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literaila · 3 months

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house rules (roommate au)

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

so immediately you slam the door.

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

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

oh, fuck.

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

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

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

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

"and you're less than dressed."

"i thought you stood me up."

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

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

"i didn't cancel. i'm here."

"you're late."

"so i've heard..." he drawls.

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

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

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

"are you going to apologize for being late?"

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

"really?"

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

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

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

you slam the door against his foot again.

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

something in his voice already implies that it will.

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

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

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

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

"ten minutes. maybe twenty."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you attempt a fake smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"um... sort of."

"sort of?"

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

gojo hums. "why'd he move out?"

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

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

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

"okay, good, 'cause that's hideous."

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

"did you change rooms?"

"what?"

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

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

gojo snorts.

"what?"

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

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

"you're not going to look around?"

"it looks like the pictures."

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

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

"not that i know of..."

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

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

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

"yes."

"can i see?"

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

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

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

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

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

"can't you?" he asks, challenging.

"no."

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

and somehow you doubt that.

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

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

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

"yes."

"such as?"

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

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

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

"okay."

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

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

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

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

"these are not negotiable."

he only continues to smile at you.

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

"fine. you still want to live here?"

"mmhmm."

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

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

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

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

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

but satoru gojo is hard.

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

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

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

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

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

and honestly, gojo's just asking for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you ate my ice cream?" you repeat.

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

"i might kill you."

"i thought we banned homicide from the apartment."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you blink.

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

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

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

you laugh.

"clearly you've never been."

"i'm still expecting ice cream."

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

"like you've never skipped a class."

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

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

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

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

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

"i seriously doubt that."

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

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

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

"nor ever will," you grind out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh, wait. it does.

you frown at him.

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

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

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

"do you own this bar?"

"what? no."

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

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

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

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

"nanami," you cut in, "hey."

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

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

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

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

"because i didn't realize."

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

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

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

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

"he promised me alcohol."

she nods knowingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru laughs, not questioning this, and walks away.

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

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

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

how long had that taken?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"are you ready to go home?"

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

you don't, for whatever reason.

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

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

"oh, really?"

"learned when i was a kid and everything."

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

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

like he's an actual toddler.

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

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

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

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

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

he smiles at you. you roll your eyes.

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

but were you really expecting it to?

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

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

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

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

you try not to laugh.

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

"sorry?"

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

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

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

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

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

"did you lose some pigment in your hair?"

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

"from what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo looks like he might start crying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"don't you have a room?" you ask.

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

"no."

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

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

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

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

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

"clearly."

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

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

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

"a book."

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

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

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

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

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

seriously, his presence is impending doom itself.

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

"i crave my fist on your face."

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

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

"probably?"

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

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

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

you groan and he laughs at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you're cleaning air?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"nanamin," he interrupts. "go."

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

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

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

you raise your brows but do as he says.

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

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

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

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

"satoru, she's just watching--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

from suguru :p :

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

can you please kick him awake?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"telepathy. now get up."

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

"suguru said you'd say that."

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

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

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

"why are you so mean to me?"

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

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

"i'll sue back for mental damages."

he laughs, and wiggles from your grasp.

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

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

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

"yup."

"he's a terrible friend."

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

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

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

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

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

"what class is it?"

"theoretical physics."

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

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

"i can imagine."

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

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

"no, suguru just thinks i'm lazy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"really?"

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

he grins. "cruel."

"and i'll record it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...and?"

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

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

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

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

"how did you even find the library?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you're a part of a study group?"

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

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

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

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

"nope, again."

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

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

"do i seem worried to you?"

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

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

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

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

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

you squint. "did you actually?"

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

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

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

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

"flip night."

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

"it wasn't that bad."

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

gojo smiles. "consider yourself lucky."

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

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

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

you laugh that thought away as soon as it comes.

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

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

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

"why not?"

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

"do it in the morning."

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

"then don't study."

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

he grins. "i get it from you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...going home?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"no."

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

"i told you, that's not mine."

"so you gave it away?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"yes."

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

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

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

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

"well, it was true then."

you roll your eyes.

"i wasn't going to say that anyway."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"whatever will i do now?"

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

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

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

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

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

"getting turned on by my pain?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...are you sure?"

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

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

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

"what?"

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

your brow furrows. "about what?"

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

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

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

"no, and i don't dance."

gojo rolls his eyes. "everyone dances."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you left me--"

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

"you'll get me that anyway."

"i'll let you pick it this time."

"that's usually expected, you know?"

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

"i don't know that, actually."

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

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

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

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

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

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

it's probably just the alcohol, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it sounds like something else to you.

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

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

"'cause you deserve it."

he laughs and leans in, so you follow him.

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

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

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

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

"really?"

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

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

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

"you okay?"

"i think i might be a little��drunk."

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

"you're a lightweight."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i don't look at you a lot."

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

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

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

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

"what?"

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

"i'm not?"

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

"why not?"

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

gojo's brow furrows. "how?"

your brows furrow. "how what?"

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

"you'd have to ask him."

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

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

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

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

"hey," gojo says, interrupting that feeling.

"what?"

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

"i'm not?"

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

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

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

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

"they do?"

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

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

how long has it been now?

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

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

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

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

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

he just smiles easily, ruffling your hair.

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

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

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

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

and so maybe you hang out with him sometimes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"to the store."

"it's eleven."

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

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

"i need stuff."

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

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

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

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

"you can't leave right now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i can do whatever i want."

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

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

"when i realized how weak you are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you are ruining my mood."

"oh, good."

you scowl. "move. right now."

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

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

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

he snorts.

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

"what is that?"

you frown. "what?"

"what's wrong with your face?"

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

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

"don't talk to me. ever again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"gojo?"

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

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

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

"where were you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru only smiled a little bit at your question.

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

you'd frowned. "what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i'm busy, gojo."

"no, you're not."

"i am doing homework."

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

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

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

he sighs again. "canceled."

"why?"

"my dad had a meeting or something."

"oh."

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

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

he shakes his head.

"do you want me to make you something?"

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

"not intentionally."

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

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

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

"that's not what i asked."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this shouldn't be happening.

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

he should not be this close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"there's at least five."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it wasn't fair like this.

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

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

like you're doing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"gojo, i'm really--"

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

"what?"

"that's not my name."

you frown. "yes it is?"

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

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

"when you were drunk."

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

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

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

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

"you're sorry?"

"i didn't mean to."

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

"it was an accident?"

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

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

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

"...okay."

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

you stare at him.

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

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

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

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

"why not?"

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

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

"wasn't it obvious?"

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

you shake your head.

"c'mon, just a little."

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

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

"don't tell me what to do."

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

you kinda want to hit him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"when?"

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

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

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

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

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

"you flirt with everything."

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

"who said anything about making out?"

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

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yesimwriting · 5 months

Note

okay but after the whole lucy gray thing we know coryo was done with “love” and everything BUT what if during the following year of thg he ends up falling in love with another tribute also from district 12 and he’s just going through it bad (again) however he somehow ends up actually getting the girl in the end, maybe even buying her way into the capitol

A/n I've been thinking about a very specific part of this since i first read it but i told myself no more fic writing until i finished at least one of my essays for finals seasons 😭

also ik in the book (and it's implied in the movie) that after the events of the book he lives with the plinths, but let's pretend he lives on his own with access to the plinth fortune for privacy

ik that makes it sound like it's smutty, but it's not lol

----

Proximity aggravates distance. The closer you are to something, the more damage any remaining space causes.

The few feet dividing the two of you have no right to jab at something inside of him the way it does. It's bad enough that instead of going to bed after a long night of fulfilling his apprenticeship duties under Volumnia's watchful eye, he stopped by your apartment. Only one floor away from his.

For months, the only thing holding the two of you together had been memories of those few nights before the Games.

Coriolanus's attempt to remain indifferent towards you had quickly failed, and his backup plan of learning to loathe you had proven to be just as useless. So he settled on letting you unabashedly take his hand whenever fear overwhelmed you and committing the way your kind eyes watched him to memory.

You're looking around the room--his room--openly, eyes darting from the mahogany surface of his desk to the details elegantly carved into his bed frame.

His fingertips itch with the uncertain desire to reach for you. You've only been in the Capitol for about a day and a half. Less than 48 hours. But the move, the beginning of a program for certain, qualifying victors and their families, had been planned for months.

You shouldn't feel like a phantom that'll vanish if he lets go for too long. "What are you thinking about?"

The question grounds you the same way it did last time he asked. You do your best to hide it, but you're still adjusting, still surprised that he managed to find a way to bring you together again. Just like he promised. Your doubt isn't personal, a fact he has to remind himself of.

"I'm just..." You tilt your head slightly, gaze retreating from the royal blue wallpaper and silver trim of his bedroom walls, "Analyzing."

The comment is followed by an easygoing smile that pinches at something in his chest. His new apartment, the penthouse of one of the largest buildings in the city, another gift from the ever flowing well that is the Plinth fortune, still reeks of former poverty. The few things that hint at the personal are hidden behind layers of desperate wealth so thick the items might as well be standard.

A lifetime spent in 12 means that there's no way you can read between the lines. He can't decide if your perspective will make this room look worse or better. It's a nice bedroom, definitely grander than any bedroom you've stood in before...but it's understated. Maybe even disappointing to someone like you.

"Analyzing?"

You turn fully, "A bedroom says a lot about a person."

"You might get more out of analyzing my study," an oddly school boy worthy partial truth slips out before he can stop himself, "I think I've been spending more time there than here recently."

You shake your head once, eyes landing on the crimson red vase filed with crisp white roses his grandma'am had gifted him on his last visit. Her pride and joy now more than ever. "I'm seeing all I need."

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It's the most genuine expression that's slipped past him in weeks. When he first worked out a way to bring you here, some doubting part of him wondered if the draw he felt towards you would still exist in person.

Less than two weeks after your victorious departure from the Capitol, he had searched through your files and found your address. He had written the letter in a moment of weakness and only sent it after deciding that writing a letter to never be sent is the only thing more pathetic than writing to you in the first place. He had spent the week following that wallowing in self loathing until an age-stained envelope arrived at his door.

"And what are you seeing?" He keeps his tone light. This is ridiculous. He dragged himself and his family out of a gutter clogged by the casualties of war. Coriolanus is stronger than fleeting emotion now. Your opinions on his room can't possibly affect him.

If he were to simplify what brought you here, to the Capitol, to him, he could blame it on his bedroom. The urge to see you, to figure out some way the two of you closer together before your undeserving district could swallow you whole in an attempt to make you like them, would flare up whenever he received one of your letters.

Those urges, however, had never burned him. Not until you wrote about wanting to see him out of the most curious nostalgia you'd ever felt. You wanted to see him in a way that'd let you know what his room looked like, in a way that'd let you guess at his favorite color.

He takes a few steps forward, making the conscious decision to not reach for you. You've never rejected his advances, not even when he instinctually intertwined your fingers after picking you and your family up from the train station. You had scolded him after, telling him that you'd hear no end of it from your mother. It took a lot of focus for Coriolanus to not smile at that. You spoke of it like it would've never occurred to you to just pull your hand away.

Your eyes shift from end of the room to the other. Coriolanus moves carefully, passing you before sitting at the edge of his crisply made bed.

"Before you make your decision..." You turn instinctually, expression so polite and expecting he almost doesn't know how to bear it. His hand briefly pats the space beside him in a silent invitation. "So you can see it from all perspectives."

Your head tilts slightly, and for a moment, Coriolanus can practically feel your rejection. Then you move, sock clad feet treading over smooth white-gray marble. You sit next to him so assuredly, anyone else would have taken the way you neatly fold your hands in your lap as politeness instead of a display of nerves.

Your family's presence makes you less pliable. It's a factor he's willing to work around considering that you would've never left them to come to the Capitol. And even if he had managed to talk you into it, your nostalgia and homesickness would've made you more of a ghost to him than before.

At least the position your family's in is uncertain enough to allow for some leeway in the social norms that you cling to. However, every once in awhile it hits you that at the end of the day, he's still a boy that you're close to, which means that it's your duty to create the distance necessary to keep everything proper. Leaving your bedroom in the middle of the night because said boy knocked at your door and then entering his room in his empty penthouse is something you would've done under normal circumstances.

But your connection isn't that black and white. If it was something so simple, he would have been able to sever it the night before your Games.

"It makes all the difference," you agree warmly, and only somewhat sarcastically. You give yourself another second to take in the space, "I like it."

He can tell that you mean it. "I haven't fully settled in yet."

You shrug, paying him little mind, "There's something about it that just feels like you."

Coriolanus shifts his focus to the ground. You can't possibly mean it in the way that he sees the room, as a reminder that he still doesn't fully fit into who he's become.

"I've been meaning to pick up a few things," he says, "Tomorrow, after my classes, I was thinking about browsing some paintings." Another half truth. He had been meaning to. Mrs. Plinth had instructed him to visit her art dealer whenever he had enough free time to pick out a few pieces to demonstrate his taste. He'd been putting it off as a dismissable task, but it feels like a safe way to give you your first taste of life in the Capitol. "If you'd like to help me pick some out."

You smile, eyebrows pinching together in a way that's just barely noticeable. You're as interested as you are puzzled. "I'd like that." Relaxing enough to let your hand rest between the two of you, you beam, "I don't know if I'd be much help, but I'd like that."

He'd be willing to get anything that caught your eye. Paintings and vases already with such an exclusive art dealer hold more or less the same level of standing, anyway.

Coriolanus moves his hand slowly, careful not to startle you before his fingers can settle against your own. You instinctually turn over your palm, intertwining your fingers. "I trust you."

You stare at him with wide, understanding eyes. Sometimes when you look at him, really look at him, Coriolanus is struck with the feeling that you can see right through him. It's an irrational feeling, that every good action and cruel deed is reflected in his eyes. Moments like this make it hard to be near you. They also, however, make the thought of adding distance between the two of you unbearable.

"I have an early class."

You dip your chin forward in an attempt to accept what you're considering a dismissal. "Right, you must be tired." The words sit between you for a long moment.

Your free hand presses into the silk of your still new pajamas. You shift like you're going to stand. His hold on your hand tightens before you can move away. You still.

He's being ridiculous. There's nothing about this situation that warrants his inability to look at you. "Stay here." His thumb runs across your knuckles. "With me."

The words are soft enough to be a request, but there's not enough space between them for questioning. He cautiously lifts his head enough to take in your reaction.

"What?" It's a display of shock more than an actual question. Coriolanus squeezes your hand even tighter. You don't try to get him to let go, but you do shift away just enough to create the reminder of distance. "You know I can't."

His other hand reaches forward, settling against your wrist. "Why not?" He doesn't mean for his voice to come off as raspy, as desperate as it does.

You swallow, attempting to straighten your spine in an attempt to offset the instinctual urge to hide your face. This isn't a topic you're even comfortable implying. "My mother would kill me if she so much as found out that I came up here so late, let alone..." You trail off, head dropping to your lap. "Stayed here."

He envelops your hand between both of his. "She knows we're friendly."

You look up just long enough to imply a pointed not that friendly. "It's--" You blink, eyes darting from to your joint hands and then finally to the ground. "You know it's..."

Coriolanus leans forward. The shift is small, just enough for his knee to brush against yours. "It's what?" He keeps his voice low, a barely there whisper that comes off as so innocent it nearly circles back to anything but.

You glance up, so wide eyed and flighty he's reminded of a rabbit. The level of precaution you're exuding can't just be about your mother's opinions, can it? He studies your expression openly, taking in the set of your eyebrows and the way you steadily press your lips together to avoid speaking without thinking. At least some part of you believes in your mother's concerns.

The realization strike shim so quickly he has to focus on keeping his expression neutral. Your bond is so much more than just coming together on a random night where exhaustion's already clouding his focus.

It will happen between the two of you. Eventually. But not yet. You've barely entered the Capitol and every aspect of your life has become vastly different than what you're accustomed to. If he were to attempt to cement any relationship between the two of you like that now, you'd be too overwhelmed or you might think that that's the only reason he brought you here.

He learned early on that it's best to introduce adjustments to you slowly, giving you enough time to hold onto ideas before enacting them. Anything of that nature would work that way too.

"I haven't been able to see much of you." He focuses on your hand, still resting safely between both of his. The words came out too quickly, a flash of some genuine sort of emotion that claw at him on the way out. With you, sometimes a glimpse of feeling works wonders.

Your thumb draws gentle patterns against the side of his hand. "You're busy." He relaxes his hand, turning over his palm. You place his hand on your knee, fingers tracing the natural creases etched into his skin. "You're important."

The way that last word comes out makes an uncertain warmth crawl up his neck. "I--I've wanted to see you more." Another thing he means so much it turns his stomach to admit it.

Your nail drags down a line that cuts across the length of his hand. "Me too."

He bends his fingers slowly, moving in until he's trapped your pointer finger against his palm. "Then stay." You twist your finger enough to express some lighthearted irritation, but not enough to count as a real attempt at escaping. "If your mother says anything, I'll explain it to her." You glare at him without any true aggression. "She likes me, doesn't she?"

Coriolanus already knows the answer. She credits your survival to him. You had mentioned that in a letter once, telling him that she insisted you pass along her gratitude after discovering that the two of you had started to correspond regularly.

He also saw the way she reacted to realizing that she had made it to the Capitol. Your mother's family had once been part of the wealthier side of 12. You're part of a recently fallen line of mine owners, a fact that your mother has only pretended to let go of. He saw a hunger behind her eyes that reminded him of a warped version of his own.

Coriolanus gave her back the pride the war had stolen from her family name tenfold. He owes her this much.

"She'd trade me for you in a heartbeat." He hears the grin in your voice more than he sees it. Your family means the world to you, which means he's subjected himself to seeking your mother's validation and winning over your two younger sisters.

It's not the way he'd choose to spend his limited free time, especially with you standing right there, but he's endured worse for less of a pay off. "Then she'd be a fool."

You fight to hold his gaze. "I doubt that."

Your eyes are pools of honest, unfiltered affection. The care that you're watching him with makes it hard to swallow. The instinct to press, to dig and claw and tear anything that could be hiding an ulterior motive into shreds makes it hard to take a full breath. You've always worn your heart on your sleeve. You're not a flighty songbird that uses its charm to distract its prey from its fang-like talons.

"Stay." Again. So breathless he almost doesn't recognize the word as his own.

The deliberation is transparent behind your eyes. You're considering it, but you're still not convinced. The hesitation stings in a way he doesn't understand. "I don't want to give her a reason to not like you."

So softly spoken he's shocked by the way the words manage to feel like a nail being hammered into his chest.

"She's let you stay with other people before." The response is too sharp, too sudden. He should refocus and think through what he's about to say. Coriolanus knows that it's easier to get you to agree to something through the use of honey sweetened words and displays of patience. "You wrote about him."

The confusion that briefly etches its way into your expression threatens to quell the uncomfortable swell of jealousy tightening his chest. "Warren?" The name makes tints the air between you with something acidic. "That was--different."

Your explanation adds an edge to the pressure in his chest. "Why?"

"We weren't--" You cut yourself off, the instinct to placate him and your desire to not start a conversation you can't finish battling each other oddly. "We were never alone." You squeeze his hand as best as you can. "He's a family friend and I only stayed over when my mom had to work late and I was too young to be alone for so long, so I haven't stayed over in years. And--and he shared a room with three of his siblings and his parents checked on us constantly."

He frowns, unconvinced. The lack of approval has you clinging to him, adjusting your hold on his hand as you gently trail your knuckles against the inside of his wrist. "I do miss you." You stare at your hands. "I know it's weird because we're--y'know--closer than before, but I-I do miss you."

The expanding wave of tension in his chest begins to deflate. You're good at that, at redirecting and soothing without even realizing it. A talent that had contributed to his original desire to loathe you. "I understand that." He runs his thumb over your knuckles. "Things aren't going to get less busy. That's why I want to use all the time we have."

You nod slowly, a hint of understanding making its appearance in the set of your brow. "I know."

"What you wrote," he begins, too aware of how much he means the question that follows, "Did you mean it."

"Of course I did." Not an ounce of hesitation, of uncertainty.

He turns your hand over before shifting his fingers up the inside of your wrist. "You wrote about wanting to see me."

"I did..." The pad of his thumb gently makes its way up your forearm. Your even breathing falters. "I do."

Coriolanus lets himself look up just enough to take in your expression. "Then stay." He swallows, too aware of the sudden dryness of his mouth. "Please."

You glance up at him through your lashes. There's a softness there that jabs at him. "Okay."

He lifts the back of your hand, carefully brushing his lips against your skin. "You mentioned wanting to see a library."

You wrote about it once. A brief mention in one of your letters of the small room in your school's office that served as a sort of communal study space with a few books stacked on a small shelf. Your longing had been clear.

Nodding curiously, you agree, "Yeah?"

"I could leave for my classes a little earlier tomorrow, you could come with me." The proposal comes out slowly, his own suggestion taking him by surprise. "My driver could bring you back, that'll give you time to meet the tutor that's being sent over for your sisters, and then when I get back we'll look at the paintings."

You immediately grin, "Really?"

He finds himself smiling back, pulling your arm closer. "Whatever you want."

You beam. "I'd really like that."

"Good," he affirms with a nod of his head that's a touch too forward. He regrets it almost immediately. "If you like it, I might be able to get your own tutor to meet you at a library."

Part of the still uncertain victor program relies on setting up the victor and their family with a new life. Education plays a role in that. Placing any one of you in an actual Capitol run institution is far out of the question. For everyone's sake. Even if the thought of sharing a classroom with someone from 12 didn't horrify the Capitol parents, you and your siblings wouldn't be able to just jump in. It's not that he views you as unintelligent, but District 12's education system isn't exactly on par with the Capitol's.

"That sounds nice," you sit up a little straighter, excited by the prospect, "A part of me kind of misses school."

Another aspect of your personality that he had learned about after your Games. You like school for the sake of it. "I'll check on the arrangements tomorrow."

He clears his throat before you can do more than just nod, "It's getting late."

Coriolanus carefully sets your hand down on the comforter. You awkwardly shift, now more aware of what you agreed to than ever. "Right," you push yourself to stand, "You need your sleep."

He pulls back his sheets before you can think about it even further. You crawl into the provided space without looking at anything in particular. He's quick to join you beneath the safety of plush bedding before leaning over and turning off the bedside lamp.

Darkness floods the space. There's something about the absence of light that makes things feel heavier. The potential intimacy of the situation sneaks up on him with no warning.

This isn't a loss of control. It can't be. It was his idea, he had pushed and convinced you to stay here. He's aware of everything that's led up to this moment, but that's not enough to stop him from wondering if this is something than he should have known better than to embrace. He had accepted the familiar, fickle knotting of his stomach once before.

Steady warmth presses itself against his arm. He blinks, head turning a second too quickly. Your hand has found his. Coriolanus relaxes, allowing himself to fully relax against his pillow. You pick up on his shift, reflecting it by laying down as well.

For someone that had been so hesitant, you seem to know what to do better than he does. You pull his arm towards you, gently trailing your fingers against the exposed skin. Heat crawls up his neck.

"Goodnight," you mumble, voice already drowsy.

Coriolanus lets out a long breath. He grasps your hand, bringing it back to his lips before settling back into the position the two of you were in before. "Goodnight."

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader

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jellieland · 1 year

Text

A week or two after the games, Grian will usually check in with the victor.

It's a habit that's probably more for his own benefit than anyone else's. But it is, he thinks, a good habit nonetheless.

After all, as fun as it all is, things can get a bit... intense, towards the end, and it's good for his peace of mind to make sure the last one standing is ok with how things shook out.

Nothing much has ever really come of it before; they're all pretty resilient. He doubts this time’ll be different. Except- well.

Something about it all itches at the back of his mind, and he hasn’t been able to work out why. There was the actual ending, of course, but also Grian may have been whispering in Martyn's ear about how boring that final showdown was turning out to be, and how narratively satisfying it would be if he just betrayed the other two and got it over with, so.

If nothing else, it feels like he's got no reason to break with tradition.

There's just one more concern.

Martyn seems to have made it almost impossible to contact him.

It's not... unheard of, for players to keep to themselves most of the time, especially when it comes to those they don’t share a server with. It seems a little uncharacteristic of Martyn, but the last time Grian saw him outside the games was before they even started, so maybe he does things differently these days.

There are certainly a great many reasons why that could be the case, most of which are perfectly sensible.

But Grian's never been able to resist picking at a puzzle put in front of him, whether the puzzle likes it or not, so he is going to talk to Martyn. And he can just see what happens, and worry about any consequences if and when they appear.

Luckily, he already has a way to do just that.

He doesn't usually need to do this - although it is very funny to startle Scar or Mumbo with it sometimes when they're concentrating. Honestly it's usually less effective than communicators, with how much effort it takes.

But he does have a way. The same way he used to whisper in Martyn's ear very recently, in fact.

He reaches out, away from his home, away from his body, and it feels a little like simultaneously overextending himself, and putting his foot down on a step he thought was flat ground.

That is... not how this usually feels.

It's odd. Rather unnerving.

But it works.

He finds Martyn. Watches the vague shape of him solidify into something more real.

He’s still wearing his red life outfit, for some reason. His eyes are closed. Around his head, the coral curls like a blood-red crown.

“What do you think you're playing at?” Asks Grian.

Martyn blinks his eyes open slowly, looking less confused than Grian would expect for someone hearing a disembodied voice out of nowhere. “Oh good.” He says dryly. “You again.”

He squawks indignantly. “Hey, what's that supposed to mean?”

There is silence for a few seconds.

“...Hey.” Martyn says, and as flippant as he suddenly sounds, he looks as thrown off balance as Grian feels. “Not sure who this is, but I think you might have the wrong number!”

“I think that's unlikely.” He deadpans. “Where are you? I haven't been able to get hold of you.”

“Uh-” There's a short pause as he looks around at wherever he is right now. “Falling into endless nothingness, looks like. Same old, same old, am I right?”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ok. Well, I suppose you don't have to tell me.” A part of him makes a note of Martyn’s wording, though. Just in case.

“...Hm. Well, not gonna lie, I do appreciate the change of pace, but I would love to know what exactly you want from me. You know, just on the off chance that you feel like giving me any clues.”

It's at this point that Grian remembers: one of the main reasons this method of communication is good for messing with people is that it makes him sound, um. A little different. And while he can see Martyn, it’s not as if Martyn can see him.

...Best to just pretend that hadn't slipped his mind.

“You do realize this is Grian, right?” He asks, as though it ought to be obvious.

“Riiight, yeah, sure.” Says Martyn. “And I'm also Grian, did you know that?”

“Oh for- what, do you want me to tell you some secret only the two of us would know, or something?”

“Nah.” Says Martyn. “That wouldn't work.”

“Elaborate.” Says Grian, through gritted teeth.

“You know what? I don't think I will!” Replies Martyn brightly.

Grian takes a deep breath in through his nose. “I'm beginning to wonder why I bother.” He grinds out.

Martyn snorts. “Tell me about it.”

There's a short silence.

“But- ok.” He continues. “Just suppose for the sake of argument that you are Grian.”

“...Yes?” Asks Grian warily.

“I have a question for you.”

“...Yeeees?” Asks Grian, even more warily.

The silence stretches for several long moments.

“What's up?” Asks Martyn.

“Yeah ok, this isn’t worth it, I'm leaving now.”

“Wait! No, I'm serious!” Under the amusement, there's a note of something that sounds almost like nervousness in his voice. It's uncharacteristic. Unnerving.

“What are you talking about?” Asks Grian, trying very hard to keep his voice at least mostly free of annoyance.

“Oh, you know! What's going on, what's the deal, what'd you want to talk to me for?” There's a slight hesitation. “You need help or something?”

“I- ok. That's actually sort of relevant. It's really nothing too complicated, Martyn.” He says, grumpily. “All I wanted to do was make sure you're good with what happened at the end of the last game.”

Martyn blinks, and goes very still.

There is a long silence - long enough that Grian starts to feel concerned.

And then Martyn laughs.

It's not a nice laugh.

“Good, huh. You want to know if I’m good with it. That sure is an interesting choice of words.”

“...How so?” He asks, guardedly.

“Grian. Grian, I’m not sure if you remember this, but I won. I won this one, Grian.” Every word he says, however restrained, sounds like it’s had to claw its way out of him. He glares at nothing. “And guess what? It's just like the others. I don’t really care enough for any of it to matter to me, anymore, and that's fine by me.”

Now that's... a lot to unpack. “You- I'm sorry?”

“Well that makes one of us then, doesn't it?” His voice is coated with scorn.

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you actually think I’m going to explain myself to you?” He asks, looking half-amused. “You, of all people?”

“Well unfortunately, Martyn, I can’t exactly put Ren on the line, so I’m afraid I’m all you’re going to get.” He snaps, and instantly regrets it when he sees the look in Martyn’s eyes.

There is a short silence.

Grian shifts uncomfortably. He’s not going to apologize, obviously. But. Well. “That... ok, maybe that was a bit much.” He says.

“...Little bit, yeah.”

There is another silence.

After a while, Martyn speaks.

“I would’ve betrayed him too, you know.” He says coolly.

“What, Ren?”

“Yeah. At the drop of a hat. Soon as it was convenient.”

“I mean sure, I suppose?” Says Grian, caught off guard. “You didn’t, though. Did you? When you had the chance.”

“Eh.” He shrugs, as though that’s an irrelevant detail. “It would’ve been more dramatic later. You know how it is.”

...There's no real way he can justify saying no to that, is there? “Yeah.” He says. “I guess I do.”

He tries to picture the King, betrayed. The Hand, triumphant.

“I dunno, though.” He says, thoughtful. “I don’t think you ever could’ve done it, to be honest. Not in the first one. Whatever it was you were planning, it was just never how that story was going to go.”

“That’s not true.” He says it just slightly too fast. “I know that’s not true.”

Grian scoffs. “You know thinking about something isn’t the same as doing it, right?”

“What, no, really?” He rolls his eyes. “You don’t say!”

“What I’m saying,” He lets his voice turn biting, “Is that you’re being stupid.”

Martyn lets out a startled laugh. It’s surprisingly genuine. “Wow. You’re really bad at this, dude.”

Grian bristles. “Well why am I the one who has to do it then? Why don’t you talk to someone else, if you hate talking to me so much?”

“I mean…” He makes an unconvinced noise. “Obvious problems aside, when do you even expect me to do that? We usually have other things to worry about.”

“I don’t know, maybe at literally any point between the games?” He sighs exasperatedly. “There’s no way you’re that busy.”

“Between the games?” Martyn asks incredulously, and Grian suddenly feels as though something dangerous is hovering over their heads, just about to drop. “What do you mean, between the games?”

“I mean between the games! Like- now! What do you think this is, right now, if it’s not between the games?” He snaps.

“This right now?” He looks nonplussed. “I think we’re usually asleep for most of this bit. Or possibly we forget about it. As you can probably imagine, it’s hard to know for sure.”

“Now I know that’s not true.” He says firmly, ignoring the unease trying to creep up on him. “I know I do stuff between games, and I know I don’t just forget about it. That makes no sense.”

“I mean, I don't necessarily mean everything between the games, more just this specifically.” He gestures around at nothing. “That gets more complicated, though. But you- hm.” He looks curious. “That’s interesting. Where even are you, then, at the moment?”

“I’m at home! Which is where I thought everyone else was too!”

Martyn seems to consider this for a few moments, and then he frowns, and then his expression goes blank. “…Oh.” He says. “Yeah. No, that… makes sense, actually. Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“Wha- what do you mean? Right about what?”

“Everyone probably went home. Or, at least, they thought they did. And hey, what’s the difference, when you get right down to it?”

“...Ok, I’m going to ignore the second part for now, I already got past that little existential crisis after Ren and Doc’s whole… thing… in season eight- if you think everyone went home, why are you- what was it you said- ‘falling into endless nothingness’?”

There’s another pause.

“...You’re really gonna make me say it, huh? That seems cruel, even for you.”

“Wait, no, what do you-”

“Where else do you think I would go?” It sounds less like an admission and more like an accusation. “What ‘home’ do you think I have left, Grian?”

“Look.” Snaps Grian, feeling vaguely tricked. “It’s not my fault that you-”

“Yeah, it never is, is it?” He glares into the darkness. “It’s always a tragic inevitability with you, never a choice you’re making. That way you get to stab people in the back and pretend to be sad about it. Best of both worlds, huh?”

Grian splutters for a few seconds. “Why are you being so rude to me??”

“Because you’re you and I’m me.” He smirks. “Don’t know what you expected, honestly.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s hiding behind inevitability now?” Grian retorts, perhaps a trifle vindictively.

“I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite, sometimes. Also, I never said I felt bad about it.” He replies levelly, and all at once, they’re talking about something else.

“You didn’t need to say it.” Snaps Grian. “You might be good at lying but you’re not perfect. I could see in your face that it hurt.”

He narrows his eyes. “It felt good, actually.”

“Wow, good for you.” He says, almost amused suddenly. “You didn’t say I was wrong, though.”

His expression twists into something unreadable. “I know you, Grian. Like recognizes like.” He says, voice low and dangerous. “You’re a liar.”

Grian shrugs, despite the fact that Martyn will not see it. “And you’re a coward. Your point?”

“I don’t need to justify myself to someone who refuses to admit that he could have chosen to be better, if he’d ever wanted to.” He spits out.

“Hey, at least I don’t try and convince myself I’m a monster just because I want to survive.”

That one strikes something tender; he can tell. “Right, yeah, and you’re just a blameless angel and everyone you cut down had it coming, I’m sure.”

“I didn’t say that. But since you bring it up… how many people did you give up your time for, again?” He grins. “Is it less than one? Because I think it is. I think I’ve got you beat there, Martyn.”

“And where did it get you?” He snarls.

“Home, in the end.”

Martyn flinches back as though he’s been struck.

“Did you forget about that part?” Asks Grian.

There’s a long pause.

Martyn fidgets with the end of the banner he wears around his waist, pulling at where the white threads are coming undone. He stares out into the darkness. “Yeah.” He says. “I guess I did.”

The satisfaction of winning the argument feels less potent, suddenly.

“You’re right.” Says Grian, after a while. “I’m really bad at this.”

Martyn laughs quietly. “To be fair, I’m not exactly helping.”

“You’re really not.”

He sighs. “You know pulling the knife out just makes the wound start bleeding again, don’t you? That’s all we’re doing here. That’s all we’re going to do to each other. We’re too alike to do anything else, unless we just don’t do anything. And hey, we’re not great at that either.”

“Hmm.” Says Grian begrudgingly. “I’d say something about inevitability again, but I honestly don’t think you’re wrong.”

“We both just enjoy pushing buttons too much to be particularly good at not pushing them, I guess.” Martyn sounds half-amused, half-resigned.

Grian makes an irritated noise. “Yes, alright, I don’t need another reminder of the whole button debacle.”

There is more silence.

After a while, Grian speaks again. “There’s something I was wondering about, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Martyn raises an eyebrow.

“What’s the reason?” He asks.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific with that one, mate.”

“‘This is a death match for a reason.’” He says matter-of-factly. “That’s what you said. So- what is it? What’s the reason?”

Martyn blinks, then lets out a short, harsh laugh. “You think I know that?”

“No, not really. That’s why I wondered what you meant when you said it.”

“It- look. I don’t know if you’re expecting philosophy from me, or something. It’s a death game. People die, and it doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t have to be special, it doesn’t have to be honourable, it doesn’t have to be fair. That’s what I meant.” He frowns. “You know that.”

“I do.” He admits.

“Then why ask?” Martyn looks around as though this time, somehow, he might be able to find Grian’s face in the dark.

He doesn’t.

“I just-” Grian sighs. “What do you want?” He asks. “What do you actually want, Martyn?”

The question sits heavy in the darkness between them.

“What do you want me to say?” Martyn asks. He sounds more tired than Grian’s ever heard him.

“I want you to tell the truth.” Grian says. He needs to know. He needs to know.

“Now, Grian.” Says Martyn, voice gently chiding. “Have you met me? You know I can’t do that.”

“Pretend it’s a lie, then.”

Martyn’s grip on the banner he wears tightens, slightly. There is a long, long silence.

“Or how about,” Says Grian, eventually, “You say something, and I won’t know whether it’s a lie or not.”

There is another pause.

Martyn frowns at the red of the fabric in his hands, as though it might offer him something.

As far as Grian can tell, it does not.

He’s just beginning to give up hope of ever getting an answer when Martyn speaks, so softly he almost doesn’t hear it.

“I want it to be warm again.” He says.

It’s quiet.

For a moment – just a moment, no more – Grian remembers bloody, aching fists. He remembers burning heat.

“Well.” He says. “That makes one of us, then. Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Says Martyn, voice low. “I guess it does.”

There’s another short second of silence before Martyn speaks again, sounding cheerful. “So, suppose I’ll see you in the next one, huh? If that ever happens.” He grins. “Wanna take bets on how hard Scott’ll have to try not to win it? I’m gonna go with very.”

Grian snorts. “I’m not taking that bet. That man is infuriatingly good at surviving.”

“You’re not wrong! You are not wrong.” He gestures into the void. “And don’t even get me started on Timmy’s whole thing, I think we both know how that one’s gonna go. Unless you want to bet against him being gone first next time round?”

“You’re not Scar.” Says Grian. “There’s no way you talk anyone into taking that bet in a million years. Except maybe Timmy.”

“Fair, fair.”

There’s a short pause.

Grian hesitates for a moment before he speaks – almost, but not quite, reluctant. “Why do you keep looking back?” He asks. “There’s nothing left for us there. You know that, right?”

“I mean, let me know when you find a better place to look.” He tilts his head to the side slightly, curious, and frowns. “Do you really never want to go back?”

“No.” Says Grian. “Never.”

Martyn opens his mouth, and then, uncharacteristically, closes it again. “Yeah.” He says. “Me neither.”

Grian is tempted, momentarily, to tell Martyn to take the banner off and let it go. Let the darkness take it. Prove it.

But just like Martyn, he lets it drop.

Mutually assured destruction is a potent thing.

Now all he has to do is the hard part. The part he’s dreading most of all.

The main concern is phrasing it correctly. Making it sound just how he wants it to sound.

After some thought, he thinks he’s found the words he's looking for.

He could always be wrong, though. He’s usually more one for incredible violence than smooth talking.

“Martyn?” He asks cautiously, casually. “Do you want me to help you?”

The expression that crosses Martyn’s face is unreadable.

He processes the question for a few moments, before he answers.

“Nah. I’m good.” He says, voice guarded. “Don’t worry about it.”

And that’s the rub, isn’t it.

Because now Grian has to decide whether he’s going to let Martyn lie to him or not.

Whether he’s going to pass the test that’s been set before him, or not.

...

Grian’s not a monster.

He’s just realistic.

There's nothing he could do, anyway.

“Well.” He says levelly. “Just let me know if that changes.”

(Martyn would do the same to him. It’s not a justification, or an excuse. But he knows it to be true.)

Martyn stares out into the darkness. His eyes are almost, but not quite, resentful. “Sure thing, man. Why wouldn’t I.”

It’s not said like a question, so Grian doesn’t answer it. “Well, you know I can’t stay here forever.”

“I do know that.”

“Any messages you want me to pass on to any of the hermits? I know you haven’t seen Mumbo in a while.” It’s not really a compromise, or a peace offering. Hopefully, however, it’s close enough to one or the other of those to act in their stead.

Martyn closes his eyes. Breathes in. Breathes out. Opens his eyes again. “If you were Grian, then maybe.” His gaze is cold. “But I think this hypothetical has gone on long enough.”

...It’s a lot easier for both of them, if Martyn believes that.

He’s positive Martyn knows that.

Just this once, perhaps he can manage to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

“For what it’s worth,” He says, looking away, “I moved on from the Bad Boys when it got too expensive to keep them alive.”

“It’s not worth a lot.” Says Martyn flatly. “And it would be worth even less coming from Grian.”

Grian sighs. “Alright. Fine. I’ll see you around, Martyn.”

“I know.” Says Martyn. He closes his eyes.

After a few moments, Grian does too.

When he opens them, he’s home.

…

Oh, that doesn’t feel good.

It really doesn't.

He could dwell on this. It wouldn’t be hard. He could drown himself in guilt over what he’s done, or not done, or will not do.

But- well.

Grian never really saw the point in letting someone else drag you down with them.

#once he's sure that the thing he's decided to pretend was not grian is gone #martyn goes back to falling #and wishes he still felt enough grief to be able to cry.#limited life smp #life series #grian #martyn inthelittlewood #my writing #i finally managed to finish this. it took me. a while.#they're narrative foils to the point of absurdity is the thing #they're incredibly similar and also completely different #it's fascinating

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slytherinboysappreciation · 1 month

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Adoration - T. R. x fem!Reader

A/N: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while so I figured I’d post it. It’s unedited and my first time writing a sex scene so please be nice 💛 No use of Y/N. Reader is Dumbledore’s daughter. Tom is in his seventh year for this fic

CW: Angst, so much angst; religious trauma, I guess?; Dumbledore bashing; mentions of devils; mentions of past physical abuse; trauma related to masturbation; crying, nausea, shame, and self-hatred related to masturbation; hurt/comfort kinda; praise kink; uhhh I think that’s it. Please let me know if I missed anything!!!

Does contain mature content so NO MINORS PLEASE!!! Just keep scrolling!!

999 words

Tom hated Dumbledore. The professor reminded him too much of the priests at the orphanage. The ones who smile and pretend to be your friend, but are never there when you truly need it.

Tom hated Dumbledore. The way he so obviously played favorites while blatantly denying doing so. Slughorn was an annoying professor, but at least he admitted to his favorites.

Tom hated Dumbledore. The way the man looked as if he knew something Tom didn’t. It got under his skin; made him itch with discomfort.

But no matter how much Tom hated Dumbledore, he hated his daughter more.

You’d been his first true connection to the wizarding world. You’d been there that first day, when Dumbledore had come to visit Tom in the orphanage.

You’d stood quiet and docile as Dumbledore told Tom about his magic. Tom had listened, of course. But it wasn’t until he was alone with you later that he truly believed.

You’d sat on the edge of his rickety bed, while your father had gone to discuss things with the orphanage nuns.

“They call me a freak,” Tom had said quietly. “They say I’m possessed by the devil.”

You’d looked at him. You, with your lovely wide eyes and sweet trusting smile. “What’s a devil?” You’d asked, so earnestly. “Your magic is special. See? I can do it too.”

You’d held out your hand, concentrating. A small flower had bloomed in your palm, sprouting from nowhere. And Tom had finally believed.

Believed you and your stupid smile. Your darling sweet manner. Your soft-spoken words.

All the things he despised about you now.

Despised… and adored.

Tom could not get you out of his head. You haunted him. Hounded him. It was maddening.

Every morning you’d smile so sweetly at him. You’d laugh or say something silly and inconsequential. And it would stick in Tom’s head all day long.

He couldn’t stand it!

You were nothing compared to him. He was Tom Riddle, the newly discovered Heir of Slytherin! The future ruler of the wizarding world! Voldemort!

You were the daughter of a half-witted buffoon who’d abandoned Tom as soon as he’d gotten to Hogwarts.

And yet, he could not get you out of his head.

Like now.

He’d been in the library, trying to study peacefully when you’d approached him with that smile of yours. You’d needed his help getting a book down.

Of course he helped; he could never truly end up saying no to your smile. Just another fact he hated.

But he’d stood too close to you while getting down the book, and he’d accidentally brushed up against you.

And now he was in his room, angrily trying to will the erection you’d unknowingly given him away.

It doesn’t work. Not after five minutes, not after ten. The memory of your blush and sweet smile was too much.

Tom can’t stand this. He has a meeting with one of his teachers in an hour!

So there’s only one thing to do.

Tom settles back into his bed, exhaling heavily. This has rarely been a pleasurable experience for him. The nuns at Wool’s were strict in their devotion to chastity. Even with the boys.

Tom’s been beaten more times than he can count after being caught trying to get some relief. So he avoids it until absolutely necessary.

And now he’s having to do it, all because of your horrendous smile.

Tom unbuckles his pants, glancing at the door to double check it’s locked. It is.

Tom takes his time pulling out his cock. Rushing feels too much like being back at the orphanage.

He grimaces at the sight. Too many bad memories are associated with what he’s about to do.

With a deep breath, Tom closes his eyes and clears his mind and wraps a hand around his cock.

The self-loathing hits after the first few moments. It’s strong enough that he falters, wanting to vomit.

But the need for release is stronger than his hatred. He continues on, swallowing down his nausea.

Every moment is like torture. His mind conjuring hateful words about himself, while his body aches with pleasure.

He starts to cry; silent tears pooling in his eyes. It’s too much. The hatred. The disgust and shame.

Just as he’s about to let go and give up, a new thought enters his mind. A smile…

His frenzied mind attaches itself to the thought like a rabid dog. Before he can even comprehend the switch, Tom’s breath is taken away.

There you are, in his mind. Sitting at the edge of his bed, smiling.

He stills immediately, but your smile isn’t mocking. It’s… peaceful.

“Silly boy,” you murmur, in his mind. “What are you so worked up about?”

Tom swallows, shaking. “You,” he whispers.

You laugh, soft and teasing. The sound makes Tom ache.

In his mind, you reach out, fingers feather soft. You grasp his cock, that ever-infuriating smile on your face.

“Silly boy,” you coo. “It’s as easy as this.”

As your imaginary hand glides along his cock, his own hand does the same. Tom whimpers. It feels incredible.

He starts to speed up, panting as your imagined self murmurs encouragements to him.

“That’s it,” you whisper to him. “That’s my good boy.”

“Your good boy,” he repeats, breathless.

You laugh again, your voice so achingly soft. And Tom cums so hard his ears ring.

He hunches over, gasping for breath. You’re gone now. His thoughts flit around aimlessly. What had just happened?

He lies back, gazing up at the ceiling in shock. He’d just— You’d— You.

He’s made a mess of his pants and bedsheets. But this time, the shame and self-hatred are overshadowed by a sudden rush of annoyance.

Of course it would be you. You, with your smile and laughter. You, who he cannot rid from his brain as much as he tries.

You.

He cleans himself up, too busy plotting how he can get his revenge to feel ashamed at the mess.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #reader is from an unspecified hogwarts house #please don’t be mean to me over this #divider by cafekitsune

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kelin-is-writing · 1 year

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18 + MDNI

dabi x fem!reader; quirkless!au. reader is younger than him but still of age. be aware.

roommate!dabi who wasn’t really fond of the idea of having a roommate, especially girl, because he liked to have his privacy and having to live with a girl was taking that away from him, even more when he wants to go around the house shirtless yet he can’t. but you’re his best friend’s little sister, so he has to suck it up, bear with it and adjust to it.

roommate!dabi who starts slowly to accept you in his (daily) life because of how friendly, understanding and compliant you are with him and his way of living. he actually starts to have more fun around you than your brother, he has even started to tease you and get comfortable enough around you to start roam around the house shirtless.

roommate!dabi who starts to enjoy the evenings where you spend time going through tv series that has him cringe and judge the characters while you laugh your ass off, not noticing the tender gaze he gives your way, or where you just start playing games out of bored that he lets you win only to see your smile and listen at you cheering excited, clueless about how you being this happy around him makes his heart flutter.

roommate!dabi who has started to find grocery shopping funny ever since he started to tag along with you. the way your eyes always sparkle whenever they see something tasty that you would like to try make him smile, without even noticing, endeared by how carefree and honest you are about everything that comes across your path. shit, he’s getting into a dangerous place right there...

roommate!dabi who now feels his fingertips itching from the want, the need, to touch you. so he uses the most little of the excuses to touch you like whenever your hair fall across your face, he takes the chance without a second thought and brushes it away getting a thankful smile from you and a small shy “thank you” that has him melting. he’s just taking care of you as his best friend’s little sister and a dear friend, this is what he keeps saying himself. he has to be careful there before stepping where there’s no way back.

roommate!dabi who now finds happiness in the smallest things like you giving him the good morning with that radiant smile of yours, washing the dishes together, walking together to collage, spending time together at his friend’s bar, going to visit your brother and his wife or when you ask him to taste some of the dinner you’re preparing so he can tell you what needs to be add or taken out. he just overall feel alive again thank to your presence in his life.

roommate!dabi who has now entered the stage of denial of his feelings for you, dismissing them for family affection and trying to ignore the pang in his chest whenever he sees you talk with other guys, because it reminds him about how someday you will be leaving your house and that breaks his heart despite himself. which is why he now has even started to try shut his feelings for you, he had to, before they became too deep he had to get rid of them, for the sake of everyone.

roommate!dabi who nearly has an heart attack when he once came back home and was off to the bathroom but walked in on you wearing only your underwears, getting ready for a bath, and the blush that formed across your pretty face was illegal, doing things to him just like that. he had froze for a couple of seconds before gulping and adverting his eyes he apologised getting out closing the door behind him. he heard you mutter a timid “it’s okay...” and no, it was so not okay.

roommate!dabi who is trying hard to pretend that accident didn’t happen, but it did! and it was haunting his dreams in the worst way possible, because he has now started to dream of you and fuck it wasn’t a normal one. you were in those lace underwears you had on when he walked in, laying on his bed all flushed on your face, legs spreading, arms stretched out toward him, begging him to make love to you and he does. when he wakes up he’s sweating, a painful and throbbing boner inside his boxers that makes him let out a frustrated “tch...” before he’s pulling his dick out and starts to run quickly his hand long his shaft while thinking about you naked, taking him deep inside of you, moaning his name. he’s screwed.

roommate!dabi who has now come to accept the fact that he has fallen for you horrendously, to the point it makes him want to vomit, and there’s no way of changing that. not when you’re living under the same roof, seeing each others everyday.

roommate!dabi who’s pissed, to say the least, by how calm you are. acting like nothing happened, while he’s all bothered and having wet dreams about you every night, fucking his fist because of them. so he choosed that he was done being only the brother’s best friend and actually wants to make you fall for him as bad as he has fallen for you, mentally apologising to his best friend for how annoying he’s about to become.

roommate!dabi who has started to be subtly more touchy with you so to make his presence linger on you and make you long for his touch. running his fingers delicately through your hair to compliment an hairstyle; resting his arm long the back of the couch and leaving his hand drop over your shoulder caressing faintly the side of your neck with the back of his fingers; pressing against you with an hand resting on your waist whenever you’re reaching out for things that are put on high shelfs; offering massages to “ease up your tensed up muscles” where he squeezes gently your thighs, strokes slowly and sensually your hips before pushing down on your lower back smirking wolfishly when you unconsciously let out a satisfied whimper or when he brushes away crumbs of food from the corner of your mouth and licks or sucks them off his thumb afterwards.

roommate!dabi who has noticed how you’ve started to be more conscious of him after he has hold you close to him by the waist that time your foot slipped on the stair and had you nearly break your neck. the way your lips where an inch away from each others and he was staring intensely down at you with a cocky grin on, because he had told you to watch your steps, while you were looking at him surprised by his quick reflexes and blushing from the proximity of your faces, a shiver making your whole body tremble and dabi smirked. he indeed noticed.

roommate!dabi who is now amused over how jumpy and on the edge you’ve become around him. at the slightest contact you would jolt, blush and move away from him hurriedly, voice turning high pitched as you try to seem unbothered but failing because you’re trying to suppress whatever you were feeling right now, just like he was at the beginning. he had you exactly where he wanted you to be: going crazy over him.

roommate!dabi who has noticed how you oggle at him whenever he’s shirtless after a shower, go in daze whenever he speaks, demand more for his attention, get excited and happy over his genuine praises towards you or how you now sit closer to him to be as close as possible to his body. in response he just demonstrates his love and adoration towards you with every little touch, word, look, gesture and just completely dotes on you to win your heart over after making you overly conscious of his presence.

roommate!dabi who casually asks you if there’s anyone you’re interested in and smiles tenderly when he sees the adorable blush that takes over your face up to your ears. he just can’t, you’re way too good and he’s so fucking in love with you it burns his whole being from the inside. he rests his arms long the headrest of the couch, right behind you, and leans closer to your hear: “as for me, the one i love is you...” and he kisses your ear making you curl up while your heart is about to jump out from your ribcage, when you turn to look at the older his adoring expression melts you and the second later he has leaned in kissing you on the lips softly before licking your bottom one slightly to taste the waters. when you reciprocate his kiss he’s euphoric, his hand goes to your nape as he angles his face to the side accommodating your lips before putting his tongue in and messing your brain completely with a single kiss. when the two of you parted staring into each others eyes, he smiled excited at seeing your answer plastered all over your face. now you were screwed in two.

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harrysonlylover · 1 year

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Carolina (Part 2)

Summary: The line between hatred and lust is now non existent. How will their bodies react? And does she already have Harry wrapped around her finger?

Trope: Cowboy!H

Wordcount: 13.7k

Warnings: FILTHY smut, bondage, rough dynamic, oral ( both receiving) , exhibitionism , spanking, you know how i write smut….

Part 1

Harry has never been this eager to work.

He had an affinity for being a Cowboy, it had its perks that include a well-known reputation which fuelled his ego, the long days spent working as he built his athletic body that puts other young men his age to shame. He loves being an early bird and feeling his hands clench from the hard labour, the sun that hugs his skin and the jobs he does from fixing houses or anything that’s built from wood, riding horses and checking up on the towns’ ranches.

So many endless jobs he has done before and never was he this enthusiastic.

When he arrived he caught a subtle glance of her, only to for her disappear immediately. He had no choice but to get to work. His task was to install a new fence in her family’s ranch and check on the bulls since he knows how to deal with them well.

He was halfway through his work when he felt her presence behind him, he was tempted to have a look but didn’t.

He felt like a teenager last night as he thought of her lips almost touching his, her lily scent consuming him and her little white dress that makes him want to go on his knees. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time, that giddy feeling you get when you don’t know what’s happening or why you are acting in a certain way.

He is a man after all, so he wiped his forehead, glanced behind him, and his legs slightly shook at her sight.

She was sunbathing in her family’s ranch, sitting in a white bikini with her knees bent and a book in her hands. She didn’t need sunglasses as long as she had her cowboy hat on. Her skin was covered in sunscreen making it shimmer against the sun rays and Harry was about to drool.

He dropped his kit to the ground with a thud and walked over to her, feeding the itch to be closer. He knows that she can see him, yet her eyes remain set on the book. He stands in front of her, covering the light as he takes in her gorgeous figure.

Perfect curves, glittery skin, a small amount of sweat trickling down her midsection, her hair braided backwards, and smile plastered proudly on her face.

“Came back for more sneaky kisses?” she lowered down her book and smirked at him.

“Are you offering Carolina?” He went down on his knees to her level and leaned in closer to her.

“Maybe you should try harder.” She whispered to him as he took in her face features for the millionth time.

He caught her braid in his hand and twirled it between his fingers while they both stared at each other, with the sexual tension so thick as they were half naked.

“What are you reading?” He took her book from her and observed it whilst still playing with her hair.

“The letters of Vincent Van Gogh.” She replied as he hummed knowing all about her interest in art.

His eyes caught a box near her, and he was curious to know its components, so he leaned forward only to find more books in it.

“What’s that for, you have a book in your hand.” He asked in confusion, as he double checked the number of existent books.

“There’s classics, fiction, love novels, thrillers, fantasy and some art books. I mean I must be equipped; I change moods quickly and I need a book for each one.” She retrieved her book from his palm and pretended to continue reading.

Her parents came out on the front porch which meant that he had to go back to work out of respect for them, so he had to make it quick.

“Tonight at my house, there’s a party and you better be there Carolina.” He whispered lowly in her ear as he gently nipped at her skin.

“And if I’m not there?” she replied with a shaky breath.

“Let’s just say I’m not a man who repeats himself.” He placed one last wet peck behind her ear, stood up and walked over to the fence to complete his work as she continued to gaze at him all afternoon.

Being organised was all she knew.

Recklessness was never on her agenda, even her decision to study in Washington was well calculated. There were many things that came close to breaking her straight path yet were never enough.

So she wonders how a cheesy cowboy was able to lurk around, rest in her brain, dominate it and control her acts and breathing sometimes.

As if on cue she found herself getting ready for his party without another thought, and maybe that was planned too. Tonight she’ll get to know his real intentions, what lies behind his staring and touches and if diverting off her path is worth it.

The party at his house stretched out to the ranch where the bonfire was held last night, there were many young faces specially girls as everyone danced around to the music with the Whiskey smell lingering in the air.

She took in the scenery and the amazing vibe of the party before an arm was wrapped around her waist and a voice whispered in her ear.

“Carolina girl knows how to listen; I like the sound of that.” He whispered in her ear as she felt his skin on hers.

“And you invite all girls in this charming way?”. She teased him arching her back slightly.

“Only the ones that are clumsy, stubborn and live rent free in my head.” His deep voice sent shivers through her body, and she couldn’t help but lean into him.

The more time passed, the more people arrived. They greeted Harry like they’ve known him for a long time and after they leave he’d whisper in her ear jokes about them as she laughed after each one.

He had his arm wrapped tightly around her waist and he felt like his body was on fire around her. Soon enough everyone gathered around for a moment they always wait for.

“I’m going to need your assistance in something.” He led her to the center of the room and signalled for the man in charge of the music.

“It’s a dancing competition Carolina, I bet we’ll make a good duo.” He didn’t give her time to object before he had her against his chest and began swaying with her along with the music.

There was only one couple with them on the dance floor, but it was evident that everyone’s attention was fixed on Harry Styles and the girl that never left his side since the beginning of the party.

His hands roamed her body as they danced along to the beat in a way that shows their chemistry, they were not ashamed to be doing this in front of everyone. Maybe Harry liked it a bit too much.

She had to have him under any circumstances, she didn’t mind if he wants it to be a one time thing, she’s a mature girl. The way his body felt on hers, his pants and subtle moans as he guided her body on his and danced with her through the song did things to her hormones.

“Do you see that girl over there? How she’s mad and frowning? He whispered to her as he grinded on her from behind.

“Yeah?”

“She wants my attention Carolina”

“And she can’t have it?” She asked through heavy breaths.

“No. It’s all yours pretty Carolina.” He swayed with her body until the song ended, and he smirked as he felt the loud cheering fill up his ego.

He brought her a soft drink to freshen up making sure to keep her around him. He felt like he found a rare gem and was too cautious of anyone else getting it.

She can tell how everyone’s eyes were on her, whether it be men or women, they envied her. Harry was right about that girl and her jealousy but the way he told her all about it and confessed things feeling unashamed was her last tipping point.

“Hey Harry, is there a quiet place we can go to?” She asked with a grin on her face.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He placed his drink aside and laced his hand through hers as he led her to his bedroom.

The moment he closed the door behind him, he crashed his lips into hers. A moment he has been waiting for ever since he set his eyes upon her. Her lips tasted like honey on a Sunday afternoon, and he can’t understand why everything about her is sweet.

She kissed him back aggressively as their tongues touched and teeth clashed, the music from the party can be heard faintly as they both were too infatuated with each other.

Their hands wouldn’t stop exploring each other’s bodies, it was more than a want, it was a simple need. For her to touch on his godly physique, him to indulge in her gorgeous body. Once they began there was no going back.

Their lips refused to leave each other as she sucked on his bottom lip and held on to him. His lips were intoxicating, and she can kiss on them for a lifetime. His soft cupid shaped lips that perfectly fit into hers as he led the kiss with his tongue. His hand was wrapped around her waist, and she shamelessly placed hers on his ass.

“Clothes off now.” His voice was raspy and deep just like when he asked, ordered her to come to the party.

She quickly took off her shorts and crop top leaving her body in a lace set and him in briefs that can barely contain his hard on. He had her back against his chest as he moaned in her ear about her choice of clothes.

“So goddamn pretty, gonna let me enjoy your body? Worship it?” He massaged her tits above the bralette she had on as she grinded against his crotch.

“If you show me a good time maybe.” She reached her hand backwards to his crotch and touched on his rock-hard cock beneath his briefs making him hiss loudly.

“Oh you’re in for a show Carolina.” He nipped at her ear as she arched her back feeling his hot breath send vibrations through her body.

He effortlessly picked her up bridal style and placed her on his bed, then began kissing all over her skin starting from her neck to her collarbone, perky nipples (after he tore off her bralette), her tummy then her pelvis till he reached her pussy.

He hovered his mouth over the panties before planting a delicate teasing kiss against the fabric. Her chest was heaving with anticipation, his hands were everywhere, and it just felt too good.

“Oh it looks so pretty, I can smell your arousal baby, can I taste what I caused hmm? Do you want me to lick your cunt?” He cooed seeing how she’s getting lost in her pleasure bubble.

“Yes please.” She breathed out quickly as she laid back feeling her arousal become more obvious while he sucked on her inner thighs and kept pressing teasing kisses over her panties.

He tore the fabric immediately and she wishes she was able to see his veins appearing as his hands effortlessly tore the material. His nose nudged her clit catching her off guard, and now that she’s uncovered she felt so bare.

He cooed as he repeatedly told her how pretty her pussy is before blowing air against it. He took a broad lick all over her slit tasting her addictive arousal on his tongue.

His tongue was hot and hungry, and her cunt was clenching around nothing making him go feral. He knew that it was calling for him and he could stay up all night loving on it.

He massaged her labia gently and but with a slow rhythm, he wanted to see how far she can go, how much teasing she can take, go deep inside pleasure and enjoy whatever she gives him.

He only has two fingers in her wetness massaging in rotating motion, the tips are soaked and glistening under the light. He leans in forward and begins licking her drenched folds.

His mouth was doing wonders. He knew exactly where to place his tongue, the right amount of sucking and holding back, nibbling at certain areas then switching to different motions.

“Tastes like strawberries pretty.” He moaned without raising his head once, feeling the precum seep from his tip at her taste.

He plunged in one finger and continued to suck and massage her labia with his tongue only, his finger curled every now and then near her spongy spot making her let out load moans.

With one particular nibble, she involuntarily closed her thighs around his head feeling the blood rush to her clitoris. It was all very overwhelming for her poor cunt. He knew exactly what to do, where to place his tongue, for how long to suck , where to angle his finger and how.

“Are you going to let me enjoy this cunt or do I have to be mean Carolina?” He sent a smack to the back of her thigh and pinned her legs to the bed.

“Please your mouth… it’s..” She let out incoherent words as she tugged on his soft hair.

“My mouth is what?” He raised his head making eye contact with her and hovered his tongue over clit as he awaited her answer.

“It’s so so good Harry.” She moaned loudly tweaking her nipples and gripping the bedsheets before he hummed in approval and harshly sucked on her clitoris.

The blood was rushing to his cock, and he loved being a generous man, he’s an orgasm giver. He loved the way she’s withering beneath him.

Her hands holding on to the sheets, a slight back arch, tugging at his hair, the chanting of his name, the tightness of her cunt around his finger inviting him in, the sweet fruit of her wetness on his tongue, a dish he can have for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Her pussy was getting wetter with every lick he provided, he moved his attention to her engorged clit and thrusted two fingers going at a fast pace then slowing down when he feels her walls tighten.

“Harry I need to cum please.” She begged feeling the overstimulation from his mouth and fingers, he put her on the edge twice and now she felt like exploding.

“Because you’re a good girl or a whore.” He rasped in between licks, and she can faintly see wetness dripping down his chin as he continued to eat her out like a starved man.

“Both.” She purposely pulled harshly on his hair, making him look up at her as she was met with his famous grin, messy hair, hungry eyes and the sight of him licking the wetness from his swollen lips.

“Then you better give it to me real good.” He suddenly went on a fast and rough pace with his fingers, along with pinching her clit between his index and thumb. His entire focus was on her cunt and his hand, his forearm flexed from the intensity and speed of his thrusts, with every plunge some of her wetness splashed on the sheets making him chuckle lightly.

Wetness dripping down beneath him, on him and for him.

He pinched her clitoris one last time before he felt himself get covered in her wetness, she was shaking and moaning audibly, some of her hair strands were stuck to her forehead, and her cum was covering his clothed cock, abs, arms and face.

She has never experienced this before with anyone, or alone even. She feels like she’s floating on a cloud, high on ecstasy and pleasure, a mixture of numbness and overstimulation between her legs, she can still feel the aftermath of his tongue, how it lingered there and how good it was. She may be exaggerating but she could swear that she was seeing stars.

“You squirted baby, what a good girl that knows pleasure. It’s fresh juice that I don’t have to work for.” He leaned down and gently kissed over her pulsating cunt making her whine in pain, but not any type of pain.

“I’m just thanking your pretty pussy baby, I’m all covered in your arousal. Isn’t that amazing?” He took a deep breath inhaling her arousal resulting in an audible moan from him, he brought his hand to his briefs and removed them, freeing his swollen cock as he hissed at the feeling.

She could not feel her legs, she just had the best orgasm of her life and unlocked a new feeling, his hands were roaming her skin, pressing pecks to her feminine part, and massaging the swell of her breasts, the music from the party was fading and his voice took over her entire focus.

‘Such a pretty sight, you give me no choice but to worship this pussy.’

‘God look at this, it’s pulsating around nothing poor baby was it too good to handle’

‘ If I’m not the luckiest man on earth then I don’t know what I am’

‘ It smells just as good as it tastes. Gonna be stuck on my tongue forever.’

Praise after praise, he lulled her out of her state of numbness with kisses and touches. Harry was big on physical touch, he wanted to see every inch of her skin, devour it, worship it, cherish it like no one would, he wanted to leave his mark, a mark that no one else but her will see or feel.

He was offering her the bare minimum, providing comfort and reassurance for a partner during such intimate moments was his duty but when he felt her thigh nudge and poke at his neglected cock, he remembered what a minx she is.

“And here I was thinking I should shower you with care so you can get your energy back, looks like you can’t help your whore nature.” He hovered over her, his cross necklace dangling between them.

“Not when your cock is making me horny again.” She whispered as he took note of the thin layer of sweat on her forehead, her hair scattered all over his pillow, her puppy eyes begging for more.

“Yeah? Do you want it? Tell me what is it that you want of me?” He closed the gap between them and whispered to her as their noses and lips touched.

“I want your cock inside of me, so deep that you rearrange my insides, I want to feel every stroke, the heat, your hardness and my tight walls. I want that fucking stamina you keep bragging about Styles.” Her whispers were so low yet so seductive, every word went straight to his cock that’s resting against her thighs. His pupils were dilated and she’s shocked he didn’t pin her to the bed right there and then.

His entire expression shifted, and he suddenly stepped off the bed and shuffled in his room before she felt the bed dip and his hands pick up her body and lift her upwards.

“Do you want this? I’m anything but gentle Blue Star, I will make you scream, and I promise you’ll never forget this.” His hand tightened around her waist with his cheek laid against hers as they were both on their knees.

“Yes give it to me.” She caught him off guard by stroking his gently making him lean towards her.

“Say Red if you want to stop and yellow to slow down.” Without another word he flipped her around, placing her back to his chest. He fixed some of her hair behind her ears and pressed kisses to her back.

She heard the unwrapping of a condom as he covered his leaking cock with it, she was a bit disappointed having missed the opportunity to see his length, he guided her around and manhandled her not allowing her to take in his body.

He brought her hands together behind her back and the next thing she felt was a rope tightening around her wrists. He was nipping at her ear lobe and the knot he made felt too good.

“You wanted my Stamina? I’ll show you what ‘cowboys stay on longer’ mean.” His voice was dark and low sending shivers through her body.

He ran his tip through her entrance up and down to tease her making her whine and tip her head backwards against his shoulder, her tied hands were trying to reach for his cock, but she could only stretch them so far.

The wetness of her cunt followed by the aftermath of her orgasm and his swollen cock made the experience overwhelming for both of them. Teasing was his favourite game and his key secret to pleasure, he wasn’t a stranger to the confessions of partners on the ‘best sex they’ve had’ and little do they know, it’s all about the edging.

Her pleas and whines were only fueling his ego more but also his need for her, he was holding back himself as well, he loved the rush he gets from his swollen cock that gets edged throughout the whole experience, how it leaks as a plead and becomes painful. But that’s the whole fun isn’t it?

“Need a cowboy to relieve your ache yeah? It would all be gone as soon as I stick it in. I bet you’re in pain.” He cooed brushing his tip against her swollen clitoris and he can see the tears welling in her eyes.

He thrusted in with one motion smoothly, her cunt was so slick from the wetness, and her heat? She felt too warm for him, he had barely entered yet she sucked him in immediately. His hips were stilled feeling too overwhelmed from the feeling. The same feeling that he desires and aims for from all the teasing. That sweet relief of his ache, his ache for her through and through.

He was still trying to comprehend the pleasing feeling as he laid his head against her shoulder and she the same, ecstasy and euphoria surrounded their bodies as he caught her lips in a passionate kiss.

Her engorged pearl, the intense heat forming between them, her uncontrollable clenching around his veiny cock, the wetness that’s making him slip out, his toned biceps holding her frame to his chest as they frantically share a kiss.

“You feel so good, so so good, I think I’m in heaven, and I didn’t even fuck you yet.” His eyes were shut and his breath was laboured as he slowly began moving his hips.

“You’re filling me up so well, it fits perfectly.” She groaned as his cock stretched her out in the most pleasing ways.

“Sucking me inside , your cunt knows what it needs.” After a few slow yet deep thrusts, he picked up his speed and plunged rapidly inside her velvety pussy.

He pushed her face down on the mattress and held her tied wrists with one hand as he watched his cock go in and out of her slick and puffy pussy. He also had a perfect view of her plump ass that he kept swooning over in her shorts.

His eyes were rolled back as his thrusts were vigorous and needy, the pleasure she was feeling from him was unmatched, he was too deep, reaching places she never knew of and massaging her g-spot with his tip, as well as the prominent veins along his shaft that found her itch.

Her whines and moans were to die for, he didn’t know what was making him more and more horny by the second. How she feels around his cock or her sweet whimpers, he’s getting them recorded in his mind so he can later come back to them, how can someone’s moans be so attractive?

He couldn’t take the sight of her ass bouncing against his length anymore, so he spread her cheeks and abruptly slowed down his hip movement before spitting on her tight hole, pressing her cheek roughly against each other and spanking her hard with his ring clad hand.

Her shriek from the slap was even prettier than the moans and that only fuelled him to continue furthermore.

“Tsk tsk dirty whore, do you love it when I slap this ass? You know how much I’m crazy about your body and you like it don’t you?” He rubbed the skin above his handprint as his pupils dilated upon seeing his initial engraved on her ass. She was too stuck in a pleasure daze to even respond to him.

“Say it or I won’t spank you again.” He manhandled her upwards to his chest by gripping her throat and whispering in her ear.

“Yes I love it when you spank me.” Her pleas were like music to his ears and his cock felt strained from her clenching.

“Say that you love how i’m obsessed with you.” His grip on her throat got tighter and her daze increased.

“I love how you’re obsessed with me, please.”

He picked his speed again and let out an animalistic groan, her cunt was too much for him, gripping him so goddamn tight. Luring him deeper and deeper, he wouldn’t be surprised if he bruised her cervix with how hard he’s going. But the harder he goes the harder she sucks him and clenches.

“No wonder you love it here, perhaps your cunt knows only cowboy cock can do it for you.” He left love bites against her neck and sucked harder when he found her sensitive spot.

He was trying to hold back as much as he can, but the way she’s tightening around him has him panting and holding on to her glorious body. It felt too surreal, and he lost it when she removed his hand from her throat and brought it to her lower abdomen placing it over what appeared to be a stomach bulge from his thick girth.

A primal instinct took over him and he pushed her down on the bed and laid his body against hers from behind as all of his weight was pressed on her back with her face buried in the mattress.

“Do you see how deep I can go? Properly arranging your insides, it’s my duty .” She only responded with a whine adoring the way he’s pressed on her and reaching even farther inside of her.

“Where can you feel me now?” He slowed down resulting in her pout and groan before bringing his hand backwards to pinch and massage her cheeks.

“Everywhere Harry, I can feel you everywhere.” She cried out and pushed her ass back on his shaft with all her strength.

“That’s what I fucking want.”

Harry keeps forgetting what a little minx she is, so whatever she does he’ll never be prepared.

“Red.” His thrusts halted the moment her safe word rolled out of her lips. He shifted his body and quickly untied her wrists as he flipped her around gently to check her state only to find her smirking.

“I want to change positions.” She said nonchalantly as his heartbeat slowly went back to average after getting worried on her.

“Not a nice card Carolina.” He hovered over her kissing her neck and rubbing at her thighs.

“And if I want to ride you? A proper northern tradition?” His eyes lit up at her words and he stopped sucking on her skin as he felt his swollen cock that still didn’t get a release become more and more painful.

In terms of pleasure, she was worse than Harry but he didn’t know that yet. She didn’t chase after orgasms during sex, she wanted lust, sweat, skin on skin, heat, a good time and wetness of her partner.

Yes orgasms are amazing but what about edging?

Allowing herself to reach the high then cut it off only to try new positions, new angles, new kinks, new everything. It is not the orgasm that feels good to her, it is rather the experience of it, tiring each other out and push the sexual limits. Her little secret was that one mind blowing orgasm after a good period of time of edging and teasing (her personal limit is up to hours) will always outpower many orgasms in a short period of time.

It is a sensual feeling that holds her high in the clouds, drunk on ecstasy and pleasure, nothing and nothing at all can compare to edging.

“Then show me what you got.” He gently slapped her inner thigh and moved upwards as she lifted herself on her knees. He relaxed his body against the headboard and was able to spot the soaked part of the sheets, near the edge of the bed from her squirting.

She hovered over his thigh and traced one of the tattoos she’s never seen before, it was a tiger and she smirked as she swiped some of her wetness off it.

Harry was a sight as he laid back. Toned chest going up and down to catch his breath, legs spread with his erect cock as if he wasn’t inside of her moments ago. His hands red and veiny, proud of leaving marks on her skin. His hair was sweaty, and curls dangled on his forehead.

The condom around his shaft was killing him, and the amount of precum that leaked was embarrassing so he removed it and leaned over to his bedtable to get a new one before her hand wrapped around his wrist.

“I would really like to feel you, if you don’t mind.” She swiped some of the precum that traced down his shaft and brought it to her mouth as she sucked on it while making eye contact with him.

He crossed his arms behind his head and motioned with his eyes toward his cock. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy Carolina.”

She placed her hands on his chest and teased him by grinding her wet cunt over his bare cock. The sound of wetness was too erotic and when he looked down he could see how she was sharing her arousal with his cock and feel how much in heat she is.

She shifted her weight on his throat purposefully as she stroked him and swiped her finger over the tip making his brain fuzzy. She lubed it up with some of her wetness before locking her eyes with him, lowering herself on his length and biting her lip.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, it did. Her bare walls hugged him perfectly, he can properly feel her cunt as his tip massaged its way inside of her.

She didn’t move for a good minute, only clenching herself around him, as he got dizzy from feeling her on him, she was like a drug, and addiction is exactly what he wanted.

“Roll your hips and do what you were born to do, ride my cock like the cowgirl you are.” He slapped her cheeks and placed his hands on her hips as he got impatient.

“Fuck you’re so much deeper this way.” She began bouncing on his cock and the sight in front of Harry was too much to handle.

Her breasts were jiggling in front of him, so he brought his head forward and buried it between them, the curve between her hips and ass was marvellous as she rode him like there’s no tomorrow.

The sound of skin slapping, and wetness filled the room, along with their loud shameless moans. Harry licked all over her breasts and bit her nipples, as his cock twitched the more she pushed his head onto her breasts.

“That’s it baby, choke me with your tits. Wish I can milk these beauties.” He lapped and sucked at her skin, groaning loudly when she tugs on his hair roots.

He straightened his posture again and looked down to where they’re connected, beads of precum were coating his shaft and her pussy, a string of shared arousal soaked their parts as he can see some of his cum on her clit, and the moment he caught a glimpse he went feral.

He suddenly uses all of his weight and effortlessly pushes her on her back, away from his cock, as they both wince at the sudden separation. She doesn’t have time to question him before he sucks hard at her clit making her let out screams. She moves his head away feeling overwhelmed as her bundle of nerves is way too swollen, making him frown in grumpiness at her move.

“Sorry pretty but I swear it was calling for me. Asking me to suck, so swollen and red it needed care. I had to taste.” He rasped before burying his face against the wetness to lather his face with it considering it his facial as he moaned loudly from having her cum all over his face.

She had to physically pry him away as his primal instinct took over and refused to leave her poor cunt alone. He was a starving man as he returned to his previous position, cock erect more than ever as he tugged on it. He motioned for her with his index and middle finger making her crawl to him.

“You’re such a slut.” Her hand wrapped around his veiny length as she brought it to her entrance yet again.

“It takes one to know one baby.” He didn’t wait for her and thrusted inside her in one swift motion making her gasp out loud and hold on to him.

“Exactly baby, there’s a reason my name is always being screamed.” They were a dynamic that represented pleasure in its best form, the lust that radiated off their bodies was primal and needy. His cock diving into her walls, creating a perfect pattern of hitting her g-spot as her clitoris bumps with his short hairs.

“Tell me Harry, how’s a Carolina girl for you.” Her hand wrapped around his throat , pressing on the sides as she bounced quickly up and down on his length.

Harry was floating on a cloud that he never wishes to leave. Her cock being gripped by her puffy cunt, and his throat by her artist hands. Fuck, was he in heaven?

“So good, tight, soft, wet. You’re everything baby.” He rolled his eyes before closing them shut, allowing himself to indulge in the pleasure she’s giving him.

“Is this why you came back? You know your roots well and how to use your hips.” He winked at her before dropping his gaze down to take in the view.

Her bounces were hitting the right spot for him and her, especially when she stills herself and does nothing but roll her hips left and right slowly but with hard rapid clenches of her walls that have a death grip on him.

He doesn’t even know where to touch, her perky nipples or her plump ass, maybe lick on her neck, tug on her hair, bury his fingers in her hips, so many worshipping methods and so little time.

He would be lying if he said that he doesn’t like the way she chokes him or that it’s his first time. Just for a minute he felt himself dose off as her grip made his brain go fuzzy, his legs numb and cock even more hungry.

But he immediately removed her hand off his throat, slapped her clit harshly and cupped her cheeks with one hand before bringing her face closer to him and kissing her swollen lips.

His mouth drifted off to her jawline and collarbone before digging his teeth into her shoulders, then nipping gently at her skin.

“I know I know, just do what you have to do. I’m only marking you.” He cooed at her hiss of pain as he rubbed her back and continued to bite all over her skin.

His touches made her swoon and lose her energy, whether it be his grip, or his kisses and bites, slapping her ass and choking her. She just couldn’t focus on riding him, and he could see it. But he knew of his teasing and how good she was for him, no one ever rode him for that long and if not for his stimulation she would’ve continued.

“I have no shame in making everyone hear your screams till dawn. Would you take it? His hands stilled her hips as she looked at him with pleading eyes, begging for a release.

“Yes, give me your cock.” She nudged her nose against his, wrapping her lips around him as she breathed in his scent along with the smell of their arousal hanging in the air.

“Oh i’ll give you everything pretty.” He wrapped a protective hand around her and leaned his body sideways to grab something as she let out a shriek at the change of positions.

Looks like he found a way to go deeper.

He smirked proudly as he placed his cowboy hat on her head, making her laugh and push at his chest. Although it was a silly move of him, but he can’t help but moan once he sees her naked body in all its glory, sweaty from the amazing sex, and his cock tucked deep inside of her as his hat with ‘Styles’ embroidered on it lays on her head.

“Hold on to me baby, I’m rougher than bulls.” He pinned his toned legs to the bed, and began plunging into her at a fast pace, it was if he was penetrating her with all that he has, he was reaching into her stomach, and the sight of her helpless above him was engraved in his mind till his death day.

“That’s fucking right, keep screaming for me. Tightest fucking pussy.” He gritted his teeth as her moans filled the room along with the sound of their skin slapping, he nearly bucked his knees when he saw how he was penetrating her wet cunt fast and rough and how good she was taking it.

“Oh I bet you’d take this cock all day after I come from work maybe follow me to the field eh?” He tweaked her nipples, and she could barely form coherent words, not when he’s everywhere.

“Yeah? A-and y-you wouldn’t leave work for me?” She managed to form a sentence sending him a devilish smirk before biting her lip and arching her back.

“Damn right, I’m never leaving this bed, you wanted cowboy cock so take it.” He manhandled her on his cock, with his arms on her waist as he lifted her up and down on his thick shaft that’s letting out sounds from their creamy arousal.

“See? I’m not letting you do any work. So spoiled and I don’t mind one bit.” She could do nothing but moan and whimper, it was as if her brain was empty of thoughts, nothing but the feeling of his cock plunging into her, with his hands roughly picking her up then bringing her down, his fingers digging deep into her skin, and his cowboy hat on her head.

It was exactly what she’s been craving.

Raw, dirty, lustful and erotic.

The heat that was between them was unbearable as if their bodies were on fire, the amount of wetness her cunt was producing made him hold on to her deeper in order to avoid slipping out.

“Oh poor baby, your cunt is getting wetter, begging for me to go deeper.” He caressed her cheek before she caught him off guard and brought her mouth around his finger, as she sucked on it inside her mouth.

“One hole isn’t good enough for you?” He tsked at her, plunging in his finger deeper down her throat as he manhandled her with his one hand only.

“Can’t wait to have your pretty mouth wrapped my cock, should’ve done that from the beginning to shut you up.” Plunge after the other and they both felt the heat in their lower abdomen, but of course more intensely than normal orgasms. That is the perk of edging.

She was on the verge of tears, the feeling in her stomach became merciless as she thought she was going to explode. It was too good, just really really good.

“Give me one reason to make you come.” He deadpanned as he slowed down his thrusts and hit deeper near her g-spot.

“I already orgasmed, you’re the one who needs a release.” She tried to act nonchalant as if she won’t pass out if he deprives her of cumming.

“Yeah? Then why is your cunt tightening around me? You came and your little pussy is still so hungry. I’m not the one begging baby.” His words made her remember the gravity of her situation and how giving her a release is now a need.

“Please I need it, so bad.” She cried out as her hands roamed his body savouring whatever she could touch.

“Cmon show me what a good girl you are, my good girl.” He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he slowed down into deep thrusts and she couldn’t resist looking at his hips rolling where the ferns are drawn.

His ring clad hands caressed her clit as he flicked it with his finger the same way a musician would with his guitar. He made sure to keep eye contact with her as he did it, all his acts have tired her and induced her ache for a release, so she dropped her forehead against his as they helped each other reach their high.

“I’m cumming fuckkkk.” She mewled scratching his back with her nails as he hissed at the feeling. He caught her lips in a sloppy kiss while they gripped each other tightly, allowing their high to pass.

He didn’t have any words to describe sex with her, let alone orgasming. He wanted to stay buried deep inside her cunt, breathe it in, lick it, devour it and worship it. How can he not be obsessed when he has never felt this way before?

They moaned into each other mouths’ as he released inside of her while she pulsated feverishly around him.

“Take my fucking cum, take what belongs to you.” He pinned her hips with his hands as ropes of cum filled her cunt to the brim. Above the amazing feeling of another orgasm, the way he released his hot arousal into her made her even more sensitive.

“Fuck Harry that’s a big load.” She whispered against his skin as he continued to let out his arousal and paint her walls white.

“Can’t help myself, you’re milking me so bad, it’s what your cunt wants not me.” Some of his cum began pooling out from where they’re connected and she felt so wet, slick and dirty.

After his flow finally stopped, he kissed her softly as they sat in a lotus position, her hands between his soft curls while his delicate fingers rubbed over the places where he caused her bruises.

“Fuck it’s like your cum is inside my stomach.” Her words made his cock twitch as he smirked during the kiss.

“I’m going to pull out and it’ll hurt a bit, but I want you to be a good girl for me and immediately sit on my face m’kay?” He planted a kiss on her cheek and looked at her face for approval which he received through a nod.

“What will you be?” He used his deep voice that makes her want to ride his cock all over again.

“Your good girl.” She whimpered feeling his cum go deep inside her pussy.

“Atta girl.”

He pulled out gently noting her wince before dropping his gaze to see a pool of cum between their thighs, as more dripped down when he moved her off his cock. He quickly laid down and pushed her pussy on his face catching their joined cum before it falls into his mouth.

She leaned her head against the headboard as tears welled inside her eyes from the amount of overstimulation she went through in one night. His hot tongue felt heavenly as he gathered the sticky cum between her thighs and labia.

But even that wasn’t enough as he flicked his tongue inside to her vulva collecting all of the cum before spitting it on her clit and sucking at it with his teeth.

“Pretty pretty pearl, engorged from my cock, so good and swollen for me.” He placed a kiss on her clitoris tenderly before she moved herself away.

“Please it’s too much.” She whimpered as she hovered over him since any contact with her pulsating cunt will make her shudder.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me tonight, best pussy I’ll ever have.” He prepped her face with kisses, before moving down to her body parts making sure to not go close to her poor cunt, but he couldn’t help but get a whiff of her arousal.

If only he can make a perfume of it and lather it on his skin.

No one has ever treated her this way during sex and all she can think about is how no one will compare. His mouth explored her body and touched places she didn’t.

Lustful, filthy and pleasing.

She couldn’t tell the time nor care about the party that’s still ongoing, only the frustration when his lips parted from her body as he carried her to his bathroom placing her on the toilet seat.

“I’ll go change the sheets and you clean up.” He kissed her temple and left the bathroom as she heard the sound of a new duvet being pulled out.

She followed him a few minutes later after peeing and cleaning up, she leaned against the door frame with wobbly legs watching him arrange the bed for her.

The moment he saw her standing he grinned at the sight of her shaky legs, but also frowned as to why she didn’t call for him.

“First of all glad to see I did that but for next time it’s my job to carry you.” He reached her with long strides before picking her up effortlessly bridal style and placing her on the fresh sheets as she giggled against his chest.

Her mind was going left and right, she didn’t know whether to focus on the way he said “next time” nonchalantly or how he picked her up to tuck her in bed whilst being in his briefs.

She melted into the soft linen, breathing in the scent of the laundry soap, and the bed dipped beneath her as he brought his body closer to her.

“Let me go down and kick everyone out so we can sleep peacefully. It’ll take a while.” He gave her one last kiss before putting on some clean jeans and shirt as she admired his body in the moonlight that’s pooling in from the window.

He gently closed the door behind him leaving a dim lamp on, she noticed how the music faded away along with loud upset groans and the voice of Harry ordering everyone out.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, didn’t even look at the clock but she suddenly opened her eyes feeling a presence near her and arms wrapped around her body.

“It’s just me Blue Star.” He whispered in her ear as he hugged her body closer into his.

He smelled of pine and aftershave indicating that he must’ve taken a quick shower before bed as if he didn’t tire her out a while ago.

She hummed at him before closing her eyes again feeling drowsy and sleepy, the last thing she felt was his hands rubbing lotion on her wrists that were tied up as he massaged them gently and lulled her to a blissful sleep.

The moonlight that pulled her body in an embrace last night was now replaced with warm golden rays, that poked at her skin gently to wake her up from her blissful state of sleep.

The toned biceps that held her through the night are no longer there and she can quickly notice their absence, before her eyes open and before she regains consciousness.

His presence is too consuming to not notice.

She shifts to the other side stretching her hand as she roams the sheets looking for a sign of him, she finally gives up and opens her eyes to see the wrinkled sheet he left behind with his scent lingering in the air.

She can’t tell the hour but now she knows for sure that he isn’t around for she can feel his presence deep in her bones. She buries her face in his pillow breathing in what he left behind, as his duvet hugs her naked skin perfectly.

She loves rising at an early hour to relish in the peace of the morning, twisted between the bedsheets with a welcome gift from the sun as the bluebirds outside chirp and sing for her.

She can’t help but think how this morning would’ve been if he was here, would he have taken her in his bed again or stroked her hair telling her to sleep in?

She moved the duvet off her and stretched her limbs before her smile turned into a painful wince. She lifted her body with a struggle and balanced herself on her elbows while looking down at her body.

He was everywhere.

Purple bruises that stretched along her inner and outer thighs, pelvis, breasts and a bit that she was able to catch from her collarbone.

But most importantly she couldn’t move an inch without feeling him inside of her in the form of soreness, but good god it never felt this good.

She bit her bottom lip at the thought of him leaving his trace behind.

“Here I fucked her and made her scream”

“Here I gave her these bruises to remember me by”

“Here I kissed and worshipped every inch.”

Call her crazy but she can still feel his mouth on her pussy, as if he was licking her right this moment. How he penetrated her and how deep he went, looking straight into her soul as he loved on her body.

She balanced herself on her feet with a bit of pain, as she walked over to the bathroom. The soreness and pain was nothing but a gift to her that she’ll hold on to. She loved it, loved how he claimed her body, leaving himself everywhere.

The better surprise was when she looked into the mirror and got a proper look at her body, her entire chest, neck and collarbone was purple and pink. Her fingers traced over the painful love bites as she stared back into the mirror at a woman claimed by Harry Styles, the golden boy of the North.

Her eyes drifted to the edge of the mirror where a yellow sticky note was hung. She picked it up to read it as her fingers traced over the love bruises.

“Good morning pretty, I had to leave this morning for an important job, otherwise I would’ve gladly stayed in bed with you all day fucking you over and over again. Trust me when I opened my eyes and saw you laying against my chest with those perfect bruises reflecting the sun I almost quit right there and then. Did you feel my kiss to your forehead baby? I’ll see you in the evening Carolina, and you better wear these bruises proudly.”

- H

Her giggle filled the room as she reread the note repeatedly like a young girl with a school crush. She hid it somewhere safe as she plans to keep it in her memory box. She walked around the room a bit and gazed at the bruises before finally stepping into the bath, feeling a bit sad about washing him away from her body but also grinning while his pine shower gel sticks all over her skin.

Confusion was a feeling that she rarely encountered. She was a girl that organised her every move and thought, she dislikes not having a plan and the thing she despises more than messy areas is messy situations.

She has only one day left in heaven before she leaves for Washington, where she has a new semester to begin. Yes she longs for home every single day, for her family, for Carolina, the bonds with everyone, the food, the people, the serenity. But these five days were not planned.

She didn’t plan to grow attached to a hot cowboy that teases her whenever he can, shows her a good time, is a good man and isn’t afraid of expressing his fondness of her.

Where can she fit a last-minute plan?

She has had hook-ups before despite not being a one-night stand girl, but again she only slept with people who matched her plan that helped her stay on the right lane.

Sleep with people you know you won’t get attached to / people that won’t make it awkward.

She is still in Montana and her brain is with Harry, in which category does this messed up plan fall?

Mentioning it to Harry or even talking about it is out of the question. She may have an inkling about moving forward and liking him, but she can’t exactly ask him where do they see themselves standing when she’s known him for what a couple of days?

Even these few days were able to tell her that Harry is not the commitment type, showing her a good time during sex and being a gentleman does not necessarily indicate that he likes her, it’s simply him being Harry.

It would be a bit clingy of her to tell him she likes him, she thinks. Besides sexual attraction isn’t enough. Surely she can survive without him right?

After all staying away is the best option to keep her heart safe, this way she’ll avoid embarrassment and trouble. She highly doubts that Harry feels the same way.

It’s barely ten in the morning and her train of thoughts is already on the move, she sighs as she shuts the front door to her house, wondering how she mustered up the courage to leave Harry’s house, his warm bed that has his scent and return home.

Her family’s house is oddly quiet, there’s no loud talking, laughter, bickering or the sound of the oven and smell of food. She checks every room only to end up with the conclusion that she is in fact alone.

A little note was placed on her bed obviously written by her mother. “What’s up with everyone leaving notes?” She mumbled under her breath before picking up the paper.

“Darling, we left town to run errands. Enjoy your day but please free yourself at night, The Miller’s invited us to their bar and the whole town will be there.”

Xoxo, your mama.

She isn’t sure how the night arrived.

She tried so hard to pass the day, allow the darkness to take over but it just wouldn’t. She managed to draw two sketches of bunnies and lambs before her heart took over and began drawing green eyes.

It wasn’t until the light disappeared from the sky that she noticed how her hand worked nonstop, as two sketches of Harry lay before her.

The first one has traces of last night, Harry’s naked body on the sheets, his legs tightly entwined with hers, his curls are messy and lips sightly parted. The moonlight from the window casts a light that makes him appear like a fallen angel. It seems that the sun envies him, and the moon adores him.

He looks so blissful and pretty in the sketch, the more she stares at it the more she recalls his touch and how it felt.

The second sketch is him working in their ranch, she really outdid herself with this one as it makes her squirm around in her seat.

He’s shirtless and adorned with sweat, a hammer in his hand with his head dropped down, nothing appearing from his face but the cowboy hat. She managed to draw some of his tattoos, especially the ferns that peek from his hips and the butterfly on his toned abs.

These two sketches are deeply engraved in her mind, as she brought to life two of her favourite memories surrounding Harry, she looks at them in awe feeling selfish for the first time in her life.

There’s no way in hell she’s sharing it with anyone.

So she hides them somewhere safe in her room and decides on taking them to university with her to recall the good times, even if it’s a risky move.

She stretched her muscles feeling a bit sore from her position all day long (and last night), before noticing that it’s nearly 8:30 in the evening.

“Fuck, the bar!” She cursed under her breath as she quickly ran across the room to dress up.

The Miller’s bar has never been this crowded.

People were pooling from other towns, as they filled the area with laughter and dancing. It was hard to locate her parents amidst the sea of cowboy hats, but once she did she stuck next to them.

She didn’t have to apologise for being late since it took her a total of twenty minutes to get dressed up in a short beige dress and drive to the bar.

Maggy surprised her from behind before hugging her and greeting her parents, the music was loud and random strangers from other towns kept coming in to greet her parents and her despite not knowing them.

The whiskey was harsh on her tongue as it kept reminding her of someone else who likes it until her thoughts travelled to the taste of something else.

Random men and women bumped into her then apologised due to the crowded space, she’d hate such events usually but the whole vibe was amazing.

Northern people were gathered around together, the young are getting to know each other and making plans while the elders are catching up. As she looked around, she knew that this feeling is what she lives for. This is home.

Maggy was whispering jokes in her ear about people attending making her let out a loud laugh as they try and hold it still by drinking more. They balanced each other as the laughter was hard to control but eventually they refilled their drinks and decided to separate to avoid further embarrassment.

It suddenly clicked to her that Maggy unintentionally distracted her from thinking about Harry. During the ride here, all she could think about was him, will he like her dress? What will he say to her? Is he going to be there even?

Her parents were occupied with someone, and everyone around her was either drinking and chatting or dancing to the beat of the loud music. She took a sip of her drink as she looked around for a trace of him.

Even though some men had their backs turned to her, she knew none were him. She’d recognize him in a sea of cowboys.

She began to get anxious at the thought of him not being here. That means she’ll only see him tomorrow since she can’t leave, not when her parents have asked of her to attend, not when she’s having too much fun.

She was about to give up as she sipped her last drink before catching a glimpse of someone from her peripheral vision, she averted her gaze properly only to find him leaning against a wall, with a beer bottle in his hand while he stares at her intently.

He must’ve been doing that ever since she arrived because his figure was covered with people who chatted with him, but she was able to feel a pair of eyes staring through her back.

Her lips twitched when she locked eyes with him and his grin grew bigger, as if they were the only people in the room, the music faded, and he refused to remove his eyes off her. Not even when a girl came and flirted with him, he didn’t bat an eye or turn to her, nor speak.

His brain was consumed her, if you looked inside all you’d hear is Carolina,Carolina,Carolina…

He winked at her and puckered his lips, sending her a flying kiss as she blushed at his gesture before looking around to make sure no one saw him, not that they’d be in trouble. But it was for her and her only.

When she turned her gaze back, she didn’t find him standing there. So she looked at every corner only to find it occupied by a couple. She even expected him to surprise her from behind, but he had completely vanished into thin air.

An echo of a microphone grabbed everyone’s attention as they shuffled near the stage, while she followed behind.

“Good evening Montana! Hope you’re all having fun.” Tim Miller spoke to the crowd that responded with cheering.

“I got a really good treat for you tonight. You’re all going to be blessed with the music of Harry Styles.” Tim shouted excitedly as the cheering grew larger upon hearing Harry’s name.

So he disappeared because he wants to perform? Touché .

She thought about their road trip together and how she’d want to hear his voice one day. She just didn’t expect it to be so soon, but she can also feel her heart thumping at the thought of him singing and performing.

She felt the nudge and presence of someone near her who turned out to be Maggy. “Oh he’s going to sing, and you got us front seats.” Her parents stood next to Maggy as they all waited for Harry to begin singing.

Once he set foot on stage, the chanting of his name began. She had already done that yesterday in bed, but now her new panties began to gather wetness that her cunt cannot seem to hold.

He was a sight for sore eyes.

Tight Levi’s, brown leather jacket with nothing under it, a guitar strapped around his waist and the same cowboy hat he placed on her head last night.

He smirked and sent flying kisses to the crowd before looking down at her and giving his charming grin.

“I won’t say the name of this song, but the muse knows themselves.” He whispered with his lips against the microphone as his remark made everyone let out an ‘Oooh’ as the girls giggled.

A nice beat began to form as Harry dropped his gaze to her and moved his hands on the guitar. Her body was on fire as she thought about the possibilities behind the ‘muse’. How would she feel if it was someone else or even if it was her with the presence of her parents and Maggy?

He screamed ‘Oh Yeah’ into the microphone as he swayed around to the tune that sounds a bit Northern before he began singing.

‘She’s got a family in Carolina

So far away, but she says I remind her of home.

Feeling oh so far from home’

She felt the colour drain from her face as Maggy gave her a side eye. Not only was she the ‘muse’ but he had the audacity to use lyrics that are obviously pointing towards her.

‘She never saw herself as a westcoaster

Moved all the way cause her grandma told her

“Better swim before you drown”

He was singing it with a proud smile plastered across his face, the crowd was dancing and cheering as some girls pretended that it’s about them. His eyes locked with hers as a curl fell on his forehead before he continued singing.

‘She’s a good girl

She’s such a good girl

She’s a good girl

She feels so good’

He moaned loudly into the microphone while keeping eye contact with her as the lyrics brought back memories of his touch. At this point her face was tomato red and she tried not to appear flustered while Maggy laughed and her parents looked around, as if they’re trying to catch a hint.

‘She’s got a book for every situation

Gets into parties without invitation

How could you ever turn her down?”

His voice was perfect with a subtle obsession appearing the more he sang, his body was glued to the microphone stand, if he didn’t have his eyes shut he’d look at her and only her. She wondered if he’s closing his eyes to recall the events, how she crashed the bonfire, had a box full of books and how he almost ran to the bedroom at his party.

‘There’s not a drink that I think could sink her

How would I tell her that she’s all I think about

Well I guess she just found it’

He danced along swaying his body left and right, smiling like an idiot at his confessions in front of everyone. It seemed that they were enjoying the song, she couldn’t blame them. He had an angelic voice, and the tune was mesmerizing.

‘She’s a good girl

She’s such a good girl

She’s a good girl

She feels so good

She feels so good’

More shameless moans left his lips as she finally figured that he’s imitating her own moans. He grinded his body against the mic with every time he said ‘good girl’. She’s surprised a whimper didn’t leave his lips. Maggy knew what was going on and pretended to be clueless.

‘I met her once and wrote a song about her

I wanna scream ,yeah

I wanna shout it out

And I hope she hears me now’

He raised his hands on both sides just like when he was riding the bull and prompted the crowd to cheer more. He dropped his hand on purpose making his finger point at her before diverting it and smirking when her eyes widened.

He was simply an unserious man.

His moans and grinding only seemed to increased, and his attire was not helping. The way he was shameless about everything, singing about her encounters with him, subtle details that she doesn’t even remember saying.

‘ La la la la, la la la la la la la ‘

He kept repeating it as the audience went crazy including a girl who convinced her friends that it’s about her. He looked so joyful and above the clouds as he sang.

‘She’s a good girl

She’s such a good girl

She’s a good girl

She feels so good

Oh, she’s a good girl”

He bit his bottom lip at the last sentence, gripping tightly to the stand as he grinded his crotch repeatedly. She stood watching him knowing damn well that she is probably dripping down her thighs.

She is not sure what’s hotter. Him singing about her in front of a big crowd, or how he looked like he was recalling yesterday’s sex. She was still flustered nonetheless, her cheeks were painted red, and she kept biting on her nails and clenching her thighs.

‘She feels so good

Oh yeah

Oh yeah’

He ended the song with sensuality, as he if looked into the crowd with pleading eyes that say ‘ I swear she’s good’. She almost fell on her knees right there and then when he did that .

“In case you didn’t guess, the song is called Carolina.” He chuckled lightly and stepped off the stage making all the girls swoon and follow after him.

“The song seems so familiar , I just can’t pinpoint it!” She heard her mother talking to her father as he agreed with her, in awe of Harry’s talent. She had totally forgotten that her parents were standing right next to her, she has never been this troubled and flustered in her entire life.

She looked like she was about to pass out from how red her face was ,her chest was heaving and ears ringing as Maggy poked at her skin and teased her.

Harry Styles just performed a song about her in front of the whole town and her parents, while being explicit in his lyrics making sure to let everyone know how good her pussy is.

The way he grinded against the mic, imitated her moans, locked eyes with her and was just so proud about it made her want to fight and fuck him at the same time.

She left Maggy hanging in the middle of the room as she stormed inside to where Harry headed. She rarely went there so she isn’t even sure where she’s going or if she’ll find him.

She passed by closed storage rooms, employees only rooms and random bathrooms till she was met with a room that she has never seen before. The sign on the door said ‘Miller Family Only’. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

Her hand wrapped around the door knob as the door creaked open, the light was on and the room was basically turned into a home. Yellow light bulbs, cozy sofa in the middle, a mini refrigerator and a closet.

“Took you long enough Carolina.” He popped out from behind the door making her jolt back and raise a hand to her chest.

“Fuck you! What is up with you?” She shouted in anger before she closed the door and locked it.

“I’m not the one creeping around baby-“

“I meant the fucking song Harry.” She gritted her teeth as their faces were inches apart.

“You said you wanted to hear my voice.” He whispered using his low deep voice while placing his hands on her waist.

All of her questions and plans to argue flew out of the window when his body got close to her, and his eyes darkened. Suddenly the wetness in between her legs was getting more and more noticeable.

“You performed it in front of everyone including my parents! When did you even write that?” She tried to maintain her sanity to not get distracted by his wandering hands.

“I’m just telling everyone how good you are for me. Wrote it today in under an hour, couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He nibbled at her earlobe as he groaned and pressed her body closer to him.

“You’re unbelievable , and fucking crazy.” She dug her nails into his back right where she scratched last night making him hiss.

“You’re so hot when you’re angry, I just got a boner.” She can feel his bulge against her dress while she placed her hands on his toned abs.

“Tell me one thing baby, is it still sore here?” He cooed bringing down his hand to her pussy before cupping it with ring clad hand making her shudder.

“Yes it’s so sore.” His grip on her cunt had her holding on to him as she felt herself pulsate rapidly.

“Not only is it achy from my cock, but my singing too? Was gonna hide this from me?” He tsked rubbing slow circles above the fabric.

She was withering under his touch, as her brain kept rewinding to his performance. Him singing ‘good girl’ was all she could think about.

“I’m not sure i’m happy about you hiding these bruises. You ruined my art.” He put on a frustrated tone while he traced her neck, wondering if he should wipe all that makeup.

“You really want to embarrass me in front of everyone don’t you?” She brought her hand slowly down to his pants and toyed with his button.

“No i’m just proud of what I did baby.” He pinned her against the wall and caught her lips in a sloppy kiss.

Their bodies were unbelievably responsive to each other. Like a primal instinct that comes out whenever they’re close to one another. He was grinding onto her as she began getting flashbacks from their sex.

She abruptly pushed his head away by cupping his cheeks catching him off guard.

“Apparently I’m a good girl. What about you? Should we see if you’re a good boy.” His pupils dilated at her words and she’s surprised that he didn’t drool.

“W-what?” He muttered under his breath as he swallowed down his throat.

“I want to suck your cock and I want you to moan loudly to let everyone know that you’re a good boy.” Her switch made him twitch in his pants, as he looked into her doe eyes that will be the death of him.

“Want to put those lips on my cock?” He traced his finger over her bottom lip, thinking about all the ways he can fuck her throat.

“Hmm I really want a taste, it’s not fair that you got one and I didn’t.” She pouted pretending to be quite upset about it.

Harry’s head was spinning 180°. He was holding himself back from cumming in his pants and fuck was it hard.

“Good girls help good boys to cum don’t they.” He took her hand after unbuttoning his Levi’s and guided it inside his briefs.

His lips hovered over hers as his raspy voice went straight to her cunt where her clitoris was throbbing. He stared at her with hungry eyes, as if he’s promising to ruin her.

“It’s so hard. What’s causing you this pain hmm?” It seemed that he should give up and allow her to take over as he nearly whimpers every time she opens her mouth.

“You. You in this fucking dress, my good girl. Your warm cunt, your body. Fuck!” He cursed loudly as she swiped her finger over his leaking tip.

She didn’t pay much attention to Harry’s whines, instead she brought her finger to her mouth, shoved it all the way in tasting his cum while rolling her eyes and moaning.

“Good taste from a good boy.” Harry’s brain simply wasn’t working. He stared at her with puppy eyes and parted lips.

It wasn’t until he felt her hot tongue on his abs that he returned to reality and saw her kissing all over his midsection while gradually kneeling the lower she went. Her hands roamed his body as she left kisses everywhere.

“Fucks sake” He muttered under his breath, gripping on to the door handle as she kissed his clothed cock beneath his briefs.

She palmed him through the fabric while looking up at him with innocent eyes as if she doesn’t want to drain him from cum. She massaged him gently and pressed kisses, while he tried not to buckle his knees.

“I wonder how you’ll feel around my mouth, maybe if I push it deep enough it’ll make my throat sore just like my pussy.” She spoke every word with confidence as she freed his cock from the briefs, it stood up hard and proud against his stomach. Now that she sees it up close, she can tell how thick and big he is. Maybe because he’s swollen and erect but nonetheless she now has a justification for her cunt’s ache.

“Oh poor baby you’re twitching.” She enjoyed watching him lose his restraint and sanity at the same time. His cock was uncontrollably twitching as it leaked precum from the tip.

“Put me in your mouth baby.” He panted between words feeling dizzy just from seeing her on her knees. He wants them bruised just like the rest of her body.

She resumed her work as if he didn’t just speak and brought her hand down to her panties fingering her cunt and gathering wetness on it before spitting and wrapping her hand on his cock.

He tipped his head backwards and rolled his eyes at her action, her wetness was on his cock. She used her cum as lube.

She stroked his cock slowly and pressed pecks to his length, before twirling her tongue on his tip as if it’s a lollipop. She palmed his balls between her hand making him groan and look down at her while she licked a long strip from the base to the tip gathering all the precum that leaked. Then, she opened her mouth showing him her tongue that’s painted with her cum.

“Was that what you wanted? A good girl’s tongue on your big cock?” she teased him more by bringing the tip to her mouth only to leave a kiss.

“What I want is for you to suck my cock, gag on it, and swallow my cum like the good girl you are.” He took matters into his own hands and wrapped his hand around her hair before guiding his length to her lips.

She took him inside her mouth with a mischievous look glowing in her eyes, she allowed him to use her mouth, but Harry barely felt her hot tongue for a few moments and almost collapsed on the ground.

She bobbed her head around him, with one hand massaging his balls and brought half of his cock inside before pulling out and spitting the joined saliva and precum over it.

“Doing so good for me, do what you were born to do.” He let out audible moans at the feeling of her tongue lapping and sucking on his cock. His salty precum flooded her mouth, and she was confused whether to spit or swallow.

He hissed at her tight grip to the base, she was squeezing him harshly while bobbing her head fast on his shaft, her cheeks were hollowed, and her lips became swollen and rosy pink just like his cock.

“Squeezing me so bad aren’t you? So desperate for my cum down that pretty throat.” She dug her nails in his thighs that were tensing and pushed him all the way in.

The sound of gagging and moaning filled the room as her nose nudged some of the hairs at his base, she looked at him with ‘fuck me eyes’ making him push her head against his cock as it fills up her mouth, without letting her breathe, simply having him deep down her throat.

He felt her reaching for his other hand, guiding him to her neck where she let him trace the bulge from his cock down her throat making him let out an animalistic groan and pull out.

She gasped for air as a trail of saliva fell from the corners from her mouth, Harry’s breath was laboured and his chest was heaving as his cock twitched and leaked precum on the ground beneath them. Her mouth was merciless.

He swiped some of the saliva from her lips and brought it inside with his thumb as she sucked on it passionately.

“Love my cock in any way don’t you? Inside your cunt or throat you’ll take it and allow me to rearrange your insides.” He chuckled stroking her hair before motioning for her to continue sucking.

“Use my mouth for your cock.” She begged with a needy scratchy voice and that was all it took him before he tugged harshly on her hair and shoved his cock inside of her mouth.

His hips rolled forward as he thrusted in and out just like she wanted, she was gagging and holding on to his thighs as he fucked her throat roughly.

Some of her saliva and his precum pooled from her mouth as she choked repeatedly on his thick cock.

“Looks like my good girl is a whore after all, take all of it no complaints.” His eyes rolled to the back of his head as her hot tongue licked on his protruding veins.

She was just so good.

He can hear her subtle moaning and how she’s squirming around and humping against the air. He slowed down allowing her breath to avoid passing out and took in her messy face. His cum leaking from her mouth, her hair stuck to her forehead and drool leaving her lips as she gasps for air while focusing on his cock.

“Did sucking me off make you horny?” He tilted her chin up to him fawning over her nod since he fucked her so good she can’t speak.

“Cmon milk me baby.” She continued bobbing her head against him and licking not caring that he can hear her moans and how much she’s enjoying it.

She took control adjusting her knees before she swirled her tongue the tip and sucked harshly while she fondled with his balls. The sight of her on her knees before him, with a messy face, raspy voice and amazing tongue was enough to tip him off the edge.

“Take all of my cum, fucking take it.” He groaned audibly as he released ropes of warm white cum into her mouth. His moans were angelic as she gracefully had her mouth wide open while he dumped his load inside.

His knees buckled and his breathing was staggered while he watched her accept all of his arousal greedily and swallow it down her throat as if she’s taking juice.

He couldn’t handle it anymore, so he lifted her off the ground and crashed his lips onto hers, tasting his salty cum and her saliva while she wrapped her arms around him and rutted her hips against his bare cock.

“Fuck I’m not sure which is better, my cum leaking from your cunt or mouth.”

“Tastes so good Harry.”

He pinned her against the door as he made out with her for what felt like forever, her lips were already swollen from sucking him and his cock was now erect again from her soft moans and rutting.

“We- should go back.” She mumbled in between kisses making him whine like a little kid.

He looked at the clock indicating that they’ve been gone for thirty minutes and must head back. He began tucking himself inside his briefs before she grabbed his wrists and gave him a devilish smirk.

Her hand trailed down to his shaft that was still leaking a small amount of cum that she swiped on her finger and smeared all over her lips.

“I forgot my lip balm at home.” Harry inhaled a sharp breath at her act and slapped her ass cheeks roughly.

“My fucking minx.”

Taglist: @prettythingsworld @missmielyhoran @slut4marvelmenn @fullofstyles @cherrycokeslay @wandas-lawyer @tbsloneely @harryssideboob @harrysficreblog @itslottiehere @hsonlyangelxo @gem1712 @adachhi @tpwkkkkk @grapejuicebluesrry @summertime-pills @lhhrryismyhome @marzhshaim @harrystylessslut @keepdrivingkisses @rideeonstyles @swiftmendeshoran @matildasatellite @a-strange-familiar @cherryscinema @greivingfortheliving @babyyangel111 @soblavk @straightnogayhs @awesomenavy @victoria-styles

If your tag is red it didn’t work

A/n: Soooo the weather??🥵

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notjustjavierpena · 8 months

Note

Siggy, the real question is pls get some more pregnancy joel…..bc tempers has me feeling some type of way 😮‍💨🥹

The Making of Ellie - Part IV

A/N: Ask and you shall receive, anon ❤️ Hope it is worth the wait.

Summary: Your libido has increased since getting pregnant. Joel doesn’t have a problem with indulging you.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 smut (mdni!), teasing, fingering, dirty talk, squirting, pregnancy sex, bit of fluff, intense orgasms, handjob, come-eating, desperate and whimpering joel is a warning in itself, the tiniest use of daddy.

Word count: 2.4k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49183051/chapters/124097539

Libido

Since entering your third trimester, your libido has increased significantly. It is to the point where you feel painfully hot and bothered throughout the day, having described it as an itch that simply won’t go away no matter how much you scratch it. You’ll cross your legs, bite your lip, flush pink and be short of breath just by catching a glimpse of Joel, and he’ll be on you as soon as humanly possible. In short: You just want to, and you do, fuck all the damn time. Bed, bathroom, kitchen, in the hallway, once on the staircase, car.

Joel is happy to oblige, at least inside the four walls of your shared home. Sarah has completely fled the house at this point; despite it starting with your temper tantrums, her distaste for being home was really set in stone when she walked in on the two of you in a compromising position.

“Dad, I’m really happy for you and all, but Jesus Christ, I’ll be home again tomorrow,” she’d said, and now, she comes home for dinner and to pack her soccer bag. He lets her. She’s practically grown at this point, and he’ll see her when she needs him, he knows this. He has made it a habit to text her goodnight too, and she always responds quickly with a heart emoji.

You on the other hand are a whole different story. You are always in close proximity to him, circling him like a goddamn cat who does not want to admit its attachment to you and waiting to strike for the right moment to get attention.

Joel is emptying the dishwasher, a thing that he has made clear is his job after the incident, when he spots you out of the corner of his eye. He smiles to himself and pretends not to see you, continuing his work on getting all the mugs into the cabinet above him without crushing any of the million amounts of snacks you have hidden in the back.

You move closer. He watches still, catches the way your skirt flows as you walk to stand on his right side. You grip the edge of the kitchen counter, leaning against it and eyeing him up.

“Hey babe,” you say, tapping a finger on the front of the kitchen cabinet.

“Hi honey,” he replies nonchalantly to make you work for it. He starts filling up the dishwasher too, causing a microexpression of frustration and confusion on your face.

“Do you wanna do something together?” You suggest.

“Sure, when ’m done here.”

“How about now? Skip the cleaning up thing?”

“Is there anythin’, in particular, ya wanna do?” He acts oblivious. He goes to wash his hands, “Somethin’ that can’t wait?”

“Well,” you say with confidence, “Wouldn’t you rather get with—“

You push your hands down onto the counter to lift yourself up onto the kitchen table, but the act is hardly successful; you’ve become too stiff to do it, and it ends up a lot less sexy than Joel assumes is your intention. You try again, but you can’t get your ass onto the table, round belly in the way of being flexible enough to be seductive.

“Hold up,” you furrow your brows, trying your act again and using your legs to kickstart the jump off the floor but yet again to no avail, “I can do this.”

“Sweetheart,” Joel says, one hand resting on his chin as he hides the urge to laugh out loud. He clears his throat to cover up a chuckle.

“Stop,” you snap at him as you catch him actually laughing at you. He tries to suppress it, but when it bubbles up in his chest without his control, you become stubborn, “No, no, just wait.”

You struggle for a few moments more whilst Joel bites his cheek to keep you from getting upset. Eventually, you groan, “A little help here?”

“Sure,” Joel stands in front of you. He pushes on the soles of your feet the next time you try jumping, giving you the boost you need to perch yourself on the surface.

“Now,” you brush non-existent dust off your skirt, gesturing to yourself afterward. Joel thinks you’re adorable, “Wouldn’t you rather get with this than clean the kitchen?”

Joel sends you a smirk, “After that whole display, I’m actually not sure. Can you jump down and do it again so I’m certain?”

“Joel,” you bite, crossing your arms over your chest. He doesn’t know if you purposely squeeze your fuller breasts together or if he is just a dog, but he cannot help himself from staring. You catch him doing it, “Great. So you can stare at my cleavage, but you can’t touch me?”

Joel says your name. You ignore him.

“Have I not been paying ‘nough attention to ya?” Joel tuts in the softest voice, closing the distance between you to stand in between your legs, “Is that why you’re actin’ up?”

You pout at him so prettily, arms still underneath your tits and fingers tapping on your elbows. It turns more fun when you don’t reply, gaze dropping after it becomes too intense to stare back at him. Joel loves this little game, can feel his cock twitch in his jeans and threaten to strain against the zipper. You look past his shoulder, chewing on your bottom lip with a sort of pained restlessness.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Joel continues. He reaches out to place his palm on your round belly, rubbing soothingly as you continue to ignore him in your attempt to repress a tantrum. He knows you get angry and frustrated when you don’t eat, but after getting you pregnant, he has discovered that you react the same to not getting fucked on the regular too, “‘S not right for me to tease ya like that.”

“No, it’s not,” you agree, placing your hand on top of his in a gesture of reconciliation, “Think you should make it up to your baby mama. She’s going insane, you know. Only you help.”

Joel can feel his cock start to harden already. It is so easy for you to rile him up these days, hearing you talk about how he has ruined anything else for you. He is the only one to save you from this torment, and luckily, Joel likes to be useful.

“Yeah? And what’s that?” Joel’s hand on your stomach slips down and then up under your skirt. He glides his fingertips along your inner thigh, watches you struggle to find the words as his digits go further north until they rest right by the fabric of your underwear. He can feel the warmth radiating from your core.

“Uhh,” you say as your mind fogs. Your legs automatically spread for him.

“This?” He hooks his thumb underneath the damp fabric right at your center, “Jesus, you’re so wet, baby. I’m so sorry. If you’d just told me, I would’ve—“

“Just touch me, stop talking, and—” you whine, scooting a little further towards the edge to give him more access, “Don’t have to worry now.”

Joel’s thumb settles on your clit and presses down lightly. It causes you to say his name desperately, the back of your head knocking against the kitchen cabinet when you crane your neck back.

“Shit, are you okay?” Joel asks. He stops temporarily while you reach up to touch the back of your head. Though instead of wincing, you start giggling and Joel cannot suppress his own laughter.

“Keep going,” you egg him on, “I’ll be more careful.”

Joel decides to pull your underwear to the side instead, so he can sink two fingers into you. You let out a shaky breath, “Oh, fuck. That’s just what I needed.”

Joel’s thumb is on your clit again. He fucks you on his digits slowly, searches for your g-spot for only a second before rubbing it with the pads of his fingers. God, the way your face goes slack. You absolutely love it.

The wet squelches of your cunt are obscene enough to get him painfully hard in mere seconds too, combined with the feeling of your walls fluttering with your climax building.

“How the fuck are you so soaked?” He asks in disbelief.

“May have pregamed,” you admit in your blissful state.

“What?” Joel doesn’t stop what he is doing, but he slows down until he has almost come to a halt.

You find his gaze with a frown, “Don’t stop.”

“I haven’t… pregamed?”

You squirm a little and try to move, but Joel places his free hand on your belly to stop you, “Tried to take care of it myself. Didn’t fucking work, okay? The angle is all wrong.”

Joel cannot believe his ears. He lets his hand go up to grab your chin and then starts fucking your cunt with his fingers in earnest. You cry out softly, holding his gaze intensely.

“You find me, okay?” He puts on the voice that always makes you shut up and nod, “I don’t care what the fuck I’m doing. Say you wanna come and I’ll be there.”

Just like he predicted, you simply nod at his words. Your hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, and he marvels at how you are barely able to connect your fingertips when your hand is in a fist around it. He loves you. Sweetest little thing he has ever known.

“Gonna be a good girl and come f’me?” He smiles devilishly when your breathing indicates that you are close. He lets go of your chin and splays the palm on your chest to feel your rapid heartbeat, “Make those legs tremble f’me?”

He curls his fingers upwards to torture his favorite spot inside of you, and then you are coming around them with fast pulses of your walls. He watches your thighs twitch once and then twice before actually shaking violently, making him wonder how long you’ve involuntarily edged yourself before finding him.

“Fuck, Joel, Joel,” you gasp in a very particular way, and Joel quickly removes his fingers from your cunt to see how a wet patch forms on your skirt from how you gush repeatedly as your climax reaches its peak.

It doesn’t even matter that it’s in the fucking kitchen, because the pride that he feels at making you squirt knows no bounds, and he cannot help the boyishness in his chuckle, “You’re fucking amazing.”

“Holy fuck,” you groan as you come down from your high. You rest your head against the kitchen cabinet again, this time without knocking it roughly into it.

“Good?” He asks.

“Fantastic,” you sigh contentedly, “Just gimme a sec. Take your pants off. I wanna do something nice for you before I go take this stupid skirt off.”

“Baby, you don’t have to,” he reassures despite how his dick hurts by now.

“Pants off, Miller,” you commandeer.

Joel follows through without further hesitation. He makes quick work of undoing his jeans and shoving them down with his underwear, grunting at the friction along his hard cock.

“Look at you,” you say with a pout, “Poor baby daddy.”

You reach out to grab a hold of his cock, watching the bead of precome that threatens to drip down from the tip. Running the pads of your fingers up and down the shaft teasingly, Joel lets out a relieved moan at finally being touched but it only lasts for a moment because nothing escalates.

“You said something nice. This ain’t nice, sweetheart,” he tells you with a groan, squeezing himself further in between your legs to get closer to your smug expression. You swear the precome over the sensitive head and both of Joel’s hands fly to the kitchen counter. He places them flat against the surface, “Really not gonna say anythin?’

You bite your bottom lip and shake your head, eyes still glazed over with your post-orgasmic bliss but now also sporting an innocence that drives him mad. You start stroking his dick, fist tightening around his girth and he can feel himself pulse in your hand.

It feels fucking great as you drag your palm over the skin again and again, but something clicks in Joel’s head when desperation hits. Fuck, he wants to come.

It would be impossible to make his body listen to him right now as it feels disconnected from reality and control. He tilts his hips, looks down at where you’re touching him so expertly, and then fucks himself into your tight grip.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say in disbelief but never falter. If anything, you manage to squeeze enough to make it a tighter fit without hurting him, “Fuck, you’re so hot like this.”

“Fuck,” he swears loudly and speeds up his hips. One of the hands on the kitchen table comes up to grab a cabinet handle, knuckles turning white as he strains to chase his orgasm.

When the rubber band at the base of his spine snaps, Joel stills his hips. Your hand hesitates for a second, but then the first rope of come spills over your hand and you milk him for every drop he has in him.

Joel hasn’t come like this in a while; always empties himself sheathed inside your soft cunt, but when you praise him absentmindedly as he comes, he finds that he might become partial to it. He pants through the almost painful clenches of his lower stomach and balls.

When he whimpers at the over-sensitivity, your hand stills completely. Your free hand strokes his cheek with the back of your fingers, “You good? Talk to me.”

It takes a beat to find his bearings once more. His hand plops down onto the counter again. He mumbles with exhaustion coating his voice, “Alright. ‘M back.”

He thinks you’re as spent as him, but with your remaining energy, you lift your hand from his cock to lick his come off the back of it with the flat of your tongue. He groans, “Dirty girl.”

“What? It has vitamins,” you tease, giving your hand another kitten lick, “Unfortunately not D. Should’ve been vitamin D.”

Joel rolls his eyes. He struggles a little with his balance as he gets dressed again, blood still not having fully returned to his brain. He gets the paper towels and helps you clean up, but you just look at him with a dazed smile.

“What?” He questions.

“You better fuck me like that tonight,” you muse.

“You know what to say, and I’ll be there. No pregaming,” he replies simply and helps you onto the ground again, “Now go change, momma.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

@elissaaa @queerponcho @casa-boiardi @gracieispunk @hiddenbabynyc @hopelessromantic727 @livingdeadmaria @its-nebuleuse @milly-louise @cool-iguana @pawnshopbluess222 @joeldjarin @queenbrownie18 @scarletsloveletter @ladyburberry @swiftsgirlfriend @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sunnywithachanceofjavi @strang3lov3 @hellishjoel @littlevenicebitch69

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bahrtofane · 2 months

Text

you visit jude and decide to take him through the night to show him a little something, and he shows you one in return

bff!jude x reader

word count - 900+

watch it - pure fluff + teasing and silly judi

-----

windows down driving through a warm madrid night with jude in your passenger. just happy you let him tag along. its your second day in the city, your first seeing him in months. you’ve been itching to. but he doesn’t need to know. his ego will only inflate even more. what will you do with him then? he's already a hand full.

he wanted to greet you at the airport (and bring flowers. friends bring flowers to airports right? right...)

he thinks you'd kill him if he did either.

he missed you, though he doesn’t yet know how to say it yet. worse, he thinks he just might love you.

friendship with you makes him want to tear his hair out. why does he want to kiss you. why does his heart ache at every single good bye. and more importantly why are you one of the very select few that hes allowed to call or face time him at any time

he needs to get it together. especially when you look so star studded like this, driving with one hand, lights of the city flickering on your face, drumming your fingers against the wheel while you tease him

he treasures you. he doesn’t know why you keep going out of your way to see him. he wants to ask. one day, some day, not today.

he chooses to stick his head out the window instead , ignoring the looks he just knows he's getting from the cars around him. you only giggle at his antics, turning the music up.

you hum to the music that blasts from the speakers, not a care in the world, weaving through the streets maybe a little too carelessly but you cant help it. not when his eyes gleam so.

he sticks his head back inside, shimmying into his seat properly, but he hasn’t had enough of the night breeze. hand hanging out of the window, arms outstretched, reaching up up up. you think he could reach the stars like this.

who are you kidding. he's a star himself.

he turns to you, smile wide, burst of laughter falling from his lips, "you drive like a mad man."

you shrug, "you’re having fun aren’t you?"

he mimics you, raising his shoulders dramatically, "am i?"

you shake your head, looking over your shoulder as you change lanes. he laughs, mumbling something about you needing extra classes. and who has their license in the first place, you or him?

never mind that, you want to show him something. you saw it driving to your hotel.

you come off the highway, slowing down as you go up a ramp, back into city roads. you watch as he looks out the window wide eyed. jude, always eager to experience everything. do you make the list?

you hope so.

you drive through turns and loops with one hand, the other outstretched trying to catch the wind.

"copy cat." he mutters.

you narrow your eyes at him, "and who can drive then?"

he quiets at this, huffing in his seat.

you reach the side of a building, parking your car. jude is still pretending to sulk when you step out, heading over to his side.

you lean down, resting a hand on the door, "come on you big baby, something i wanna show you."

he perks up at this, "a surprise?"

you snort, "something like that."

he hops out, closing the door being him. you don’t go very far, leaning on the drivers side of your car, pointing to the side of a building. he looks up, gasping.

its a billboard of him, spanning practically the whole side of the structure. there he stands in his iconic stance. text reading "made in birmingham" on the bottom.

"ive never seen this one before..." he trails off.

"pretty cool one. its huge."

he hums, "makes me look extra cool."

you scoff, "yeah you need it."

"hey!' he yells, launching forward as you run from him.

down the street while you giggle, only the moon and street lights to guide your path. he hurls empty insult while you try not to think too deeply about the implications of it all. he catches up in an instant. of course he does. grabbing your arm and dragging you back to your car while you groan.

you try to throw a fit, wriggling against his grip the best you can but man is the guy strong. turning to face you, brow raised. he turns a little to fast, till your pressed almost right up against each other. faces so close you could just lean in to-

kiss!

his lips press against yours. warm and sweet. soft and gentle.

he pulls away just as fast, apologies tumbling from the same lips so fast he cant hear you saying its okay.

so you kiss him instead. wrapping a hand around his. you can feel him relax under you, tensions seeping from his frame where he stands.

grounded.

when you part. you think your face is genuinely in flames. oh how youve dreamed of doing just that a million times over.

he laughs , the idiot laughs. clutching onto your hands like a life line, "ive been waiting ages to do that." he sighs.

"me too." you confess, shy. looking away, your gaze ends up back at billboard jude.

he wrinkles his nose, "id rather kiss you more somewhere where he isn’t spying."

you gasp, "are you jealous of yourself?" dragging the two of you back to your car.

he shrugs, ducking back inside and buckling up, "im just saying he doesn’t need to be seeing my business."

you roll your eyes, turning your car on and back to driving, "you’re so dramatic."

"but you’re having fun aren’t you?" he teases.

you ignore this. speeding through streets with all the windows down while you let him choose the music again.

you have a soft spot so what? so does he.

#jude x you #jude bellingham imagine #jude x reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham one shot #bahr footy #footy fic #footballer fic #football fanfic #jude x y/n #jude bellingham headcanons #jude bellingham x y/n

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love-lilly02 · 21 days

Text

The Challenge— Chapter 9

When you died, you were going to have an all white funeral.

It was something that had been decided by your entire family, not even by your agreement but by tradition. According to them, a funeral was a celebration, not an occasion to be sad.

When you joined the 141, they were required to ask how you wanted preparations to be set up, if there were any “special requests.”

Your mom answered that one for you.

Never in his life did Gaz actually assume he would show up to a funeral in white.

He almost thought he would have to do it.

“This is bull shit!”

Soap’s yell snaps Gaz out of his thoughts, and he looks back at where the man is sitting on the edge of his seat yelling at the others in the room. Specifically you, who’s sitting there half in tears. If your laughing or crying is still completely unknown to him. “That clue is bull shit and you know it.”

“I’m literally HANDING you the answer!!” You yell back at him, almost choking over both your words and laughter at the same time.

“NO. YOU ARENT. THAT ANSWER IS SO SHITTY A TOILET WOUKDNT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT!!!” Soap hollers back, and the rookies explode with laughter.

“ITS A FUCKING MOVE THEY DO!”

“I don’t know what the fuck a pas de deux is but it does NOT. EXIST.”

“Bitch i was one of these hoes for twelve years, I WOUKD KNOW”

And so it continues. It had started out with a simple game between the four of you, well, three considering Si opted out, but it quickly turned into a good natured screaming match over the game. Headbands always turned out like this though, at least whenever Soap played.

“Thirty seconds, suds.” Price grumbled from the couch, and you snapped your fingers quickly, trying to think of something to give him a hint.

“Fuck uhhh, okay The Nutcracker?”

“Actor?”

“No, no but you’re close. They move around a lot more?”

“A soldier.”

“No, damnit. Like, like— fuck, fuck!! Okay pink fluffy skirts-“

“DANCER!”

“Yes!!” You scream, and you both jump for joy. Everyone in the room cheers, and Gaz even notices Ghost crack a smile under his mask.

“Fuckin ‘Pas de Deux’ what kind of a clue is that” Soap grunts, knocking back another drink. You just roll your eyes, sighing loudly.

“It’s literally a dance move everyone knows. I could have said pirouette and you still wouldn’t catch on, I don’t see a difference.” The silent insult makes him chuckle, and Gaz’s smile widens.

“Lay offit ay? Not my fault nobody knows dance terms.”

“I actually knew that.” Gaz pipes up, and Ghost nods in agreement. “It is a pretty common dance move.”

You throw your hands in the air as if to say see fucker, I was right.

Soap just rolls his eyes.

“Didn’t know you danced,” Gaz said, lifting his drink to his lips. He tries to ignore the way your eyes follow the movement, or how it takes you a few seconds longer than usual to respond.

“Mhm. Did it with my sister for a while. Wasn’t very good, unfortunately.” Gaz nods, humming.

“When’d you quit?” He asks, pretending to swirl his drink around in the glass.

You eye him suspiciously, trying to blink through the haze the alcohol has made in your mind. “Few years back, round the same time I enlisted.”

Gaz nodded. It felt wrong, using you for information like this. But this had become more than just some challenge for him, it was genuine curiosity. Like there was a constant itch in the back of his mind that he couldn’t get to die down unless he got some answers.

Usually, Ghost was the tech person. He would be the one to hack cameras, snoop on people, be the physical stalker. The problem they all ran into, though, is that a lot of your life was online. You were the youngest of them all, younger than Gaz even, and while they gave you shit for it, it meant you were way more online than they were.

Because of that, they couldn’t rely on just your files to tell them everything. There was a world hidden somewhere in all your deleted accounts, messages encoded in emails and photos from after your graduation. Piecing them together was too big of a job for one man alone, especially men of their age.

So they didn’t do it alone.

It took your near death experience to make grown ass men to realize how fucking stupid they were being about this. Simon said it himself, the 141 didn’t operate by itself. It was a team. They were a team. They did things together, which meant they would get their answers together. It also meant they would get to share you at the same time, but that wasn’t a foreign concept to them.

And none of them really had an issue sharing with each other.

That night, after everyone else had turned in , Gaz got to work. He used the best lead of you he had (your beginning of the year photo for Junior year, taken just before everything disappeared) and worked his way down. He flew through all of your files, finding names, dates and addresses. Long ago he figured out that numbers were the most important thing in a task like this. Without them you could get nowhere. He followed paths he had taken dozens of times, different directions to get to the same conclusion. There wasn’t anything there. Just like you predicted, it all stopped at your junior year.

This time, though, that wasn’t what he was looking for.

Once he hit that wall again, He went back and retraced his steps. He included references to clubs in his search, finding every extra circular at your school and looking into their history. Nothing came up for a long, long time.

It was nearly sunrise before he found something. Normal people would have seen this and not batted an eye, but Gaz was too keen in his research to miss it.

In an article about your schools dance team, just a few months before graduation two names glared out on the screen at him. Your name, and someone else’s who rhymed quite well with yours. The gears spun in his head, and he laughed to himself in pure shock.

They were on a a wild goose chase for the wrong person.

It explained why he was physically unable to find anything on you, because he wasn’t even looking for you in the first damn place. He was tracking down your sister.

He took the two names and pasted them into his system, hitting enter on the keyboard.

Over three hundred search results came up, but only one caught his eye.

“Local College student gets killed in school shooting, family is left devastated.”

He might have to do a bit more digging than he thought.

Finding the photos was the easy part. Now that he knew who you were, they were everywhere. You really had gotten up to a lot behind their backs, you had at least tried out every club once and volunteered everywhere in your damn state. It was impressive that you managed to switch personalities so quickly, going from someone so loud and outgoing to… well, you. He knew hiding this much information wasn’t easy, having to go under an alias a few times to escape capture taught him that the hard way. But you did it with ease, as if you…

Oh.

He had to tell Price.

AN: if you can spot the audio reference and tell me which audio it comes from, who made it and give me a time stamp i’ll post the next chapter early (as in; as soon as i see the ask/comment)

#cod x reader #poly 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost x reader

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ayanominitrash · 5 months

Text

cross my mind - Gojo x reader

When a cute girl riding her bike in Jujutsu High strolls past Satoru, he almost breaks his neck trying to follow the fleeting figure.

He had to blink twice behind his blindfold to make sure he wasn't just seeing things. He's spent nearly half of his life in the Jujutsu High Tokyo Branch, and he's certain that it's his first time seeing a stranger. Could it be a student from the Kyoto Branch? He wasn't informed of any transferees or visitors. Well, he might have been slacking off and not attending the faculty meetings nowadays, but still. Someone must've not inform him. The tall man thinks he'll give his assistant, Ijichi, a slap later if this turns out to be true.

He stands there for a few seconds, wondering if he should ask her questions, but then again, it might have been just his imagination. Plus, he's already running late to meet his students for a mission.

He carries on his way and exits the campus.

Satoru doesn't even remember that encounter happening until he sees the same girl on the bike again when he comes back from the mission. She was just about to leave the school gates when Satoru put a large hand up to stop her.

"Woah, woah. Excuse me," he says in a firm voice, "but you can't be riding a bike here. Also, are you lost?"

You skid to a stop beside him, planting your sneaker-clad feet on either side of your blue bike. Up close, Satoru can see you clearly and confirms his initial thought of this stranger being cute, especially with how your short-sleeved pastel blue summer dress flows in the breeze, the ends of the skirt slightly riding up past your knees. and the white collar of it folding up to your chin a bit. His hand was itching to fix it for you for some reason.

Why is he thinking about that now? Focus, Satoru.

You stare back at him blankly, indicating that you haven't heard what he is saying. He repeats, and as he's speaking, his eyebrow shot up in his blindfold in his realization that you have no cursed energy.

"I'm not lost," you finally say. "Also, do you not know how far and wide this place is? I couldn't possibly manage myself on foot."

Satoru is slightly taken aback by your bluntness. "If you're not lost, then you do know this is a monastery, right? You can't ride your bike here."

"I'm actually aware this is also a school. But if that is the practice here, I was just about to leave anyway, so… let me off the hook?"

"I'm actually a faculty member here, so…"

"I know who you are."

He pauses. "You do?"

"Satoru Gojo. I heard that I'd know you from your height and blindfold."

"And what about for my incredible good looks?" He smirks. He just couldn't help himself.

"I have yet to see, my guy."

Satoru lifts up the left side of his blindfold to take a peek down at you—or more so, flaunting his captivating blue eyes—so he was told. His smirk is still in place as he pats his blindfold back down over his eye. "Anyway, as a faculty member, I have to know what business you have here."

You lean forward to rest both arms on the top of the bike's handlebars, a bored look on your face. "Trust me, I didn't want to bike my way up here, but my dumb cousin left his lunch, and it was up to me to save the day."

"Cousin?"

You look up at him with a straight face. "Yaga-kun."

Shivers.

Shivers are what Satoru felt up his spine.

What are the odds that the one non-curse user or sorcerer he decides to kind of flirt with is the cousin of his boss and sensei? Gross.

He doesn't miss a beat. "Carry on then."

"Hey, that's it? How do you know I'm not lying?" You ask as he starts walking away.

"No one calls that cranky geezer like that around here. Pretend this never happened, yeah? It'll both do us good, I think."

He doesn't look back at you again, but he does throw a goodbye wave over his shoulder. You pout as you watch him walk deeper into the campus before strolling away.

♡

Quite some time has passed since Satoru last saw you on your bike, but sometimes during the day, he'll recall the brief encounter and wonder how you were doing. He never dared to bring it up and ask Yaga-sensei. Who knows what trouble he'll stir up if he learns he might've been kind of flirting with his cousin?

But there you are again, and Satoru, again, has to blink behind his blindfold just to make sure that it was in fact you, walking on along the outskirts of the training ground he and his first years are in. He watches you quietly with his hands on his hips while his students carry on with their training, obliviously. Your gaze was fixed on his students and on him while walking, holding what seemed to be a lunch bag in your small hands. He notes that you're not wearing a summer dress this time. What adorns your body is instead a white long-sleeved shirt and a grey long skirt that goes down above your ankles, feet covered in brown dress shoes. He doesn't miss the way your lips turn into a slight upward smile, which he finds cute, but he immediately has a hand slashing across his neck, meaning to not acknowledge him in front of his students. Something flashes on your features—disappointment maybe? before you look back forward and continue walking as if you never saw them.

"Who's that?" One of his students, Yuji, says while lowering his shinai, staring up at your fleeting figure.

"She's pretty. I've never seen her here before, though," Kugisaki pipes while wiping a sweat off her brow.

Satoru hums. You are pretty.

"Do you know her, Sensei?" Megumi asks beside him in his usual monotone voice.

"I have never seen her before in my entire life."

"Eh? Then she might be lost then? I sense no cursed energy." Yuji says, "May I be excused, Gojo-sensei?"

"No!" Satoru abruptly answers, making his students jump a bit. He quickly fixes his demeanor by clearing his throat. "As a faculty member, I'll go and see what's up, yeah? You students keep on training 'til I come back."

With that, he wastes no time teleporting to where he thinks you will be.

"What's with that blindfolded idiot?" Kugisaki asks while readying her stance to spar with Megumi again.

"Blindfolded idiot? You've been hanging around too much with Maki-senpai," Yuji comments, earning a whack on his head.

♡

You were quietly walking through the empty hallways of Jujutsu High when suddenly Satoru, in all his tall glory, came into view from around the corner.

"Gojo-sama?" You stop in your tracks as you come face-to-face with him.

You can't entirely read his expression with his blindfold, but you thought the tips of his ears turned pink just now.

"Hello, you. Lunch again?"

You frown before sidestepping him to continue your way down the hallway. "Again? We haven't met before, have we?"

"Aww, someone's got their panties in a bunch?"

You swirl around at him, face all red and a scandalous look on your face in response to what he just said. He tries but fails to not laugh at you.

You continue walking.

"Well, then how about a proper introduction this time? Satoru Gojo. You?"

A few beats of silence, then, "Masamichi, Y/N."

"Hmm, Y/n. And will I be seeing you around enough for me to remember that?"

"I hope not. It's so hard to travel here."

"Not without your bike? You listened to me, eh? A good girl you are."

You ignore the summersaults your heart just did at the name he gave you. "Well, I'm an outsider, so I don't really want to cause any trouble."

"I thought you'd use your cousin-of-the-principal privilege."

"Not everyone is a brat like you, Gojo-sama."

"Oh, and how would you know?"

"My cousin's your boss, remember?"

He heartily chuckles at that.

You've decided you like that sound.

"Why are you here anyway? Don't you have class in session?"

"One of my students was going to come up to you, thinking you were lost. I can't let either one of you talk behind my back now."

"You're so self-centered."

He scoffs but doesn't reply, and you don't say anything as well.

Soon, you find yourself watching Satoru open the sliding doors for you to your cousin's office.

"Y/n! Finally." The brawny man behind the desk straightens up in his chair, only to deflate once again when he sees who you're with. "What are you two doing together?"

"So no hi—hello, my favorite student and co-worker?" Satoru says while sliding the door shut behind him.

"Get out."

You walk up to the desk, "Yaga-kun, I didn't think you'd be so mean, especially how I just have to bring your lunch to you again. You don't even provide me transportation; I had to go on foot."

"What happened to your bike?"

Satoru clears his throat.

"Well." You start, "Just because I have a bike doesn't mean it's okay for you to keep counting on me to bring your forgotten lunch."

"Alright," the grown man sulks, "I'll try to remember it this time."

"You should! I have classes to teach, you know."

"You a teacher then?" Satoru pipes in, genuine interest laced in his voice.

Both you and Yaga-kun look back at the tall man, now sprawled on one of the guests' couches.

"Yes - "

"You don't have to answer that buffoon," he grumbles, to which Gojo pouts. "Also, why am I under the impression that you two know each other? Did I miss something?"

"I have never seen her before in my entire life."

When your cousin looks back at you for confirmation, you only shrug at him. "Well, I suppose I should introduce you to each other. Y/n, Gojo Satoru, a pain in the ass. Gojo Satoru, Y/n, another pain in the ass, but my distant cousin."

You stick your tongue out to Satoru, and he chuckles again.

He finds you too cute.

"Who's older then? Does she need to address me in some way other than 'your highness'?"

You can definitely see the vein almost popping from Yaga-kun's forehead after hearing Satoru's boastful words, "I think you're a year older than her. That doesn't matter. Y/n, I'll make sure to remember my lunch this time; I don't want you to catch this fool's crudeness."

The tall man feigns hurt while you only roll your eyes but can't stop yourself from smiling.

♡

Yaga-sensei was not kidding about remembering his lunch because months had gone by and Satoru was beginning to forget the sound of your voice.

His students asked who you were after that encounter, and he simply said that it was the principal's distant cousin. He also tells his students to make sure to tell him when you're spotted on campus again so he can assist you. "She was lost, and she told me she's forgetful. It's better if I lead the way, yeah? Being a faculty member and all."

All three of his students' eyebrows were raised.

After some time, Satoru finds himself hiding Yaga-sensei's lunch bag just so he can get the chance to see you again. He doesn't know why he would go do something as snatching someone's lunch for a non-sorcerer, let alone for his boss's cousin, but what he does know is that he misses the back-and-forth banter between you two and he misses your cute little reactions whenever he says something that caught you off-guard. He misses how you make his heart flutter. Like, who else is he going to flirt with on campus? Plus, he's bored out of his mind because his students and co-workers are busy, and he should be too, but that's not important right now.

He'd hide the lunch bag at lunch time, but if you don't come after the day, he secretly returns it. After a couple of attempts at scheming,, none of it seems to work and he decides to keep it a bit longer.

Still nothing.

In desperation, Satoru finds himself whistling nonchalantly as he strolls into the principal's office, pretending to be intrigued by the paintings hung up on the walls.

"What the hell are you doing here, Satoru?" The principal grumbles. "Stop slacking off."

"I am nooootttt. Can't I pay my Sensei a visit?"

"No."

"Hmm, then you don't want this, then?"

He holds up the lunch bag he'd stolen two days ago, which he doesn't dare to open, dreading the impending doom of stench that might seep out of it.

"I've been wondering where that went. Where did you find it?" The man looks almost relieved, like a thorn was pulled off his side. "I've been thinking that there's some type of cursed spirit lurking and hiding my stuff, specifically my lunch, for some reason."

"Aren't you glad? Since this has been missing, does that mean your cousin what's-her-face had to visit recently?"

He grits his teeth. "You mean Y/n."

"Yeah, Y/n, yeah. Her."

Shameless.

He'll take any excuse to say your name at this point.

Desperate and shameless, the man that he is.

"She's a teacher for a high school and a college, and this time around is usually a busy time for teachers since it's finals. Something that should also be applicable to you too, right? Satoru."

The man in question only smiles at him.

"So, teacher, huh? Do you also go to her school every once in a while?"

"None of your business, Satoru. Go back to your class."

"Okay, then where is this high school or college?"

"I said OUT."

Satoru can only pout in defeat.

But only for a while.

As mentioned, he was a desperate and shameless man. He purposefully continues to slack off on his duties for the rest of the day, shutting down Ijichi's pleas about important meetings and about this and that - blah,blah, blah. A man needs his big ball of sunshine, you see. And he finds himself thinking of you because of that statement.

The fact that you're his sensei's cousin doesn't even bother him anymore; he really just wants to see you.

So there he was, finally out of his uniform and blindfold, covered in a dress shirt with his glasses instead, traveling across the city in hopes of bumping into you. He knows it would almost be impossible, especially with you having no curse energy, so he can't pinpoint you in the crowd, but he might as well grab his favorite snacks in town and relax from all the hard work he hasn't been doing at all lately. After a while of cafe-hopping and people-watching, he quickly began to get bored and decided to look up the nearby high schools and colleges, hoping your name would pop up.

Desperate and shameless.

He finds your public profile on a website of what looks like a joint elementary and high school establishment.

Now that wasn't too hard. He wishes he had done this sooner.

♡

"What on earth are you doing here?"

You cross your arms across your chest, your eyes looking around the kid's school park, wary of any eyes that might be looking at the two of you and getting the wrong idea. Your self-consciousness cause you to bring your cardigan closer together as it rests over your long floral summer dress. Luckily, classes are still in session, so no one was around to see the two of you. You have no idea why this man, someone you met briefly ages ago and just a co-worker of your grouchy cousin, has turned up at your workplace.

Satoru was grinning up at you as he slightly swayed in his swing. He almost looks funny all folded up like that in a child's seat.

"I came to give you this. Sensei doesn't like me doing any favors, so just tell him that it was delivered to you or something."

Placed in your hands, you see the old lunch bag in which you usually pack your cousin's lunch in the mornings.

"I've been giving him hell for losing this. But did you really just come all the way here to give this to me?"

"I was on my day off, and I figured I'd give this to you personally, you know, because what's inside is probably gross right now."

"You didn't even empty the contents?"

"Who do you think I am?"

"Um, a creep who just showed up to the place I work?"

"I could say the same thing to you back then."

You scoff, clutching the lunch bag in your hands a little too hard. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Gojo-sama?"

"Not even a thank you?" He grins cheekily, and you're starting to get a little annoyed.

Annoyed at how good-looking he is right now, especially with how you can see his blue eyes peer up at you through his glasses.

It's making you squirm a bit under his gaze.

"Thanks."

A pause, then, "By the way, how come I've never seen you around here before?"

"Hm? I just recently moved in next to my cousin's house."

"Ah, I see."

Satoru grins and stands up to stretch his arms over his head. You immediately looked away when the open top buttons of his dress shirt showed a little too much of his skin enough for it to be inappropriate. "Well, I gotta get going and savor my day off."

"Gee, I wish I had one too. Finals season is always hell. I can imagine yours is too."

"Yeah, definitely. Totally."

"Alright, I better get going."

You turn around and start walking, but you change your mind and whip back around, only to find him stopping a few steps from you.

"Is there something - ?" "How about you - ?"

The two of you start to talk at the same time, only to laugh at each other.

"You first," you say after the last giggle.

"Nah, I feel like I've been talking for a long time. You go."

"Well, how about I go on and accompany you on the rest of your day off? I could use a mini break."

To this end, Satoru scratches the back of his nape. You immediately add, "It's okay if you'd rather."

"No. I mean, come with me, yeah. That was what I was gonna say too. It was getting boring being by myself."

You smile. "Okay. Should we meet at the cafe? I'll just finish a few tasks and then I'm done."

"Of course. Do your thing. I'll wait."

With that, you start walking back. After a few steps, you peek behind you only to see the tall man punching a fist into the air.

Of course, he didn't come all the way here just to give you some old, crusty lunch bag.

Little did he know that you were almost desperate enough to pull the same trick on him just so you could see him again.

Almost desperate and shameless, the woman that you are. ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ (❀❛ ֊ ❛„)♡ reblogs and comments are appreciated//do not repost my work anywhere // Finally, I posted again :)) I've been trying to write for Naoya but I find it difficult to write his character - Satoru is the easiest to write for me, cus we alot alike ♡

#gojo jjk #jjk gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk fanfic #fanfic #jujustu kaisen #yaga masamichi #fluff #teachers #yuji itadori #kugisaki nobara #megumi fushiguro

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shadowlali · 6 months

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mayor que usted - ch. 1

COD AU - Coronel Alejandro Vargas x fem!reader

[18+] wc: ~3.3k series masterlist

series summary: You live a carefree and happy life in Las Almas now that El Sin Nombre is gone. Unbeknownst to the people, a new narco moves in with his eyes on you and nothing to lose. Alejandro steps up as your pretend boyfriend while Los Vaqueros stage a plan to take down this new threat. It's fake dating until it's not. You and Alejandro slip into the roles too well and lines begin to blur. Will Alejandro be able to let go of his own rules to allow himself the chance to find love? Based off this request.

warnings: NSFW, some proofreading, no smut in this chapter, no use of y/n, not too many descriptions of reader (Alejandro is taller than reader), original characters introduced, age gap (not specified but keep it legal), stalker behavior by unwanted suitor, brief mentions of sexual harassment, mentions of blood/violence, mentions of narcos/cartels, mentions of drugs, mutual pining a/n: the first chapter of my first ever series! this chapter will establish their dynamic and the story! enjoy!

Alejandro’s P.O.V.

Alejandro walks through the backdoor of Rudy’s home, hearing the music and lively chatter of the Parra and Vargas family. He goes around and greets both families and friends until he ultimately sees you. You’re talking to Rudy’s younger sister, Ximena, the two of you notoriously always joined at the hip. His heart begins to race once he sees you laugh. He pretends to listen to a conversation with Rudy, but his eyes keep moving back to you.

Dios, that smile… He’s not supposed to think your smile is pretty or that your laugh perfectly scratches that itch in his brain. Your Ximena’s best friend for god sakes, part of the Parra family at this point. Alejandro shouldn’t be interested, you're younger than him, not prepared for the life he has. It doesn’t matter that both the Parra and Vargas family know of the mutual attraction and try to push Alejandro to swoop you up before someone else does, he doesn’t – he won’t ruin you.

That doesn’t mean he can flip a switch on his emotions. He can’t just tell himself to ignore the desire and your allure. Alejandro watches as you get up to dance with one of Rudy’s cousins, Javier or Jaime or whatever his name is. Jealousy burns his stomach while you laugh the moment you’re spun in a circle. He feels someone bump his shoulder and turns to see Ximena.

“You should ask her to dance. I think she’ll say yes,” Ximena says as she points to you.

“Don’t point,” Alejandro says as embarrassment colors his cheeks from being caught. “No, I’m not going to ask her to dance. I wasn’t–wasn't even looking at her.”

She raises her eyebrow at his words. “Honestly, Alejandro, I don’t know why you do this to yourself. You two obviously like each other. And like I told Rudy, I’m okay if my best friend and older brother date.”

Alejandro whips his head around,” Rudy is interested in–”

“No, menso,” Ximena interrupts with a laugh,” you’re my other older brother.” [Dummy]

Alejandro remembers to breathe in that moment. He should’ve known Ximena was talking about him. He and Rudy consider themselves brothers and of course Ximena would also consider Alejandro her brother as well. Her words bounce around in his head. A selfish part of him thinks you would fit well in his life.

You would be okay to wait for him while he’s on mission. You would busy yourself on his ranch by riding his horses or having picnics in his peach orchard. Maybe you’d visit his mom and calm her nerves while he’s away. You wouldn’t be too scared when he’s gone on dangerous missions because you’d know he’d always find a way back to you.

He wonders if you’d enjoy a weekend camping up in the mountains or if you’d let him take you to the restaurant you love so much or if you’d enjoy walking around town where everyone could see you two together. Alejandro always stops wondering the moment he realizes other people would bear witness to the relationship. What would they think about him, a man roughened up by war and bloodshed, taking advantage of such a sweet girl like you?

Alejandro knows you’ll say yes if he asks you to dance. He’d be stupid if he didn’t notice how you look at him and the way you touch his arm when he’s close. He doesn’t allow himself to be alone with you, knowing he’ll fall to his knees and beg for your affection. So instead Alejandro, as much as it pains him, hopes that you’ll find someone. That you’ll focus your pretty eyes on someone else. Then, God willing, Alejandro won’t be tempted by you anymore.

Ximena pokes his arm, gaining his attention once more. “Will you dance with me?”

He nods and follows her to the dance floor as a new song begins. You’re still dancing with Rudy’s cousin, whatever-his-name-is continuing to spin you around and make you laugh. A minute into the song, Ximena abruptly spins them both around and puts them right next to you.

“Javier, you need to teach me how to dance,” Ximena says as she lets go of Alejandro.

“Uh,” Javier turns to look at you then back at his cousin,” sure yeah, next song–”

“No, now!”

Before Alejandro knows what’s happening, he’s pushed towards you and Ximena whisks Javier away. You look at Alejandro and give him a confused smile.

“We don’t have to–” you begin to say.

“I guess we should–” Alejandro interrupts,” Oh. Si no quieres bailar conmigo, we don’t have to.” He’s not sure why he feels a pinch in his heart. [If you don’t want to dance with me]

“No–I mean, yes. Why don’t we just dance?” you stumble over your words.

The music has now switched to a new song, something soft and romantic. Alejandro stares into your eyes and grasps one of your hands in his. His other hand is placed on your hip and you both begin to sway to the music. The rest of the guests fade away until it's just you too holding each other close. He falls victim to the pools of color in your eyes and the slope of your nose. He tries to stay strong and not glance at your soft lips, but eventually he does.

“I didn’t realize you were such a great dancer, Coronel,” you whisper.

Alejandro lets out a small chuckle and grasps your hand a little tighter. The dress that you’re wearing is thin enough that he can feel the warmth of your skin on your back.

“My mom taught me,” he whispers back. “She said if I ever want a wife I need to know how to dance.”

“Señora Vargas is a smart lady, that's why I like her–”

“She likes you too, nena,” Alejandro interrupts,” she likes you too.”

He’s being honest. His mother along with Rudy’s always have nothing but good things to say about you. Qué niña tan lista e independiente. She’s going to make someone very happy, they’d say. [What a smart and independent girl]

“Can I cut in?” Rudy says.

Alejandro reluctantly lets your hand go. He walks away and turns as you and Rudy begin to dance, catching your eyes and giving you another smile.

- - -

Reader's P.O.V.

“¿Todo bien?” Rudy asks with concern clouding his features. [Everything okay?]

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be–oh… That,” you respond.

A few days prior, you and Ximena visited a bar in town. Las Almas is a small town, mostly everyone knows each other. When a couple of drinks were placed in front of you by the bartender, you both thought maybe a friend or family member had sent them. What you weren’t expecting was a guy dripped in gold and silk to slide up next to you, a little too close for comfort. You tried to deny the drinks, already knowing where this was going.

From the clothes he wore and the way he talked, even before he told you what he did for a living, you already knew. When El Sin Nombre reigned supreme in Las Almas, guys like him existed in every corner. Guys who thought that one day they would run the Las Almas Cartel if they pushed enough merchandise or threatened enough people, all in expensive clothing.

You hadn’t seen him before and he confirmed your suspicions when he told you he was from more down south. His name was León and he was here to take advantage of the border that separated Las Almas and Texas. You and Ximena sat there in disbelief, thinking that maybe someone was pulling a prank on you.

León spoke so casually about everything, like if it was no big deal selling hardcore drugs or amassing enough artillery for a small army. Your body ran cold at his words. Life had improved drastically at the exile of El Sin Nombre. Yet here was this random guy who was able to enter Las Almas so easily.

He didn’t seem to notice or care as you and Ximena stared back in horror. León, if that was even his real name or just a moniker, took a small baggie filled with white powder out of his pocket and squeezed your upper thigh.

“It’s supposed to… heighten, every cell in your body,” he said while running a hand up and down your cold skin.

You’re not sure how Ximena managed to safely drag you out of the bar, a weak excuse thrown at León. The two of you drove to the Vaqueros’ base where Rudy was stationed for the night. No way were you going to risk León following you back to your house. Rudy took your words’ seriously and dispatched two soldiers to go check the bar if he was still there. They didn’t find him, no surprise, but they did see him leave and arrive through the security cameras.

Ximena convinced you to stay the night at their house, just so you wouldn’t be alone. Rudy decided to keep what happened quiet, wanting to gather as much evidence as he could before presenting the information to Alejandro. The trail has run cold, Rudy not being able to track which roads León used to get into and leave Las Alamas. No new property had been bought recently and there were no new satellite images of any incoming trucks or planes passing through Las Almas.

You thought you had seen him while walking to work the following morning, someone with the same build and awful fashion sense standing across the street, but when you glanced back there was no one there.

“I thought I saw him the other day but… it might have just been my mind playing tricks on me.”

Rudy nods at your words.”If you see him again, please and I mean it please, call me or Alejandro immediately. Don’t engage, we don’t know anything about this guy.”

“I will Rudy, I promise.”

Rudy gives you a brotherly kiss on your forehead and leads you off the dancefloor once the song finishes. You spend the rest of the evening talking and eating while trying to dodge Javier’s advances. He’s cute and polite, but he can’t compare to Alejandro. Sooner rather than later you’ll have to let the crush go, but there’s a small part of your heart that still holds hope.

Alejandro managed to focus his sole attention on you while dancing and even now you keep finding him look at you before quickly glancing away once he’s been caught. The last thing you want to do is seem desperate, but you wish he would let go of his annoying principles for just one moment.

As the night goes on, neither family seems to be getting tired or having any plans to stop the party. You have a busy schedule in the morning and it's still somewhat of a drive back into town from Rudy’s ranch. You begin to say your goodbyes, and surprisingly Alejandro offers to walk you out.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to drive you, nena?”

You smile at the nickname,“I’m sure, Alejandro. Thank you.”

He holds the car door open for you and waits in the driveway while you reverse out onto the road. You stay smiling throughout the entire 15 minute drive back to your house and even as when parking your car. Right as you step onto the porch, you notice the door to the house slightly open. Your brain begins to race with a million thoughts and it becomes difficult to breathe.

Even in the moonlight you can see the doorknob and lock have been knocked off for easy entry. Against your better judgment, you slowly tip toe up the porch and push open the door. There, on your entry table, is a large bouquet of red roses with a note sticking from the top. Cold sweat runs down your back and you stay frozen to the spot. You’re scared to enter more into the house to find safety in your room but also scared to run the few steps back to the car.

The party and Rudy’s ranch seem so far away now. You take a deep breath and run back to your car while pressing the unlock button only once so it opens just the driver’s side. You don’t know if someone is waiting to grab you outside or if they’re waiting inside, but you don’t want to risk it. Once in the safety of the car, you check the back seat quickly and speed out of the driveway. You press Rudy’s name on your phone and begin to explain in rushed words what just happened.

The drive to the Vaqueros' base seems long and each car that passes next or behind you seems like a threat. The moment you pull up to the entrance, the soldier on duty waves you in. You park in front of the building that holds Rudy and Alejandro’s office as another truck parks next to yours. Before you know it, Alejandro has yanked your trembling body out of the car and squeezes you to his chest.

“Are you okay, nena? Are you hurt? Did anything happen to you?” He says his words in a rush.

“I’m–I’m okay, no one was there I think. Where’s–where’s Rudy? I thought he was meeting me here?”

Alejandro sighs and presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “He went to check your house with a few other soldiers. They’re going to review the security system and see if they can find who did it.”

You close your eyes and nod to his words. Your body begins to calm down while Alejandro keeps you locked in his arms. His hand massages the back of your skull and your grip the front of his shirt to keep you balanced.

“You should’ve told me,” he whispers,” you–you need to tell me stuff like this. Gracias a Dios que no te paso nada. Let’s get you inside, yeah?” [Thank God nothing happened to you]

Alejandro leads you into the building and directly to his office. He makes you lock the door, you guess more for comfort than for safety, as this is most likely the safest place in Las Almas. He leaves to get some pillows and blankets for you to rest a bit.

“Only for a while until Rudy comes back. Then we’ll take you with us.”

You’re not sure if that means back to Rudy’s or to Alejandro’s ranch, but you’re too shaken up to ask more questions. You begin to think about the state of your home. There was someone in your home. Someone went in and did God knows what and left a bouquet of roses. To taunt you? To make you cower in fear? You’re not even sure if they destroyed or took anything. You most likely know who did this but you don’t want to believe it was him.

- - -

Alejandro’s P.O.V.

He hasn’t stopped shaking with anger the moment Rudy got the terrified call from you. Alejandro ran to his truck and managed to arrive at base in only a few minutes. He did his best to control his anger at Rudy for not informing him about the incident at the bar. It was Rudy’s job to gather intel first then present information to Alejandro if it posed a threat. They weren’t even sure if it was the same guy or just an isolated incident.

Once you explained, your voice trembling from adrenaline and fear, how you didn’t stick around and jumped back into your car, he praised you for being such a smart girl. He’s not letting you back into that house until they find who did this. Alejandro doesn’t care if he has to drag you kicking and screaming to stay at his or Rudy’s ranch.

Alejandro returns to the office and wraps a blanket around your shoulders warm your cold skin. Once he’s sure you're comfortable, he leaves again to meet with Rudy downstairs, making sure you lock the door behind him.

“Did you find anything?” His voice is rough as he talks to Rudy.

Rudy holds up a plastic evidence bag with a white note and some words scribbled on it.

“I’ll see if we can get prints on it to identify this ‘León’ guy.”

“You think it’s him?” Alejandro asks.

“Read the note, Coronel.”

You didn’t give me a name the last time we talked. I found you anyway. I even know your favorite flowers. Red roses, right? Like the color of the lipstick you wore that night at the bar. Nos vemos pronto, muñeca. –León [See you soon, doll]

Anger and something akin to fear rises in Alejandro’s body. No one gets to threaten you and make you fear your own home. No one gets to stalk you and make you feel unsafe in the town you grew up in. He made sure that Las Almas would be a safe place for you, for everyone. And he’s not going to let some wannabe narco cause you terror and destroy everything he’s built.

“We need to get the security footage from her house and the surrounding houses. We need to confirm he only left a bouquet of roses and nothing else. I need someone to change the locks on her door and–”

“Coronel,” Rudy interrupts Alejandro’s anxious tirade,” Coronel, we are doing all of those things, no te preocupes. We need to focus on finding this guy and figuring out if he’s actually moving coke.” [Don’t worry]

“Rudy, that’s your focus right now? What about her–”

“I know, Coronel. That’s my next point. He thinks she’s alone, single. What if–and hear me out before you yell at me again–what if she has someone?”

Alejandro stares back at Rudy in confusion. “Yes, I expect her to have un escolta the moment she leaves base and until we find León.” [a guard]

“That’s not–that’s not what I’m saying. What if we have one of the soldiers step in as her boyfriend–”

“¿Qué chingados estás diciendo, Rodolfo?” [What the fuck are you saying]

Rudy ignores Alejandro and keeps talking,” Maybe it’ll scare him enough to leave her alone and then we can focus on–”

“Rodolfo,” Alejandro says in a voice simmering with anger,” I will not allow one of the soldiers to date–”

“Pretend date–” Rudy interrupts.

“Me vale ver–” [I don’t give a shi–]

“Or you could do it. Who else than the Coronel to scare a narco away?”

At that, he stays quiet. Rudy stares back, an obvious glint of victory in his eyes. Alejandro thinks about the situation. While he trusts each and everyone of his soldiers with his life, the idea of one of them dating you, even if it's pretend, makes his stomach churn. And as ridiculous as Rudy’s plan sounds, he’s right. Alejandro would have a much better chance at protecting you if León and everyone in Las Alamas believes you two are dating.

- - -

Reader's P.O.V.

“Wait–I’m sorry. I don’t understand how this is supposed to help me?”

You’re in Alejandro’s guest room with Rudy, Ximena, and Alejandro. Ximena looks at you and back at her brothers with the same confused look. Rudy and Alejandro, well mostly Rudy, just explained their plan to get León away from you at least until they find out where his operations are happening. Alejandro hasn’t said much but his eyes don’t leave you.

“If León is interested in moving merca’ through Las Almas, then he’s not going anywhere. We’lll find him,” Rudy’s voice is serious, “but we’re worried about you. Alejandro thinks it’s best if you two pretend to date.” [goods]

You want to laugh, you really do. In only a few hours you went from flirting with Alejandro to your house being broken into to now being his pretend girlfriend.

“This sounds like one of those romance novels,” Ximena says.

Alejandro shakes his head. In a few strides he reaches then kneels in front of you. “This is—this is serious. We need to make this believable, nena.” He reaches up to cup your jaw and without thinking you place your hand over his.

“Okay, Alejandro… Let's do it.”

part 2 | part 3 [epilogue]

main masterlist

#alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas x female reader #alejandro vargas smut #cod x reader #cod mw2 x female reader #alejandro vargas #cod mw2 smut #shadowlali

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