before promising, “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Tim wants to believe you, but he also thinks you’re pretty and kind enough that he wouldn’t mind seeing you occasionally.

✯✯✯✯✯

You cross paths with Tim a few times in the first two days of living with him. He’s struck by your beauty each time but recognizes that you don’t open up willingly, so he never presses you to talk. Content to be ships passing in the night, Tim gives you a nod before continuing out the door.

It’s your third night in the house that Tim learns your reserved qualities may not be as simple as a personality trait. Waking when he hears a strange noise, Tim listens in the darkness before deciding it’s your footsteps he hears. Based on the sound, you're pacing, so Tim gets out of bed and walks to the kitchen. He walks right past you, and you give him an apologetic smile before slowing down. Tim makes you a mug of calming tea, sliding it across the kitchen island before sitting beside you as you drink it. Suspecting you had a nightmare or some similarly disturbing experience, Tim reminds you where you are and that everything is okay in his own way.

Over the next week, you wake him up a few more times, thrashing in your bed or exiting your room once you wake. He nudges each time, offering to let you talk about it, but you never do. You always apologize for waking him, thank him for keeping you company and making you tea before you disappear back into yourself and into your room.

✯✯✯✯✯

You’ve lost count of the days and nights spent in Tim’s house, your sense of time thrown off by the continued plague of nightmares and the monotony of your days. As you wake up after a surprisingly dreamless sleep, you immediately turn your face back into the pillow. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, and everything seems brighter and louder. The migraines have been nearly as consistent as the nightmares since before you left for Los Angeles. 

Tim knocks on your door, and you groan as the sound echoes in your brain. He cracks the door, concerned that you aren’t up yet.

“Are you okay?” he asks, seeing your current state.

“Migraine,” you answer. “I called in sick.”

He closes the door to block the light from outside and lowers his voice to ask, “Do you need anything before I leave?”

“I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Well, call me if you do, or if anything changes, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Tim. Have a good day.”

Tim nods, even though you can’t see him, before backing out of your room and exiting the house as quietly as possible. He keeps his ringer on, looking at his phone every few minutes as his concern for you remains at the forefront of his mind.

Angela and Nyla notice his usual grumpy disposition seems to have been replaced with concern for something, or someone. After he checks his phone for the fifth consecutive time, Angela decides to pry.

“How’s the beautiful roomie? Still just a roommate?” she asks.

“She’s not feeling well,” Tim answers.

Angela waits for an elaboration, but Tim doesn’t offer one. She looks at Nyla, who gives a knowing look. It’s obvious that Tim is softening toward you, but you haven’t made enough of an impact that he’s less grumpy or snappy. As the day continues, his usual personality returns, convinced that you must be okay, or you would have called.

The next day, after learning that you are, in fact, feeling better, Tim is back to his pre-roommate levels of anger and high strung-ness. To worsen his mood, you wake him up with a nightmare but refuse to let him in, not even acknowledging his kind questioning as to how you are. He’s worried about you because you welcomed his presence before, but he is also angry that you changed so quickly, and now you don’t trust him. Everything is piling on, and Tim isn’t sure how much more he can carry.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Just tell me something,” Angela presses.

“Stay out of it, Lopez!” Tim yells, his emotions reaching a boiling point. “I didn’t even want a puppy- a roommate! If you like her so much, why don’t you take her in?”

Angela waits for his shoulders to drop slightly before asking, “Timothy… is this because you don’t like her, or because you do?”

Tim’s jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as he turns away, offering to go on patrol while Nolan and Celina go to the shooting range. Everyone seems to think they know Tim better than they do; Angela is pushing him toward you while you’re distancing yourself, and the push and pull is tiring.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim waits in his truck in the driveway for a few minutes before walking in. When he walks in, you’re standing in the kitchen. He hasn’t actually seen you since the day of your last migraine when you stopped trusting him, and your sudden willingness to be in the same area confuses him. Anger and confusion rarely mix well; with Tim, it’s a fatal combination.

You notice his tension and knitted brows, chewing your bottom lip before asking, “Are you okay?”

Stumbling to his tipping point for the second time in the day, Tim takes all his anger and confusion over his feelings out on you.

“What do you think? You can’t decide if I’m worth trusting with something as small as a nightmare, and Angela thinks that I’m practically neglecting you,” he begins.

You swallow harshly as his voice rises, stumbling backward when he starts moving his arms. 

“Especially considering I didn’t even want you here!”

Flinching, you snap your eyes closed and catch yourself on the corner of the wall. Tim freezes as he watches you. Everything begins snapping into place in his mind: your nightmares and the distance added to your reaction to him yelling and moving his hand are all signs he should have noticed sooner.

Your chest is heaving as you take short breaths, and when you finally open your eyes, you look terrified. Tim steps back, keeping his hands where you can see them. You focus on him as you slide down the wall, cradling your head in your hands as you fight off bad memories and a growing headache.

Tim watches you before sitting on the floor, keeping his distance. He waits for you to calm down, willing to let you decide whether or not you want to talk to him. You finally look back up at him, but he doesn’t move.

“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Can I come closer?” Tim asks.

You nod, and Tim slides across the floor, not wanting to stand up and look any more imposing than necessary. His knee presses gently against your thigh, and when you don’t move, he gives you a small smile – the first you’ve ever seen.

“I��ll leave in the morning,” you say, fiddling with your fingers.

“Please don’t,” Tim replies, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t mad at you, just angry with a long day. But that’s no reason to yell at you or act like that. You confused me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. That’s on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

“Don’t. When I was younger, my dad took his anger out on me sometimes. I’m sure I deserved it once or twice, but I also know better than to treat people like an emotional outlet. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

You nod before saying, “My ex.”

Tim feels a protective surge at the idea of anyone hurting you, let alone doing it enough times that yelling pushes you to the point of a panic attack.

After comforting you with proximity and kind words, Tim offers to walk you to bed. Your hand brushes his as he opens your door, and you smile as you thank him for everything. It’s a minor change in your relationship but an important one.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim leaves before you wake up the following morning, determined to find out as much as he can about you and your past. He’s not necessarily being nosy, but he wants to know if there’s anything specific that could help or hurt you.

“What do you know?” he demands as he storms up to Angela’s desk.

“About what?” she replies, raising her brows.

“What do you mean ‘about what’? Her!”

Nyla leans back in her chair, glad to watch the unfolding drama.

“Tim, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Angela explains.

“Why’d she move to LA?”

“Are you seriously trying to find something wrong with her? That’s low.”

Tim moves around her desk, dropping his voice to answer, “I’m trying to figure out who thought it was okay to put their hands on her. Because she won’t let me in.”

Angela begins connecting the dots you left untouched. You ran from the person controlling your life, not your actual life. She knew that you were omitting something during your initial meeting, but she didn’t expect it to be so big.

“Have you been open with her?” Angela asks finally. “Because that’s a two-way street. I’ll talk to her if you want me to, but she trusts you, Tim.”

“How do you know that?”

Nyla’s eyes bounce back and forth like she’s watching a tennis game. She sighs before deciding to interject. “She told her! Sent her a text one night!” she calls out, smiling and waving when Angela and Tim look at her.

Tim nods, giving Angela the closest she’ll get to an apologetic look before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Returning home, Tim is surprised to find you on the couch, in your work clothes, with your face pressed into a pillow. You wave your fingers without moving to acknowledge him, and he remains silent as he walks to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to be silent, it’s your house,” you mumble. “I’ll figure out a way to get to the bedroom.”

“You’re fine here,” Tim answers, setting a glass of water beside you. “Another migraine?”

“Skull fractured from getting my head pushed through a window a few months ago,” you explain with a sigh. “The migraines have gotten worse since then.”

Tim lays a hand on your shoulder, giving you plenty of time to tell him not to touch you. You don’t, relaxing under his touch instead. Tim takes a seat beside you, hoping to comfort you once more.

“Your ex?” Tim asks. 

You hum a yes, and Tim’s jaw tightens, even as he comforts you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the police station, Tim’s wallet is tucked safely in your bag. Approaching the front desk, you say your name and are wordlessly handed a visitor’s badge before someone gives you directions. You don’t have time to argue, shrugging as you attempt to remember where to turn. Angela sees you before you see her, rushing to your side and looping her arm with yours.

“What are you doing here?” she asks happily.

“Uh, Tim forgot his wallet. I was just going to drop it off, but they sent me back here,” you answer.

Tim says your name, coming around a corner, and Angela pushes you toward him, joining Nyla as they watch your interaction.

“You know she was trying to get you a girlfriend and not just a roommate, right?”

Tim nods a thanks as he accepts his wallet, glancing over at your audience. “I’m half-tempted to make them think I kicked you out.”

You smile brightly, and Tim licks his lips to keep his smile from mirroring yours. His eyes tell you more than enough, and you’re happy to see him, too.

“Do it,” you whisper. “Just let me know when so I can play my part. Angela told me to call her if you were ever mean to me.”

“Have you?”

You don’t answer, opting to wink at him before stepping back. Waving at Angela and Nyla, you leave the station as they rush to Tim’s side. As they ask overlapping questions and talk about how cute you and Tim look standing together, Tim ignores them before walking away.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is pulled from his sleep by your panicked yell. He leaves his bed and barges into your room with no thought. His heart rate slows when he sees your teary face and tangled sheets.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you wipe your tears. “I just don’t know how to make them stop.”

Tim sits beside you, opening an arm toward you. It’s a bold move, especially for him, but you take his offer and curl into his side.

“Are- did you mean it when you said I could talk about it?” you ask.

Tim nods, and you tell him more, but not everything. You remind yourself that he’s your roommate and maybe, just maybe, he's your friend, but he’s not here to listen to all of your baggage.

“The last thing he said before I left was, ‘there is nowhere you can go that my love won’t lead me to find you.’”

“You know that wasn’t love,” Tim replies, waiting for your nod before continuing. “And I’ve got your back, Angela and Nyla are right here, and we won’t let anything happen to you. No matter what.”

Drifting back to sleep in his warm, safe embrace, you finally learn what it’s like not to be scared.

When you wake alone, neither you nor Tim acknowledge what happened. You’re okay with slow changes, as long as there are changes.

“Tim,” you say, interrupting him on his way out. “Thank you. For last night.”

“I’m only ever a call away,” he reminds you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your head starts aching around noon, quickly worsening into a full-blown migraine. When you’re ready to go home, it’s bad enough that you can’t drive. Sitting in your car and resting your head against the steering wheel, you want to call Tim but can’t find the strength to move.

Tim, meanwhile, returns home and begins wondering where you are. He calls, and you don’t answer, so he lets his worry control him as he gets back in his truck and drives your usual route. Tim hopes to pass you or find you waiting as someone changes your tire. When he gets to the parking lot of your job and sees you slumped in your car, he has to fight not to panic.

Rushing to the door, he’s both grateful and concerned that it’s unlocked. He kneels beside you, saying your name before bending to see you. Your eyes are tightly closed, but tears are still leaking out. 

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says.

You whimper as he picks you up, clinging to him until he lays you down in the backseat of his truck, buckling you in as well as possible.

“Hospital can’t help,” you mumble.

Tim wants to argue, but remembers what you said about the skull fracture. You’ve already been to the doctor, so maybe getting you home and comfortable will be enough.

After a nap partially influenced by unbearable pain, you wake to see Tim sitting by your bed.

“Why are you so nice to me? You didn’t even want a roommate,” you mutter sleepily.

Tim smiles, making you think you’re hallucinating. “Yet I got something better.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You don’t quite make it to work the next day. Walking into the station, you’re surprised when Nyla greets you first.

“I’m assuming it’s a joke,” she says.

You furrow your brows in confusion before you see Tim leaning on a desk with his arms crossed while Angela yells at him.

“Unless he really kicked you out,” Nyla adds.

You nod, walking towards Angela and Tim.

“No, you don’t get to blame me! I got you a roommate, a friend, a beautiful woman who could have been more than a friend, and you’re mad at me?” Angela exclaims.

Tim locks eyes with you, not changing his expression as he gauges whether or not her yelling is upsetting you.

“Can I talk to you?” you ask Tim.

Angela steps back, hoping to hear Tim apologize, but he stands up and gestures for you to follow him without speaking. Worried that you’re sick again, Tim waits silently.

“I’m okay,” you promise. “I just wanted to see you.”

Not believing something so simple, Tim shakes his head. “Tell me what happened.”

“I saw a guy who looked like him while I was driving to work. He was yelling at a girl outside of a diner, and it made me nervous.” You keep your eyes on the floor, but Tim gently raises your head.

“You’re not alone, and I know that things still seem uncertain, and probably will for a long time, but you don’t have to be afraid of anything while I’m here.”

“Then why’d you kick me out?” you tease with a pout.

Tim shakes his head, telling you to go before following you out. You wipe an imaginary tear before waving at Angela.

“No, you’re not leaving,” she says, grabbing your shoulders and steering you toward her desk.

Nyla smiles at Tim, and he sighs before following.

“Tell me exactly what happened between you two,” Angela commands.

You look past her before tensing, and Tim immediately catches on. He follows your line of vision and sees Nolan and Celina booking someone. You shrink in on yourself, and Tim moves to block your view.

“Get her out of here,” he tells Angela.

Angela doesn’t wait before obeying, ushering you into the bullpen and out of sight.

“What’s the charge?” Tim asks Celina.

“Assault. Beat up a woman outside a diner,” she answers.

Tim’s jaw tightens at the knowledge that this man made you nervous this morning, reminding you of your ex. He hates abuse in every situation, but when you’re involved, his protectiveness and anger differ. Tim leaves before saying or doing something he’ll regret.

When he finds you in the bullpen, he takes one look at you before hugging you. It’s quick, but Angela and Nyla look at each other in shock.

“So, you’re good?” Nyla asks.

“We were never bad,” you reply. “Just wanted to get back at Angela for trying to set us up.”

“It worked?” Angela inquires excitedly.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Tim repeats, looking over at you. He shrugs as he concedes, “Okay.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim gets home, he drops his stuff by the door, raising his arms in question as he looks at you. “Not yet? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You haven’t made a move. How do I know you’re not just protective and caring under that handsome, gruff exterior?” you ask with a shrug.

Tim shakes his head, cupping the back of your head gently as he kisses you. You raise your hands over his chest to hold his jaw, pushing yourself closer as you reciprocate his every move.

“Because I don’t protect just anyone like this,” he says against your lips.

You kiss him again before asking, “Does this mean you can reduce my rent?”

Tim rolls his eyes, tucking you against his side where you’re safe from everything and everyone. 

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #requests

[nvrsaidiwasinurcloset]

Hated - Ethan Landry - Part 1

Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This contains SMUT. - Minors DNI

Part 2

Summary: Ethan's hated you for a while, but a little bit of time alone and a heated argument leads to something more.

A/N: There will probably be a part 2, but I'm not sure if I like this.. If you guys have any requests, please send them in. I need ideas!

You loved hanging out with your best friend, Chad. The only downside to the friendship: His roommate hated your fucking guts.

You thought Ethan was cool when you first met him at a party with the “Core Four”, but that changed once you started to spend so much time with Chad. He rolled his eyes whenever you spoke, made comments about the way you dressed at parties, and just seemed to loathe your presence.

One day, you arrived at Chad’s before he made it home from class. Ethan didn’t want to let you in, but it was cold outside, and he wasn’t heartless. You both took a seat on the couch, him on one end, you on the other. After a while of you both scrolling through your phones, you finally decided to speak.

“Why do you hate me?” You asked, not looking up from your phone. You saw his head snap in your direction in your peripheral vision.

“Why wouldn’t I hate you?” He scoffed, and it took everything in you to not slap him.

“You didn’t answer my fucking question,” The irritation in your voice obvious.

“Maybe it’s the way you play dumb all the time whenever you’re studying with Chad. Maybe it’s how you dress like you’re looking for attention whenever we go out. Maybe it’s the way you flirt with anything that fucking walks. Shit, all those things would be a good enough reason to hate you, don’t you think?” His condescending tone was infuriating.

You stood up in front of him, “First off, you make it sound like I’m just out there fucking everybody, which isn’t true. I haven’t had sex since my boyfriend and I broke up before I even came here. Second, even if I was trying to find someone to fuck, that’s none of your business. It’s not my fault that you’re jealous.” Your words set Ethan off.

He jumped up too, inches away from you, “No, what IS your fault is knowing I had a crush on you, making out with me after that party, and then acting like it never fucking happened!”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, as his face twisted in disbelief.

“You don’t remember me taking you back to your dorm because you were too scared to walk alone? You don’t remember inviting me in? You don’t remember moaning my name when I was kissing your neck?” At this point, he was pacing. Seeing him this angry was a turn on, so you decided to press further.

“I was WASTED, Ethan. Plus, I have a hard time believing that you made me moan.” He stopped pacing, staring you down. His eyes were lust-filled, and you could see he was starting to get hard through his sweatpants.

“I guess you don’t remember asking me to fuck you either, huh?” he asked, stepping closer to you.

You smirked, “What if I asked you to fuck me now?”

Within seconds, you were in his room. As soon as he closed the door, you were up against it. His mouth attacked yours as you lightly ran your fingers under his shirt and over his abs.

You both hurried out of your clothes. It’s been a long time since you’ve had sex, and up to this point you thought Ethan was a virgin, but now you aren’t so sure.

Once you were on his bed, he kissed you all down your chest, paying extra attention to your nipples. You were a moaning mess within minutes, and he wasn’t even inside you yet.

He started to kiss further down your body, the anticipation killing you as he inched closer to where you needed him the most. He suddenly stopped, and you shot up to whine in protest.

“Hey, I want to make sure you’re okay with everything I’m doing. If it’s too much or if it’s not enough, tell me. If you want me to stop, tell me. I want you to feel good.” For the first time in months, you’re seeing the Ethan you first met. The kind, sweet, caring Ethan. You almost didn’t know what to say with the complete personality switch.

“This isn’t a hate-fuck thing anymore, is it?” you asked, as he started to blush.

“I kinda pictured my first time to be a little more…intimate, I guess? If you want to stop, I understand,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

You were in shock, thinking there’s no way this man exuded this much confidence and had you so turned on, but was still a virgin.

“We can keep going, if that’s okay with you. We can do whatever you feel comfortable with,” you said, before placing your lips on his.

He started to kiss down your body again, spreading your legs to kiss you as far down as he could. He placed a gentle lick to your clit, testing the waters to see if that felt good. His eyes connected with yours, “Keep doing that, baby,” you said, as he continued. It felt good, but you needed a little more.

Before you could say anything, you felt one of his fingers slip inside you. “Oh, fuck,” you moaned, as he found that special spot. He added another finger as his mouth got more aggressive on your clit. You wanted to praise him for doing such a good job, but your brain was turning to mush as you felt your orgasm building.

You felt yourself tightening around his fingers, unable to control the moans coming out of your mouth. Once that wave of ecstasy hit, you were thrown into the best orgasm you’ve ever had. Ethan couldn’t stop staring at this blissful expression on your face, so happy that he was the one to make you feel good.

“I know you’re a virgin, but there’s no way you haven’t done that before,” you said, smirking as your breathing steadied.

“That was the first time,” he whispered, as we heard the front door close.

You mumbled ‘fuck’ under your breath as you scrambled to grab your clothes off the floor, putting them on as quick as possible.

“Roomie, you here?” Chad yelled from the other side of the door. You had a look of panic on your face, terrified that he would open the door.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute,” he said, as he put his clothes back on.

“This isn’t over yet,” you whispered, nibbling on his ear lobe.

“Promise?” he whispered as you both walked out of the room.

#ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #scream smut #smut #ethan landry

[sappy-seresin]

Little Insomniac (J. Seresin)

Pairing: Jake Seresin x roommate!reader

Summary: You're dealing with an ongoing struggle to sleep, and Jake wants to help. Volume Two

Warnings: nothing really, just fluff.

Word Count: 3k

MY WORK IS ORIGNIAL AND IS NOT TO BE COPIED OR REPOSTED ELSEWHERE. Be kind and don't steal other people's writing, thank you.

Gif creds: @jakeseresins

Jake stirs awake before his alarm has the chance to go off. Yawning, he wipes the sleep from his eyes before groggily reaching for his phone to check the time. 5:45, it reads, though he has to squint to make sure because his eyes are still bleary from just waking up. He lets himself yawn one more time before moving to sit at the edge of his bed, a gentle grunt falls from his lips as he enjoys his first big stretch of the day, preparing his muscles for his usual morning run.

Knowing that he’ll have plenty of time to get ready once he’s back, he swaps his sweatpants out for a pair of running shorts and slips on a coordinating shirt. He turns toward his bedside table to grab his headphones, immediately sticking them into his ears and scrolling through his phone to find his playlist, “Run Like Hell.” His head gently bobs to the best of the music once he’d hit shuffle as he finishes getting ready by sliding his running shoes on.

He makes sure to walk quietly as he passes your room. You won’t be waking up for another hour, at least, and he’s not keen on giving you a wake up call sooner than you have planned. He accidentally woke you up one morning shortly after the two of you signed this lease and it resulted in a rather heated reprimand from a rather hungover, half asleep, version of you that came stumbling out of your room with a baseball bat thinking someone broke in. Since then, he’s intentionally light on his feet, careful not to cause another scene.

Jake smiles at the memory of your disheveled state. You were slightly tipsy from the night before with pillow lines on your face and an unruly bun knotted on top of your head as you incoherently scolded him for nearly giving you a heart attack. In that moment, all he could do was blink at you like a deer in the headlights, trying not to focus too much on the fact that all you were wearing was an oversized shirt that covered everything above your mid thighs, leaving your toned legs on full display.

His trip to memory lane is clouded with confusion when he notices light radiating through the hallway from the living room. He got home after you did last night and swore he shut the lamp off before retreating to his bedroom. His feet carry him toward the light, stopping in the tracks when he notices your form on the couch. You’re seated comfortably with your feet splayed on the coffee table balancing your laptop on your knees, wearing that same damn t-shirt.

“What’re you doing up? You never beat me,” he questions, pulling one earphone out and adjusting the volume on his phone so he can hear you. His presence had gone unnoticed by you, so the sudden question made you jump in, your head snapping toward him in shock.

“Jesus Jake,” your hand flies to your heart in an attempt to ease its rapid beating, a quiet “whew” falling from your lips as you compose yourself, tilting the screen of your laptop down so you can see him better. “Why do move so quiet? You scared me half to death!”

“Sorry darlin’, I didn’t mean to scare you. Just surprised to see you awake so early. Like I said, you never beat me,” there’s an apologetic smile etched onto Jake’s soft features. He scratches the back of his head sheepishly, his eyes never leaving you when he moves into the kitchen to grab a water bottle, promptly opening it and taking a swig. He stalks back to the living room, wordlessly offering you the water, which you gladly accept.

“Can you actually categorize it as beating you if I haven’t slept?” you ask after gulping the cool liquid down. You hand the bottle back to him, nuzzling deeper into your position on the couch when he moves to sit next to you, pulling his other earbud out so that you know you have his full attention.

He stares at you in confusion after processing what you said. Sure, your sleeping patterns have always been odd to him, but a night of not seeming at all raises several questions, “You didn’t sleep?”

“No,” you sigh, completely closing your computer and discarding it onto the coffee table in front of you.

“Why not? I thought you said that you're ahead at work and don't have to stress about extra planning?" He slings his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers barely brushing across the fabric of your t-shirt. He ignores the temptation to drop his hand from the coach so that it rests fully on your shoulder, knowing it's not the time to tease the butterflies awakening in his stomach at the faint smell of your perfume.

"I am," you affirm looking over at him, his close proximity has you feeling at ease with a hint of bashfulness. "It's not work. It's nothing like that really. I just-I don't know, I can spend the entire day exhausted but I'm wide awake as soon as my head hits a pillow."

Jake nods, pulling his attention away from you to ponder if there's anything he can do. After a few seconds of comfortable silence, he returns his gaze to you, taking notice of the prominent bags under your eyes. Your exhaustion coats your features, coating you with a dreamlike state while you zone out on nothing. He bumps your shoulder gently, stealing your attention back. "Is there something bothering you?"

Your head shakes in response, an involuntary yawn falling from your parted lips. You pull your legs up to your chest, hooking your arms around them to hold them in place, and it takes everything in Jake's power to not focus on the fact that the movement made your oversized t-shirt rise up. He clears his throat, returning his thoughts back to the conversation rather than continuing to mentally admire your effortless beauty.

"Okay," he hums, "Well, can you at least take the day off to let yourself rest? I'm sure you'd crash if you got in bed now."

"I can't," you groan, running a hand over your face in frustration. "We have a major meeting today, and I'm running it because ninety-five percent of the team can't manage to do their jobs." There's a sympathetic look sent your way which only adds to the helplessness embedding itself in your entire being. All your impending schedule brings you is an unshakable dread due to how desperately sleep deprived you already feel.

"Okay," he repeats, standing from the couch. "Well, since you can't get out of it today, what do you say we go grab breakfast at that coffee shop you like downtown? My treat. It's not sleep, but it's the best I can do unless you're willing to let me call your boss and telling him to postpone the meeting."

You blink at him, a lazy smile twitching at the edge of your lips. "You know you don't have to do that right? I'm a big girl and can caffeinate myself."

"I know, but I want to. Besides, there's no way in hell I'm letting your sleep deprived ass drive yourself around town today. The last thing this town needs is a delirious Y/n Y/l/n operating a vehicle. Now, how about you go put some pants on so you don't catch a public indecency charge?" He's shooting you his signature 'Seresin smirk' now, which you can't refuse, so you take his outstretched hand and let him help you up.

******************

A few days later, you're parked in that same position on the couch with your legs strewn over Jake's lap as the two of you watch the latest episode of 'The Rookie." There's been a comfortable silence in the room for awhile now, both of you fully engrossed in what's playing on the screen. Jake's fingers periodically draw circles against your clothed shins, a mindless habit of his that you've grown to love, while he makes a few side comments about Tim and Lucy's relationship Which you, being a lover of the slow burning couple, always agree with.

The episode comes to a close, leaving you both with anticipation for the shows continuation next week. Watching the Rookie became a weekly tradition when you became roommates after Jake came home from the bar one night, interrupting your peaceful binge watching. He made fun of the show at first, but forced you to restart it completely because he wanted to be completely caught up on everything it had to offer before deciphering whether or not he liked it. It took measly three episodes and he was hooked, which he denied by telling you he only watches it to bond with you. The way he lost himself in the screen, laughing and cracking jokes, was a tell-tale sign that he was hooked.

“It's late, I’m gonna head to bed,” Jake tells you after several unspoken moments, standing from his comfortable position and carefully repositioning your legs on the cushions. He stretches with a hefty yawn, running a hand over his face. You wordlessly watch him, enjoying the extra gravel to his voice that always comes when he's tired. “Want me to turn the lights off?”

“I'll get them. I think I’m going to be up awhile," you decline, straightening up to reach for the journal you left on the table before he came home.

“Still not sleeping?” He yawns again, watching as you get situated in a manner that tells him you are gearing for a long night.

You scoff, shaking your head in response to his question. One glance his way fills you in on the fact that he wants more of an explanation than that. "I've averaged maybe eight hours total this week, if you can count the baby naps my assistant lets me take during breaks. I swear I could run a marathon and still not be exhausted enough to encourage my body to rest."

“What about this? How about you let me take you to bed and we’ll try something new to help you sleep," he offers. Hope fills his green eyes momentarily before draining when you snort comically.

"Hangman, are you using my sleep deprivation as an excuse to get in my pants? I know I'm undeniably attractive, but that's a new level of low, even for Jake 'the heartbreaker' Seresin," you hadn't meant for the words to spill from your lips and regret them almost immediately. Yet, your raised eyebrows challenge him rather than showing any sign of lighthearted remorse.

“I’m going to blame your hostility on sleep deprivation instead of taking what you just said personally,” there’s a playful grin curved onto his cheeks as he peers down at the disdained expression you’re directing at him. “Now, come on grumpy, let’s get you some sleep,” You groan when he grabs your hands, shifting his weight so he can pull you off the couch. You fight against him, not wanting to let go of the comfortable position you’d fallen into. “Jesus, would you stop being a brat.” He can’t help but laugh as you continue making yourself dead weight to lessen his chances of dragging you off the couch. “Fine, two can play at this game.”

“What-JAKE,” an involuntarily squeal of surprise bubbles from your chest when he bends down, both his hands on your hips, and slings you over his shoulder effortlessly. He laughs as you smack against his back while he flicks the lights off, guiding the two of you toward your room.

“Put me down peasant,” you chant through your own fit of giggles. He simply shakes his head at your antics, carefully weaving through your bedroom before dropping you on top of your bed in a heap. Your giggles die down the longer you admire his lighthearted expression. You cough to try to keep yourself from ogling him like an idiot. It’s hard not to when he’s staring at you like you’re the creator of the jet planes he loves so much. “Couldn’t have given me a gentler landing?”

Jake rolls his eyes, feigning a scoff. “You asked me to put you down, and I put you down. Don’t go giving me a bad yelp review because you weren’t more specific, princess.” There’s a slight twinkle in his eye as the nickname flows off his tongue, smooth as silk. You mentally curse the involuntary heat rushing to your cheeks at the pet name, unable to suppress a bashful smile.

“Fair point,” you reply simply, fighting to keep yourself from spiraling at the sight of your roommate still towering over your splayed figure. He’d showered about an hour ago so his normally styled hair is laying against his forehead comfortably, the scent of his body wash ghosts your nostrils as he scratches the back of his neck, making it even harder not to swoon because he smells so good. “Are you going to tell me what your master plan to help me sleep is, or should I go ahead and preorder extra shots of espresso to keep me functioning tomorrow?”

Jake straightens up at the realization that he’d gotten sidetracked from his initial plan, a dubious grin plasters itself on his face as he moves to turn my bedroom light off, carefully making his way back to my bed in the dark.

“Jake, I hate to break it to you but simply putting me into bed isn’t going to help me sleep, if that’s all it took-what’re you doing?” Your question is left unanswered as he pulls the covers back on the side of the bed you’re not laying on, pausing to stare at you through the dark.

“I’m climbing in bed,” he states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, fully situating himself under the covers. You stare at him like he’s got two heads, not understanding how his master plan to get you to sleep involves him fully being in bed with you. You’ve had daydreams about curling up in bed with him, falling asleep to the even rhythm of his heart beat, but those were simply fantasies about the man you have a complicated crush on because, well, he’s your roommate. Of course, the two of you are close enough that you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder on more than one occasion but it’s never been intention and those moments definitely haven’t occurred in a bed.

“You’re in my bed,” you observe, still frozen in place on top of the covers.

“Yes, Y/n, I’m in your bed. Now, would you stop being difficult? Get your ass up here and let me do my job,” his voice is gentle but holds a certain demand that has you obliging immediately. Climbing up next to him, you allow him to lift the covers so that you can slide under them. You leave a comfortable amount of space between the two of you, though it feels awkward with the heat radiating from his body. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What? You told me to climb in with you, so I climbed in with you?” An exasperated groan sounds from his side of the bed, earning an embarrassed blush from you, completely at a loss as to what you did wrong. “It’s not my fault that you’ve managed to leave out legitimately every detail of your master plan.”

In response, Jake’s arms wrap around your waist, immediately tugging you closer to him until you’re practically laying on top of him. “Get comfortable, sweetheart,” he murmurs simply, as if him holding you in your bed is a normal occurrence that shouldn’t have a fit of butterflies going rampant in your stomach. “Stop overthinking it and get situated.” His request comes after a few beats of you remaining frozen in the awkward position he pulled you into. You lift your head to meet his eyes, looking for affirmation that you’re hearing him right. When his hand trails over your face to brush your hair from your eyes, you suck in an audible breath, the gentle touch sending shivers down your spine as he leans his head close enough to yours that his breath fans against your face. “Let me hold you tonight."

"Okay," you breathe, carefully rolling onto your stomach. You shift yourself just enough to comfortably rest your head against his chest, fully allowing yourself relax into him as the faint sound of his heartbeat greets your ears. Jake's arms find a home around your waist again, a content sigh falling from his lips at the fact that you're fully nuzzled into him.

"Comfy?" His question is hopeful as he mindlessly draws comforting circles on your back, the simple movement paired with the comfort of his arms already causing your eyes to grow heavy.

"So comfy," you yawn, melting into him further. One of your hands fist his t-shirt while his find a spot in your hair, gently massaging your scalp.

"Good," he kisses the crown of your head, secretly feeling pleased by the way you're already fighting to keep your eyes open after seeming confident that he couldn't do anything to cure your insomnia. "Get some rest, sweetheart." You don't need his permission to sleep, but his words are the final thing you remember before slipping into a sweet slumber.

Jake knows you're out by the way your body grows a little heavier. Light snores fall from your lips every so often, warming his chest at the fact that you feel safe enough to let him assist you. While tiredness scratches the back of his eyes, he can't keep himself from observing your sleeping figure, a soft smile curves onto his lips at the adorable sight. As your roommate, he doesn't want to admit it, but he's dreamed of a moment like this from the second the two of you signed the lease for this place. Neither of you had been each others first choice in the roommate department, but after so long of roommates falling through, he proposed the idea and you accepted. You were friends back then, but weren't close enough for sharing an apartment to feel normal. Yet, when the time came to move in, your lives melted together seamlessly.

Jake's hand continues weaving through your hair, the act making him feel soft while you sleep soundly on his chest. He can't help but admire your peaceful features now that all signs of stress and exhaustion are erased from your face. You've always been attractive to Jake but right now, while you're snoring softly on his chest, he swears you're the most beautiful sight he's ever laid eyes on.

It's harder for him to continue fighting his own sleep the longer the peace of the night weighs on his eyelids so he carefully shifts the two of you into a more comfortable position. He holds his breath when you stir, but releases it when your head lulls back to place on his chest.

"Sweet dreams, pretty girl," he finds himself whispering, giving you one last glance before letting his eyes flutter shut. They snap back open when you mumble incoherently in your sleep, a sigh rolling from your parted lips.

"I love you Jake," the words are slightly slurred when they roll from your tongue, but Jake hears them clear as day. His eyes widen in surprise, never having heard you utter those words. He feels humbled by the unconscious confession, his heart swelling at the thought of the words holding an unshakeable truth.

******************

A/n: Another Jake fic while I continue working on Fawn Volume 2! I'm hoping to have the second part of Fawn posted before the week ends, I'm just finding that I'm pressuring myself with it a little because I love the storyline in my head so much that I'm scared to mess it up :')

Part Two

#top gun maverick #top gun maverick fics #top gun #top gun fics #top gun imagines #Jake seresin top gun #Jake seresin top gun maverick #Jake seresin #Jake seresin fics #Jake seresin imagines #Jake seresin fluff #Jake hangman seresin #hangman fics #hangman imagines #Jake seresin x reader #Jake seresin x you #jake seresin x female!reader #Jake seresin x roommate!reader #tgm #tgm fics #tgm imagines #top gun: maverick #Little Insomniac

[luveline]

Hi Jade! Had an idea for a Sirius fic (or poly if that’s something you feel like writing for!) where r loves dogs and animals but gets kinda scared when meeting them (especially large ones) in real life. So Sirius is all sweet with her as padfoot as a way to help her get over her fear. Love you!!! You’re truly such an amazing writer ❤️❤️

thank you, I love you ♡ and thank u for ur request!! —a stray dog befriends you on the way to sirius' flat. fem!reader, 1.3k

You're walking from the costcutters to Sirius' block of flats when you feel as though you're being followed. You look around in a sweep, but can't spot anybody besides a handful of children in the park across the street. 

Feeling weary, you pick up your pace and slide your phone from your pocket. I'm five mins from ur flat, you text. If anything happens, he'll know you were here. 

Childish giggles ride the breeze. You look back over your shoulders to see why, not for any particular reason beyond curiosity, only to see their short fingers pointing and waving at a scruffy black dog trotting behind you. 

You flinch on impulse. He's not an especially scary dog, but his appearance is a surprise. He has no collar, no leash. 

You stop walking, worried he might come closer. You love animals in theory, but you're anxiously disposed. Things that move quickly make you flighty. 

The dog stops a couple of feet from you. His head tilts left, tongue darting out of his mouth. 

"Hi, puppy," you say nervously. 

Like he can understand the irony, he sits down on his back legs and shakes his head, ears flopping from one side to the other. He's a very big dog. 

You frown. He's not cute enough to make you feel confident in approaching him —you've seen how bad some injuries can be from animal attacks. Sirius always tells you to chill out, The chances of that happening to you are so low, doll. You don't have to worry about it every time you see a dog. I'll get you a taser. 

I don't wanna tase a dog, even if it is trying to eat me, you'd said, flabbergasted. 

Sirius laughed at you. I don't know what to tell you, then. I'll just have to go with you everywhere. 

"Bye, puppy," you say, spinning on your heel. 

You walk briskly. The dog follows. You're afraid to turn to check on him, listening to his footsteps on the pavement, the scratch of his nails. He'd chase you if he were going to hurt you, right? 

You turn back around slowly, wondering if he can smell the packet of bacon you'd bought for Sirius' roommate and best friend, James. If you feed it to the dog, James won't want to forgive you (he needs mucho protein, apparently), but he probably will if it's to save yourself from harm. 

You look up from the corner store bag. The dog has laid down and bared his stomach to you, tongue lolled out the side of his mouth and panting. You swear he wiggles his legs to entice you in. 

"Oh, um." You put the bacon back in the bag. "You want a stroke?" you ask gently. 

His tail wags across the pavement. 

The walk to meet him is nerve-wracking. You extend your hand first to let him sniff you, flinching as his head comes up and he investigates your scent. He gives your index finger a quick lick. 

"Are you friendly?" you ask in the same gentle tone as before. "Please don't bite me, okay? My boyfriend, he acts like he's tough," —you extend your hand to the dogs face and stroke his jaw— "and he kind of is, but when I get hurt he goes crazy." You pop your bag down and use your newly freed hand to scratch his tummy tentatively. When he doesn't growl, you give it a good go. "Aw, you're gorgeous. You're not gonna bite, I can see that. Siri was right. He's right about nearly everything." 

The dog curls in toward your hand and starts licking you appreciatively. 

"You're lovely," you praise. "Where's your home? Do you have someone to look after you?" 

He licks you again. It's kind of gross in a cute way, or cute in a gross way. Sometimes when Sirius is feeling disgusting he'll lick a big playful stripe up your neck between kisses, though you have less fear of rabies when that happens. 

"I don't want to make any promises, but I can make you some dinner. Siri's a devoted vegetarian, but his friend treats me like his little meat delivery girl, so he owes me a couple of rashers if you want them." The dog snorts. You giggle happily. "Ew! Don't sneeze on me, handsome, I need to look presentable!" 

The dog tilts his head. You pretend it's quizzical, rubbing his belly enthusiastically. "I want to look pretty for my boy. Might be difficult if I'm covered in mucus, and I need all the help I can get– woah! Holy fu–" 

You fall back on the heels of your hands as the dog jumps into your lap. You push your face into your shoulder in fear, but the dog doesn't hurt you. He snuggles up to your chest and licks at your chin. 

"You're a good boy. Maybe I shouldn't be so scared of doggies after all," you say, sighing with relief. "Good boy. If you come home with me I'll make you some dinner, okay?" 

The dog is remarkably smart. He follows you home and waits at the door, sitting smartly by a potted plant. You race up stairs to Sirius and James' flat and knock on the door.

"Hi," James says, giving you a genial smile as he lets you in. "Sirius isn't home from work yet." 

"Sorry for bursting in on you," you say sheepishly. "I brought your bacon! And I was wondering if I could ask you for a favour." 

James is happy enough to give you some diced chicken he'd been keeping for his meal prep. Which is to say, he'll have to cook more, but he's a nice guy, and thankful that you always ask him if he needs anything before you come over. You rush downstairs again, breathless as you push open the door of the building. 

"Puppy?" you ask. 

"Not my favourite pet name, but I'll take it." 

Sirius stands where you'd left the dog, tucking hair behind his ears. It's standing up every which way. 

"Did you see the dog?" you ask urgently. 

"Nope, just me out here." 

You tip your head back in defeat. "I promised a stray I'd give him something to eat." 

"A stray?" he asks, pulling a bobble from his wrist. He begins scraping bedraggled curls from his face, disarming you with the sight of his tense biceps and his hiked shirt. 

"I'm not sure what kind of dog it was, but it was– it was big." 

"Yeah? Didn't scare you, did it?" he asks in concern. 

You hug James' tupperware to your chest, trying to seem less proud of yourself than you are. Sirius has this way of making you feel like you're a wonder with his eyes alone, dark gaze roaming your face like he knows something you don't. 

He drops his arms to his sides. "I knew you'd be okay. They're not so different from puppies, big dogs. Was he excited?" 

"He let me scratch his tummy." 

"That means he really likes you," Sirius says, holding his hand out for you. You place your hand in his. "We'll keep an eye out for him, alright? You know, I heard dogs like fruit, like, apples and bananas. Maybe you can feed him fruit salad?" 

You preen as he rubs your upper arms together, leading you back to the door, though his comment is puzzling. "You don't think he'd like the chicken?" 

"Nah."

"How do you know?" you ask, bemused.

Sirius looks very sure, bringing your joined hands up to his lips to kiss your ring finger. "Funny feeling." 

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #the marauders #sirius orion black

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Ch 14

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

A fluffy/angsty chapter for you all :)

Content Warnings - Panic Attack

“Good morning Fiesty!” Johanna barks as she enters your room. You had just finished the bland breakfast the doctors gave you. “I brought someone for you!”

Finnick shuffles in after Johanna, still avoiding getting close to you.

“Finn!” you exclaim. He looks at you with sad eyes that make you want to cry.

“I’m not going to hurt anyone,” you sniffle. “Please believe me.”

Finnick just stands there, not responding. Johanna on the other hand, walks right up to you and slaps you in the face.

“Ow!” you shout at her. “That hurt!”

“See!” Johanna states proudly. “She’s harmless. She didn’t even fight back.”

“I can scream and she won’t do anything about it!” Johanna states before screaming. You cover your ears, but don’t panic. The doctors enter your room to see what all the noise is and you tell them it’s fine. Johanna just screamed at you to show that you wouldn’t attack anyone.

Johanna’s demonstrations ease Finnick’s nerves a little. Maybe they did fix you.

He slowly approaches your bed and you hold out your hand to him.

“Why would they fix you?” he asked. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

You shrug. “Honestly I don’t know but I don’t really care. All that matters is I’m fixed and we can cuddle without me trying to kill you!” you grin.

“Gross,” Johanna mutters. “I’m out of here. Keep it PG you two.” You laugh as she leaves.

Finnick sighs and crawls into bed with you. Despite still being cuffed to the bed, you’re able to snuggle up into his side quite comfortably.

“I missed you,” you sigh, stifling a yawn. You only woke up an hour ago but your lack of exercise has made you lethargic.

“I missed you too,” he hums, stroking circles onto your arm. You don’t even mind that he’s pressed up against you in his District 13 jumpsuit, while you wear nothing but your underwear and a hospital gown.

“I can’t wait to be free,” you tell him. “No matter where I go I always seem to be locked up in a cage.”

“When the war is over we will both be free,” he replies. “Snow will be dead and we can do whatever we want.”

“What do you want to do?” you ask him.

“I want to go back to four and live in a house on the north end of the district,” he states. “I want to have a big garden that overlooks the ocean, and a big couch I can nap on.”

“Do I get to come with?” you ask, wondering where you fit in to his plans.

“Of course,” he grins. “I still need a roommate. Who else would tell me to pick my dirty clothes up off the floor?”

“Ah,” you sigh. “So I’m the roommate?”

“For now,” he states but he knows exactly what you are hinting at. “Can we just focus on getting out of here for right now and worry about whether or not you are the roommate later?” he asks.

“Of course,” you respond, looking up at him. “I don’t care what I am as long as I get to be with you.”

He smiles as his lips approach yours, leaning in closer until your door opens and a doctor walks in.

“Mr. Odair,” she states, seemingly unenthused about the scene in front of her. “You are not supposed to be in here unsupervised.”

“Right,” he grumbles, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Miss Y/L/N has some visitors from command,” the doctor states.

“I’ll come back later,” he states, brushing your fingers with his as he leaves your room.

The moment he leaves, Haymitch and Boggs enter your room.

“Wow Haymitch you look sober,” you tell the victor.

“And you’re speaking!” he chuckles. “Guess we both changed.”

“Miss Y/L/N we need to ask you a favor,” Boggs states.

“Sure, what is it?” you ask.

“Peeta has been having a hard time since we rescued him,” Haymitch explains. “We were wondering if you would go in and speak with him, as a friend.”

“I can do that,” you nod. Haymitch sighs in relief.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Boggs states. “There are a few rules regarding your visit. One, absolutely no mentions of Katniss or anyone close to her. If he starts talking about her, just nod your head and don’t aggravate him. Two, don’t talk to him about what they did in the capital. It might set him off. He’s restrained in his room but we are letting you in unrestrained. If at any point you feel unsafe you can leave.”

The doctors bring you a jumpsuit and you get ready for your visit to Peeta. It feels great to no longer be stuck in your room, even if this is just a quick break.

“Remember, you can leave at any point,” Haymitch reminds you. You nod and step into Peeta’s room.

“Hey Peeta,” you grin. “I missed you.”

“Y/N!” he smiles. “I was so worried about you!”

“How are you feeling?” you ask him.

“Not great,” he sighs. “I can’t tell what’s real anymore.”

“Yeah,” you sigh in return.

“Has it happened yet?” he asks you.

“Has what happened?” you ask him, a bit confused.

“Has the timer gone off?” he asks, confusing you even more.

“I’m not quite sure what timer you are referring to,” you tell him, slowly taking a few steps back. Your brain didn’t like this.

“Your timer,” he states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The one the capital gave you.”

At his mention of the capital, you freeze. You couldn’t do this. Your hands start to sweat and your face turns pale as you do your best to back away from him.

Boggs must notice your sudden change of mood as he enters the room and tells Peeta to excuse you two while you went to do your treatment. You hadn’t been receiving any treatment, he just wanted to get you out of there.

“Y/N, what was he talking about?” Haymitch asks.

“I don’t know,” you respond. “I think I need to go lay down for a bit.”

The doctors run every test on you imaginable with the technology they have available to them in 13 but they found nothing. Maybe Peeta was wrong. Maybe he made it up.

After monitoring you for another week, President Coin finally sets your release date for three days from now. They would release you immediately but they weren’t expecting you would ever be released so they need to figure out your living situation and what monitoring you will need first. You asked to live with Finnick but they said no.

“Finn,” you whine, sitting in his compartment. The doctors let you out of your hospital room supervised as long as you returned for meals and to sleep.

“Why won’t they let me move in?” you ask. “You don’t even have a roommate.”

“Because we aren’t married,” he replies. “In District 13 you have to be married if you want to live with someone of a different gender. I already asked if they could make an exception for us because we’ve been living together for years now but they won’t allow it. I think they’re gonna put you with Johanna when she’s released.”

“Well then let’s get married!” you state, catching him off guard. He laughs at this suggestion, causing you to frown.

“Oh,” he states, noticing your reaction. “That was a serious suggestion?”

“Yes,” you respond.

“We aren’t even dating!” he replies. “And you want to just skip to getting married?”

“Uh yeah,” you respond. “I don’t think they’ll let us live together if we’re just dating so marriage it is!”

Finnick groans and puts his head in his hands.

“Y/N marriage is a serious thing,” he states. “People get married because they’re in love, not to become roommates.”

“So you aren’t in love with me?” you frown. Boys are so confusing.

“No that’s not what I’m saying,” Finnick responds. “I’m saying that getting married just so District 13 lets us live together is not a good reason to be getting married.”

“So you are in love with me?” you grin.

“Shut up,” he replies.

“Make me”

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*if the tag didn’t work please check your settings to make sure other blogs can tag you

#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair smut #finnick fluff #finnick x y/n #thg finnick #finnick odair fanfic #mockingjay #the feral one

[gimmeurtmi]

audience — 2min

pairing: kim seungmin x fem!reader feat. lee minho

tags: established relationship, dom/sub dynamics, threesome, smut!!!🔞

warnings: swearing, exhibitionism, wet dreams, tiny mention of attack on titan, brief mention of covid, government mandated isolation, degradation kink (like, huge one!), sub!reader, dom!minho, softdom!seungmin, use of words like “baby, dumb, little girl, good girl, stupid, dumbass”, spanking, light choking, fingering, multiple orgasms, minho is an ass man we know, i really really lost my mind here guys. i will never get it back.

inspo: requested by anon! who is also now my fav person. *whispers back* how do you feel about min & y/n (ft. another member of your choice) engaging in exhibitionism 🧐 y/n has a wet dream about said member and it’s kept her restless and horny — obviously seungmin takes note and asks whats going on and y/ns all like nooo youre gonna think im weird and i feel bad i don’t want you to hate me but he’s quick to shut that down and reassures her that he’s into it too because no matter what y/n will always belong to him

notes: when i read this request i had two ideas. this, surprisingly, is the tamer one. if y’all want might write a part two with that second much more unhinged idea. rbs and feedback are appreciated 🫶🏻

{ wc: 5195 }

You woke up in a sweat, remembering bits and pieces of your dream. It was sexual, extremely sexual—beyond anything you’ve ever done in your real life. You were in the middle of a house party, fucking someone on the couch while everyone was watching and cheering you on. They were making suggestions at the pair of you, and your partner was taking every idea to heart. What names to call you, what position to put you in, if he should let you cum or not.

It was so dirty and so good.

When you woke up and quickly went to pee you realised your panties were completely soaked through, and so were your pyjamas.

You quickly hopped in the shower, cleaning the mess off your thighs and getting ready for the day.

As you were brushing your teeth you couldn’t help but replay the parts you remembered from your dream, your thighs clenching as you thought about how deep he thrust inside you. And then suddenly an image came into your brain. You knew it wasn’t your boyfriend, Seungmin, who was fucking you in the dream. But you didn’t think you’d remember the face of who it was. And then you did.

It was Minho.

Minho, your boyfriend’s roommate and best friend. Who you never even considered you could have a wet dream about.

You felt shame take over your skin as you walked into the living room, needing something to drink to cool you down.

It wasn’t like you never had wet dreams. You had them quite often, and they weren’t often about your boyfriend either. He found it hilarious when you would wake up and tell him all about the sex you were having with your favourite anime character, or the blow job you just gave to the actor from whatever show you were watching.

You never thought you’d dream about anyone you knew in real life, let alone someone who was so close to you. So close to your boyfriend.

After you finished your breakfast you stood by the sink to wash up after yourself, a pair of hands snaking around your stomach from behind.

“Where did you go?” Seungmin’s soft voice whispered down your ear, still coated with sleep.

“Oh, I just wanted some food,” you excused.

“You were making those noises in your sleep again,” you heard more than saw his smirk, “did Levi fuck you good this time?”

“What? No! What are you talking about?” You escaped from his grip, getting your bottle and filling it with water. It was full already, so you dipped the whole container down the drain and then refilled it—just to save yourself from having to look at Seungmin with how warm your face felt at his question.

He knew you too well.

“Was it Mikasa, then?” He raised his eyebrows in glee.

“Shut up,” you chuckled at him.

“I wanna hear the dream,” he whined at you, “they’re always so good.”

“Pervert,” you shifted the attention to him, or more like tried. You knew how stubborn he could get, and your boyfriend wouldn’t stop until he heard the story. You wondered if you could get away with lying to him about the subject of your fantasy.

“Okay, fine. But you can’t judge!” You sent him a warning finger. Seungmin smiled at you, crossed his heart with his finger, and waited enthusiastically to hear more.

“I was at a party fucking someone in front of everyone else,” you said quickly. You couldn’t quite meet his eyes, but you still saw the expression on his face. Bewilderment and horniness and a hint of pride were the only emotions you could see.

“Everyone else?” He promoted, taking a step closer to you.

“Yeah, they were like… cheering and stuff.”

“Cheering?” You nodded.

“So,” his voice dropped to a whisper, his lips by your ear, “the whole room was domming you?”

“Yeah, something like that,” you sighed.

“Fuck,” he grabbed your hips, squeezing them. “No wonder you were so loud this time. Sounds like a really good dream.”

You looked up into his eyes, his pupils swimming with lust as he licked over his lips. Maybe Seungmin liked that fantasy as much as you did—even though neither of you have ever talked about something like that before.

His fingers slipped under your baggy shirt, gripping your skin.

“Didn’t think you liked an audience,” he said, planting a soft kiss by your ear.

He felt your cheek heating up, noticed how you weren’t even teasing him back. So he moved in front of your face, cocking his head to the side.

“Why are you shy, bubs?” You didn’t answer. “I’m sorry,” he pulled away from you, noticing you were extremely stiff now, “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“No, Minnie, it’s fine!” You promised him quickly. “I’m just… embarrassed.”

“From me?” He almost gasped.

“The dream in general. It was so vivid and hot and,” you sighed, finding the kitchen floor so extremely interesting.

“Then why are you embarrassed? You have hot dreams a lot, they’re the highlight of most of my mornings,” he smiled at you. “Who was it?”

You felt your heart drop. You couldn’t possibly tell him. It was weird, and wrong, and you were afraid it would upset him too much. “Uh, no one special.”

“Aw, someone else got to fuck my horny little girl,” he faked pouted at you. Seungmin honestly didn’t care at all that it wasn’t him in the dreams, because it was usually him who made them come true when you woke up. He just loved knowing what it was that got you all hot and bothered, even if the answer was sometimes a superhero or a fake lawyer or one time that guy from Atlantis.

“Don’t start,” you blushed, feeling the heat travel down your body and settle in your core at his nickname.

“Okay,” he conceded, “but you usually wake up really needy from these dreams so I thought I could help you out.”

“You’re so kind and selfless,” you teased, smirking at how he was suggesting it was only you that needed help—like you couldn’t see the semi in his shorts.

“I am those things, yes,” he smiled innocently at you.

“What are you?” Felix asked, entering the kitchen and going straight to the fridge. He took out a two litre bottle and started chugging it as he waited for your answer.

“I was just telling Minnie how he’s the cutest most beautiful boyfriend ever,” you smirked, as it was now your boyfriend’s turn to blush.

“Cute,” Felix smiled, before he started preparing his breakfast.

You jumped on the counter as the three of you started talking about the latest Marvel film and when you could all go and watch it, Seungmin slotting in between your legs as he faced Felix.

He hooked his hands under your knees as the conversation spiralled, his roommate not at all bothered by the physical affection between you two.

At this point you practically lived at the dorm, and were very used to the boys’ presence—as they were to yours.

When Jeongin woke up he didn’t even notice any of you in the kitchen until he started drinking his coffee.

Then he asked who wanted to join his shopping trip later this week.

“Can I come?” You asked eagerly, kicking your legs up around Seungmin’s body. He caught your calves up in the air then let you swing them back down, playing with your knees absentmindedly.

“Sure,” Jeongin smiled at you, taking a bite of the food Felix prepared for them.

“Yah!” You heard a shout down the hallway as the door opened then closed quickly. “You guys need to stop ordering so much shit!”

“It wasn’t me this time!” Felix yelled quickly, eyes wide as he looked towards the source of the voice.

Minho walked into the kitchen, five packages in his arms as a scowl painted his face.

He dropped them on the table with a bang, giving each of his roommates a death stare.

Jeongin happily ignored it, grabbing the first package on the pile and opening it with an excited dance in his seat. Then Seungmin walked away from you and picked up the other packages, tearing them apart quickly.

You realised you didn’t close your legs since he moved away. Minho was looking at you.

Your whole body was on fire as you watched him watching you, slowly moving closer to you. You couldn’t even look at him—even the smallest glance his way threw you straight back to your dream. The way he looked underneath you, the way he commanded the whole room as he touched you and f—

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, raising his eyebrows at you. He was right in front of you, reminding you to quickly shut your legs. “Move?”

“W-what?”

“You’re sitting in front of my blender,” he chuckled.

“Oh, oh yeah. Oh, of course. I’m so sorry, so sorry,” you jumped off the counter, extremely aware of Jeongin looking at you.

“Why is she being weird?” He half whispered at Seungmin. But the kitchen was small, and there was only you four in it anyway, and everyone could hear his question. It reminded you so much of the dream.

“I need to, um, I. Phone,” is all you managed, before you practically ran out of the kitchen and back into the room.

You groaned at yourself, sinking down into the bed as you tried to push the images from the dream away. It was impossible, and if you weren’t careful you’d ruin your new underwear in a matter of minutes.

A few seconds later, as you were still running your hands down your face, Seungmin walked into the room.

He plopped your phone down next to you.

“Your phone was in the kitchen, dumbass.” He sat down next to you, waiting for you to calm down.

“Okay, listen,” you started, taking in a deep breath.

“Your sex dream was about Minho and what Innie said got you so flustered because it was like your dream,” he confirmed, nonchalantly.

You gasped.

“I know you like the back of my hand, bubs,” he said when you just looked at him in shock before he kissed you softly.

“I’m sorry, Minnie, I’m sorry,” you shook your head, “I don’t control it and I know it’s wrong and I promise I feel nothing for him it’s not like that at all I—“

“—it’s fine,” he emphasised, making sure to look right into your eyes as he spoke. “I’m not jealous or mad or anything. It was actually extremely funny how flustered you got.”

“Min!” You yelled, slapping at his arm.

“Was that what you were moaning in your dream?” He smirked at you.

“Oh my god!” You groaned, covering your face as you fell onto your back. Seungmin crawled up your body, placing a hand on either side of your middle as he laughed.

**

Luckily for you, you weren’t faced with Minho again after that. Unluckily, it was because he got a confirmed test and was sent away to quarantine until he got better. Because of that, everyone that was in contact with him was forced into a five day isolation period—including you.

It wasn’t the first time you were isolating with your boyfriend, or his roommates for that matter, and so you happily just got on with your days in the house together.

Without the resident cook, you and Felix were in charge of feeding the others and Jeongin was in charge of complaining he was hungry after every meal.

“Why don’t you say thank you and just shut up?” Seungmin snapped after the third time, claiming he was disrespecting your efforts and he couldn’t stand for that.

Between video games and trying to work from home and the cabin fever, you were all actually doing pretty well. The only thing you had to complain about was the lack of privacy meant you didn’t have any alone time with your boyfriend, and worse of all, you never actually got to relieve the tension you felt since the dream.

So when you finished your work for the day and walked back into the room to see Seungmin on his phone, completely relaxed, you took your opportunity and climbed onto the bed.

You perched yourself right next to him, getting comfortable on your stomach, and tapped his chin.

“Kiss me,” you demanded. Seungmin laughed at you, locking his phone and discarding it on the bed before he followed your command.

His soft lips collided with yours as he brought a hand to your cheek, pulling you in closer.

You deepened the kiss, sighing against him as he put more force into his action—his tongue delicately licking your lips. You opened your mouth, moaning softly into the kiss as you relaxed against his chest.

“Oh wow, what a sight,” you heard a voice say behind you.

You jumped up, looking behind you to find Seungmin’s laptop was perched at the edge of the bed—and on it was an ongoing FaceTime call.

You only saw your reflection for a moment before you jumped up and turned around, and then you understood what the voice meant. Your ass was completely in view, leaving almost nothing to the imagination considering you were wearing your tightest pair of leggings.

And then you noticed who was sitting on the other side of the call.

“Sorry, hyung,” Seungmin said, bringing a hand around your shoulder, “I have to admit I forgot you were there.”

“Can’t blame you,” Minho chuckled. “You two get on with it, I can go.”

But he didn’t move.

“Wait,” you said quickly, “you were on your phone when I came in.”

“Yeah?” Seungmin shrugged.

“You were on FaceTime with Minho without even talking to each other?”

“I’m lonely,” Minho defended, “and I was just getting something to drink. I would’ve said something but I just got back and boom. Your ass was in my face.”

You covered your face in your palms.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“Don’t need to apologise for having a nice ass,” he said, simply.

You slowly lifted your head from your hands, looking at your boyfriend to gauge his reaction. Seungmin did not take lightly to people commenting on you or your body—but he was laughing.

“You do have a very nice ass,” he said with a glint in his eyes, before he brought his hand down to your ass and squeezed it.

“Minnie! He’s still here,” you pointed out quietly.

At that, Seungmin grabbed your ass tighter before he leaned into your ear and whispered, “you can end the call now if you want. Or we can make a little part of your dream come true.”

You gasped into the air, your thighs clenching before you even realised you did that.

“What did you say to her?” Minho laughed, clearly recognising that type of reaction.

“Give us a second, hyung,” Seungmin said quickly, noticing you haven’t given any indication this was still okay. He leaned forward towards his laptop, his finger reaching for one of the keys, but you quickly spoke up.

“Wait, wait. Don’t end the call!”

“I was just going to mute us, bubs,” he said, turning to you with his eyebrows high.

“Oh, okay,” you said sheepishly.

He muted the call, turning to you with a curious face. You noticed Minho was kind enough to look at his phone in the meantime, giving you two some semblance of privacy.

“So?” He prompted.

“Are you suggesting we just have sex in front of him?” You asked bluntly, because there was no reason to beat around the bush anymore.

“Not if you don’t want to,” he shrugged. “If it gets you going we can just make out until he gets tired and leaves. Or if it’s just a fantasy then we end the call.”

“What.. uh, what do you think he’ll say?”

“Ask him,” Seungmin suggested.

You slowly reached over to the laptop, clicking the button to unmute yourself.

“Minho,” you said, swallowing the very little moisture that was left in your throat.

“Yeah?”

“Can we keep going?”

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded, his hand coming into view on his keyboard, “I’ll call Minnie tomorrow.”

“No, no,” you tried, causing Minho to raise his eyebrows, “what if you stayed. And watched.”

“Watched?” Minho gasped.

“You said you’re lonely and you’re probably bored,” you began, encouraged by Seungmin’s hand on your back, “if you want to we can entertain you.”

Minho’s eyes flicked over to Seungmin, studying his reaction. When he saw the small nod his friend gave him, he nodded back.

“I am extremely bored,” he said slowly.

You took one final look at your boyfriend, seeing the reassuring smile on his face before turning back to the screen.

“Anything you’d like to see?”

“Your ass,” he answered instantly. You laughed, nodding before you got back into your previous position, making a point of shaking your ass from side to side as you got comfortable.

Seungmin’s hand was in your hair in a matter of seconds, pulling you towards him as he kissed you hungrily. It was messy, sloppy, the kind of kiss he gave you when he was dying to do more.

But Seungmin wanted you to set the pace—do only what you wanted to when you had an audience.

This was new, and so fucking exciting, but he didn’t want to do anything that would unsettle you. So he just kissed you, tongue crashing against yours as he tugged on your hair.

You lifted off the bed slightly, just to get closer to Seungmin, in the process showing Minho your ass from the best angle.

“Minnie,” you moaned into the kiss, feeling the wetness pooling in your underwear. “He likes my ass.”

“Yeah, I think he made that clear,” he chuckled at you.

“Slap it,” you asked quietly.

“You sure?” Seungmin pulled away. You usually only asked him to do that when you were well and truly gone, only letting your desperation talk.

“Please,” you said, kissing his jaw, “I think he’ll like it.”

So your boyfriend complied. He brought his hand to your ass, squeezing it harshly before he slapped it.

It didn’t hurt too much, thanks to the layer between your skins—and the fact Seungmin didn’t use much force.

“That was pathetic, Seungmin,” Minho said. “You need to slap it like you mean it.”

Seungmin noticed the way you whimpered—and a huge smirk appeared on his face.

“Like this, hyung?” He asked, before landing his palm on you again, this time it was loud enough to bounce against the walls. It was hard enough to jolt your whole body forward.

“Ask her,” Minho ordered.

“Was that hard enough for you, baby?”

“Harder,” you whined. Seungmin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he did as you asked, landing another loud slap on your ass.

This time it stung, but not to the point of pain. You moaned.

“Yeah, I think she liked that one,” Minho chuckled.

You nodded quickly, looking up at Seungmin as you bit your lip.

“You’ll feel it more if I take this off,” he suggested gently, running a finger over the waistband of your leggings.

You didn’t even say anything, simply moved around until you managed to slip out of the soft material, whining at the way the air felt against your damp panties.

You could hear Minho sighing as your bare ass came into view.

“Why would you bother with underwear when it isn’t even covering anything?” He commented. Seungmin looked over your shoulder, observing Minho’s comment. Your thong really didn’t cover much.

He grabbed onto the pink string, pulling at it until it snapped back into place harshly.

You moaned again, arching your back before you quietly asked Seungmin to keep going.

He slapped your ass five more times, making you moan louder every time, before he grabbed your ass then rubbed his hand over the spot he hit.

He tapped your hip, urging you to move sideways on your knees—offering your ass up to him. He leaned down and kissed that same spot.

He then kissed down your ass, to the back of your thigh, and planted one small kiss on your core.

You almost forgot what was happening, what you were actually doing, before Seungmin grabbed your hips and moved you closer to the laptop.

He pushed your knees apart and chuckled.

“Look at that, hyung,” he said, almost proudly. “That wet patch is big.”

He ran a finger over your panties, from where the string sat snugly between your ass to your core, stopping at the entrance. He dipped his finger in as far as the fabric let him, causing you to buck your hips towards his hand.

“Aw, look,” Minho chuckled, “she’s needy.”

You moaned loudly at that, repeating the action with your hips.

“Minnie’s not being so nice to you, huh?” Minho asked, laughing lightly at how much you were pushing against Seungmin’s fingers.

“You think she knows it can’t go any deeper with her thong in the way?”

“She’s not very smart when she’s desperate,” Seungmin explained, “I don’t think she even knows it’s still on.”

The more they talked about you like you weren’t even there, the wetter you got. And Seungmin could feel it.

He knew you liked being talked down on, he knew you liked being called names, but he wasn’t too good at that. He tried, he always did, but the fear of getting carried away and hurting your feelings stopped him.

But now, with someone else chiming in and feeding your fantasies, he didn’t think he’d have to say much at all to hit the spots you craved.

He pushed his doubts to the side as he pulled you up to face him.

Minho slumped in his seat, upset to see your ass move away, but the next thing he saw was very much worth that slight disappointment.

Seungmin grabbed you by the throat, looking straight into your eyes as he said, “is my little girl all dumb for me?”

“Fuck,” was all you could say back.

“That didn’t sound like an answer,” Minho said.

Seungmin smirked as he saw your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head.

“Come on, baby. Minho wants you to answer,” Seungmin prompted, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Y-yeah,” you sighed.

“Yeah? Yeah, what?” Seungmin demanded, pressing his fingers into your throat for a moment.

“I get so dumb when I’m desperate for your cock, Minnie,” you groaned.

Seungmin smiled at you, leaning down to kiss you eagerly.

He ran his hands over your stomach, pinching your shirt in a silent question. But you didn’t respond, just pulled him closer to you by his neck as you kissed him harder.

Minho called your name, unsure if he was allowed to use any pet names with you, and got your attention.

“Can Seungmin take your shirt off?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nodded quickly, letting your boyfriend peel your shirt off and toss it to the side.

“See, Minnie, you need to use your words sometimes.”

“Hey,” you grinned at your boyfriend, “that’s what you always tell me to do.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Seungmin chuckled at you.

He grabbed your hips, pulling you towards him when Minho coughed.

“You’re gonna just let her be a smartass?”

You both stopped.

Seungmin turned to the screen, letting one of his hands rub against your stomach.

“What do you mean, hyung?”

“If she talks back to you, you should put her in her place.” You swallowed. You looked between Seungmin and the screen, noticing both boys wore a huge smirk on their faces.

“Yeah, I probably should,” he mused, running his finger across your jawline. “She does misbehave a lot.”

“I do not!” You protested.

“Already proving your point, man,” Minho tsked.

“She’s so demanding too,” Seungmin shook his head, “like she really thinks she’s the one in charge.”

You blinked up at him.

“But as soon as I ask her what she wants she’ll just say ‘just give me what you want’ like the good girl she should be,” Seungmin said. He used a voice to mock you when he quoted your words, and it made your whole body shudder as you clenched hard around nothing at all.

Minho laughed. “I think she felt that.”

“Should I check how wet that made her?” He suggested, looking right at you.

You nodded quickly, excitement pooling in your stomach at the thought he was going to touch you.

“Shhh,” he said, sickingly sweet, “I wasn’t talking to you.”

You moaned at that, eyes squeezing shut as your body instantly reacted to those words, too. The want in your core had turned into an ache, so strong you were sure you would lose your mind soon.

You asked Seungmin for this exact thing so many times—and finally you were getting what you wanted.

“Careful what you wish for, huh, bubs?” Seungmin whispered at you, seemingly managing to read your mind again. You chuckled at him, pecking his lips softly before you let him bring his fingers to your core.

He pushed your panties to the side, dipping one finger into your entrance.

“Fuck,” he chuckled airily, pushing deeper in pure curiosity. “Baby, I don’t think you’ve ever been this wet for me before.”

“Please,” you sighed, basking in the stretch his finger provided. But it wasn’t enough. “Please, more.”

“What do you think, Minho?” You clenched at that, moaning softly. Seungmin laughed.

“How much more can she take?”

You didn’t say anything, unsure of if it was your turn to speak.

Seungmin moved around, placing himself behind you as he turned your body to face the camera, the only thing blocking Minho’s view was Seungmin’s hand cupping your core.

“Answer him,” Seungmin said, warning.

“I can take more,” you sighed, eyes fluttering shut as Seungmin pressed his finger deeper into you with every slow thrust.

“He didn’t ask if, he asked how much. Are you stupid or you just can’t listen?” Seungmin froze. He never used that word before, only dumb, and suddenly his whole body was tingling with adrenaline. He messed up, he got carried away and hurt your feelings, and in front of someone else, too. you were gonna hate him and—

“Fuck, Minnie, if you say that again I’ll fucking cum,” you whined loudly, dropping your head on his shoulder.

Instinctively he added another finger, pace quick and deep. But he couldn’t say anything. He was too spooked, unsure of how exactly to word a sentence with that word in it.

He looked at the screen, admiring your body, the way you pushed your chest forward as you leaned on his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut and jaw hanging open.

He caught Minho’s face on the screen, eyes wide and hand silently gesturing for him to say something.

Seungmin sent him back a panicked look, only focusing on moving faster to make you cum.

So Minho took over.

“Come on, Minnie. Make her stupid cunt cum.”

Seungmin felt your walls closing in around his fingers, pulsing as you moaned loudly into his ear. You whined as he kept up his pace, helping you ride out your high, the electric current swimming all through your body as one of the strongest orgasms you’ve ever felt crashed into you. It didn’t stop, Seungmin relentless as he noticed your body wasn’t going limp like it usually did—another wave hitting you at full force.

When his hand started cramping he sucked on your exposed neck to distract himself which seemed to have backfired, as he felt your body reacting, another one shooting through your walls.

At one point or another you gasped out, pushing his wrist away from you.

“Okay, okay,” he kissed your cheek, stilling his hand inside you.

You panted heavily, your body covered in a layer of sweat as Seungmin lowered you both back onto the bed. He delicately pulled his hand away, grabbing a tissue and cleaning himself off as he gave you space to breathe.

He made sure to kiss your cheeks as you breathed, fighting the urge to wrap his hands around your middle because you didn’t like that when you were breathless. Finally, you spoke.

“Holy fucking shit.”

They both laughed.

“Does it always happen like that?” Minho asked, panting slightly himself.

“That has never happened before,” he laughed, kissing your temple. “You did so so well to take all that.”

“Yeah,” Minho agreed, “you did a really good job.”

You smiled sheepishly.

“Thank you for letting me watch,” he said, looking on as you signalled to your boyfriend that you were done.

“Thank you for helping. A lot,” you laughed.

You looked over at the screen and noticed a small white stain on the front of his shirt. “When did that happen?”

“Oh, some point during your ten minute orgasm,” he shrugged. You all laughed before you corrected him.

“Orgasms.”

“How many do you think that was?” Seungmin asked as he judged he could finally wrap his hands around you, leaning his chin on your shoulder.

“Maybe five?” You scrunched your nose, butterflies creeping into your stomach as both of them whistled in awe.

“New record!” He exclaimed, offering his palm out to you. You weakly gave him a high five.

“How are you feeling, Min?” You asked after the silence settled, as did your breathing.

“I’m okay—“

“I feel better—“

They both answered. Seungmin chuckled as he asked, “which one of us?”

“I meant Minho,” you giggled, “since he’s the one who’s sick.”

“I feel better actually, gonna do another test tomorrow to see if they’ll let me out of this prison,” he chuckled, taking a few sips from his water bottle.

“Yes, please come back soon. I’ve had enough of cooking for these guys,” you rolled your eyes.

Minho laughed at that, promising he’ll free you of your duties soon enough.

“You?” You turned your head lightly, cupping your boyfriend’s chin as you soothed your thumb over his skin.

“I’m glad you had so much fun. My hand hurts though,” he pouted. You brought his hand up towards your lips, kissing his wrist a few times before he nodded.

“And you, bubs?”

“Oh, I feel fucking incredible,” they laughed, “I kept telling you to be mean and you didn’t listen.”

“Well, now I know you were not kidding,” Seungmin exclaimed dramatically.

“I’m gonna go shower guys,” Minho said, running a hand through his hair, “make sure you drink a lot before you sleep, okay?”

The three of you bid each other good night, and once it was just the two of you again, Seungmin made sure to feed you and hydrate you and clean you before you cuddled until you fell asleep.

A few weeks down the line, the three of you were sat around the living room watching a movie Jisung recommended. During one of the montages, Seungmin spoke up.

“You know what I realised?” You both hummed. “During the six orgasms that happened that night, none of them were mine.”

The three of you laughed, Minho raising his eyebrows at you with a lopsided smile.

#wtf is this gif i spent five minutes just staring at it. #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #all.works #skz x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #2min #2min x reader #lee minho x y/n #lee minho x reader #minho x y/n #minho x reader #lee minho smut #seungmin x you #seungmin x reader #seungmin x y/n #kim seungmin smut #kim seungmin x you #kim seungmin x reader

[jaykaysthicthighs]

The Path Of A Singer | JJK

excerpt | the appearance of your old lover pops up on tv, and the horrible memories showed itself once again.

genre | heavy angst, cheating, abuse, minor fluff

rating | 18+

warnings | strong language, present & past, toxic relationship, mental & physical abuse, jk cheating, panic attack, alcohol and drug consumption, lots of crying, heartbreaking conversations, jk being vile, lots of yelling, jk manhandles the reader, mention of abusive father, mention of ptsd, reader being selfless (you might not agree with the decisions she's made, but don't hate her; she's a broken person), maybe more

wc | 4K+ (very short)

notes | it's been a hell of a long time since i wrote and posted anything....!!!

my inspiration came from watching the movie insidious: the red door lol. the reason for the mature rating is because of the strong language, the heavy conversations said, and the talks of alcohol and drugs. i want to say that i'm not romanticizing this type of relationship or the behaviors of the characters, i'm just making a story that maybe some people might have gone through. sometimes the decisions made or thought of does not make you a bad/horrible person. everyone had a reason good or bad; you just have try to be understanding. i also tried to make this as heartbreaking as possible, but for some reason i feel like it's not. hopefully it does pull some heartstrings for you guys.

You finally arrived home after an exhausting day of work. Your roommate wasn't home yet, so, luckily for you, you're able to binge eat without the concerned eyes of your friend watching you.

You walked your way to the kitchen and made yourself some sandwiches, you also grabbed some water on the way to the living room. When you made it to the couch, you plopped down heavily. You grabbed the remote and started scrolling through the channels. You came across a channel that was showing a music festival, and without thinking about who might be performing you clicked on it.

The first performer was a group called XG. As they were performing, you happily ate while vibing to their songs. At one point, you started singing as well, not caring that you still had some food in your mouth. If the neighbors were able to hear you, they would probably think someone is dying - yelling for help.

When you finished, you got up put away your dishes, and made your way to your room to change your clothes. As you were changing, you felt a bit lonely. You and your friend don't have any pets, no companion to keep any of you guys company. You exited your room with a simple sweater and shorts.

You made it back to the living room with a content expression on your face, unfortunately, it wouldn't last long. As you were about to get yourself situated on the couch, you looked at the TV screen, and the one person you never wanted to see again was singing.

You fell to your knees with a hard thud, watching the screen with horrid eyes. It's been three years since you saw him. In those three years, you tried your damned hardest to avoid anything and everything that involved him in it. The pain he caused you still resides in your little heart.

You didn't realize but you started crying; the tears rapidly falling. Your body started shaking; the little goosebumps displaying your skin. Your chest felt heavy like a huge wave crashing on you, and the water is rising up into your nose, making it hard for you to breathe. You felt like you were suffocating, and the lack of air was making your head light; dizziness taking its place.

On the outside, you were frozen, but on the inside, you were trying to claw your way out. You felt like you were scratching every surface of your body, but you weren't moving an inch. Your brain was screaming for help, but the only thing leaving your mouth was the hardness and unstableness of your breathing. Right now, you were wishing for your friend to come home right now and save you.

Three Years Ago

You were in your car driving your way to your boyfriend. Jungkook's manager called you demanding that you come and pick him up. You don't really know what happened, but from how his manager sounded, you were thinking that he got himself drunk and high again, causing thoughtless actions.

Not too long ago, Jungkook was able to get into his dream record label. After years and years of hard work, passion, and dedication he was able to pursue his dream. What you didn't realize is that with Jungkook getting to follow his dream of being a singer, he would soon lose his sense of self. In just two weeks he was starting to drink, and in another week, he started experimenting with drugs.

As time went on, so did your patience. You would try and try to stop him - to help him, but every time Jungkook would stop your advances. Pushing you away and causing you pain made Jungkook feel superior, it made him feel proud that he reached a certain height in life.

Your guy's relationship now consists of yelling and crying. Jungkook started to mentally abuse you, but even so, you would accept it. You didn't have the strength to leave him - to leave the man you love since middle school. You couldn't leave the man who would write songs about you, the man who would wake up during dawn and make you a big breakfast, the man who would call you no matter the time, the man who would always tell you how much he loves you every second of the day. You didn't have the strength to leave him.

With all your anger, you finally made it to the studio in one piece. When you entered the building, the looks on the staff's faces were concerning you. One of the staff went up to you and told you to not go inside the studio. You looked at them judgingly and pushed your way through them, but they still tried to stop you.

"What is the problem? Let me through!" you yelled. They gave you a sad look and apologized, "I'm sorry ma'am, but Jungkook is very busy, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to go inside there." Your anger was boiling, steam coming out of your ears. "Sorry for yelling at you, but I don't fucking care if he is busy. Jonny called me saying that I need to pick this asshole up, okay? If you're worried about me finding out that he is high or drunk - even both, don't. This is not new to me."

The staff in front of you looked like she was on the verge of tears. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she got the chance, a disheveled woman left the room your boyfriend was in. You watched her with wide eyes as she left the building with a smile on her face. You stomped your way to the studio door ignoring the pleas from the staff. You pushed open the door causing a loud bang, startling the man recognized as Jonny.

Jonny swiftly got up and the first thing you noticed was the bloody nose. You walked your way to him digging in your bag grabbing some tissues for his nose. Gently placing it on him, you politely demanded, "Where is he, Jonny?" The man before you faced his eyes on the floor. "Jonny, you called me here, so, don't fucking hide anything from me. Where is he?"

The man took a step back letting the blood freely fall again. He shook his head, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you. I've ruined everything." You gritted your teeth and threw the bloody tissue at his face. "Where the hell is he, Jonny?" you yelled.

A second later, Jungkook swung the bathroom door open with nothing but some sweats on. Your heart dropped from his appearance. It was evident that he had fucked the girl from earlier. You guys made eye contact, and you could tell immediately that he was high out of his mind. "Get out, Jonny," you said without looking.

When you heard the door shut, that's when you crumbled. Your eyes started blurring with the tears that were coming. Your body shaking with rage. You walked up to the fucked-up man and slapped him. "Why? Why? Why the hell would you do this to me?"

Jungkook harshly grabbed your wrists and laughed. He laughed like what you had said was something funny. You can smell the horrible alcohol leaving his mouth as he laughed. "Because it's fun, babe."

The pain rippled throughout your body. You snatched your wrists away and bellowed, "You're hurting me! You're destroying me! What does she have that I don't? I thought you loved me?" Jungkook towered over you; he grinned, "I don't love you." Your whole world died. Never had Jungkook spouted those words. It tore you limb from limb, slowly but surely. And that was all it took for you to call it done.

You were fine dealing with his hurtful ways. You were fine being the punching bag. But you were not fine being cheated on. Even with Jungkook in this fucked-up state, not once had he said that he didn't love you, and not once did he ever cheat on you. You felt lower than before, and you didn't want to feel like that. You knew that the moment he started doing drugs and drinking alcohol, the man you once knew would be gone. Still, you had hoped there might be a tiny sliver of him inside, but today proved - his words proved you wrong.

Your eyes hardened and your expression became stoic. Without trying to sound broken you seethed, "We are done! You fucking hear me? I am done with your shit - with everything!" As you walked your way to the door, Jungkook rushed in front of you and pushed you to the ground.

The wind got knocked out of you; you started bawling your eyes. For the first time, you were scared of the man before you. Jungkook locked the door behind him and dragged you by your feet. You tried kicking your feet, hoping that his release would loosen, and you could run away. But before you knew it, Jungkook locked you both into the soundproof booth.

When his grip on you was gone, you scurried to the corner of the booth shielding yourself with your bag. Jungkook walked to you and kneeled to your level. "Don't hide from me, baby." He gently grabbed your bag and tossed it to the other side of the booth. You closed your eyes; you couldn't see the monster of the man you love.

You felt Jungkook tenderly cupping your jaw. You trembled beneath his fingertips; quietly whimpering. It stayed like this for a few seconds until you felt his touch disappear. With your eyes still closed, you could hear Jungkook digging for something. You heard a rustling sound of a Ziplock bag. You knew better, you knew that he was using drugs right now.

"Open your eyes, ____," Jungkook demanded.

You didn't answer, you didn't move. This pissed off the man in front of you. He slapped you, making your body jolt, making your eyes open. You brought your hand to your cheek, tears threatening to fall. "See, it wasn't that hard?"

"W-what do you want... from me?" you stammered.

Jungkook seethed, "You can't leave me. I won't let you leave me. You owe me. All that money I spent on you, all those years I wasted on you - I want that back! And the only way you can pay me back is by being my bitch. You are fucking mine, ____!"

You finally let the tears fall again. Your whole body shook like lightning shooting throughout you. Shaking your head, you wailed, "No! No! No! Please! Don't do this to me, Dad! Stop hurting me!" For the first time today, Jungkook felt his senses come back. Your words panged his heart.

Your mother was never in your life. It was always you and your father, but your father was an abusive man. He would try to find any little thing to blame you for, just for him to lay his hands on you; from hitting, kicking, even to cutting. You had met Jungkook when you were thirteen years old, he comforted, protected, and helped you. When you finally turned eighteen, that's when you moved in with him - that's when you finally felt peace.

Jungkook cupped your face into place. He frantically said, "____, it's me. Your dad's not here. It's me, Jungkook." His touch burned you; you felt like dying. You mustered all your strength and pushed him away. You gripped your shirt and yelled, "No! You're not him! You're not Jungkook! You're a monster and I don't even recognize you!"

Monster... That simple word rang in Jungkook's mind. Monster... Such a terrifying word. If he was a monster, his reason would be because of you. Unfortunately, all the drugs and alcohol in his system weren't enough to keep him sane for one minute. Jungkook launched at you. His hands wrapped around your throat, choking you, but still letting you breathe.

You started clawing your nails on his bare arms. Digging deep that blood starts making its presence. But all that Jungkook could see right now was red. He couldn't feel the pain you were giving him; he couldn't hear the agony in your voice; he couldn't see your wrecked state. Red became his friend.

"You are the reason for my horrible being. You are the reason why I'm a monster. You bitch! If you hadn't kept pushing me to pursue this fucking career, I would've still been the same. If you hadn't been so loving and caring and supportive, we wouldn't be in this predicament. I can't believe that I fell in love with a disgusting person like you. I can't fucking believe that I let you take control of my whole being!"

Right when you were on the verge of passing out, Jungkook released his hold on you; he backed himself on the other side of the booth. You were catching your breath. Your hands shakingly touched your neck, throbbing against your frail fingers. You were painfully coughing; mentally asking God to help ease your pain. Your eyes went in and out of vision; red and black dots were the only thing in sight.

Jungkook watched you with dark eyes. He watched as you were struggling to regain your previous state. He watched as you were crying from the pain, he inflicted on you. He watched the one person who was always with him, the one person who loved and cared for him no longer be the same. He killed you, painfully and slowly.

Present

"____, look at me. It's okay. It's okay." Your friend Lia gently held your face in place. She called out your name, praying that you would settle. She watched as you were frantically breathing; your eyes looking everywhere but her; your body shaking like the room was freezing.

Your panic attacks rarely happen, but when they do, Lia feels so useless. She wished that she could help ease your pain, she wished that she had the power to prevent this. But all she could do was hold you and tell you that you're okay.

Minutes go by until you are finally back. "____?" Lia cautioned, "____, look at me. Are you okay?" As you looked at Lia, you could see the worried expression painting her beautiful face. You hated yourself for making her feel like this, but you couldn't help it. This feeling will never go away; it gets buried six feet under, but once he appears they come back.

"Lia," you whispered, "I saw him again... on TV." Lia took a deep sigh; she hated the pain he caused you before and now. She wrapped you in her arms, holding you with such care. The second you were in her arms, you broke. You cried and cried, loudly speaking your pain.

Lia felt her shirt dampen, but she didn't care. Whatever you do to her, she will take it all in, as long as you feel better in the end, Lia will gladly be your tissue, your enemy, your punching bag. Lia murmured against your hair, "I'm here. I will always be here." She held you tighter; she didn't want you to fade away from her.

You took deep breaths to calm down your nerves. You pulled away from Lia and made your way to the couch. You brought your knees up and buried your face in the space between. You hissed, "I hate what he does to me. He's not even here!" This time you whispered, "And yet, he's able to bring me down to my knees... scared."

Lia met you three years ago; months after your event. You were just a newly hired TA. When Lia first saw you, you looked like a girl who was barely keeping her life together. You told her beforehand - when you started room mating with her, that you have PTSD and that your panic attacks happen from time to time. You didn't really tell her the whole story, just that you were in a very abusive relationship and that you experienced something so terrifying. She accepted you with an open mind and open arms; from then on, Lia became your rock.

Lia got up and sat right next to you. She wanted to ask you a question, but she was scared that you would hate her or push her away for asking. But this question has been in her mind for a while now. After taking a few seconds thinking to think it through, Lia wiped her sweating palms on her pants and inquired, "____, if you don't mind me asking... why didn't you call the police on him? You should've, 'cause I don't think he should be performing after everything he's done to you."

Your eyes started getting blurry; you told yourself the exact same thing, but there was a reason. With your head still buried, you softly replied, "It's easier said than done, Lia. I wished I called the police on him - I wish I could call the police on him, but I can't. Because in simple words... I love him. I hate myself for loving him. Even after everything he has done to me, and everything he has said to me, I love him. Does that make me a horrible person?"

Lia felt herself invisibly jumping out of the couch. No way does she think you're a horrible person. You're just a person who's been through something horribly traumatic. Her heart was filled with so much pain for you. Lia positioned herself so she was facing your small figure, and expressed, "____, no way in hell are you a horrible person. Far from it! I won't be able to say that I relate or know what you're going through, because I don't. But I am able to say that I'll support you and understand your feelings and decisions."

You lifted your head but still kept your eyes on your knees; you muttered, "I met him when we were thirteen years old. He was a very shy and reserved kid - hated social interactions. I remember..." you quietly giggled without realizing when you were remembering the fond memories, "I remember when he used to make small mixtapes every anniversary with letters. He wasn't always a horrible person. He used to be kind, supportive, and loving. One of my favorite things about him was his selflessness towards me. I loved that he would always think about my needs, what I wanted, what I was thinking, and how I was feeling, but in turn, he did the opposite for himself. It was a blessing and a curse."

Lia looked at you and saw the small smile showing. This look was rare for you, and every time it made its appearance, Lia would always treasure it. "He must have been a great person for you to smile like that." You furrowed your brows; you turned to Lia with confusion. "What smile?" you questioned. Lia rolled her eyes, "Well, there's no smile anymore."

You took a deep sigh and apologized, "I'm sorry for talking about him. It's just - just talking about him in this light makes me happy and warm... even if it only lasts for a few seconds." Lia noticed that you started tearing up. Your face was slightly contorted with pain; you were trying not to cry, holding it in but it didn't work. Your tears were freely falling, and Lia comforted you once again. You quietly whimpered, "During that time I called him a monster, but really, I don't want to remember him as the monster in my life because at one point he used to be my prince who saved me from one. I try to think and talk about him in this beautiful light that he used to be under - I want to remember him as that, but the pain he brought upon me is too hard to ignore." You started wailing at this point, "It continues to haunt me, and I hate it! I want to hate him, but I can't! I can't!"

Lia felt herself crying for your pain. She felt herself slowly dying by your words. It truly kills her that her most precious and beautiful friend is going through so much pain. As you both cried into each other's arms, you could hear Lia continuously apologize through her cries. You were so grateful to have such an amazing person as her.

Once you were calmed down, you pulled away from the still tearful woman and wiped her tears away. "Don't cry anymore, Lia." you sniffled, "What happened to me - what's still happening to me would never be fully cured, but I know that whatever happens next, you'll be by my side, and slowly but surely, I won't be able to be to feel the pain anymore. Okay?" Lia nodded her head with a soft smile. You're right, as long as she's with you and as long as you are with her everything will be fine. You guys are each other's glue - each other's person.

There is no doubt in your mind that this pain will pass by. You don't know how long that will take, but until the day comes, having Lia with you eases your heart from pain as much as possible.

"You mailed her my letter?"

"Yes, Jungkook."

The tired man finished his show with a bang, and even though people enjoyed his performance, Jungkook couldn't seem to feel all that happy. For the past year since he finished his rehab, nothing has felt more depressing.

The morning of that night when he woke up, Jonny had told him that you had left, and he was to go to rehab immediately. He hated you for leaving, he hated that you left him in such a messy state. Jungkook blamed everything on you. Jonny had told the ill man that if it wasn't for you, everything that he had worked so hard on would go down the drain. At first, Jungkook didn't understand why you left or what Jonny was saying, but as time went on, he knew that everything was his fault. His addictions and his abusive behavior were all his fault. The reason for your disappearance was his fault. Your pain - everything was all him.

Jungkook knows that there will be no way for him to fix the things he has done and the things he had said, but even so, he would try his damn hardest to fix it. When he finished rehab, Jungkook made it a mission to send you a letter every week, telling you about his days throughout the week, how much he loves and cares for you, telling you how much he is so regretful. Deep down he knows that he is being selfish, he knows that he should let you go - let you move on, but the helpless man is stuck in the past. The past is what keeps him alive. The past is his only source of reason. Jungkook doesn't want to let go of that one thing he has left of you.

Jonny felt so much pity for the man, he didn't have the heart to tell him that he didn't know your address. He would accept the letters, promising that he would mail them, but when night rolls around your letters would be burned. Jonny wanted to quit being Jungkook's manager, but you begged and begged for him to stay with the broken singer. You wanted Jungkook to at least have one person for him to lean on when things get hard. Jonny admires your strength - how strong of a woman you are, so, he agreed.

"You should just stop already, Jungkook. She's never gonna mail you back. I know your reason, but you lost her, and you can never fix that." Jonny was getting tired; tired of seeing the broken singer trying with no prevail.

Jungkook walked up to his manager and lowly whispered, "You think I don't know that, Jonny? Ever since I learned that everything is my fault... I knew that she would never come back to me. Yet I still hope - even if that hope is microscopic or nonexistent, I hope that I will be able to see or be with her again."

The fatigued man took a few steps back and lowered his heavy head down. His eyes searched the floor trying to keep his tears at bay, but it didn't work. The salty tears of this poor singer escaped and landed harshly on the wooden floor. Sniffling, the fatigued man uttered, "You think I don't know that you burn my letters?" Jungkook lifted his head up and saw the ashamed manager looking back at him.

He continued, "You're not as discreet as you think you are, Jonny. I went to your hotel room to ask for a favor... and I saw you burn my eighth letter with sadness swimming in your eyes. I connected the dots from there, and I realized that you never sent any of my letters because you don't know her address, huh? You're left in the dark like I am, huh? You know nothing about her whereabouts, about how she's doing, about anything, huh, Jonny!" The manager kept quiet; didn't know what to say.

Jungkook slumped down on the nearest chair with a hard thump. He leaned his head back with closed eyes and softly whimpered, "I now understand the meaning ‘You reap what you sow’… I'm never gonna stop. I know I can never fix this, but I promise you Jonny, I will never stop. Ten years - fifty years from now, I will keep writing her letters... knowing that deep down all of this is for nothing. I don't care if I'm shaming myself by doing this - I don't care about anything but her. She's not mine anymore but I'm forever hers. Let me live like this. Let me live with the consequences. Let me drown myself in this regret."

The destroyed man opened his eyes and gently moved his head to the side to see the lone figure of his manager feet away. With a deep sigh, Jungkook claimed, "You're just my manager, right? So, don't involve yourself in my pitiful life. Just do the job you were hired to do, along with getting my letters. Don't care what you do to them - burn them, keep them hidden, rip them up... doesn't matter, just don't let me know about it; let me falsely believe that you mailed them to her. Alright? Now please get the car... I wanna go home."

#jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook angst #jeon jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #bts angst #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #angst #bts imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x female reader #jungkook x y/n #kpop imagines #imagine #kpop fanfic #kpop angst #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan jungkook #bts jk

[songmingisthighs]

Wanbelyn

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. lv - uncle yuyu

neurosurgeon!hongjoong × reader

buy me coffee ?

where love and peace is held, i never expected for this to happen. i planned and i planned, i expected, and i hoped, but it was never you. you held what i wanted hostage to make room for you, the thing that i needed but has no means of acceptance. deny me, live your best life.

For some reason, Yeonjun felt compelled to sort trash out that day. He had been staring at the bags that his kitchen staff would bring out for 20 minutes straight before deciding he couldn't stand the damn thing any longer.

It wasn't like the task was fun or it had benefits. Heck, he had to recycle and risk meeting a recycling nut who would attack him for not crushing his cans first. So his plan was to just get the bags there, throw it out and return ASAP.

But one thing caught his eye when he turned around to walk back to his cafe. He noticed a very familiar boy looking around the park with furrowed eyebrows and he noticed people looking at him, probably as confused as the little boy was, maybe even concerned because it didn't seem like he was there with someone and that was concerning.

"Hey, bud," Yeonjun called out after jogging towards Kijoong who turned around at the sound of a familiar voice. Though it seemed like Kijoong recognized him, he didn't make a move to approach Yeonjun. Heck, he took a couple of steps back and made it seem like he was ready to run away. "It's me, uncle Yeonjun! I know your nanny (y/n) and your uncle Woowoo!" He said, desperately hoping the boy won't run because if he ran and he chased him down, that could seem like a humongous problem.

Thankfully Kijoong nodded, "You're the uncle from the cafe," he stated though seemingly shying away from Yeonjun's kind gaze slightly. Yeonjun was glad to hear that Kijoong remembered him but there more pressing matters he needed to prioritize. "That's right! So... What are you doing here alone? Is your daddy nearby?" Kijoong immediately shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows, "No, I want (y/n) and daddy don't know where (y/n) is," he said, obviously hating the fact that his dad didn't seem like he was going to round up a search party to look for you. Though Yeonjun couldn't help but notice that Kijoong was so keen on looking for you, he knew he had to get the boy back to his dad. "So, your dad's not around here, huh?" Kijoong shook his head at Yeonjun's question, "So where is he?" "Daddy's cutting people with his friends," and boy did Kijoong said that with much confidence because some people heard and couldn't help but stop in their tracks and stare at the innocent toddler and a panicked adult who immediately look around and waved his hands frantically, "It's not what it sounds like, folks. His dad is a neurosurgeon, a very good one at that."

It wouldn't take a genius to realze that the kid had ran away from wherever he was supposed to be and whoever he was with, but knowing that it would be hard to ask Kijoong about where he was and who he was with, Yeonjun decided to just cut the middle man and call up his friend.

"What's up cutie pie?" Wooyoung snickered, not looking into the camera though Yeonjun had face-timed him. "Yeah I kind of have a problem and you're the only one who could help me," Yeonjun said, shifting his eyes between his phone and Kijoong who was looking around as if disinterested or worse, trying to find a means to escape. Yeonjun's words made Wooyoung roll his eyes, "For the last time, I am not dressing up like a cupcake and handing out flyers. You're roommates with Jongho, ask him," he scoffed which made Yeonjun groan, "No, dude, look." It took Wooyoung longer than he'd care to admit to realize that he wasn't hallucinating when Yeonjun moved the camera to Kijoong who upon seeing Wooyoung, beamed up and waved. "HI WOOWOO," he yelled into the mic but Wooyoung was unbudging, still confused, "Hey bud, what- why are you with my friend Yeonjun?" and Kijoong shrugged his tiny shoulders, "Uncle followed me," and Yeonjun immediately turned the camera back on him, "That is not true, I found him at the park!" "The park? Why is he there? He was supposed to be in daycare," Wooyoung asked but it was apparent that he was doing something else frantically, "He was looking for (y/n)." That seemed to cause both men to stop momentarily and stare at each other knowingly.

With a sigh, Wooyoung mustered up a smile, "Kijoong, buddy," Kijoong, who heard his name being called, popped his head into the frame and tilted his head to the side, "I need you to go with Uncle Yeonjun here back to the hospital, okay?" Kijoong momentarily glanced up at Yeonjun before he furrowed his eyebrows, "But... (y/n) said I can't go with anyone I don't know," he said, looking at Yeonjun suspiciously. "But you do know him! You know I know him and he's going to take you back to the hospital!" Wooyoung tried to reason but Kijoong only stared at the screen with furrowed eyebrows. "Tell you what," Yeonjun spoke up finally, "How about you keep calling Uncle Wooyoung on our way to the hospital, huh? That way Uncle Wooyoung can see that I'm really bringing you to the hospital, how about that?" he reasoned. Kijoong seemed to be satisfied with the idea by nodding and opening his arms up so Yeonjun could carry him.

During the whole way to the car parked near the cafe and the hospital, Yeonjun took notice of how Kijoong seemed to be calmer though he kept talking about you along the way. What made Yeonjun sigh heavily was when Kijoong told Wooyoung to tell you that he was being so good and that he listened to you to not follow strangers so you could come back home. He actually said home and while it could easily be about the apartment he and his dad lived in, he had a feeling that Kijoong was talking about the place you belong in. Even when Wooyoung told him that he and his dad would be waiting by the lobby he asked about you, seemingly hopeful that you would be there for him.

When Yeonjun took Kijoong out of the backseat's seatbelt, he took notice of how Kijoong simply waited by his side as he made sure his car was locked before offering Yeonjun his phone before lifting his hand. "(y/n) said hold," he stated though innocently, his eyes was showing determination. Yeonjun barely knew the boy but he could tell how much he had grown to get used to and close to you so much so that he was dependent. For some reason the knowledge made him feel bad that you had been absent from his life.

Even before reaching the lobby, Yeonjun could see the neurosurgeon pacing back and forth worriedly with Wooyoung next to him with his arms crossed and disgust on his face, talking about something so serous that it caused Hongjoong to stop in his tracks and put his hands on his hips, replying Wooyoung something that was probably ridiculous to Wooyoung as seen from the way he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Daddy!"

The very second the automatic door opened, Kijoong let go of Yeonjun's hand and ran to his dad, grabbing the man's white jacket as if to crawl up. Hongjoong crouched down and scooped his son into his arms and burying his face in his hair. Hongjoong visibly let out a shaky sigh and you could almost see the stress leaving his shoulders.

"Where have you been? Why did you run out of daycare?" Hongjoong asked, momentarily letting go of his relief to scold his son. Before Kijoong could answer, Wooyoung stepped up and answered for the little boy, "Because he missed (y/n) you dumb fuck. Remember her? The strong as hell woman you manage to mess with YET AGAIN with whatever you said?" At the mention of messing with you, Hongjoong visibly shifted, seemingly uncomfortable that he was being called out like that. "What the hell did you say to her?" Wooyoung pressed, taking a step forward when Hongjoong lifted Kijoong into his arms, "What the hell happened that she couldn't seem to talk about it?" Hongjoong sighed and shook his head, "It's honestly not my business that she doesn't want to talk to you, but honestly, her running away and abandoning her responsibilities because I made a mistake is not on me." Had it not for the fact that his son was right there (and that it could jeopardize his employment), Wooyoung would have definitely punched Hongjoong in his face. "She ran away because of whatever it is you said or did, I can definitely be sure of that," Wooyoung scoffed but Hongjoong was not backing down, "You kept saying that she's an adult, she's a grown-up, she's a woman or whatever, so should a grown-up just hide when a mistake was made? I was and still am willing to talk about what I did wrong because I did, I can admit that, but frankly, I don't know how effective that conversation is now that she selfishly closed the door to have a conversation from her side and blocked other means of conversation. I get her need to preserve herself, to shield her from potential pain, and to tend to her wounded feelings first, I do, but she can't call me names when she herself is in hiding and is refusing to talk without even notifying anyone in her life. So before you bite my head for being stupid and God knows I was, do your friend a favour and help her back," he said before turning around and carrying Kijoong back to the daycare after bowing to Yeonjun and thanking him before excusing himself.

Hongjoong could feel Wooyoung and Yeonjun staring at him but he couldn't care less. 1. Wooyoung is stubbornly statued on his convictions so if he were to fight him off on it, he'd just be wasting his breath, 2. He didn't know Yeonjun and he knew Yeonjun is your friend so he would most likely side with you and try to defend you in front of him, 3. Kijoong had been returned and he would much rather focus on his son than strangers. But with each step he took, he couldn't help but let his mind go back to that day you left, that day he sat under his home office desk and let the fact that he had hurt you badly sink in slowly, drowning him in guilt and feeling of stupidity. Then his mind connected the memories and feelings to the ones he experienced years before, the day his ex abandoned him with their 3-month-old. And once again, he blamed himself for being abandoned by someone he had leant on, someone he trust, someone who was hurt because of him.

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#cultofdionysusnet #sandsofirenet #kflixnet #ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez imagine #ateez scenario #ateez social media au #ateez smau #ateez fanfic #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop scenario #kpop imagines #kpop imagine #kpop social media au #kpop smau #kpop fanfic #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #smt social media au #smt smau #smt wanbelyn

[holylulusworld]

BFG (3)

Summary: He’s new to town and just your type…

Pairing: Reacher x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: size kink, flirty reader, objectification of Reacher, language, violence, flirting, fluff, mentions of animal cruelty / eating dogs (nothing happens!), slow burn continues

A/N: Please consider that I do not follow the exact storyline of season one. Some characters known from the show may appear.

Catch up here: BFG (2)

BFG masterlist

“The front door is fixed,” Reacher says as he walks into your kitchen to gulp down a huge glass of water. “I checked on the backdoor too and fixed it. I’ll take care of the fence when I’m back.”

“Reacher,” you sigh. “You don’t have to fix my house or the fence. I invited you to stay here for free. And after you handled KJ so well, I owe you.”

“He owed you respect,” he says and places the glass he used into the sink. “I don’t like men treating women like that. You deserve respect, and to be treated right.”

If you weren’t already head over heels for him, you’d have lost your heart to Reacher at that very moment. “You are very well-behaved. A gentleman.” You eye him up and down and bite your lower lip.

“My mom taught me to respect women and to use my strength only to do good,” he shrugs. “I only hurt people deserving to get hurt. He disrespected and harassed you.”

“Your mom was a wise woman,” you step toward Reacher to grab his hand. “She raised a righteous man. I wish I could meet her to thank your mom.”

“She’s—” his voice cracks. You already knew that she must’ve passed away from the way he talked about her, and the sadness in his eyes. “I think she would’ve liked you.”

“Hmm…moms always like me,” you grin. “Because of my charming personality and the pie, I make.”

“I bet they do,” he gives you a half smile. “Your pie is the best I ever ate.”

“Now you try to get more free food out of me.” You chuckle and turn around to prepare breakfast. “What about tonight? Will you be around for dinner?"

“I don’t know yet,” he says and looks out of the window. You still don’t know why he’s in town, or how he spends the time away from your diner and house. “I’ll try to make it in time.”

“If not,” you turn back around to run your hand over his arm, “I’ll make sure to have some leftovers for you. A big man like you got to eat.”

“Not again,” you yell at the owner of the restaurant across the street. He once again chased the poor stray away and even kicked the dog. “I will make sure they arrest you, asshat. The dog didn’t do anything wrong. He only walked past your restaurant to reach my diner!”

“Well then, put a leash around that beast’s neck and shut your mouth,” the man yells back. “If not, he’ll eat a bullet next time that piece of shit comes near my restaurant. You can sell its meat at your shitty diner after I’m done with that mangy mutt!”

You crouch down and call for the dog. He trots toward you and whines low in his throat. “I told you to stay away from that asshole. How about I take you home? I know you are used to freedom and not having an owner, but we can just pretend we are roommates.”

“Y/N, is something wrong?” Sally Ann comes running toward you. “What happened? Your roommate, or private bodyguard, or whatever that guy is to you stormed out of the front door. I think he’s about to kill someone.”

“What? I-“ You hear Reacher’s angry voice. This time, it’s directed toward the owner of the restaurant. “Fuck!” You ask Sally Ann to look out for the dog while you try to cross the street before Reacher kills that man.

“REACHER!” You call for him, but it’s too late. The restaurant owner refused to apologize to you and even tried to land the first punch. Reacher easily dodged his attack, stopped the man’s fist in midair, and twisted his arm. “Fuck!”

“One last time,” Reacher snarls at the man, still holding his arm in a tight grip. “You will apologize to the lady and leave the dog alone. If I hear or see that you threaten any animal or kid ever again, I’ll break more than your arm.”

As fast as he grabbed the man, Reacher released the restaurant owner and stepped away. He’d like to beat the man into a bloody pulp for what he said and did, but he doesn’t want you to see only the violent man he can become to protect people.

“Are you alright?” You don’t care that the restaurant owner cries and sniffles. Your hand reaches out for Reacher to check on him. “Did he hurt you?”

“He broke my fucking arm,” the man whines and hopes for any sign of compassion from you. “That monster!”

“Monster?” You cock your head. “Last time I checked you threatened children and an old dog. You wanted to shoot him and offered his meat to me. If anyone in town is a monster, it’s you. Not the man defending me and the dog.”

“I’ll call the cops!”

“Go ahead,” you snap at the man. “Everyone saw what you did and heard what you said. I don’t think a single person will help you!”

There is applause coming from the other side of the street. Your employees and guests cheer for you and Reacher. “We should head back. The dog needs food and you a slice of my pie.”

Reacher glares at the whining man one last time. The restaurant owner flinches and ducks his head.

“I shouldn’t have hurt him,” he says on your way toward the diner. “He was much smaller and weaker than me.”

“He’s an awful person, sweetie,” you grab his hand and squeeze it. “Believe me, you did the right thing. I saw him slap a kid two weeks ago. And he kicked a cat away from his door. He threatened Charlie too.”

“Charlie?” He furrows his brows.

“I gave him a name,” you smile. “Maybe he’ll stick around for a little longer if I give him a name.”

Crazy from Patsy Kline blares from the old radio at your kitchen when Reacher sneaks inside the room. He watches you slowly dance to the song. In lack of a partner, you just sway to the music and close your eyes.

“Hi, uh-“ he clears his throat. “I brought wine, dog food, and Clark bars.” 

“Perfect timing,” you clap your hands. “Come on, it’s Patsy. Dance with me Reacher.” You hold out your hands. “One dance.”

“I don’t dance. Ever.” He glances at the old radio. “That’s almost antic.”

You drop your hands and sigh. No dance for you then. “It belonged to my grandmother. I know it’s old and most of the time it doesn’t work but…” you shake your head and turn around. “I didn’t have the heart to throw it away.”

“It’s a dear memory,” you feel his hands on your hips, and his chest pressed against your back. “You don’t throw memories away.” Reacher starts to sway, and you follow his lead. “Where’s the dog?”

“At the living room. He prefers to lie in front of the couch instead of using the dog bed I bought,” you turn around and start to dance with Reacher. “For a man who never dances, you’re not bad at dancing.”

“I love to dance,” he moves one hand to your back and presses you closer to his body. “If I ask someone for a dance, it mostly includes a lot of punching.”

You chuckle. “You won’t punch me,” he hums and watches you rest your head against his chest. “I wanted to thank you for punching two guys for me within three days.”

Reacher dances with you for another song before he reluctantly lets go of you. He turns your attention toward the wine and dinner instead of the things going on in his head.

He cannot risk getting attached to you. If this case is over, and he finds the murderer of his brother, Reacher will leave town. The last thing he wants is for you to miss him, or even fall for him.

Even though, the thought of getting attached to you is nice…

BFG (4)

Tags in reblog.

#jack reacher #reacher #jack reacher x reader #jack reacher x plussized!reader #plussized reader #jack reacher x you #reacher fanfiction #reacher x reader #reacher x y/n #reacher x you #fluff #tension #chubby reader

[lilbitdepressed27]

Tara/fem!Reader

Summary: You get kidnapped by ghost face

Warnings: torture but it doesn’t really go into detail, angst

WC; 5.1k

Author note: not proofread, English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes in advanced. hope you enjoy:)

"Tara I'll only be gone for the weekend. I'll be back Monday morning."

"But why can't I go with you."

"You have that exam tomorrow and you can't miss it. I'll be back before you know it." You zipped up your bag and turned around to see the adorable pouty of face of your best friend. You smiled and walked towards her.

"You won't even notice I'm gone. Plus didn't Mindy say she set you up on a date with someone?" You tried to hid the sadness in your voice at the mere thought of Tara going on a date with someone. You spent most of your friendship with Tara hiding your feelings from her. And you had to give your self credit. You were great at hiding your feelings.

"Ugh yes. She's setting me up with this guy from one of her classes." She rolled her eyes as she helped you with your bag. Packing the spare of glasses you had, she knew how you'd always tended to misplace them. "But I don't have to go. I haven't said yes. And I'd also rather spend my time with you. Your parents love me"

"I would like for you come with but Sam would probably kill me if you miss that final tomorrow. You can come with me next time." You offered ignoring the way your heart thumped in your ears at mention of her rather spending her time with you.

"I called you an Uber so you didn't have to take a taxi. And it's five minutes away." Quinn said as she stood next your open door. Leaning on the door as she smiled at you.

"Thanks Quinn. You didn't have t-Don't worry about it babe. You know you got a special place in my heart." You took a glance at Tara only to see her smile no longer there, replaced with a scowl as she looked at your guys roommate.

"Okay well thanks Quinn. I'll be down in a bit."

She smiled and winked at you, "It's a black SUV Cadillac." Then she walked away. Leaving you and Tara in what felt like awkward silence.

"Come on. Walk me out?"

"You sure you don't want Quinn to do that. You two have grown close." She spoke in an annoyed tone. Her eyes still starting at the spot where Quinn once stood.

"Tara." You sighed gently taking the your bag that Tara still held and slinging it over your shoulder. "Come on. I want you to walk me out." You held out your hand for her to take. You watched as her annoyance melted away, she took your hand and led you out of your room with a huff.

"Bye guys. I'll see on Monday. Where's Ethan?" You waved only to stop when your best friend wasn't in the room. You had met Ethan at the very start of the year and grew close, having the same hobbies. You two bonded for your shared love over video games.

"He said he had a study group he couldn't miss. He told me to tell you he'll miss you and to bring him something." Quinn spoke from her spot on the couch where she sat in between Chad and Anika. Sam and Mindy were in the kitchen making dinner.

"Bye Y/nn have a safe trip." Sam smiled sharing quick hug. She had known you for quite a while. She also cared deeply about you, seeing as she knew you from such a young age. She also knew how you were in love with her younger sister. She had promised not to say anything but she had tried to push you into telling her. Even going as far as trying to get her sister to tell you about her feelings. After the murders of Woodsboro 2022 not only had she become protective of her family. But so did you. Especially over Tara. She had watched how you watched over Tara after she was attacked. Going as far as staying at the hospital. She watched how you did everything in your power to make sure Tara was safe.

The rest of your friends said their goodbyes and you made your way out of the apartment with Tara. The short brunette kept your hand in hers as she lead you down the steps on to the side walk in front the of apartment complex. You saw the black SUV a man wearing a black yankee hat and a black face mask was in the driver seat with the passenger seat window down.

"For Y/n?"

"Yea that's me. Can I get a second?" You asked the man, he nodded and shot you a thumbs up.

"I don't want you to go." You heard Tara mumble as she leaned into the arm she was still holding.

"Tar it's only three days." You pulled her into a hug, she buried her face into your chest her arms wrapping tightly around your waist. You both stayed there for what felt like forever. Before pulling away. She looked up at you through her eyelashes.

"I'll always notice when you're gone." She said in a soft voice.

"I'll be back first thing Monday morning. I have to go. I'll be back before you know it." Without thinking you leaned down kissed the top of her head. You watched as her eyes widen and her cheeks turn pink. Yours for sure doing the same.

"Uh bye Tar."

*

You sat in the back of suv with your cheeks still feeling warm. You leaned back in the seat and looked down at your phone. The lock screen being of Tara and you at Disney land, Tara had the Mickey Mouse ears and you had your Goofy hat. Both of you smiling at the camera as Sam took the picture. The ping coming your phone notifying you of a new message

Tara: I miss you already :(

A smiled made its way on to your face. You opened the message and typed out response but before you can hit send. The driver spoke up.

"So Y/n, what's your favorite scary movie?"

You were snapped out of your thoughts, your head almost getting whiplash at how fast you looked at the driver.

"E-Excuse me? What did-Mmh!!" You were cut off by someone emerging from the back seat. You tried to fight him off only for you freeze momentarily when you saw who it was.

Ghostface.

He jumped over the seat making you unfreeze as you tried to fight him off. Your glasses flying off your face with punches you were receiving, making your vision impaired. The blurry figure of ghost face moved fast. The driver continued to drive like like nothing was wrong. You noticed that the ghostface didn't have his knife which had you confused but you didn't stop fighting. He punched you repeatedly. You were growing weaker by the second. With a final punch to your face you were knocked out.

*

As you came to, you felt the throb of pain shooting through out your skull. Your blurry vision in no way helping the pain in your head. The panic settled in when you remembered what happened. Ghostface was back.

"Wakey. Wakey Y/n. You don't want to miss all the fun. Do you?"

You registered that you were tied to chair and tape was covering your mouth. There were two ghost faces standing in front of you. You breathing became quicker as your eyes filled with tears.

You pulled on the restraints that held your wrists the handles of the chair. But the rope that had you tied down only tighten the more you moved. One of the figures moved towards, you tried to move away from the knife he held but it was no use.

You couldn't do anything but cry in pain when the knife was brought down.

*

I miss you already :(

Read 5:39pm

Three hours passed since you left and Tara kept looking at her phone. You had yet to respond to her message, you clearly read it she had seen the bubbles appear. Meaning you were going to respond but the message never came. It wasn't like you to not respond. She sat back in her seat, her friends and herself had a movie night and she couldn't take her mind off you.

"I'm sure she'll answer once she gets off the plane. You know how paranoid she gets when she's on a plane. Phone is in airplane mode and her headphones on full blast. Swear that girl says hates planes cause of final destination but still gets on them." Chad joked as he ate the popcorn Sam had made.

"Oh my god remember when there was turbulence on flight here?" Mindy laughed at the thought of how scared you were. Tara couldn't help but giggle.

"Man who knew she had such a strong grip. Swear my hand hasn't been the same since." Chad shook his hand that you once had in a death grip. He remembered how much it hurt. But you had been so scared, and he wanted to comfort his best friend.

"Chad you literally had tears in your eyes." Mindy laughed even harder. "That's what you get for stealing Tara's seat."

Tara finally relaxed in her seat, she knew exactly how you get when you'd go on a plane. By the time she wakes up Friday morning she'd have a text from you.

*

When she woke the first thing she did was reach for her phone. Expecting a text from you but when she saw that she had no notification from you she sat up. Her concern coming in ten fold. She pressed on your contact and waited for you to pick up your phone.

"Hey this is Y/n sorry I can't get to the phone right now. Please leave a message after the-Hey just wanted to know if you got home safe. Call me when you get a chance."

It has been approximately 15 hours since you left. The flight was only going to be a six hour flight. You had more than enough time to text her back.

"Still no response?"

Tara looked up from her phone to see her sister standing at the door way of her room. Tara went to respond when her phone binged. Her eyes snapping to the phone in her hand.

Y/nn<3: hey sorry I didn't call. I crashed as soon as I got home and my phone was dead when I got home. My parents say hi but I can't really talk right now. I'll call as soon as I can. Good luck on the exam today. I know you'll do great :) ps I miss you more <3

Tara smiled letting her shoulders drop and the concern she felt before wash away.

Okay call me when you get a chance and tell your parents I said hi as well. Ps not possible I miss you way more

"Great she responded, now get ready for school. You have an exam today." With that Tara got ready for the day. The day would be a long one since you weren't there with her.

*

After the fight with her sister Tara had dropped in her bed with a deep sigh. She hated fighting with her sister. But sometimes Sam was just a bit over protective. It was something that she understood but if annoyed her just the same.

She wanted nothing more than to have you here. You were not even gone for a day and she missed you way too much already.

*

You had felt pain before. You were stabbed the year before by Sam's crazy boyfriend. He only got to stab you once before you got the upper hand and kicked his knee in. But this pain. It was a type of pain that had your vision go dark, but then it felt like lights in this old place seem way too bright.

"You will the same pain you made him feel."

The voice behind the mask said. You didn't have the slightest clue on what he was talking about. From the lights you could see you noticed that one of figures was shorter than the other two. It's exactly what you needed, there were three of them.

*

"-Okay. You're alibis check out. You're friends as well. You have another roommate correct? Y/n Y/ln." Detective Bailey said as he sorted out his paperwork that was in front of him.

"Yea but she left to visit family for the weekend." Tara said leaning forward. Not understanding why the detective was bringing you up. You were no where near New York to be brought up and she was grateful. That she knew you were safe and nowhere ear this again.

"A flight to California is that right?"

"Yes, why are you bringing her up. She's not even in the same state right now?" Sam stared down the detective.

"How well do you know Ms.Y/ln?"

"Since grade school. Now tell us what does Y/n have to do with this." Tara demanded to know.

"Her dna was found in the bodega. Y/n never arrived at the airport, she wasn't on flight Thursday afternoon. So I ask again. How well do you know her?"

"W-What? No no she texted me said that she was already in California. She wouldn't lie to me." The young Carpenter rejected the mere thought of you wanting to kill Sam, your friends, her. No you wouldn't.

Right?

*

"Well then where is she Sam. I just got off the phone with her mom. They haven't seen her. She wasn't on the plane heading back home." Tara paced in the safety of her living room. After being attacked they settled in their apartment. They searched your room for any sign of where you could be but came up empty handed. Everyone had tried to call you but you never answered your phone. It would go straight to voicemail.

With all blame for the murders not only falling on Sam's shoulders but yours as well. The situation was becoming even more stressful.

"I don't know Tara. I don't know."

The five in the room jumped at the sound of Tara's phone ringing. They looked at her phone and saw the contact picture of you popping up. Tara wasted no time to answer the phone.

"Y/n! Where the hell are you-Oh Tara, you dumb little thing. Y/n isn't here or maybe she is and she's been stringing you along. Or maybe I'm Y/n. It wouldn't be the first time someone you love tries to kill you, now would it."

"Y/n wouldn't do this."

"You sure about that."

Tara looked down at the phone when ghostface hung up. Everything in her was telling her that you would never do this to her. You wouldn't. But there was little part of her that was telling her that it was true.

"Hey we've known Y/n since we were babies. She loves you too much to do this. No, there has to be a different explanation for why ghostface has her phone." Chad said in not believing for one second you could be part of this deranged persons team.

"Wait doesn't-Guys, what the hell."

The four walked out of the kitchen, towards the living room where Anika turned up the volume. The five watched how the blame for the murders where placed on Sam and Y/n. And how Sam almost attacked a girl the night before. How the murders of Woodsboro 2022 were also blamed on Sam. They watched how the reporter not only victimized Richie but dragged Sam's and Y/n's name as well.

Sam took the control away from Anika and turned off the tv. She stormed away and sat the kitchen table.

The three teens watched how Tara tried her best to comfort her sister. Trying to push the worry she felt for you aside.

The five in room not aware of the danger lurking in the room across the hall.

*

The throbbing pain coming from your knee was becoming worse. One of the ghost faces had broken your knee. They had the cut you and beat you but the worst pain of it all was the knee.

"Are you ready Y/n. You won't believe it but your group of friends has become unfortunately small."

"Leave them alone you bitch! I'll kill you. I'll-You won't do anything. Want to know why. Cause when they find you. You will be dead. Just another name added to my list. But don't worry. They'll see your final moments after all."

You didn't know they had been recording, but all you cared for was your friends. Tara. You felt your eyes fill with tears. You hated not being there for her or Sam. You only hoped that they were okay.

You could only hope.

*

The group watched how all the ghost face costumes were on display. They had made it an abandoned movie theater. All the evidence collected from past attacks.

"What's in the box? It's huge." Ethan walked up towards the wooden large box. "You think we could get it open?" He looked around trying to find something to open the box with. "I mean we don't know where Y/n is. She could be behind th-Don't you fucking dare." Tara stared daggers at the taller boy.

"I'm just saying Tara. Has anyone seen or heard from her? She's gone completely M.I.A. I love her but it's weird. The cops can't find her, her parents don't know where she's at. And to top it all off she goes missing the day the killings start. The knifes go missing from the kitchen, a kitchen Y/n used frequently. It's-Stop talking Ethan." This time it was Sam that cut him off. Sam loved you dearly, she had known you since you were a kid. You were too sweet of a kid to do something like this.

But the question still stood. Where were you.

*

"You know you always had a special spot in my heart."

The words rang through your head. Your blurry vision became cleared when the figure put something on your face. Your eyes widen in disbelief at who was standing in front of you. They had taken off their mask and were now just standing there.

Quinn.

She swung the pipe hitting you in the head before you could actually say anything.

You weren't sure how much time passed. When you woke up you were somewhere dark. You couldn't see anything. You could still feel the cloth tide over your mouth, the pain coming from the side of your head. But now you could also feel something covering your whole face. You could barely feel the your leg and you were afraid on what that could mean.

You could faintly hear muffled voices. And then gunshots. Making you flinch at the loud noise. You heard noises around you and then suddenly, light that you were able to see through the bag since it wasn't that thick.

"We have a few more surprises for you both actually. It was so easy. Having the blame not only on Sam but also her."

You felt someone touch your shoulder making you flinch harder than before. The bag than lifted from your head making squint your eyes a bit at the bright lights. You wheezed out, when they roughly grabbed you by the hair making you look up.

"Y/n?!"

At the sudden voice your eyes connected to the deep brown eyes that you loved so much. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to get to you.

"Q-Qui-Now Now don't spoil the surprise." You watched as Sam and Tara's eyes widen at the site of you. They looked at the person behind you gasped when you only assumed that they took off their mask.

"Mindy was right." You looked up only to a person you considered a best friend. Heart breaking when Ethan ranted about killing Chad. "I mean it was fun. But it was more fun torturing you." You hissed when he pulled your hair harder, head tilted back as he taunted you with the knife.

"Get away from her." Tara lunged forward but was stopped by Sam. She cried at the sight of you. You were covered in blood, cuts, bruises. And she could see how bad you leg looked.

"Speaking of Families. My name isn't Ethan Landry. Is it dad?"

"Dad?"

"Hey roomies. You didn't see that one coming " Quinn smiled evilly. A chuckle escaped her mouth at the shocked expressions on the Carpenters sister's face.

You watched as they argued, Ethan..or what ever his name was no longer behind you. While they did their monologue, you tried to use this time to escape the ropes. The little fight you had left growing just a bit, when the three insane killers circled the two sisters. You had known that they were going to avenge their dead brother. You didn't know that it was Richie they were talking about. You looked to your side to faintly see a blonde woman crawling towards you.

She slowly and quietly cut the ropes tying your legs. Careful not to touch your bad leg. She then moved to your wrists. Slipping something medal in your hands.

"Hide it. I'm gonna try to distract them. Oh and here figured these could help. They're broken but it'll have to do." Kirby put the glasses on your face. She had found them laying around. She knew they belonged to you the moment she saw them. She has seen the pictures of you and your friends. The frames being way too similar for them not to be yours. The glass was cracked and scratched.

You tried to move but you had to stop at the pain coming from your leg. Your head snapping up when you heard gun shots. You watched as the detective was shot, Quinn was hit in the face with a brick by Tara. Who then tried to run towards you but was tripped when a hand grabbed her ankles.

"Tara! Sam!" Sam looked up from stabbing Ethan, towards you. She then moved to you. Stopping when you shook your head, "Help Tara, I can't move. Here." You threw her the gun Kirby gave you. She looked uncertain of leaving you but with a yelp coming from her sister she turned and ran towards her.

You attempted once again to move. Using the arm rests of the chair to pull yourself up. Biting your lip at the pain coursing through your body. From the corner of your eye you saw the detective get up, picking up his gun and then aiming at Tara and Sam. You had failed to notice that they had made it on the top balcony. You could only watch as Tara dangled from the top, Sam trying her best to pull her back up. Ethan was just below Tara swiping his knife at her. You limped your way to him. Using anything to to put your weight on. Picking up the a pipe on the way. Once you were right behind him you swung it as hard you can, Tara falling at the same moment. With the force of the swing causing you fall. Tara used the knife Sam gave her to stab Ethan through the mouth.

"Now die a fucking virgin."

"Baby." She quickly shifted toward you. Cupping your cheeks as she cried. Looking over your body at the damage done by people she trusted. "Oh y/n. You're going to be okay. Just-just keep your eyes open."

"Tara...y-you're bleeding."

Letting a tearful chuckle the brunette wiped your tears away. "So are you dumbass."

With a painful laugh you reached up wiping her tears away. "I m-missed you." You mumbled, your eyes growing heavy by the second. The energy you once had fading away. The exhaustion from the passed days coming to in waves.

"No no keep your eyes open. Come on baby. Look at me. Please."

Both of you flinching at the sound of glass and wood breaking. You moved your head slightly to see Sam and Quinn's dad on the floor.

"Go-go help her."

"You keep your fucking eyes open. You hear me. Please keep them open. I'll be right back." She leaned down kissing you the lips. Even in this light when she pulled away from you, you saw the blush on her cheeks. You cracked a smile at the sight.

"Yes ma'am."

*

Tara had been pissed when she returned to you to find you unconscious. Worried but pissed. So angry that she bursted into tears. Sam had to pull her away from your body letting the paramedics help you. Sam had watched as they rushed you away. Sam held Tara tighter as her sister tried to get to you. Her arm burning as she held her younger sister.

Now they sat in the waiting room. Waiting for any news on you and Chad. They both had gotten stitches on their wounds. Mindy and Danny sat with them. Sidney had called them to make sure they were alright. At the news that they were alright Sidney was on the next flight to New York. The older woman wanted to be there but she also had her own family to look after.

"Family of Y/n Y/ln and Chad Meeks Martin?"

The four shot up from their seats. "Please tell me they're okay." Tara begged, tears streaming down her cheeks

"Yes. They'll pull through."

The group of friends cheered tears of joy and pure relief. Danny pulled the three girls in a big bear hug. The three woman cried in the mans chest.

"The good news for Mr.Meeks is that the knife missed all the vital organs. He'll make a speedy recovery once all the stitches are out." The group nodded taking every word in. Thankful that Chad would be alright.

"Ms.Y/ln on the other hand and multiple cuts and bruises. She has minor concussion as well. But that's not what we were worried about. When Ms.Y/ln was brought her left leg was in horrible shape. Her knee was broken for at least two days. When she was brought in it was deeply infected due to the lack of treatment. Due to the infection, it had stopped blood flow to the that leg. Which caused what we call tissue death..requiring an amputation."

*

The bright lights form the ceiling were the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. You felt nauseous, dizzy and numb all around. It felt like you couldn't move. The pain you once felt, you barely feel now. The more you came to, the more you realized that you were on a hospital. You also now felt a hand holding yours. It was warm and small. You recognized the hand instantly. Looking towards the direction of the hand, a small smile made its way to your face at what you saw. She was bit blurry due to you not having your glasses, but nevertheless she was still beautiful. You could tell that she was sleeping and not knowing what she's been through, you didn't want to wake her.

"Hey, you're awake." You heard the older Carpenter's voice. You turned to the sound of her voice and saw her figure standing by the bed. You saw her dig in her bag, pulling out a black box.

You smiled when she put on your spare glasses. "Thanks Sammy."

She chuckled and shook her head. "You're welcome. Now how are you feeling?" She realized that you haven't noticed that your leg wasn't, well there. And she didn't know how to tell you. She looked at her sister who was still asleep. For the past 24 hours that you've been unconscious Tara did not want to leave your side. Sam didn't want to leave her sister so she had Danny go to her place and pack them a change of clothes and other things they could possibly need. She knew she could trust him. He had tried so hard to make sure they were all okay.

"I'm feel a little sore and loopy but other than that I feel okay." You whispered back. "What about you guys. Are you guys okay?"

"Everyone is okay. Chad is a floor down with Mindy. Hell pull through. Tara and I are fine just a few stitches and bruises. You just focus on yourself. I'm going go get a doctor. I'll be right back. I'm so glad you're okay." She leaned down and kissed the top of your head. You offered a small smile. Your mind hazy from the drugs pumping into your blood stream.

"Hey you're awake." At the sound of the sudden voice. You looked at Tara who was now wide awake. She looked at you with tears in her eyes. The relief shown in her face at sight of you awake. "Thank god you're awake. I was so scared." She held your hand tightly as she brought it up to her lips.

"I'm-Ms.Y/ln you're awake. How are you feeling?" The doctor came in with a smile as he looked at you. Sam was close behind him as she moved to stand behind Tara.

"Sore, a little loopy. My leg kinda hurts but it's more of a sting." Your hand moved to touch your left leg but was stopped by Tara. You furrowed your eyebrows at her and she didn't meet your eyes.

"Y/n, you had a broken knee from what we saw the broken bone was left untreated for quite awhile. It was left unclean which led to an infection, this caused blood flow to stop traveling to your knee. Ms.Y/ln we had to amputate your left leg due to the dead tissue-"

You sat up ignoring the pain at the movement. The stitches on your stomach pulling. The three in front of you tried to stop you but couldn't. The doctor called for a nurse to get a sedative. Your eyes widen in shock and horror when you pulled back the blanket to see the leg stump. You could faintly hear the heart monitor connected to you pick up. Then followed a tiny sting coming from your arm. You looked to your side to see a nurse, you looked back at Tara who looked at you with so much guilt and sadness. Your world faded once again.

Tara stood as she watched as you fall in to unconsciousness. She knew things wouldn't be the same for you. She knew that it'd take time for you to heal mentally and physically.

She planned to be by your side throughout the journey.

***

:)

#tara carpenter x reader #fem!reader #tara carpenter #scream

[wndaswife]

plant roses at your feet | gerri fields & fem!reader

The week-long trip to visit your best friend goes awry when it seems that Gerri’s changed since she moved away for school.

Word count: 9028

Tags: angst, fluff, jealousy, depictions of a panic attack, implications of internalized homophobia, unrequited love for a second, cheesy love confession

Carrying your luggage behind you, you stepped off of the train and quickly read over Gerri’s texts. As per her instructions, you should be stepping off from Platform Five before turning left, taking an escalator, then going through the station until you reached Gate Three.

You’d been so excited to see her that you had even searched up pictures of the station, meticulously planning out what it would feel like to finally be meeting up with your best friend after parting from each other at the end of the summer. Though you were still worried about getting lost, you followed the instructions Gerri messaged you and finally made it to the front of the station.

In the middle of typing a text to her letting her know you were waiting at the front parking lot, you heard someone call out to you from the far left and you turned to see Gerri waving at you.

It had only been a few months since you last saw each other, but Gerri looked different. Her hair, that was now a few inches longer than you could last remember, was styled differently, and in a subtle way, the way she did her makeup seemed different too. 

But she looked so pretty.

Gerri always looked so pretty.

You embraced each other and she uttered into your shoulder, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” you replied, feeling a warm comfort settle within you at the feeling of being with your best friend again. 

Her hair smelled like mangoes, so you supposed she was still using the same kind of shampoo. That made you happy, in a way. 

She pulled away from you and took your backpack from your shoulder. She carried it for you while you wheeled your small travel luggage behind you. “There’s a ton I wanna catch you up on, but David’s friend is waiting in the car for us and I don’t wanna keep him waiting,” she told you and you walked beside her and into the parking lot.

“David? Like, the same guy from summer?”

Gerri looked over at you with a grin that made her look proud of herself. “Yeah,” she answered. “I forgot to tell you, but one of my roommates knows someone who’s rooming with a guy that’s close friends with David, so I saw him at some frat party. He’s visiting the US and he’s been staying with Sam — the guy who drove me here.”

You felt a bit lightheaded trying to catch up with the sudden dump of details of all these people Gerri knew, and as if mind wasn’t already struggling to keep up, she added, “When we get back, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Trying not to sound too confused and consequently bitter, you asked, “Everyone…?”

The both of you reached the car and Gerri helped you tuck your things away in the trunk while she answered, “There are a few people back at my place right now, but they’re just friends of mine and Zoey.”

You’ve heard of Zoey before. She was Gerri’s roommate. But the last you heard about her, Gerri had been having issues with rooming with her. You supposed they got along now, but you weren’t sure when that started happening.

“You’ll like them,” she reassured, squeezing your upper arm supportively then getting into the passenger’s seat after your luggage was tucked away in the trunk. 

You watched as she buckled her seatbelt and turned her head to start a conversation you couldn’t hear with Sam, and for a moment you wondered if it would’ve been better for you to stay somewhere else. But when Gerri looked at you through the side mirror and gestured for you to get into the car, you smiled and felt encouraged.

Though you certainly weren’t in the mood for socialising and all you’d really wanted to do was spend the day alone with Gerri at her place watching movies and getting takeout like you always would, the way she turned around and asked you if you wanted to stop for anything made you think that it wouldn’t be… that bad.

As long as you were with her.

Sam carried your things up and Gerri told you a bit about her friends as you trailed behind. She told you what she thought of them and whether or not she thought you’d like them. There were a few of them you were almost excited to meet — Winona and Caroline — but you still checked the time on your phone before the door to her dorm was unlocked as you tried to estimate what time it would be that everyone would go home.

It was three in the afternoon and they must’ve gotten there a few hours prior to when you arrived at the station, so it couldn’t be more than four or five hours until they left if they wanted to stay for dinner.

You were wrong about that.

Or just disillusioned to begin with.

Gerri’s idea of ‘a few people’ meant enough people that the entire living room was stuffy with a crowd of people, all of them friends or at least friends of mutual friends, where the balcony was polluted with cigarette and joint smoke and the kitchen and dining room was littered with students that were afternoon-drinking. 

Everywhere you turned there were conversations and commentary on things like consumerism and classic literature and film that you realised people thought were the pinnacle of what it meant to be an artistic and well-spoken individual interacting with other artistic and well-spoken individuals.

And Gerri… Where was Gerri?

It was nearly nine now and you’d only seen her a few times since you entered through the door together with Sam. You got by without her by taking frequent trips to the washroom, unpacking your things as slowly as you could, and even taking a walk around the neighbourhood during which you stopped for a pack of beer at a convenience store so you had an excuse for if anyone noticed your absence.

No one did, but it got you a few good first impressions when you set it down on the kitchen counter.

Caroline ended up being sort of annoying, and you were glad when Winona came around for it was right after Caroline said something vaguely elitist that you would have struggled to say something useful in response to had it not been for Winona coming around with a can of Smirnoff Ice for you, asking if you were Gerri’s friend.

She was nice and you did enjoy her company for a while until you finished your drink and kept seeing brief glances of Gerri before she quickly disappeared beyond the crowd of people each time.

Standing in the open kitchen and having watched Gerri pass you countless times without seeming to be looking for you, you suddenly felt a bit down and even kind of tired.

It was ten in the evening by the time you told Winona you needed to talk to Gerri, and you bid a goodbye to perhaps the only person you enjoyed talking with that entire day after exchanging numbers with each other.

Feeling pretty tipsy and rather sleepy, you slid your way through the crowd of people and finally made your way to Gerri’s side. She was talking with David and Sam and another taller guy that looked sort of nice because he had a crooked tie and a pair of aviator glasses on, but you didn’t pay much mind to anyone but Gerri once you got the closest you’ve been with her since the afternoon.

“I was looking for you!” she said when she turned to you, a red solo cup in her hand. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be upset with her, but maybe you would’ve been annoyed at the very least if you were sober. She introduced you to her friends.

“Nice seeing you again, Y/N,” you heard David greet you.

You weren’t sure if you actually responded to him, but you thought you did. Either way, you told Gerri, “I think I’m just gonna head to bed early, Ger. Sorry. I’m just tired from the train. Is there something I can set up in your room or is there a guest room?”

“Shit, I forgot to set your things up,” she hissed then looked into the hallway where her bedroom was. “There’s, uh, a cot or something in the closet but… Well, it’s fine, you can sleep in my bed. Do you need help unpacking?”

“No, I unpacked earlier. Thanks,” you replied, and that time you knew for sure that you said something to her friends for you waved them goodbye and told them you hoped to see them again, which was completely disingenuous.

Earlier when you unpacked, you looked through Gerri’s things, but seeing her bedroom from your position on her bed made things look different. It was like you could see things from her eyes as you looked around at her desk and her books and her posters, smelling the scent of her hair and a bit of her perfume from her pillows, bringing her blanket up to your shoulders and imagining it was her wrapped around your body.

Then you forgot about Gerri and who she seemed to be earlier — someone completely different, a version of her that you felt distant from. Laying in her bed surrounded by nothing but her in the dark silence of her bedroom, the sounds of the party muffled, you truly felt like you had come home to her like you had wanted when you got off the train.

Before you fell asleep, you saw your phone light up with the notification that Winona requested to follow your Instagram account. 

That made you feel pretty good.

Gerri must’ve gone to bed late for you didn’t notice that she got into bed with you until the next morning when you woke up and felt her mess of wavy brown hair stretched out against your bare clavicle and tickling your skin. She was facing you, her hand tucked under her cheek and her other arm draped around her clothed midriff.

She was now wearing an old shirt she’d gotten with you when you went to Venice Beach together one summer, and it made you smile when you realised how worn it had gotten over the years of usage.

Watching her tranquil sleeping expression and listening to the soft inhales and exhales of her sleeping form reminded you of all the times you’d slept over at her place. You’d been friends with Gerri since childhood, but you were mostly thinking of the time you spent together before the school year started.

It felt like things changed last summer, though you couldn’t exactly place a finger on how. Maybe it had been the knowledge that you were going to move away from each other in September, but you just saw Gerri differently.

It was warmer when you were with her and she felt dearer to you. Your heart would beat nearly twice as fast sometimes when she got close enough to you. That summer, things were just lighter and gentler, things smelled sweeter and the time spent with Gerri felt… perfect.

Everything that summer was perfect.

While watching her in the peaceful silence of her bedroom, you felt like things really were as they used to be for the first time since both you and Gerri moved away.

And that made you really, really happy.

Gerri stirred and she rolled onto her back, groaning softly and rubbing her face before stretching her arms upwards. She went limp for a few moments as her arms laid back above her head. Then she rubbed her eyes and opened them as she exhaled softly. She turned to you, meeting your eyes as you were on your side looking at her.

You felt like she was really looking at you now, her undivided attention on you. Ever since you met up with her at the station, it felt like she was always thinking about something else — anything else but you.

“I’m sorry about the party last night,” Gerri said quietly the moment she turned onto her side, bringing her knees up and tucking a hand under her pillow. “I really didn’t expect for there to be so many people. When I left to pick you up, there were only a few friends here.”

Looking at her fresh morning face and her messy brown hair and listening to the soft rasp of her quiet voice made you feel so warm; you were completely willing to forget all about last night.

“I get it,” you replied with a supportive smile. “It’s totally fine. I’m just glad we get to have time to ourselves now.”

Gerri smiled then, and you felt yourself flush at the sight of her. 

“Besides, I sorta made a friend,” you added. “Winona and I exchanged numbers last night and she requested to follow my Instagram.”

Her face formed a bit of a dubious expression when you said that. “Really?” she asked. “She, like, never talks. She’s Sam’s cousin but we’ve had probably about two conversations since I first met her in October.”

“I wouldn’t have thought her to be the quiet type,” you said. “She was super nice and talkative with me.”

There was a momentary indiscernible look on her face before she redirected her focus and started talking about something else. “Do you wanna go for lunch?” she proposed after checking the time on her phone and seeing that it was eleven in the afternoon. “There’s a really good all-day breakfast place I know.”

The both of you got dressed together in the same room while talking about Gerri’s classes and how you felt about living alone and without a roommate. She talked about her parents visiting next weekend and how much she missed Poppy, the dog they’d just gotten before she had to leave for school.

Gerri was almost convinced that they bought her as her replacement while she was gone. But she didn’t care all that much; she was a good replacement. She ended up liking the chocolate lab quite a bit in spite of her lack of experience with pets.

You wondered if any of her other friends knew about Poppy and how Gerri initially hated when she licked at her face, and how she eventually warmed up to it to the point that she had the puppy sleeping in her bed nearly every night before she moved out.

There were a lot of things you knew about Gerri that you sort of hoped no one else knew about her. Last night, there was so much about her that you felt so distant from, like a large part of her was unknown to you. You could understand the rationality of it for it’d been a few months since you last saw her, and anyone’s first year would bring about some change.

But there were parts of Gerri you just wanted to yourself — parts of her that were genuinely, sincerely her.

A thought that made your chest tighten ran through your mind: What if who Gerri was had changed? 

What if there were parts of her you couldn’t get to know the way you used to know her? What if things could never be like how they used to?

The train of thought followed you all throughout the walk to the restaurant, but was discarded and momentarily forgotten when you and Gerri were seated at the all-day breakfast place she recommended.

For a little while as you went through the menu together, discussing what to order and bringing up shared memories that the both of you were reminded of the further your conversation progressed, things suddenly just felt so… natural and perfect.

Gerri laughed at something you said and you lifted your eyes from the menu in front of you to watch how a wide smile spread across her pretty lightly-freckled face still fresh of makeup. Her lively laugh relaxed into a soft fit of giggles and she met your eyes, which for an inexplicable reason made you flush and look back down to your menu.

After months of not seeing their best friend, anyone would’ve felt as eager as you to finally spend time with them. Maybe it was precisely because of the time you’d spent away from her that made things feel so different, but sitting across from Gerri, immersing yourself in the feeling of being the only person who had her attention, you felt that something had changed.

It wasn’t that things were in any way extraordinarily different, though you were sure at least some things had changed since the summer, but instead it was that something had changed within you. And it felt profound, in a way, and you wished to understand where the feeling had come from and what it meant, but before you could, someone approached the table and took Gerri’s focus away from you.

You didn’t pay much attention once Gerri exclaimed excitedly at the sight of the girl standing by your table, and instead you redirected your attention to your phone. You accepted Winona’s request from last night and followed her back, distractedly looking through her posts as you listened in on Gerri’s conversation. 

If you weren’t looking right at her while she was speaking, it was almost hard to tell that it was Gerri talking. She sounded different — the rises and falls in her tone, the vocabulary she used, the inside jokes she referenced that you didn't understand, and the people she talked about that you didn’t know.

A part of you tried to tell you how delusional and obsessive you were being, and that maybe you just felt insecure about not being as much a part of Gerri’s life as you used to. But even so, you couldn’t stop the angry bitter pit that formed in your stomach, sticking to your insides like hot tar the longer you listened to their conversation.

At one point or another, you had subtly reminded Gerri that you only had a week with her; there were only three days left in your stay, and the past two days were filled with what you could only describe as being forgotten about.

You understood that Gerri was still a full-time student with things to do and that she wasn’t going to drop everything just because you were visiting — although some selfish part of you did entertain the idea for a few minutes when you were on the train fantasising about your trip.

But the last two days, Gerri had sometimes left for classes while you were sleeping, leaving you alone to wake up to her roommate as your only company, or a completely empty place without so much as letting you know where she was or when she’d be back. She’d stay out for a few hours past the last of her classes to go out with her friends, leaving you back at her place like you were her pet.

There was one occasion that got you particularly upset when Gerri had left in the afternoon only for you to find that she had gone out to meet her friends at a cafe. It had only been for an hour or two but you felt disrespected and abandoned all the same.

The only thing that had brought you any form of comfort since your first night here was the returning feeling of having slept in Gerri’s bed that one night, the stillness and permanence of her in her books and blankets and posters, a side of her that you at the time had felt no one knew.

During your lonely hours away from her spending most of your time in her bedroom, you became curious at one point when you realised you hadn’t yet seen Gerri’s guitar. She used to practise nearly every day and since you’d arrived, you hadn’t seen her pick it up even once. 

You knew she brought it for when you hugged her goodbye the day that she left, she had her guitar carefully stored in the backseat in its protective casing. 

One evening you started looking for it and found it tucked away somewhere almost completely obscured in her closet behind her jackets and laying against the back panelling. 

It was true that there were some parts of Gerri you wanted all to yourself, and if she hadn’t played in a while let alone ever brought her guitar out, no one but you knew that she played nor that it was a hobby of hers. But seeing it stored away, almost hidden from everything… 

It felt different. 

It felt horrible.

When she came back that night you felt inexplicably bitter and cold to her, but if she noticed how upset you were she didn’t mention it.

An afternoon came when the two of you finally made plans to go out together on your own. In a few hours, you and Gerri were going to a drive-in theatre a city away. A movie from the film series the both of you used to love when you were younger had come out, and you were mostly seeing it for nostalgia’s sake, but also because you’d be able to spend time together.

Gerri was talking about what she did last night when she came back a bit later than she said she would, detailing her outing with David and Sam. 

There were two days left before you had to take the train back to your place, so although you were upset with Gerri, you were determined not to let anything ruin the last little while you had with her, even if that meant biting your tongue when she talked about things you would much rather not listen to and avoiding bringing up what you were upset about.

Trying to change the subject quickly while Gerri stopped talking to chew on a pizza bite, you said, “Winona said she might be in town, so we could hang out.”

She made a face as if what you said was funny and spoke with her mouth partially full, “We? Like, you and me?”

“No — her and I,” you replied. “‘In town’ meaning, like, my town. Where I live.”

Gerri chewed while she stared at you and you couldn’t decipher why it was so bizarre for her that you’d made a friend while you were here. Then she swallowed and lifted another pizza bite to her mouth before asking, “What do you even talk about with her? She’s super boring.”

“She’s not,” you defended, now feeling a bit agitated not because Gerri insulted Winona but because she was acting so oddly and you couldn’t understand why. “How would you know she’s boring if you never talk with her?”

“I don’t talk with her because she’s boring.”

Looking up from your phone, you answered, “Well, maybe she’s boring because she just doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Gerri put her hands up in sarcastic surrender. “Sorry,” she scoffed. “Didn’t know you were so close.”

Thankfully, before any sort of argument started, Zoey came out from her room and mentioned a frat party that was happening, and that the guys were friends with David and wanted to throw him a party before he had to leave for Paris.

You watched Gerri’s expression as Zoey gave her more details, and you watched how her mind seemed practically made up the moment she was told that her group of friends were going.

She didn’t even have to be asked to go before she said, “Yeah, okay, I’ll be there.” When you shifted in your spot, she looked over at you. “Oh, Y/N, you can come too. It'll be fun.”

An afterthought. 

That’s all you were to her.

What were you to do anyways if you didn’t go?

“I don’t know anyone going, Ger,” you told her nervously as you fiddled with the rings on your fingers.

“I’ll be there with you the whole time. It’s fine,” she tried to reassure you as the two of you and Zoey took the streetcar down to where the party was a few blocks away. “I’ve been to, like, hundreds of these. Y/N, you’ll like it.”

In spite of everything that had been happening the past few days, Gerri telling you that she’d be there with you for the party brought you… a lot of comfort. It made you feel like she knew how important it was to you that she was there with you, which almost sort of reestablished your relationship with her that you sometimes felt like she forgot about.

Maybe it was the feeling of being caught up in what Gerri told you on the way there, but when you were walking up to the frat house together, you didn’t think twice before telling her, “You look really pretty, Gerri.”

And she did look really pretty; you weren’t just saying it because of how you felt.

Gerri turned her head to look at you and you saw her eyes meet yours, her lips parting after a moment of looking your face over with a sincerity that seemed meaningful to you before Zoey opened the front door, inviting a rupture of noise and cheers onto the porch that stopped Gerri from saying whatever she was going to say.

Sam gave you a quick hello then pulled Gerri into the house at the sight of her and you followed behind her a bit uncomfortably, looking around at the crowds of people that was easily at least more than fifteen times the size of the party that you walked into when you first arrived.  

For the first hour and a half of the night, Gerri didn’t even look back at you trailing behind her wherever she went unless you were all doing shots together, most of which she did without you anyways. 

It seemed to you that she only paid you any attention when she could remember you were there.

When someone tapped you on the shoulder, you turned to see a familiar strawberry blonde standing behind you with a friendly sober smile. “I’ve been looking for you,” Winona said, and you felt comfortable believing her.

“It’s so chaotic here,” she told you, looking around at the bustling party. Then you realised for the first time that Gerri was telling the truth — she sort of was a bit of an introverted person. She never seemed like it until now. 

She looked back over to you. “There’s a small terrace on the roof. Wanna go up?”

“I thought I heard a few guys say they wanted to go for a smoke up there but couldn’t get the terrace door unlocked,” you recalled.

Winona gave you a small sly smile then reached into her jeans’ pocket and subtly flashed you a silver key before quickly sliding it back into her pocket. At the sight of your surprised expression, she said, “The key was hanging from a nail at the top of the doorframe.”

You laughed and she took your hand, pulling through the crowd of people and swiping a few things from the buffet counter in the kitchen before the both of you headed to the highest floor where the terrace door was.

Distracted by Winona, you hadn’t seen the way Gerri followed you with her eyes through the crowd, watching with scorn brewing in her chest the moment she saw your interlaced hands peek from between the crowd of people as you followed Sam’s cousin upstairs.

It was nearly two whole hours that you spent with Winona, and you really couldn’t believe it when you checked the time on your phone by chance when you got a notification.

“Is it really almost eleven now?” she asked, surprised. 

The pizza and drinks she brought up were long finished, and the two of you didn’t drink even once. You’d sobered up from the shots earlier, and it felt so nice to finally have a sincere conversation with someone.

Winona was nice. She was creative and sensitive and, for whatever reason, she very obviously held you in high regards. 

You enjoyed talking with her and you felt a bit terrible for being what you could only describe as pessimistic, but there was something she was missing that you just felt you needed to have. She was nice for conversations and in every platonic sense, and you could see yourself enjoying her company in your future too. 

But there was a figure that formed in your mind each time she flushed at your inadvertent compliments and the nervous way she played with the sleeves of her shirt when she said she couldn’t help but stalk your Instagram a little when you first accepted her request.

A figure that stood out starkly from Winona took shape in your mind. But you couldn’t figure out who it was, only that Winona could never fill it.

So when she leaned forward and tried to kiss you when the two of you stood and went to step down from the terrace so she could go home and study for a midterm that she had in the morning, you turned your head the slightest bit, allowing her lips to just miss yours, but enough for her to get the point.

“I’m sorry,” she quickly apologised. “I’m sorry, I must have misread things…”

You quickly reassured her and reached out for her hand which she nearly pulled away from you before she let you take it. “No, it’s fine. You’re fine,” you said.

“I didn’t make this weird, did I?” she asked. “I mean… It’s not uncomfortable now, is it?”

Your heart was pained when you watched her guilty eyes meet yours. She really was so nice. But… you couldn’t do it. 

Not with her. 

“No, you didn’t. It’s totally, totally fine,” you told her. “You’re a really cool person, Winona, and I’m so glad to have met you while visiting here. But, I…”

Her eyes searched yours before she said, “But you like someone else.”

You weren’t sure if that was true or not. So you just looked at her in a helpless sort of way. “I don’t know,” you answered. “I’m just sorry, I don’t want to make you feel embarrassed or upset.”

Winona shook her head. “I’m not. I’ll get over it. You’re… really cool too,” she admitted. “I can still visit you, right? And we’re still friends?”

Nodding, you answered confidently, “Yeah. Of course.”

You navigated your way to the back door for Winona to be able to leave quietly. She didn’t live closeby, and was only staying with Sam while she visited for his birthday. So you waited with her while her Uber came so she didn’t have to take public transport. You told her that you’d text her when you were back home, and that you’d plan a weekend together where she could stay at your place.

You felt pretty satisfied for having handled that the way you did, and you were happy that you were still friends with Winona. 

Feeling pretty fired up from the interaction and perhaps a bit inspired by Winona’s attempt to kiss you and the overt intimacy that came with it, you decided to talk with Gerri. 

You weren’t sure what you would say nor what kinds of feelings you’d be trying to convey to her, only that you had something to say and that you didn’t want to keep pretending that you didn’t. 

The feeling was short-lived for when you searched for Gerri and even finding the confidence in yourself to ask around for her, you eventually found yourself peeking in one of the bedrooms on the ground floor and seeing her sitting alone with David, his hand in her pretty brown hair with his lips kissing down her perfumed neck. 

Perhaps it would’ve been better to slip out quietly, but your legs had other intentions when they forced you to stumble back against the bedroom door and alert the two of them of your presence. 

Something alike to an apology came out of you, but it was more a medley of unintelligible half-spoken words than anything. 

David, now feeling a bit uncomfortable as the confrontation-avoidant person he was, stood up from the bed and apologised, but to who and for what reason you could not comprehend. 

Gerri watched as he left the room and you heard but did not process what he turned around and told her before he left, but it made her repress a laugh. 

Eventually Gerri stood too and when she approached you, you realised you were still standing at the bedroom door, stunned. She ran her hands down her jeans and asked, “Are you surprised?”

“… What?” you managed to say.

“Are you surprised?” she repeated. “I didn’t even know he was into me like that. I mean… No clue.”

You searched her eyes for something and though you weren’t entirely sure what you were looking for, you knew that you weren’t able to find it. She could hardly meet your eyes and you felt that perhaps she truly didn’t care about what you thought of her relationship with David, and you suddenly realised you really had grown distant from Gerri this time.

“Ger, do you wanna play?” David called from the living room where an empty space had been cleared for the beer pong table.

“Yeah, just a second!” she answered and without even turning to you, she moved to leave the bedroom.

Without thinking twice about it, you reached out and wrapped your hand around Gerri’s wrist, tugging her back into the open bedroom. “Don’t you care about what I think?” you suddenly asked her.

Gerri’s eyebrows pushed together as if confused by your outburst. “Okay,” she gave in and tore her arm wrist out of your hand. She massaged it with her fingers then let it fall to her side. “Fine. What do you think about it, Y/N? Go on. Tell me.”

You didn’t appreciate the sarcasm and resentment in her voice but you answered anyways, “You don’t even know David. Not really. Do you… even know his favourite song? His favourite band? Do you know what kinds of movies he hates? You’ve never even been to his house!”

You knew you were grasping at straws; your bubbling anger and upset had burst into a nonsensical dump of emotions and irritability.

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Gerri asked, leaning forward and drilling her eyes into yours. “No one cares about that shit but you. Like, movies and songs?”

Her words pricked at your skin and you felt on edge. Your face felt hot and your anger only began to pique, but suddenly just looking at Gerri put some kind of silence to it all. And you felt like you were about to cry. 

Taking your tongue between your teeth to avoid letting your tears form, you gritted out quietly, “You used to care about that stuff too.” 

But your words didn’t reach her, like she hadn’t even heard them at all.

Gerri ran her fingers through her hair and scoffed. Her hands dropped to her sides. “Listen, Y/N… I thought you would’ve been happy about David and I, but-but…” Her hands waved around in front of her wildly as she tried to find her words. “But you’re acting like such a jealous bitch!”

It felt like the floor was about to collapse from underneath you.

“For once, you’re not the one getting the guys and that makes you crazy. Well, guess what? This is the real world, so grow up,” she bit.

You looked away, staring at some spot on the floor people kept stepping over, completely unaware and uncaring of the arguing you and Gerri were having. A part of you wished someone would at least give you a judgemental look so you’d feel for a moment that your entire world wasn’t what was happening right in front of you.

“What’s your problem?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“I came here to see you and spend time with you.”

She threw her arms up, hinting towards the party behind her. “Well, hello? Where do you think we are?”

“Gerri, this isn’t hanging out together; it’s hanging out with all these other people,” you said, then looked around at the crowd. They all seemed so far. Or rather, you just felt like a complete outsider. “I don’t even know who these people are. I came to be with you.”

“So, it’s my fault you’re antisocial as fuck and can’t make friends?”

Afraid that if you spoke any louder then your voice would break and shatter any sort of confidence you made it seem like you had, you met her eyes and whispered, “Fuck you.”

“Y/N, you try and paint yourself as some kind of victim here, but you’re being so fucking clingy and posessive! I’m not the spineless indecisive person I was before. I’m not just going to be your pet,” she retorted, her voice raising. 

You’d never seen Gerri so upset before.

Maybe she was right.

“It’s just not going to be the same anymore,” she added with finality, and you could swear that you couldn’t hear your heartbeat in your ears for nearly eight whole seconds.

Had your heart stopped?

People couldn’t function without their heartbeats, could they?

You raised your hand to your chest and massaged your fingertips into your shirt, feeling your heart’s beating beyond your ribcage.

Slowly, your hearing returned and you landed back on the ground, your legs trembling slightly and each and every overwhelming noise from the surrounding party bouncing around the inside of your skull, fracturing your very being from the inside out. 

“Are you in love with me or something?” Gerri inquired mockingly. “You’re being so fucking obsessive and weird.”

You were silent as her words sunk in, and soon all you could do was internalise her accusations, her bitter words that told you nothing but that you had been the odd one all along. You had come expecting something that you wouldn’t have ever gotten, all because you couldn’t understand the months you’d spent away from Gerri really did change things. 

Were you so dim-witted and excessive that it took being yelled at, pushing Gerri until she was at her wit’s end, to finally understand?

To finally understand that things… weren’t going to be the same anymore.

“What?” Gerri urged you for a response. 

There must’ve been some kind of expression on your face, a concerning one, for Gerri’s face untensed a little as she looked at you. She said your name. 

You watched the way her lips moved around each syllable but you couldn’t hear it. But you wished you could, because you weren’t sure of the next time you’d ever hear her say it again.

Whatever functioning part of your brain forced your body to work on autopilot you hurriedly gathered your thoughts together to internally thank, because before you knew it you were rounding Gerri and pushing through the mess of people that you just couldn’t seem to get away from. 

Gerri’s voice called out from behind you and you thought she was calling your name again, over and over, maybe even trailing behind you as she made an attempt to follow you out to wherever you were going.

But you weren’t sure where you were going. 

All that you knew was that you needed to leave. 

The calling of your name meshed with the sounds of blasting music and shrill laughter and incessant chatter allowed you to forget for just a moment what your name was. 

What did it sound like in Gerri’s mouth? What did she look like saying it? 

Pushing through the crowd, bodies brushing up against yours and nearly asphyxiating you should it not have been for the way you forcefully pushed them out of the way, you almost forgot you had your own — a body — and your mind moved to think about what it felt like to have Gerri touch yours, what it felt like to feel her shoulder brush against yours all those times you slept in the same bed as her like that first night at her place.

It became especially hard to breathe and you feared what would happen if you collapsed just inches from the door, but your hand reached the doorknob just in time and you stepped out onto the porch.

The cold air burned your lungs when you inhaled but it dried your cheeks, and you regained feeling in your body only for you to realise that everything hurt.

Your chest was tight and your throat was sore, your lungs felt like they were constricting and your limbs felt like they might detach from their sockets at any second. And that fucking thrumming against your ribcage made you want to rip your heart out of your chest.

As if clawing your way through to your beating heart, you scratched at your chest through your shirt and felt with the tips of your fingers the pendant of a necklace Gerri gave you three summers ago that you couldn’t remember why you wore out tonight.

Pulling your shirt down just enough to reach it, you wrapped your fingers around the thin silver chain and tugged it down firmly, forcing the clasp in the back to snap. You eyed the pendant for a second or two, looking at it laying in the centre of your palm.

She bought it for you because it looked scarily similar to the small seashell you brought her when you came back from your trip to Malta a few months prior. 

You couldn’t remember if you’d told her, but you brought it back for her because it reminded you so much of her eye colour.

A voice called Gerri’s name from inside and you’re reined back down to earth. You step off of the porch and toss the necklace along with the pendant into a nearby bush, feeling like you abhorred the childish memories you realised you had been clinging onto for years.

“Gerri!” the voice raised.

She turned her head, forced to abandon the endeavour to find out where you had run off to. “Wh… What?” she stuttered, looking over to the beer pong table in the middle of the living room where someone had pulled her towards.

One of her other friends raised his eyebrows at her expectantly. 

“Come on, it’s your turn,” David urged, lifting a small white plastic ball to her.

Zoey let you into the dorm albeit feeling irritated because she’d come home early from the party to have some time alone with her boyfriend. You promised her that you’d be quick. 

You felt a compelling urge to take one more look at Gerri’s guitar stashed in the back of her closet, so you did.

The stickers on its case, memories of listening to her play for hours, the dedication and love she used to put into learning it, a song she’d learned for you once on your birthday as a surprise played on that very guitar, all shrouded and hidden away. 

You closed the closet and left for the station.

For a moment you considered texting Gerri that you were leaving then recalled that she’d never given you the kindness to know where she was or when she was returning nor if or when she was leaving at all. 

The bus took you to the station and you tucked your phone in your pocket. It took a few minutes in line to buy a new ticket and then in half an hour you’d be well on your way back home.

There was nothing for you here, and you should’ve realised it long before tonight. 

“Y/N!” a voice suddenly called from behind and you turned instinctively to see Gerri running up to you, looking dishevelled and out of breath. 

“How did you know I’d be here?” you intoned after she stopped in front of you and caught her breath. 

Gerri hesitated a moment before saying hastily, “Uh, Winona. I asked Sam to call her. I-I thought you might be with her but she told me that you said something tonight about missing home.”

“You swim here?” you asked, looking at the state of her hair.

As if just then gaining self-awareness, she ran her fingers through her hair and brushed it back behind her ears. “No,” she breathed out with a little laugh. “It started raining and the streetcar would only take me until a few blocks down, and I didn’t want to wait for the next one because I thought it’d be too late.”

She was rambling. 

It used to be endearing, but now it sounded sorta stupid.

Everything seemed pretty stupid right now — even you.

Then she waited for you to say something in response, but you had nothing to say.

She raised her hand to show you the necklace you had thrown away earlier dangling from her fingers, the silver seashell pendant hanging from the end. 

“You dropped this,” she said, still panting slightly. The words sounded optimistic as she wasn’t entirely sure if you purposefully discarded it or accidentally lost it.

“Keep it,” you told her.

Gerri’s arm retracted and she laid the necklace in her other palm. Her actions were slow and it seemed that she was trying to make time for her to say something before she put the necklace away, but although her lips parted and her eyes flickered up a few times to look at you, she said nothing. Carefully, she slid the necklace into her jacket pocket. 

“I thought you had your departure ticket booked for tomorrow night,” she thought aloud, evidently stalling as she tried to come up with something useful to say. She looked up from her pocket to you and ran her hands down her coat nervously.

“Bought another one so I could leave early.”

Having it spoken out loud, putting it out there verbally that you were leaving early, planted a feeling of alarm in Gerri’s chest. She inhaled sharply and stepped towards you. She opened her mouth to say something, but the station’s speakers announced that your train was to leave within the next ten minutes.

Adjusting the strap of your backpack up your shoulder, you said, “I have to go.”

“O… Okay,” Gerri replied, stepping back so you could turn and wheel your luggage behind you. “Safe trip. Have one, I mean.”

The escalator down to Platform Five was just ahead, becoming closer with each of your steps, and you traced your path from the last time you were at the station. Recalling it pained you slightly as you thought back to how hopeful and eager you had been when you stepped off the train last week.

You expected so much — too much.

So much had changed since then, and it was only a week ago.

How hadn’t you realised how grave a few months’ difference could make until just an hour ago?

You felt so stupid. Everything felt so… stupid. 

Your face was hot and you were boiling in your jacket. Your bag was too heavy and your luggage was hurting your wrist. Then tears were forming in your eyes and you raised your other hand to wipe at your eyes. 

The rapid clicking of padding shoes echoed behind you and before you could look back, your wrist was taken and pulled back, forcing you to turn and drop your luggage. A hand came to the back of your head and in spite of how quick it all was, her hands were soft and her caresses were careful.

An arm rounded your waist and your body was pulled against Gerri’s.

Her lips were suddenly pressed against yours and you smelled a whiff of her perfume, now having faded away throughout the night. But you could smell it clearly now that you were pressed up against her, and she wouldn’t let any space come between the two of you. 

Like last summer and all the summers before, all the years spent knowing Gerri as your closest friend and your greatest love, you were swathed in her as if her scent and the feeling of her body, the feeling of her lips, were a warm blanket.

When your lips parted from hers, green eyes flickered down your face and Gerri whispered, “Why are you crying?”

You looked away from her and quickly swiped at your eyes.

Keeping her other arm around your waist, she raised her hand to your face and swatted your hands away so she could wipe your tears for you. She kissed your damp cheeks and seemed to not be able to get enough of feeling your skin against her lips, so she kept kissing you.

You turned your head and Gerri stopped kissing you to tilt her head and keep her eyes on yours. It didn’t seem like you wanted to talk. It didn’t seem like you knew what you wanted to say much less how you felt.

So she started talking instead.

She started with: “I’m sorry.”

It didn’t look like you believed her, so she cupped your cheek and made you look at her.  

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” she repeated.

You were looking into her eyes now and she had your attention, but you were silent. You were waiting for her to say something more, and she had a lot to say. She didn’t know how to start it all, so she just dove into it.

“I, um… I used to see you every day, and it became hard to be here without you. I had to make — force — a different version of myself to blend in with these assholes. It was easier than missing you. It was easier than…” She trailed off and you wondered if she’d give up and just let you leave. 

In spite of how confidently she spoke, her fingers tightened around your waist and you felt how nervous she was. Her hand moved down your wrist and her fingers danced anxiously against your palm.

But she continued. 

“It was easier than admitting to myself that I was in love with my best friend. That I am in love with my best friend,” she finally said, exhaling deeply, her breath trembling. She looked away from you and over at the floor behind you.

You followed her eyes to survey the sincerity of what she was saying. It seemed true. It all seemed true. It felt true.

Then she took a breath and met your eyes again.

“I thought that maybe I just needed to grow up — to realise that I couldn’t be that same old small-town girl who’s never gotten shit-faced drunk or who’s never had sex with a guy,” she tried to explain. 

She was stuttering a little. 

“I mean, god, Y/N, the people here are fucking crazy. But I don’t enjoy it. Not even a little. I hate being around people I don’t know — people I don’t like. I don’t want to have sex with guys.” Then she scoffed and in a quick drop of her hand that seemed the slightest bit subconscious, she took your hand. “I don’t even like guys. I mean, I don’t think I do. Or at least the ones here. I don’t know.”

Gerri’s breathing became quick and you could see that she was trying not to look away from you. “Why aren’t you saying anything? Please say something,” she pleaded.

Your lips parted and you were going to say something, you were, but Gerri suddenly blurted out, “I want to be your girlfriend. And I wanna kiss you again.” She leaned down and kissed your chin.

“I want to be able to kiss you there,” she whispered.

She kissed your cheeks and your temples.

“I want to kiss you here.”

Your knuckles were lifted up to her lips and she kissed each of your five fingers, looking into your eyes. Then she lowered your hand and leaned forward to kiss your lips again. “And here,” she breathed against you. “I want to kiss you here. Again. Whenever I want to. Whenever you want to.”

An announcement came onto the speakers.

Five minutes left until the train was to leave.

The announcement reined you back down to earth and you looked around at the people passing, rushing to their trains, children in-hand, perhaps meeting their families elsewhere, going to meetings.

Everyone else — where were they off to?

“Am I too late…?” Gerri whispered.

You looked back over to her. 

Everyone else… 

Did it matter? Nothing else mattered when you were with Gerri. Nothing else ever mattered when you were with her.

You shook your head and uttered a soft, “I love you too, Gerri.”

“Y/N…” she said quietly. “Things won’t be the same. If we break up, if we fight. Even if we’re together until we’re old, things will change. And between us, it’ll be different.”

“No, it’ll be just the same,” you finally replied. “It’ll always just be you and me. That isn’t any different from how it’s always been, right?”

Gerri let out a noise that sounded like a laugh or some kind of relieved exhale and she let go of your hand and wrapped her arms around your shoulders. She started apologising again and again for how she’d been treating you, for how stupid she was acting.

In half-intelligible teary words, she said she wished it could just be you and her again like it was last summer and all the other summers before. She hated how much she’d changed while you were gone.

Your bag slipped from your arm and you hugged her back, letting her cry into your shoulder in the middle of the train station. “I miss it all so much too, Gerri,” you confessed. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Then you started crying, and Jesus, did that make you feel like an idiot.

“I really hate Winona,” Gerri confessed and hugged you tighter, which made you laugh like an idiot too. 

Some things just don’t change.

And that felt good.

#gerri fields #gerri fields fanfiction #gerri fields x reader #very good girls #very good girls fanfiction #elizabeth olsen #my gif ! no need to credit if you use tho

[herlondonboy]

High Infidelity

Pairings: Xavier Thorpe x gn!reader / Xavier Thorpe x Wednesday Addams

Summary: chase two girls, lose The 1

Warnings: cheating, infidelity, Xavier gets slapped. lmk if there are any more

Word Count: 0.8k

You loved Xavier so much. More than he would ever know. He was the sunshine on your darkest days; the moonlight and the stars in the sky. He was just yours. But that all changed when Wednesday Addams came to Nevermore.

You went to his art shed only to discover that the locks had been changed. You knocked on the door and heard Xavier curse and rush around the small room. A couple minutes later, he unlocked the door and greeted you with messy hair. You noticed how his lips were slightly swollen, but ignored it as he invited you in.

“So, uh, what brings you here, y/n?” Xavier asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Can’t an Outcast come and see their boyfriend every now and again?” You joked, leaning up to kiss him. He smelt of death, the same scent the new girl smelt of. “I was wondering if you wanted to go to the movies. We could watch that new horror film you want to see so bad.”

“Oh.” He mumbled, looking back. “I, uhm, I’m kind of busy at the moment. Maybe tomorrow?” He asked sheepishly.

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” You nodded. You went to walk away before turning to him. “And how come you changed the locks?”

“Oh, I just have a surprise for our anniversary next month.” Xavier shrugged nonchalantly and your smile dropped slightly.

“Okay, see you.” You waved. “Love you.”

“Fare thee well.” Xavier joked. You waited a second, but the words you wished to hear never came.

It had been like that for a while now. Ever since Wednesday Addams arrived, you became more of a friend than a partner. Long, late night walks became ‘Sorry, Wednesday needs my help.’ He’d let go of your hand whenever he saw Wednesday, wouldn’t say ‘I love you’ back whenever she was in earshot distance. It hurt.

This boy that would once bring you breakfast when you were sick; this boy that would once teach you how to draw simple things under the moonlight, gone. Gone into a fraction of the man he was. This act of high infidelity destroyed you.

Part of you longed for him to tell you the truth, you wanted to hear it from him, not from your peers that had been under the impression that the two of you had broken up. They had seen Xavier’s moves, the ones he made on Wednesday. Your heart broke when everyone came to console you. You had no idea what was going on, having had the flu and being bedridden. Enid, Wednesday’s roommate attacked you with a hug the first time she saw you that week. You awkwardly patted her back in confusion and she broke away to explain. Xavier had been seen kissing Wednesday under the moonlight in your spot.

That was a month ago. You figured that if he really cared, he would’ve tried harder to keep it a secret. He should know, there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love. The slowest way is never loving them enough.

You were left doubting yourself. Did Wednesday have something that you don’t? Were you not as pretty as Wednesday? How could someone so in love with you just fall out of love like that? Did he ever even love you?

“I’m breaking up with you.” Xavier said. The date was April 29th. Your anniversary. He hadn’t shown up for your date and now here he was, breaking you with you. Who the hell does he think he is? “I… i think that you were manipulating me with your siren song and-"

You cut him off by punching his face. “You cheat on me for months and have the audacity to blame me?” You asked in shock, holding your pounding hand. Xavier looked shock. “Oh, you think I don’t know? You think that I don’t know that you kissed Wednesday in our spot under the moonlight? I built that place. I made the handles paintbrushes, not her. I said I love you there, not HER!” You yelled.

“y/n, calm down.” Xavier said quietly, looking at all of the eyes on you.

“Don’t tell me to calm down. I am calm!” You exclaimed. “No, Xavier, I break up with you.” You then said.

“Am I interrupting something?” A monotone voice said, making you jump out of your skin.

Xavier looked distraught and you turned to see Wednesday Addams. “Yes.” You said, turning back to your boyfriend. “I love you. You are my sun and my moon and my stars. I can’t even find it in my heart to hate you.” Tears gathered in your eyes as you spoke your mind. “Did I do something? Am I not pretty enough? Not cool enough?”

“It’s not you, it’s me.” Xavier said. You wanted to call BS, but he continued. “I fell out if love with you and instead of telling you, I lead you on.”

“But why? When?” You had began crying.

“I don’t know.” He admitted. “I just know that when I saw Wednesday, I felt what I felt when we first started dating.”

I didn’t mean to hurt you. But you did. You did, you did.

#Taylor Swift inspired #kinda #high infidelity #midnights 3am edition #folklore #wednesday netflix #wednesday tim burton #wednesday the series #wednesday tv show #wednesday x reader #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe #xavier x reader #wednesday x xavier #Wednesday Addams #Wednesday Addams x Xavier Thorpe #elijah writes #xavier thorpe angst #xavier thorpe fanfic

[therealhousewifeofharrystyles]

Harry’s Home

Part III.

Read Part 1 Here!

Read Part 2 Here!

Pairing/AU: Roommate!Harry // Roommate!Y/N

Word Count: ~ 4k words

⚠️ Content Warnings: Adult Language, Pining, Sexual Desire, References to Body Weight (“Chubby” Reader), Fantasies of Rough Sex, Breeding Fantasies, Exhibitionism, Explicit Depictions of Masturbation(M&F), Dirty Talk, ~Slow Burn~

So, yeah. Harry and I have successfully become somewhat close. We’ve put up with each other’s shit for long enough and eventually bonded—or whatever the hell you call it when a pair of sex-starved adults live in close quarters and they decide to play nice so the walls don’t come down on them.

Even though it’s the time of year when I can see my breath and I have to wear socks to protect my chilly toes when I’m lounging around the house, when I’m around Harry…I might as well be a tea kettle on the verge of squealing in steaming agony. I guess you could say I’ve been in heat.

I’m catching myself spacing all the time, hypnotized by his comfortable routine. He grasps my attention like it’s second-nature to him, and I have no other choice but to relent—to surrender. How fucking pathetic is that? Like, get a grip, woman. 

But seriously, I can’t take it anymore. I turn powerless and my body betrays me, simply from the man meeting my eyes with his from across the room. For someone to hold this much control over another human being by just existing…not only is it completely unfair, but it feels otherworldly. It’s as though a connection has been birthed out of the rawest, most sinful form of lust, with its sole purpose to fuse a pair of unwed and horny humans. Thus latching itself onto the two of us, melding an incubus with a siren.

I guess it could just be some crazy-intense sexual tension, too. There’s no fun in that explanation, but whatever. The point is that I can’t fucking take it anymore.  Me being so mesmerized by him performing the most mundane of tasks—unscrewing a new jar of jam, rubbing the sleep out of his face as he stumbles out of his bedroom, sneaking little peeks at me from across the room and smirking to himself after he looks away. God. That smirk keeps me up at night…my hands groping myself and massaging my clit to lull myself to dreamland.

Right…so about that…

For the past few months, Harry’s been able to hear me fucking myself through the thin wall that separates our two bedrooms. The divider does absolutely nothing to silence me and my explicit acts of self-pleasure. These walls couldn’t muffle a mouse, let alone an ambitiously horny, and impressively vocal young woman who’s desperate to get her rocks off…hard. 

And I’m certain he can hear everything—every gasp, every whine, every slick plunge of my fingers—or a toy—as they’re used in a merciless attack on my own body in order to chase an unattainable high…It's loud. It’s filthy. 

It’s pornographic.

And yet Harry indulges in my songs. I know he does. The only way I’m able to get myself off is to picture him on the other side…to close my eyes and astral-project my way into his room and assume the role of the voyeur…as the exhibitionist. I’m a walking oxymoron.

I imagine my waves of ecstasy seeping through the walls to awaken his neglected cock in his tight briefs.

I think to myself, 

…I bet he’s wondering whether or not I'm messing with him...if I know he’s listening to me…and if, perhaps, I want him to listen…

If only I were just playing a sick game of tease…Such a possibility would be utterly humiliating for Harry. He loathes feeling like his control is in the hands of another. Said power landing in my hands? Oh…No, no, no. Lest we forget the towel incident? Don’t let the sensitive late-night talks, the apology hugs, or the sleepy cuddles fool you; a switch, Harry is not. Not that he’s told me or anything, but it’s a feeling. When he drags his eyes down to slowly assess me…there isn’t a doubt in my mind that he’s in charge.

He has a limited threshold for teasing and babying, which is precisely why he shooed his own mother out the door after a mere 5 minutes of her jests. Harry spent his entire life as the baby. I sense he’s needed a release for quite some time…and it probably doesn’t help matters that my playful antics are sure-fire triggers for his dark dominance to take over. I think he’s struggled to find the right mate to unleash that part of himself with. At least completely, that is. And I hope I’ve been pressing just the right buttons to experience it all for myself. 

But yes, I’ve been fucking myself with lotsa gusto knowing he’s in close earshot of the action. Hopefully, he’s come to successfully make sense of some of my muffled ramblings beyond his wall as, “Yes, Daddy!” as well as the occasional gasp or moan of “Harry.” What? I like it…

Although I’d love to exacerbate the narrative that this has all just been a cruel game started by yours truly—a game that I’m winning, to be clear—I'm actually not messing with him. This had begun purely by accident, and now I'm just continuing to provide some adult entertainment for my, uh...housemate and…good friend. 

Before you scold me for being a perv, let me just finish explaining the situation. Because if Harry had a problem with something I did, he’d tell me. And he never complained about this. Never. 

Quite the opposite, actually.

The first time I did my private deeds with Harry eavesdropping in the next room, I'd initially felt horribly embarrassed. I hadn't realized how shameless I was, or how loud and desperate the noises were as they came out of me. Once I finally caught myself, it was like space and time had spun to a stop, and I was painfully aware of my raw indecency.

I wasn’t watching porn, reading erotica, or listening to naughty audio recordings. Nope. Only my lustful thoughts fueled the eagerness in my fingers as they played with my pussy. I’d also been blatantly inconsiderate of Harry and his right to privacy whilst they did. I felt dirty. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Pfft, I was hardly thinking of anything. It reminded me of the time just before we moved into this house…when I lurked on his social media pages for the images of his slick, half-naked body which burned themselves into my memory, all just to use him for my own personal, sick, sexual gratification.  

And there I was again—now cohabiting a space with the very inspiration for my filth and frustration—lying comfortably atop a spacious, girly pink towel to protect my bed linens from succumbing to my wetness. My knees were spread apart and my dripping cunt was on full display for my closed door across the room. If anyone walked in, they'd unknowingly be entering what many theme parks tend to call a “splash zone.” 

Luckily, Harry was in the living room watching some melodramatic video essay on YouTube…Or at least that’s where I’d left him before ending up in the not-so-innocent position atop my mattress.

I hadn’t thought about the fact that the house wasn’t empty until I heard my own whiny sighs combined with unmistakable slippery pussy-rubbing echoing throughout the room. My cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink once I’d realized the extent of my elevated volume. There was no way Harry couldn’t have heard all that. And I had no idea how long I’d been up to it, or for how long at that high of a frequency.

The click of a door closing nearby interrupted my nervous internal monologue—Harry’s door. He was mere meters away from my partially-nude body, but my private quarters kept me safe from any judging eyes. The wall our bedrooms shared stood as the only barricade between our two bodies. For a while, I dismissed my initial self-awareness and I slowly, and carefully, swirled my drenched fingertips over my clit. More of my liquid arousal coated my petite hand. For some reason, the idea of Harry walking in on me like that had me feeling hot. Realistically, that would’ve meant immediate, devastating humiliation. Did that mean I was into that? I’d say yes judging by the way I was pulsing around nothing whilst staring at my door, picturing the man himself standing there smirking at me…tilting his head and patronizing me. 

…Aw, would you look at tha’…Does that feel good, Sweet Bunny? 

“Mmhmm.” I found myself nodding with a sigh, my eyes relaxed and veiled. My mind refused to backtrack, and instead doubled-down. I probably should have stopped myself right there, but fuck, could self-sabotage feel good.

My brain directed me towards thinking about how pretty and sweet I was on the outside. My body, soft, and my features, so delicate, but so grabbable. Every part of me had an ample amount of plushness to squeeze. To manhandle. My tiny wrists and my elegant neck, the perfect size for a pair of big hands to wrap around. I bit my rosy lip on a whine, then brought my thumb up to rub and tease it before sucking on it. The sinful acts my mouth performed were a secret I kept with the few lucky men who’d experienced it for themselves. I wanted so badly to share that with Harry…I wanted to share all of myself with him. 

“Mmm…Harry.” I moaned aloud, releasing my wet thumb and sneaking it under my shirt, swiping the slick pad back and forth over my sensitive tit.

It was hard for me not to think about Harry whenever I touched myself. I thought about his fingers playing with my hair, him burying his face into my neck the times we cuddled…feeling his hard-on against my ass on the couch…the times when he’d hugged me…and catching his gaze drift down to my tits…I bet he’d thought I’d never notice, even after having done it multiple times in a single conversation. Hmm…was Harry Styles an ass man or a tit man? Or was he something else…? He certainly liked looking at my boobs…and I'm able to confirm that his body has a very positive reaction to pressing up against my butt…

Honestly, I didn’t even care what parts of the body Harry liked the most. All I cared about was how badly I wanted to feel him use mine. I wrapped my small hand around my throat and arched my back up off of the mattress, gasping as I mindlessly pushed two hooked fingers inside my tight opening, picturing a certain tall, curly-headed British man molesting me instead. The sound of my own moans enhanced my pleasure as I rode myself towards peak bliss. My modesty had become non-existent as my hands worked each sensitive spot between my legs and teased at my pebbled nipples. A part of me needed him to hear me that night. I was getting off on that taboo. But that’s all it was…my imagination. 

It was just a silly little fantasy. Harmless exhibitionism. I wasn’t actually being that loud…—but that’s when I suddenly heard more feedback beyond the wall. It’d been some time since I’d heard the door click shut. My personal distractions got in the way of keeping track of time. 

There was an urgent fumbling. A repetitive clinking. The sound resembled a bit of metal hitting other metal. But it was light. Small. Following that, I heard a rough yank and a soft plop as whatever the item was had dropped heavily onto the carpeted floor. An unmistakable hum of a zipper quickly came subsequent to the discarding of the first mystery item—but it was no longer a mystery to me as my sex-clouded mind pieced together what I was hearing. The hands nestled between my thighs slowed at the realization.

Well, Harry’s just changing into his pajamas for the night, right?

My audible x-rated activities bouncing off the walls for several minutes whilst my roommate innocently removed his pants next door…maybe I was overthinking this…I remembered calling out our "goodnight"'s to each other around 10 minutes before I slipped out of my panties and began to shamelessly pleasure myself. He was still in his business-y work clothes when I left him in the living room…and I knew I just heard his bedroom door click shut in the middle of my alone time. And at that point, Harry was right there. He was just trying to unwind, yet happened to be in the room adjacent to mine. It was probably too awkward for him to ask for me to quiet down. 

Poor guy…ugh. I was disgusted with myself. I felt I needed to end my “session” right there, and

I was mentally preparing a nice apology text to send him. There was no way in hell I'd bring this up in person to Harry the following day. Surely I’d be in tears before I could even form the right words. I didn’t even want to imagine the scenario of Harry, himself, mentioning it to my face. Every possible, horrible consequence of my selfishly lewd deeds played out in my mind. There I was, lying there with my knees bent up and spread wide open—my fingers frozen against where I'm most sensitive. The silence made the throbbing in my clit feel even more desperate. 

And then Harry flicked his white-noise machine on.

Oh, God…This was so embarrassing.

I wanted to sink into a black hole and never be seen, nor heard, ever again. The severity of the situation felt devastating to me. Was I truly so grotesque that the beautiful man I lived with had to tune me out with the highest setting of his old, rattly sleep machine?!

Hell, I was more than embarrassed, I was fucking humiliated. For real, this time. And it was all my fault.

I just wanted to disappear.

But just as I was readying myself to book a flight back home to move back in with my parents to spare myself from ever having to look Harry in the eye again…

I heard it. 

I heard him.

“…Mmmhh…”

Beyond the hum of the wimpy white noise, there was a raspy moan on the other side of the wall. I thought I was just imagining it, or that maybe it was Harry quietly retching in disgust, but then it happened again. 

No, yeah. It was definitely a moan.

I held my breath as I focused upon the sound of an abrupt curse followed by the distinctive sound of spitting. 

“...Ahhh, fuck—” 

*ptuh* 

The grunting and other lewd noises continued. I could only imagine Harry’s tightened fist, wet from his own drool, working diligently at his neglected cock.

“...Mm…h-hm…ugghhh…”

It seemed like Harry's white-noise machine had some impressive competition. My lips curved into a smirk and my embarrassment exponentially subsided.

His growls vibrated right through the layers of paint and drywall—sliding their way under my shirt, swirling around my perked nipples before bolting straight down to my fingertips, coaxing them to push deeper into my heat. Squeezing my thighs together and arching my back, I curled those digits and gasped out audibly. Feminine arousal leaked from my center and down the crease where my ass met my thighs. Everything was so slippery. I’d made a mess of myself within seconds. Not to mention, the pornographic squelch of my fingers echoed shamelessly beyond the slick walls of my cunt.

If Harry’s spit-covered palm was loud enough to hear over the white noise, then I knew the splashy reservoir between my legs was audible too.

Another series of grunts and huffs sounded beyond the wall behind me and the white noise machine was switched off. I retracted my fingers and slid them up and down my slit, teasing myself and picturing Harry rubbing the head of his dick along my entrance. My brow pinched hedonistic agony. Oh, God, did I want him inside me…I needed something…anything…

With my less-saturated hand, I reached over to open my bedside drawer and lifted the lower compartment to retrieve the silk satchel that encased my dildo. My sticky-slick fingers fumbled impatiently with the ties until the toy comically launched out of the bag and bounced itself smack down onto the inside of my splayed thigh. I could just picture Harry laughing at my lack of grace even though he was busy with his own deeds next door. The thought of Harry teasing me about the dildo made me blush a bit, and I smiled to myself, imagining his hand reaching out to brush my hair out of my face, his pupils dilating as he’d sit on his knees next to the bed and lean over me until his lips grazed my ear…

Be a good girl and show me what filthy things you do with this, Bunny…Show me where it goes…Show me how you fuck yourself…

I hadn’t realized I’d done it again. I’d gotten lost in that depraved little world of mine, and I whimpered aloud in response to the Imaginary Harry who was speaking in my fantasy, “Y-you want me to fuck my pussy for you, Daddy?” Maybe it was the Imaginary Harry again, but I could’ve sworn that I heard a silky British voice nearby react, “Goddd…dammit, Bun’…Ugh, fuuuck, yes. Fuck that sweet little pussy f’me, baby, holy shit…”

Laying back down, I brought the silicone cock up to my lips and sucked it into my mouth. I slowly bobbed my head on it and soaked it with my saliva after deepthroating it several times. The sloppy blowjob I gave to my dildo seemed to have been loud enough to be heard by Harry next door, as he voiced out, “Oh my god, Y/N…I wanna fuck that pretty mouth.”

I pulled it away from my tongue, a string of drool dripping from the tip, and rubbed the head of the toy against my sensitive clit whilst I responded, bringing me right back to where I needed to be. 

“Mmhh, but you can’t put a baby in me that way, Daddy.”

My own eyes widened and I gasped. I couldn’t believe I’d actually fucking said that.

“Shit! Ughh…Ahh…Ughhhh…Fuck you, Bunny…Almost made me…c-come…Christ—Ohhh, fuck me…”

With my free hand, I sucked on my index finger and let my eyes flutter closed as I pulled it out from my lips, trailing it down my neck, all the way to my breasts. Groping myself as best as I could with the rest of my hand, I used my forefinger to tease my nipple whilst the dildo swirled and swiped around my slickened slit. My breathing picked up quickly. The dildo had eventually disappeared inside my clenching hole. The only audible sounds I remember hearing were those of my own—my high-pitched gasps, the pornographic swishing and squelching of the dildo fucking my drenched cunt, the wet flicking noises of my fingers moving rapidly against my clit…I don’t even remember how loud Harry was at that point, I was too focused on my fantasy—my fantasy with him—to notice. I was so focused, in fact, that I had once again lost all sense of self-control and consciousness, succumbing to whatever had come naturally to me at the time and practically singing out my song of ecstasy for the whole goddamn neighborhood.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod…Harry, please. I need your cum…Oh, god, please come inside me. Fuck all your cum d-dee–oh g…–ah! Yes! Yes! Don’t stop!”

As I begged for my climax, Harry seemed to have been on the edge of his orgasm as well.

“Jesus Christ, you’re gonna kill me, Y/N…You want me to fill you up? Be my little breeding bunny? God…You dirty girl…Fuuuck…oh fuck, I’m gonna come…”

“Yes! Yes, Daddy! I can take it! Please! Yes, yes, yes, yes! Aaahhh!”

I unraveled with a squeak followed by a series of breathless sobs, my hands, wrists, and arms working frantically and my eyes rolled back whilst the kaleidoscope of pleasure poured through my body. Immediately after my explosion, I collapsed like a ragdoll with the dildo slowly pushing out of me, and my fingers slipping around on my clit to prolong my high. As my breathing recovered, I listened to the tail-end of the orgasm taking place from Harry’s side of the wall.

“Holy shit…Fucking take all of it f’me, babe—ohhhh, yeah…uhh-uuggh…mmhh…hm…Damnit…’So much…I wish all this was inside you, Bunny…fucking hell…”

I’d slept like a rock once I finally passed out. I wasn’t even worried about what would come the next morning. Nah, I had the upper hand on this one for once. As a bratty submissive, I’d gotten used to being teased and controlled. What an interesting feeling to exist on the other side. God, it felt fucking fantastic. Unfortunately for Harry, he wasn’t as confident…or at least that was what I’d been able to interpret in the days following. Nights after the first one, I’d carry on fucking my cunt until I was physically too exhausted to move my pretty little hands anymore. I swear I’d heard Harry finish at least thrice in one night once. (Impressive, Styles.) As for myself…well, I usually lost count.

That first morning, I awoke with sore arms, a rogue dildo laying on the floor, my limbs tangled inside my sheets, yet a ridiculous smile was perma-glued onto my sleepy, orgasm-spent face. I tried my best to tone it down, as I didn’t want to prance around the house like I’d just risen from a deep sleep induced by a gazillion-and-one pulsating firecrackers of pleasure. Too obvious, you know? Had to act nonchalant. Unbothered. 

Who was I kidding—I was the most chalant person I knew. Harry would see right through that charade. But there honestly wasn’t much need for pretending on my part since Harry had actively avoided any and all eye contact with me anyway. I’d never seen the man be so meek. It was truly a sight. 

Things would eventually loosen up as the days progressed, especially if it was a work day which meant Harry had an excuse to be miles away from me for several hours. It was somewhat of a bummer because I thoroughly enjoyed this sampling of power I newly held over the man. I reveled in the way our typical roles would reverse the mornings after our little bedtime serenades. They weren’t a nightly occurrence, as I preferred to keep him on his toes; however, they’d happen often enough that I tended to daydream in the middle of my work meetings. I’d even begun to retreat to my bedroom an hour or so earlier in the evenings, giving Harry some lame excuse like tiredness or a headache. In reality, it was me signaling that I needed to get myself off sooner rather than later. Whenever I’d announce my departure, I could feel how much he’d been aching for it all day, too. Harry eventually utilized the same approach to speed up the fulfillment of his own needs. I’d changed up my tempo, my method of pleasure, the filth of my words, even my own positions whilst touching myself. It seemed like it had become almost like a routine for him to wait for me to fall into bed late in the evening. (Yet another one for me to be distracted by…) 

Nothing’s changed. I still imagine that he patiently lays atop his soft duvet with an anxious throb booming against his eardrums…That minutes will go by with him training his ear to follow each soft pad of my feet. And then I shut my door. I waste no time before diving my pretty fingers inside the waistband of my underwear and playing with my sensitive little petal—allowing all the filth to freely escape my lips. And every single time we do this, I’m in my room picturing him naked from the waist down, one hand eagerly pumping his dripping length whilst the other massages his balls and perineum. To this day, the waves of simultaneous pleasure are still trapped only by the few measly layers of drywall that stand in between us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I know, I know…it’s been a while…but I’m back:-) and this isn’t the end of Harry’s Home—the final part is basically finished, but I wanted to post this chunk of it since I’d been kind of neglecting my account for months now. I hope y’all like it! Xoxo ~ Régan 💋

Tags: @daphnesutton @victoria-styles @pishhhh20989 @heyyyloverr @youdontcaredoyou @jerseygirlinca

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry smut #harrys house #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles x y/n #harry x reader #dark!harry #daddy!harry #sub!reader #dom!harry #harry styles blurb #hslot #harrystyles #harry styles imagines #harry styles masterlist #harry styles x reader #prince hair harry #lhh!harry #harry styles series #harry styles smut fic recs

[httplilyyy]

𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 | 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: you’re in a franchise now

warnings: descriptions of violence, swearing, scream vi spoilers, bad writing

words: 4594

a/n: i didn’t really know how to end this but i tried my best. i also added a few references to the older scream movies, so see if you can spot them :)

scream masterlist | prev. part | next part

002. he’s back (man behind the mask) - alice cooper

‘he’s back, the man behind the mask.’

You stood in shock. Eyes focused on the backdoor of the store, swinging backwards and forwards. Not quite believing ghostface was in there with you, Tara and Sam. 

“It’s happening again.” Tara trembled against your side. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” you repeated, turning to face the younger Carpenter, “you're okay.”

“But-”

“Don't do that. You're okay.” You said softly, rubbing your hands up and down her arms.

You kept your gaze on Tara, watching as she processed what just happened. Pulling her against you, she rested her head on your chest.

You placed your chin on the top of her head, looking over at Sam, a tint of worry and fear glistening in your eyes.

The three of you were quickly ushered into a cop car, each of you sitting in the back with Tara in the middle, trying to get as close to you as she could. 

The journey to the police station was quiet, the dull noise of the radio breaking the silence. You had your head resting against the window, a million thoughts running around in your mind.

You couldn't help it but your mind kept going back to the call you had gotten from ghostface. What did they mean by they wanted to see you suffer? Was it you they wanted to kill? Or was it someone else? 

And most important of all. How did they know your secret?

All whilst those thoughts were at the forefront of your mind, Tara leaned her head on your shoulder. Your fingers gently brushed over her knuckles before tracing the scar on her hand, only stopping when the car came to a halt at the station. 

The three of you were let out of the back of the cop car and led into a room where pictures of the crime scene littered over the table. You sat to Tara’s left whilst Sam sat to her right, each of you tired after the events in the store.

You were just about to start a conversation when Detective Bailey walked in the room. He sat on the chair in front of you three and looked at you intently.

“This was found next to the body at the apartment crime scene.” Bailey said, throwing a ghostface mask on the table. “The dna said it belonged to someone called Richie Kirsch.”

Sam snapped her head up at the name, a look of confusion written on her face. 

“Does that ring a bell?” Bailey asked, making you look between Tara and Sam, the both of them shocked at the name drop.

“We’re familiar with him.” Sam replied, her face not showing any emotion.

“The one that attacked us had a different mask on.” Tara said, turning to look at Bailey. “It's kinda more beat up, like it's older.” 

“I gotta ask, do you have alibis from earlier tonight?” Bailey questioned, nodding to what Tara had said.

“I was at a party with my friends.” Tara said, leaning back in her chair.

“And you, y/n?” Bailey asked, looking at you with a smile, one that was far from friendly.

“I was at the party too.” You shrugged, looking straight into his eyes.

“I was at my therapists,” Sam cut in, “I can give you his information. You can call and check if you want. Then I met Tara and y/n at that party. Where I tased someone… Unrelated.”

“Was that before or after this?” Bailey wondered, sounding a little irritated as he moved his gaze off you and onto the older Carpenter showing a video on his phone of Sam pushing the woman from earlier.

“Before.” Sam said.

“The point is, we were with someone the whole night.” You said, becoming very tired of the questioning. 

“So, our roommate's dad just happened to pull our case.” Sam stated, not believing that was entirely true.

“That would be a crazy coincidence right?” Bailey replied.

“Yeah.” 

“The detective who had the case, he offered it to me because it involves Quinn. But I can totally give it back if you're uncomfortable. It’s up to you.”

Sam looked at Tara, the younger girl didn't seem to mind so Sam took her judgement and replied.

“It’s fine.”

“So if the man who attacked you did steal your licence and planted it next to the body. Then it will probably be somebody close to you.” Bailey said, causing Sam to look a little dejected. “How long have you known your friends?”

“Well we moved here with Mindy, Chad and y/n for summer semester like six months ago.” Tara said, looking at you. “So Quinn, Ethan, Anika all since then.” 

“I think I can vouch for Quinn so that's one less we have to worry about.” Bailey said. “Do the three of you have anyone that might wanna target you?”

You let out a huffed laugh as you saw Sam roll her eyes with an exasperated look on her face.

“Not anyone who’s still alive.” Tara said, shaking her head.

“Yikes.” Bailey commented with raised eyebrows.

“Tell me about it.” You mumbled, running a hand down your face.

Suddenly the door opened behind Bailey and an officer came in. 

“The fbi is here, they need jurisdiction.” The man said.

“Where are they?” Bailey questioned, shooting up from his seat to follow the police officer.

“Jesus christ.” You muttered, leaning back on your chair, head tilting up to look at the ceiling.

“I’ve never known you to be so quiet.” Tara teased, smacking you on the stomach.

“Hey!” You exclaimed, holding onto your stomach.

“Oh come on, I didn't hit you that hard.” Tara chuckled.

“You did, I think you broke something.” You joked, continuing your dramatics.

“Come on, you two. We’re leaving.” Sam said abruptly, getting up from her chair.

“Wait what?” You said, very confused as Tara dragged you out of your chair by your arm. “Where are we going?”

“I don't know, just follow my sister.” Tara answered, pulling you along beside her.

As you walked side by side with Tara and Sam, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. Slowly pulling out your phone, you made sure to check the number this time. 

Stopping in your tracks, you immediately knew who was calling you. Due to your abrupt halt, Sam and Tara were looking at you with confused glances.

“You okay, y/n?” Tara questioned, eyes scanning your face for any signs of emotion however it was completely blank.

“Uh, yeah.” You said, clearing your throat with a small cough. You looked up from your phone and at the younger Carpenter. “I’ve just got to take this call.”

“We’ll wait here for you.” Sam smiled. 

“It’s no problem, you go on, I'll catch up.” 

With reluctant nods, Sam and Tara walked away from you. Your finger hovered over the answer button and just as it was about to go to voicemail you picked it up.

“Hello again, y/n.”

“You know, you are starting to really piss me off.” You answered, kicking the ground by your feet.

“Now, now, that’s not a nice way to greet someone, is it?” They replied, causing you to practically hear their smirk.

“Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Let me try that again. Hey, ghostface, how’s it going?”

“That’s better.”

“Okay, cut the bullshit. What do you want?” You snapped, moving to lean your back against a nearby wall.

“How about a little trip down memory lane?”

“And what could you possibly know about my past?”

“Everything.”

“Huh, funny.” You scoffed, looking around you, making sure no one could hear your conversation.

“You don't believe me, do you?”

“Why should I?”

“One of your old friends is right around the corner.” They said, ignoring your question.

“One of my old friends?”

“Yes. Now I'm sure you remember the night.”

“What night?”

“Two-thousand and eleven was a wonderful year, wasn't it?��� They asked rhetorically, ignoring you once again.

“For some.” You shrugged.

“Not for you though, was it?”

“Depends.”

“Poor nine year old y/n.” 

“Okay, I am sick of your shit. Stop fucking around and tell me what you know.” You said loudly, pushing yourself off the wall and into the middle of the hallway.

“You miss her don’t you? I mean she was your sister after all. Even if she did turn out to be a murderer.”

“Fuck you.” You said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, so vulgar.” They exclaimed.

“Keep my sister’s name out of your mouth.”

“Well, I haven't even said her name yet, have I? What was it again? I can't seem to remember it.” They teased, sending shivers up your spine. “Was it Jamie? No, that doesn't seem right. Jenny, still no. Oh I know.”

“Oh do you now?” You asked sarcastically.

“Jill.” 

All of a sudden everything in your body went cold. Your heart was pounding out of your chest and your breath got caught in your throat.

You couldn't think of a reply, your brain replaying that night in your head. 

“Ooh, I know everything about you y/n.”

Before you could think of a response the line went dead and you were left standing in an empty police station hallway, your thoughts running over a million miles an hour.

You let out a shaky breath, placing your phone back in your pocket before making your way to where Sam and Tara walked off to.

As you rounded a corner, you saw Sam and Tara talking with Bailey as well as someone you thought you wouldn't see ever again.

“Kirby?” You muttered, stepping into view.

“Y/n?” She replied, shock evident on her face.

“You guys know each other?” Sam questioned, looking between you two.

“Yeah, we…” Kirby trailed off, still in a little shock. 

“It's a long story.” You said, sending Kirby a smile.

Kirby let out a small chuckle before walking towards you and engulfing you in a hug.

As you caught up with Kirby, a police officer came up to the five of you and handed Bailey some paperwork along with a second ghostface mask. 

“He left this mask at the bodega, dna traces of two individuals; Charlie Walker, Jill Roberts. Both deceased.”

As Jill’s name was mentioned, Kirby felt your body go stiff in her arms. She rubbed a soothing hand along your arm before detaching herself from you.

“Ghostface killers of two-thousand and eleven. Charlie Walker gave me this.” Kirby said as she lifted up her shirt to show a scar of where she had been stabbed in the abdomen. “Is this the mask he was wearing when he attacked you?”

“No.” Tara replied, as she and her sister shook their heads together, you however were still stuck in a trance.

“So he’s leaving them on purpose.” Bailey stated.

“Which means whoever is doing this is a student of the killers who came before.” Kirby added. “Maybe he believes Sam’s the latest in the long line.”

Once Kirby finished her sentence, she moved her gaze back onto you. Although Sam and Tara didn’t know you were related to Jill, Kirby did. 

If ghostface was going after Sam, then that meant they were also going to come for you.

Oh how you wished what Kirby said was wrong. 

“Yeah, goodluck with that.” Sam said, sarcasm present in her tone. “We’re getting out of town.” 

Sam walked past Bailey and Kirby, Tara following behind. The younger Carpenter grabbed onto your hand and she pulled you along too. 

“I’m sorry but that’s not possible.” Bailey said, causing the three of you to turn back around.

“And why is that?” You questioned, feeling your temper rise and your patience completely dissipate from your body. 

“The three of you are each persons of interest to a double homicide so you’re not allowed to leave town, sorry.”

“Are you serious?” Tara asked, not believing what he said.

“How am I involved?” You wondered.

“He’s right.” Kirby nodded. “But, if we work together-”

“We’re going.” Sam cut her off pulling you and Tara along with her. With one last look at Kirby, you were pulled away from her and towards the exit of the station.

Sam led the three of you out of the police station with purpose and slammed open the doors to the outside. You were met with a hoard of news reporters bombarding you all with questions. 

Sam walked ahead of you and Tara, pushing her way through the reporters while you wrapped a protective arm around Tara’s shoulders, pulling her into you as the two of you stayed close behind Sam.

Each question, name drop and sentence thrown at the three of you were ignored apart from one voice that stuck out. 

“Gale Weathers, Channel Four.”

“Oh you’ve got to be shitting me.” You muttered, turning around to face the woman.

“Do you three think you’re the reason that the ghostface killer has come to the big apple?” Gale questioned, her gaze focusing on you for a moment longer, softening slightly.

Sam scoffed, pretending to turn around only for her to throw a punch at Gale. The older woman dodged the attempt as everyone gasped at what they just saw.

“Nice try sweety but I've done this dance before.” Gale said smugly but her last word was cut off as another hand came swinging towards her face. This time she didn’t have time to dodge and a right hook was sent to her cheek.

You looked at Tara in pure shock, a smile taking over your features. 

“Stay away from us.” Tara threatened as she walked away, you and Sam following her with proud glances.

“Are you really still mad at me?” Gale questioned, following after the three of you.

“You said you wouldn't write a book about what happened.” Sam said, turning to face the woman with anger. “And then you wrote a book about what happened!”

“Oh come on.” Gale sighed. “Somebody was gonna write about it. It’s what I do.”

“I heard you couldn't sell the movie rights.” Tara cut in, a deadly look on her face.

“It's all about true crime limited series these days.” Gale responded with an eye roll.

“After everything we went through together.” Sam shook her head. “What would Dewey think?” 

“That's a low blow.” Gale said, and you let out a small whistle of agreement.

“Your book was a low blow.” Sam rebutted. “You called me unstable and a born killer.”

“That’s taken out of context.”

“That's literally a quote.” You pointed out, sending a smile to Gale which turned out more like a grimace.

“You don't think what you wrote has something to do with what's happening to us?” Tara exclaimed.

“Come on.” You said, pulling both Carpenters to a parked up taxi.

“I talked to Sidney.” Gale said, causing the three of you to stop in your tracks once again.

You sighed to yourself, looking up at the sky, wondering what else this woman could possibly say.

“She’s not coming here is she?” Tara asked, worry laced in her tone.

“No.” Gale shook her head. “She sends her love but she’s taking the kids and Mark someplace safe. She deserves to have her happy ending.”

“And that much we agree.” Sam said before opening the back door to the taxi and getting in. 

You held the door open for Tara waiting for her to get in but Gale spoke up again.

“Hey I want to catch this fucker as much as you do.” Gale said, raising her voice a little.

“Maybe.” Tara shrugged. “Or maybe you're just afraid that without Ghostface in your life, you're gonna fade away.”

Tara gave the woman one last look before getting into the taxi.

“Did you get all that on film?” You smirked, pointing to the multiple cameras behind Gale. 

Gale looked at you with an irritated glint to her eye causing you to chuckle. Just as you were about to get in the taxi, Gale called out your name.

“Y/n, can I talk to you for a second?” She pleaded. 

You let out a small sigh, looking back at Tara. She gave you a small nod and you promised to only be a few minutes.

“What’s going on, Gale?” You questioned, a hand rubbing your forehead.

“H-how are you feeling?” Gale wondered.

“How am I feeling?” You repeated, sarcasm laced in your voice. “Since when did you care?”

“Sidney has been asking about you.”

“Then why couldn’t she just contact me?” You scoffed.

“She's trying to keep a low profile and-”

“And texting me will blow her cover? Bullshit, she’s my cousin.”

“Look, y/n. you’ve been through this twice-”

“So what? I was nine the first time! Nine!” You said, raising your voice. “That doesn’t mean I'm used to it by now!”

“I know I just-”

“My own sister stabbed me! That will do something to a person. Especially a child.”

“I want to be there for you, y/n.” Gale said softly.

“Look, Gale.” You started, a long sigh spilled from your lips. “I don’t think I can go through this again.”

“I know, this is my sixth time and it feels like the first.”

“I’m scared, Gale. I’m so scared.” You whispered, your bottom lip quivering.

“I’d think you were a psycho if you weren’t.” Gale said, letting out a wet chuckle as tears fell from her own eyes.

“They know.” You said, wiping your eyes. “They know about Jill.”

“Maybe it’s time to tell your friends. Before Ghostface does.”

“Maybe, I’ll think about it. Just not yet.”

“Okay.”

“I uh- I have to go.” You mumbled, looking back at Tara and Sam in the taxi, the younger girl giving you a worried glance as she spotted the tear marks on your face.

“Yeah, okay. You have my number so call me. I’ll always pick up.”

“Will do.” You smiled, moving your hand to squeeze hers before backing away and into the taxi.

You closed the car door with one last look at Gale, the taxi driver drove off.

“Nice punch by the way.” You teased Tara, using your elbow to nudge her side.

“Shut up.” Tara mumbled, locking her arm with yours as she rested her head against your shoulder, her fingers intertwined with yours.

“Where are we going?” You questioned, looking down at the smaller girl leaning against your side.

“We’re going to the park to meet up with everyone.” Tara replied.

“No doubt it will entail one of Mindy’s rants.” You said, causing Tara and Sam to chuckle.

“Probably.”

“Actually, I'll put a bet on that. Five dollars Mindy brings up us being in a sequel or something.”

“No chance, I'd like to keep my money.” Tara said, patting a hand on your thigh.

“You're no fun.” You sighed.

The rest of the ride to the park was filled with jokes and laughter, despite what had happened the night before. Before you knew it, the taxi driver had stopped and the three of you were getting out.

It didn't take long for you to find your friends and after you greeted everybody, you sat down beside Tara, in between her and Ethan. The only person who wasn’t sitting down was Mindy, who stood in front of you all.

“Okay nerds, listen up.” Mindy said, clapping her hands above her head to gain everyone's attention. “As terrifying as this all is, I'm actually glad I get a chance to redeem myself for not calling the killers last time… it's fine, okay.”

“Here we go.” You muttered under your breath earning an elbow to the ribs from tara.

“The way I see it, someone is out to make a sequel to the requel.” Mindy continued.

“Called it.” You whispered in Tara's ear, the girl trying to keep the corners of her mouth from turning into a smile.

“Um- what's a requel?” Anika questioned, furrowing her eyebrows as she looked up at her girlfriend.

“You're beautiful sweetie.” Mindy said, pointing to the girl with her hands. “Let’s hold questions till the end.”

“Stab took place in Woodsboro, Stab Two took place in college.” Sam spoke up.

“So do you think that the killer is trying to copy the movies?” Tara asked, looking up at Mindy.

“That is one possibility.” Mindy nodded. “Heroes now in college, check. Suspicious new characters brought in to round out the suspect list and/or the body count. Check, check and check.”

“I don't like this.” Ethan said, shaking his head before looking away.

“But it can't just be about Stab Two.” Mindy said, ignoring Ethan as she continued to explain her point.

“Why not?” Tara wondered, furrowing her eyebrows as she looked up to Mindy once again.

“It makes sense if this were just a sequel.” Mindy explained. “But we're not in a sequel because nobody just makes sequels anymore. We’re in a franchise! And there are certain rules to a continuing franchise.”

“I had a feeling.” Sam sighed, looking to the ground.

“Is this making sense to you?” You questioned, leaning towards Ethan who shook his head. “Okay at least it's not just me.”

“Rule one!” Mindy said loudly as she started to pace around. “Everything is bigger than last time! Bigger budget, bigger cast, bigger body count, longer chases, shootouts, beheadings. You gotta top what happened before to keep people coming back.” 

“Beheadings?” Chad asked, looking up from his notebook and at his sister.

“Beheadings.” Mindy confirmed, nodding her head. “Rule two, whatever happened last time, expect the opposite. Franchises only survive by subverting expectations, if the killers last time were whiny, snowflake, film nerds with letterboxd accounts instead of personalities, you can bet the opposite will be true here.”

“Has she breathed yet?” You mumbled to the two next to you, Ethan letting out a quiet snort of laughter whilst Tara shook her head with a small smile gracing her lips.

“And rule three, no one is safe.” Mindy said, calming down a little. “Legacy characters are cannon fodder at this point. Usually brought back only to be killed off in some cheap bit for nostalgia. It’s not looking too good for Gale and Kirby, oh and that isn’t even the worst part!”

“This is the part where she tells us the worst part.” Chad said, looking up from his notebook only for a second.

"The worst part is, franchises are just continuing episodic instalments designed to boost an ip. Which means, main characters are completely expendable now too, Laurie Strode, Nancy Thompson, Ellen Ripley, Sally Hardesty, Jigsaw, Tony Stark, James Bond, I mean even Luke Skywalker, all die so that their franchises can live on." Mindy ranted. "That means it's just not the friend group, any of us can go at any time. Especially Sam and Tara.”

“Well that’s just brilliant then, isn’t it.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair, glancing over to Tara who was already looking at you.

"W-wait, any of us?" Ethan asked as he looked up at Mindy who nodded. "Does- am I in the friend group?"

"Yeah".

"Am I like one of the targets of-”

“Mhm.”

“Am I gonna die a virgin?”

You almost choked on your own spit, leaning forward as Tara patted your back, looking at the boy with a laugh.

Mindy looked away for a moment, a grimace on her face. "That was...a weird overshare. But it brings us to our current suspects, Ethan, the shy, dorky guy who no one suspects because he's so shy and dorky.”

Ethan shook his head as Mindy took a step up to him. "Okay, wait, why am I on the suspect list? Because I'm randomly Chad's roommate?"

"Roommate lotteries can be juked, you could've fixed it to get in next to us.” Mindy stated and Ethan just rolled his eyes before slumping back while Mindy turned to look at Quinn.

"Quinn, the slutty roommate, a horror movie classic.”

"Sex positive, but thank you?" Quinn said, tilting her head.

Mindy just hummed before turning back to look at Tara and Sam. "How did you come to live with Sam and Tara?"

"I answered their ad online?"

"Okay! Say no more! You've already implicated yourself enough!" Mindy yelled. 

"It was an anonymous ad, Mindy. And you know we vetted her plus her dad's a cop-" Tara said, looking at Mindy as she defended her roommate.

"And that makes it more likely that she's the killer because having a cop dad is a great cover, do you not remember how these movies work, Tara?"

"Is she always like this?" Quinn asked, leaning forward as she spoke to Sam, the older Carpenter shrugging as her response.

"Anika.” Mindy smiled, walking over to her girlfriend who blew her a kiss, Mindy doing the same to her before looking at her more seriously. "Never trust the love interest.” 

“Okay, so...we have our rules. And we have our suspects.” Sam said, wiping her hands on her jeans.

"Wait, wait.” Ethan interrupted, looking up at Mindy. "What about you guys?"

"I mean, I think it's pretty safe to rule out the five of us who went through this last year in Woodsboro.” Mindy said, crossing her arms as she looked at the boy. 

"Agreed.” Chad smiled, pointing his pencil at Mindy. 

"Um, not agreed. What if the trauma you all went through caused one or more of you to snap?" Quinn remarked, shaking her head. 

Ethan nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I mean, or the thing you got from the killings made you thirsty for more? I mean, to be honest here, some of the theories online about Sam are-"

"Don't you fucking dare!" Tara snapped at the boy.

“Let’s not go there, buddy.” You said, patting him on the shoulder, a little too harshly making Ethan let out a small wince at the action.

"Okay.” Anika nodded, sitting up straighter. "She's right, though. I mean, face facts, if we're all suspects, you're all suspects.”

Mindy just crossed her arms as she thought about those words for a moment not knowing how to reply.

“Okay, I'm leaving now.” You said, slapping your hands to your knees before standing up.

“Where are you going?” Tara questioned, looking up at you.

“Probably to kill someone.” Ethan muttered under his breath.

“Funny.” You replied sarcastically, staring the boy down. “I was going to get some food for later.”

“I’ll come with you.” Tara said, standing up quickly.

“Yeah, okay.” You smiled. “Anyone else want to come?” 

“Might as well.” Mindy shrugged.

“Anika, do you want to come?” You asked, looking at the girl still sitting down.

“No, it’s all good, I'll meet you later.” She replied with a smile.

“Anyone else?” You asked once more but everyone shook their heads and you gave them a nod of acknowledgement. “Guess it’s just us three.”

“Cool, we’ll see you in a bit.” Mindy said, giving her girlfriend a kiss before walking off with you and Tara.

“Be careful.” The three of you heard Sam’s voice come from behind you and you saw how Tara rolled her eyes at her sister.

“She’s just looking out for you because she loves you, y’know.” You chuckled, nudging Tara with your elbow.

“Clearly Chad doesn't care about me.” Mindy said, seeing as Chad didn’t say anything to her before she left.

“Alright, enough about siblings, last one to the store is a rotten egg.” You said quickly before you ran off ahead of your two friends.

“Child. They are a literal child.” Tara mumbled, shaking her head.

“You’re still going to run though, aren’t you.” Mindy said, speeding up a little.

“Of course.” Tara chuckled.

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter imagines #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega imagines #jenna ortega x reader #scream vi #scream #scream 6

[lvrcpid]

𝙨𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙩𝙝 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧 - 𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙧𝙮

paring: ethanxfem!reader.

warnings: implication of murder. blood. ethan being the worst best person on the planet. manipulation. character death. spoilers!!

listen: smooth operator by sade

notes: your honor he’s innocent!!

‘congratulations you’ve been accepted to blackmore university’. the letter in your hand reads. you couldn’t help but smile a bit. you were finally getting out of woodsboro. you wanted nothing to do with this hell hole anymore.

being almost brutally murdered by one of your closest friends was definitely not on your bucket list. but hey you couldn’t complain, at least you made it out alive.

similar to tara, you didn’t really like to acknowledge what happened to you back home. you wanted to forget about everything. but the feeling you were being watched never left you.

for weeks on end after, you suffered from panic attacks. you refused to be alone, afraid that phone would ring and in one clean sweep, your life would be over. you’d be damned if you faced the same fate as your foes.

you moved into your apartment with tara and sam, along with your roommate quinn, on campus not long after that, mindy and chad also attending the same school. you were glad your friends were there not only just for you, but for each other. you all had been through a lot together, instantly turning you all from a group, into a family.

you were sat in tara’s room as she hung her clothes in her closet, the comfortable silence filling the air as you spoke “do you think it’s over?” tara didn’t say anything as she stopped what she was doing, gripping onto the shirt in her hand. she just sighed and looked at you, shrugging and moving to sit down next to you. “that’s behind us and you know it..” she tried her hardest to empathize with you but tara hated living in the past of what happened to you all.

you couldn’t help but disagree, the fact you did showed in your expression. while she was right, you didn’t like the fact your friend was so okay with pushing down what happened to her. you cut the conversation short , not wanting to egg her on, squeezing her into a hug and sighing. “we’re safe now, we can live our lives normally.”

but oh were you so wrong.

you met ethan shortly after you moved to new york. you were walking to your debate ethics class when you bumped into someone, quickly pulling your headphone off to apologize.

‘oh im sorry-‘ ‘no it’s okay im sorry!’ you turned to meet the person you bumped into. you were met with a boy slightly taller than you, fluffy hair and the cutest face. ‘i-i’m ethan! sorry about that..i should’ve watched where i was going..’ his face turned red as he scratched the back of his head.

you found the boy cute. he reminded you of a puppy. you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words. ‘no really it’s okay, it was my fault. i’m (y/n)’ you held your hand out, watching as he hesitantly shook it.

ew. his palms were sweaty. but aw, he was nervous.

from that point on you and ethan became inseparable. you both constantly went out to movies and cafes. he even came over for study time at your apartment! you really liked ethan and all of your friends could tell he really liked you too.

it was a random night in october, the wind was chilly and the leaves scraped across the ground like nails on a chalk board. sam and tara were out shopping and quinn was over at some boys dorm. you seriously couldn’t keep up with that girl.

your roommates absences left you alone in the apartment. that same feeling of being watched crept up on you slowly as the wind blew more and more through the open window in the living room.

you sucked your teeth as you pushed yourself from the couch, going to shut the window. as you looked outside you swore you could’ve seen the frame of a black cloak disappear into the distance. your blood ran cold as you just shut the window and locked it. “nope nope nope fuck that-“ *RING RING RING* your phone rang, vibrating on the table.

shit. you stalked over to the table where your phone sat, your heart practically beating out of your chest. you knew better than to answer the phone, so you just let it ring, not even going to check who it was. you didn’t even want to know.

you sighed as the ringing stopped, just for it to pick up once more. you mumbled slightly before picking up the phone, seeing it was richies contact. how is that even possible? richie died. you just held the phone to your ear as you spoke, “hello?” “hello (y/n)..miss me?” you could’ve passed out right then and there. that same voice that tormented you and your friends for days was back. you just stomped to the knife block as you spoke once more.

“i fucked you up once , im not afraid to do it again..” you grabbed the largest knife you could, power walking your way through the apartment. “relax sweet thing..i’m not at your place..i just wanna..talk..” you just rolled your eyes at the name and gripped your phone tightly in your hand. “listen you sick piece of shit, leave me and my friends alone or else i’ll-“ “or else you’ll what? kill me and run away like a coward?! now shut up and listen.” you went silent, not really believing his words about not being in your apartment.

“you know you’re really pretty right..? i’m always watching you..always..” the voice calls, chuckling and sighing as you were horrified. your theory was correct. “god what i wouldn’t give to see you scream for me” you could hear that asshole smirk over the phone. you just scoffed and gripped the knife tighter, making your way through your apartment for the second time, really making sure he wasn’t playing tricks on you. “who the hell even are you..” you asked, pushing open a door and making your way through it.

“ah ah ah- we’ll save that for our next conversation..until then pretty girl..also..chilly night we’re having isn’t it?” then the line went dead. you quickly moved to call sam, shakily dialing her number as you paced the floor, biting your thumb as you tried your best not to cry.

when the sisters bursted into the door, you immediately broke down in tears, crying into sam’s shoulder as she brought you into a hug. you looked to tara as she gave you a sad, worried, almost terrified look. “tara..ignore everything i said..”

this isn’t over.

the next day you were on edge, hesitant to even step foot out of your dorm. you laid in bed , staring at your ceiling fan as it spun around, trying to distract yourself from what happened the previous night.

the only noise that can be heard was the sound of your fan and your jagged breathing. suddenly your phone rang, again. you quickly turned over to silence it, trying to forget that it’s even there. but seeing richies contact and picture pop up was enough to send chills down your spine.

you took a deep breath before answering the phone. “calling me in broad daylight? you’re getting bolder by the second” you spoke into the phone. “relax pretty girl, i just wanna talk to you” the raspy voice came back to you. you just huffed and rolled your eyes. “we aren’t leisurely friends. you’re actively trying to kill me and mine.”

“be happy i’m taking the time to speak to you instead of killing your friends one by one.”

you just huffed as you got out of bed. “what the hell do you even want?!” you’re growing frustrated. why is this killer talking to you like you both are friends. “i missed hearing your voice beautiful. it’s not often i come across a girl as pretty as you. it makes me wanna hurt you even more”

you turned your face up in disgust. is this fucker really flirting with you right now. “are you fucking serious-“ “i’d also be careful about sam and all..i heard that serial killer stuff..runs in the family. who knows, maybe one day she’ll snap and kill you all.” the voice chuckles.

sam? never sam, she doesn’t want to be like her father. “sam would never-“ “don’t bank on it.” then the line went dead.

this went on for days. the same person calling, taunting you, feeding you information that seemed believable after a while.

maybe sam really was setting you up. maybe she really did want to kill you.

you found yourself finding comfort in a killer. even waiting and anticipating their calls.

you didn’t know if what you were feeling was right or utterly wrong. so you brought it up to ethan.

the boy was laying on your chest, as he always did when he came over to your dorm. you ran a hand through his hair as you spoke. “ethan can i trust you with something?”

the boy looked up at you and hummed in response. “is it bad that i’m attracted to a killer?” you expected the boy to have a greater reaction than the shrug he gave you. “i mean if you’re into that sort of thing-“ “ethan stop i’m serious” you sat up, looking at him.

“i genuinely think sam is out to get all of us, you included” the boy just sighed and pulled you into his arms. his reactions were concerning you. how was he so calm?

you looked up to ethan and noticed the look he was giving you. it sent chills down your spine. he looked like he wanted to strangle you. you scanned his face quickly before snapping your fingers in front of his face, breaking him out of whatever look he was giving you. “ethan..you okay?” you asked, looking at him. the boy just looks down and nods.

“mindy it’s strange- the killer is here he just hasn’t done anything-“ “woah woah woah run that back- you’ve been talking to the killer, the one who tried to murder ALL of us last year, he hasn’t attacked you- and you’ve grown fond of him? (y/n) what the hell” mindy crossed her arms, a disappointed look across her face. “i don’t know if it’s a him or her- mindy i don’t know okay! and ethan was acting really strange when i told him about it..”

mindy scrunched her face up as she looked at you. “ethan..he’s at the top of my list! i’ve always suspected he was the killer!”

“woah woah woah mindy, it can’t be ethan! ethan’s too sweet for all of that- plus-“ “remember what i said? never trust the love interest”

later that night anika was murdered. she fell from the ladder that stretches from across your apartment to sam’s boyfriends danny’s apartment.

and she was right. never trust the love interest.

you stood beside tara, your mouth dropping in pure horror as ethan revealed himself as the second ghostface killer.

“ethan..” you breathed out, tears streaming down your cheeks.

ethan just gave you a look of fake sympathy before laughing. “god (y/n)! you made it so easy! for me” he pointed the knife in your direction. “a few phone calls, a bit of sweet talking and i had you wrapped around my finger! just like that!”

your swear your heart stopped. it was ethan this whole time. “no..no no no..” “yes..believe it pretty girl”

your world was spinning in two. the boy you were slowly falling in love with was a killer the whole time.

you didn’t have time to think before ethan charged at you with his knife, slicing a deep slash in your arm. you let out a loud scream as you quickly applied pressure to the wound, the thick metallic smell filling your nose. a smell you were familiar with.

you quickly ran away as ethan chased you down, somehow dodging his many attempts to stab you.

as you stood in front of him, near the brink of sobbing, blood coating your arm and hand, you asked; “why- i thought you liked me-“ “liked you?! no no no pretty girl. you got it all wrong..i never liked you..i liked the idea of you. guess you can say i played the part well. the sweet boy next door. the lover you can cry to? god you’re so pathetic” ethan just laughs.

you felt your heart breaking into two as he continued

“falling for a killer over the phone! who knew it would be so easy..gaining your trust so easy..making you doubt sam- it’s perfect” ethan lunged at you, tackling you down to the floor, easily taking you down and raising his knife above your heart. “it’s a shame i gotta kill you, because you’re so pretty” ethan grinned, moving to lower the knife but stopping.

you watched as blood began to pool at his mouth, his body shaking like a leaf as he dropped the knife, his body falling over yours.

holy shit. ethan landry was dead.

you quickly pushed him off of you and scurried away, looking to see who was behind him.

it was sam, her fathers knife in her hand. you blinked at sam as she stalked towards you, knife still in her hand. maybe this really was the end. you were surprised to see her hand extended towards you, a small smile on her face.

okay so sam didn’t wanna kill you. fantastic.

you walked out with sam to meet tara. you looked to the side to see detective bailey, dead. that was new.

you cringed at the sight before sitting down next to them, your body aching.

“so it was ethan the whole time huh?” tara turned to you. you just nodded and leaned back. “yeah..he sure knew how to sweet talk a girl.”

the three of you just laughed, pushing yourselves up and leaving the theater, the light from outside was almost blinding.

your brain flashed back to that night in the apartment. it was ethan the whole time. he murdered anika, and tried to kill you too. sick bastard shook her to her death. why kick a girl when she’s already down? the image of her bloody body hitting the cold, hard ground still engraved in your mind.

you just squinted as you let out a sad sigh. never would you have guessed it was ethan behind this. never in a million years. but once again luck was on your side.

you made it out alive.

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