#I will make you cooler than you're supposed to be | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

winwintea · 2 months ago

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that's okay

PAIRING ↬ academic rival!na jaemin x ace!female reader

TAGS ↬ fluff, romance, slight angst, academic rivals to lovers au, college au, fake dating au, jaemin = campus playboy, drunk decisions, art museum date, plushies because i want a plushie, jaemin is kinda whipped fr

SUMMARY ↬ you're determined to outshine your academic rival na jaemin, the campus heartthrob infamous for his frivolous reputation. but when a few too many drinks suddenly ropes you into a fake dating scheme with jaemin, you realize that there's much more to him than his playboy persona. can two opposites navigate a connection that’s anything but fake?

WORD COUNT ↬ 3.7k+

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ HAPPY BIRTHDAY @lotties-readings !! grinding this fic in a day was so fun. the 3 am brain creativity actually carried this time too. hope i did him justice 😭😭 SHOUTOUT TO THE ASEXUAL COMMUNITY I LOVE YALL <33 THIS ONE'S FOR YOU !!!!

PLAYLIST ↬ cooler than me - mike posner, anti-romantic - txt, are you satisfied? - marina, that's okay - d.o.

WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?

Na Jaemin. The Playboy. He’s probably slept with half of the school and the rumors are on and off with him. The college’s infamous frivolous playboy, a firm believer of the ‘hook up as much as you can before you find your soulmate!’ ideology. For some, it was oddly endearing. For you? Maddening. Because Na Jaemin wasn’t just a playboy. He was your rival. Jaemin just had this certain charm to him that attracted the masses. Everyone, including your friends, had had a crush on him at one point in their lives. Everyone except you. Despite his supposedly carefree attitude, he always ranked #1. And you? Stuck perpetually at #2, clawing at his heels, only for him to breeze past like it was nothing. If it were anyone else, maybe you wouldn’t care so much. But no—it had to be him.

You swore to steer clear of him. No parties, no flirtations, and certainly no personal involvement. That resolve lasted until one ill-advised college party, where Jaemin, drunk and absurdly charismatic, roped you into the lead role of his most ridiculous performance yet: his fake significant other. And you were equally as drunk to play along with it, nodding in the face of his ex-girlfriend as she looked at the both of you in disbelief. For a playboy like Jaemin, you thought he was managing to control his dating life better than this. But you guess he just got bored of being surrounded by love. “Just go with it,” he’d said. You hadn’t thought it would last beyond that night.

You were wrong.

You suppose it’s partly your own fault finding yourself in your current situation, considering the recent events. In a world where everyone is busy chasing after time, enjoying the dating scene, you’re an outcast. An outcast with false modesty to trick people’s curiosity. You should be used to them by now, their comments about you not being interested in relationships. And even though you do feel fed up with it, the thought of lying about dating someone just so they can shut up never crossed your mind.

“Remind me again why I have to spend the whole day being your pretend partner.” you say, glaring as Jaemin hands you a pastry. “The party doesn’t start until 10PM tonight!”

“Here you go, love. Be careful, it’s hot!” he says, completely ignoring your question. He resumes walking, hands in his pockets, as if this was the most normal thing in the world, resuming your slow stroll in the garden of a nearby art museum. You hurriedly take it from his hands if that would make him finally pay attention to your question.

“I know it’s hot,” you mutter, taking the pastry anyway. He’s insufferable. Even now, you can tell he’s doing this for show, making a big deal out of playing the doting boyfriend for the strangers milling about the museum garden. “Do you ever actually answer questions, or is that too much to ask?”

“Oh, I answer,” he breezily responds, unfolding a crumpled checklist from his coat pocket. “I’m just selective about when. Do you want to taste mine? I can taste yours too.”

“No thank you.”

Straightening the lapels of his gray coat, Jaemin fetches the brochure handed earlier to him out of his inner pocket and takes a quick look at it to make sure you checked out everything of interest in the area before entering the museum itself. “Now, do you want to check out the sculptures before we head to the main exhibit?”

The guy has a whole checklist of activities for the day. You’ve seen it. He purposely taped another page underneath just to scare you with its sheer length, but you’re seeing right through his tricks, the page is full of gibberish written just to take space. You’ve got your best frown on to keep the illusion of ignorance, hoping that you’d get bonus points for agreeing to go through the full contents of the list, both the real and the fake ones.

But is it really an act? The occasional tidbits of satisfaction coming from beating Jaemin’s brilliant mind (not that you’d ever give him the credit for it) are hardly enough to keep you entertained throughout the day. When the activities you take on today are meant to be just that, entertaining. And romantic too.

Now, were you a normal couple, a true couple, then maybe you’d be having fun now.

“Jaemin, I think partners are supposed to listen to each other. At the very least.”

He grins, entirely unbothered by your irritation. “Relax, Y/N. We’re supposed to look like we’re having fun. Couples don’t bicker this much in public, you know.”

“Maybe because real couples actually like each other.”

“And yet,” he says, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “Here we are. The picture of romance.” Ah. He’s right, damn it.

“I only lowered my guard because these people don’t know us, stupid… Let’s get inside already!”

Hearing his low, annoying chuckle triggers the sensory neurons in your brain until a neat little image of his smirk is produced with near-perfect accuracy. Have you simply seen it too many times? There’s no escape even when you turn your back to him, great.

You grit your teeth but let him guide you down a quieter path, away from the crowds. It’s all part of the act, you remind yourself. Just one day of playing along, and people will stop speculating about your personal life. Totally worth it.

Right?

Inside the museum, the tension eases slightly. The museum is magnificent to explore with the many pieces of art it houses. There’s so much to see that you’d frankly not mind getting lost in here just to have an excuse to spend more time surrounded by art.

You have to admit, Jaemin chose the perfect dating spot. You’re not sure if it was based on your own preferences. Surely not. But you find yourself not minding it suddenly.

“Picture!” he announces, pulling you close before you can protest.

Hearing the signal, you instantly turn in the direction of the raised-up phone, smiling for the camera as Jaemin presses his face closer to yours.

“Oh, this is a good one, I’m definitely posting it. You look so in love.”

“I’m in love with this work, that’s it.” you say flatly, staring at the painting behind him.

“Uh-uh. That works for me too.” Jaemin replies while his fingers dance across the screen, likely typing some cheesy caption for the picture. A second later your own phone vibrates in your pocket, signaling that he posted the picture and tagged you in it, and you don’t even bother looking.

“At least you’re a natural, Jaemin.”

“What, in faking an expression? How are you so sure?”

You blink, meeting his gaze as some child holding a balloon separates the two of you for a mere second. Instinctively, you shorten the distance so you don’t lose Jaemin, looking for his hand to take hold of. You’ve already been through that today, linking hands in the crowds. And while there was no real need to do that right now, you just did that…

To the question in your eyes evoked from his last words, he smirks and adds, “There are pieces of art here that I look at with fondness just like you do.”

Your heart sinks for a moment, only to create palpitations that mess with your head. You have no idea where they came from or what evoked this feeling in your chest, but while looking anywhere but at Jaemin, your gaze falls on other couples passing by. You were instructed to watch them if you’re having trouble recreating the subtle romantic gestures that indicate dating. Advice from him no doubt, one that you wish you could forget because it’s too late telling your brain to forget what it’s been taught. But the question is, why the sudden turning of stomachs at the sight of them?

While failing to watch your step, you lose your balance and stumble on your own feet, meeting the hard ground hands-first. You feel eyes on you for a short moment; just a mere second any stranger might spare to witness the unfortunate event before moving on with their tour.

That’s it, except for Jaemin, who is there to pull you up in a manner of utmost care, dusting off your clothes, taking you to a more secluded area with benches to rest on and asking you at least three times if you’re alright before you can snap out of your surprised state and let out a murmur of affirmation.

In the whirlwind of emotions rushing through your slightly clouded mind, you put the embarrassment of your fall aside. As Jaemin turns your hand around to inspect it, you realize that no amount of hand-holding numbs your reaction to the touch of his warm hands.

And no amount of his exaggerated lovey-dovey gestures of affection could prepare you for the look of genuine worry over something so insignificant on his face.

“You fell on your hands, they must be scrapped… let’s get them under cold water, it would wash away the dirt too.”

“It’s okay I can do it myself.” You back away from Jaemin, running to take care of it.

And that’s when you realize it.

Pretending to be Jaemin’s partner might be the biggest mistake of your life.

Because it’s starting to feel a little too real.

When you exit the bathroom, Jaemin is waiting for you outside, arms crossed with an unreadable expression on his face. The two of you continue your museum date as normal, nothing out of the ordinary happening other than Jaemin just being Jaemin.

When lunchtime rolls around, Jaemin takes you into the museum café, refusing to let you pay for anything even though he bought the museum tickets as well. Struggle as much as you want, Jaemin was pretty stubborn.

You and Jaemin sit across from each other, nursing cups of hot chocolate. The quiet buzz of conversation around you blends with the faint classical music playing overhead, the calmness contrasting your otherwise chaotic day.

You’re still nursing your wounded pride (and scraped hands) from earlier. Jaemin’s fussing had been embarrassing, sure, but also... oddly touching. It’s been messing with your head ever since.

“You’re being quiet,” Jaemin says, breaking the silence. He stirs his drink and watches you with another unreadable expression. “Not complaining. Unusual for you.”

“Just tired,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze. “This whole thing is exhausting.”

“Yeah?” He leans back, “What part? The fake dating, or me?”

“Both.”

His laugh is soft, almost self-deprecating. “Fair.”

A moment passes, and you realize he’s studying you. Not with his usual playful smirk, but something more serious. It’s unsettling and scary, like he’s peeling back layers you didn’t even know you had.

“You know,” he starts, voice quieter now, “you’ve always hated me.”

Your head snaps up. “What? I don’t—”

“Don’t lie. I noticed.” he cuts in, but there’s no malice in his tone. “It’s fine. I get it. I mean, I’m Na Jaemin, right? The playboy. The guy who’s ‘probably slept with half the school.’” He uses his fingers to air quote the phrase, lips forming a bitter smile. “That’s what people say, isn’t it?”

You feel a pang of guilt. It’s exactly what you’ve always thought, always assumed about him.

He continues, eyes fixed on his drink. “Funny thing is, that wasn’t true at first. I wasn’t like this in high school. Sure, I was flirty, but it was harmless, y’know? Then one day, someone started a rumor about me. Said I hooked up with some senior at a party.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t true, but people believed it. And once the rumors started, they didn’t stop. Girls came up to me and I just... didn’t say no.”

You blink, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. “Why didn’t you?”

“Why not?” His smile not breaking, “They already thought I was that guy. And honestly? It was easier to play the part than fight it. People liked the idea of me being the ‘fun, no-strings-attached’ guy. I became what they wanted.”

You’re quiet, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. All this time, you’d judged him without really knowing him. And now, sitting across from him, you realize how wrong you’d been.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

“For what?”

“For... hating you, I guess. I just—” You hesitate, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve, searching for the right words. “I’ve never liked the whole ‘playboy’ thing. It feels... shallow. And I don’t understand how people can be so casual about it.”

Jaemin’s gaze softens. “That’s because it’s not your thing. And that’s okay.”

Your eyes lit up with shock. You definitely weren’t expecting Jaemin to be this receptive towards your criticisms of him. “I guess I’ve always judged people like you because I don’t... get it. Sex and dating just seem so complicated and messy. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

Jaemin tilts his head, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “You’re ace, right?”

You nod, surprised he remembered. He must’ve heard it somewhere, you barely told anyone except for your close friends. Others just assumed, which was fine by you.

“That’s... honestly kind of cool,” he says, leaning forward. “I mean it. You don’t have to deal with all this shit. Expectations, drama, people using you for what they want. You just... are. I envy that.”

“You do?” The idea feels absurd. Jaemin, envying you?

“Yeah.” He smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness in it. “I’ve spent so much time being what other people expect. Sometimes I don’t even know who I really am. But you? You’re just you. That’s... rare.”

His words catch you off guard, leaving a strange ache in your chest. You wonder if he’s just been hiding behind a mask this whole time. Who really was the Na Jaemin sitting right in front of you right now? “Well,” you say softly, “I think you’re more than what people say about you.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Careful, Y/N. That almost sounded like a compliment. You’re supposed to hate me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you shoot back, but there’s no hostility in your tone.

For the first time, you see him for who he really is. Not Na Jaemin, the playboy, your rival… but just... Jaemin. And maybe, just maybe, you don’t hate him as much as you thought.

When the two of you finished your museum exploration, you found yourselves in the gift shop. The aisles were packed with trinkets, books, and stuffed animals, the kind of things that were charming but utterly unnecessary and overly expensive. You didn’t plan on buying anything, but Jaemin insisted he wanted to pick up something for a friend.

Shivering slightly, you rubbed your arms, trying to warm up in the chill from the air conditioning blowing down from the vent above.

“Cold?” Jaemin asked, his sharp eyes catching your sudden movement.

“Oh, just the A/C,” you replied quickly, waving him off, but you couldn’t stop the flush creeping over your cheeks.

“Do you want my coat?” He was already starting to remove his gray jacket, but you held up a hand.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you said hastily. “It’ll be warmer outside.”

Jaemin paused, then smirked. “Aren’t you glad your friends dragged you to that party?” He asked, standing right beside you now, picking up a penguin from the stuffed animal bin. “Isn’t he cute?”

“Absolutely not,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “Though I’ll admit, this has been... fun. Even if the ‘fake dating’ part threw me for a loop. And yes, he’s super cute. But penguins aren’t my favorite.”

He raised an eyebrow, eyes burning into you, as he turned the penguin over in his hands. “Who said it was fake?”

You blinked at him, unsure if you’d heard right. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer, just hummed and walked away, leaving you standing there with your arms crossed, frowning after him. What’s he playing at?

Trying to shake off the odd tension, you wandered to another shelf and found yourself staring at a tower of cell phone plushies. Your eyes landed on a bunny plush, adorable, with floppy ears, sparkling blue eyes, and a pink nose. You reached for it, but so did another hand.

“Oops—sorry,” you stammered, looking up to see Jaemin standing beside you again.

“Oh,” he said, his voice light, but his eyes were unreadable.

“I was just—”

“Which one did you want?” he asked, his tone suddenly serious.

“The bunny,” you admitted, pointing. “But it’s the last one, and if you wanted it—”

Before you could finish, he grabbed it.

“Actually, I did,” he said, pulling out his wallet and heading to the cashier.

You stood there, stunned and a little annoyed. Seriously? He’s that kind of guy?

As you stared forlornly at the remaining plushies: a raccoon, a squirrel, and a cat that weren’t nearly as cute. You sighed. It’s fine. It’s just a toy. But somehow, it still stung.

“Here.”

You turned to see Jaemin dangling the bunny plush in front of you, a playful grin on his face. “You—I thought you wanted it?” you said as you reached out to take it. The plush felt even softer than it looked.

“I did,” he said with a wink. “But I wanted to buy it for you.”

“I—thank you.” You stumbled over your words, suddenly feeling silly but also oddly happy. A big, goofy grin spread across your face as you hugged the bunny to your chest.

Jaemin chuckled softly. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

“Shut up,” you fired back, but your cheeks still burned.

You started to turn away, but Jaemin stopped you with a gentle tug on your sleeve. His expression was different now, serious, almost nervous, as he looked at you.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice quieter. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach flipped. “What is it?”

“This... whole fake dating thing?” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost shy. That was strange in comparison to his usual confidence. “It wasn’t just about my ex, or shutting people up. I—I’ve been watching you for a while. I mean, not in a creepy way,” he added quickly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I just... I’ve always been interested in you. You’re smart, funny, and you don’t care about impressing anyone. You’re... different. In a good way.”

Oh you weren’t expecting that. You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jaemin, I—”

“I know you have concerns,” he said, cutting you off gently. “About... your sexuality, and what people might think. But I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care what the world expects or what people say. I care about you. And I’m not asking you to change or be anything other than yourself. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. You didn’t know what to say. You’d spent so long assuming Jaemin was just a shallow playboy, someone who could never understand you. But now, looking into his eyes, you realized how wrong you’d been. Jaemin understood you way too well. Enough to the point where he was hitting all the right points of reassurance in your heart.

“I don’t know if I can be what you’re looking for,” you whispered.

He smiled softly. “You already are.”

For a moment, the world around you faded. The noise of the gift shop, the bustle of other shoppers. It was just you and Jaemin, and the quiet, fragile connection that had grown between you.

Maybe this wasn’t fake after all.

You realized just how much he’d been hiding. Jaemin, the playboy everyone admired, the guy who never seemed to take anything seriously, was opening up to you in a way that was raw, even vulnerable.

“Honestly?” you whispered, clutching the bunny plush to your chest. “I never thought someone like you would understand... someone like me.”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and reassuring. “I get that. I probably don’t fit the part, huh? But, Y/N, you’re incredible just as you are. I think it’s amazing that you know what you want and what you don’t want. I wish I’d figured that out sooner.”

You looked down, feeling way too emotional, “So, you really don’t... mind?”

Jaemin shook his head, his smile was gentle. “Not even a little. I’m here because I like you for who you are. You don’t need to be anyone else or change anything about yourself. I’m fully willing to love you. Just like this.”

His words settled over you, as warm and comforting as his coat might have been. The insecurities you’d held about relationships, about your identity, all the ways you feared you might not be enough for someone. Maybe never even find someone at all? They began to melt, replaced by a quiet sense of peace.

“So... if this isn’t fake, does that mean this is... this date is… real?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jaemin smiled, reaching down to take your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours in a way that felt so natural it sent a shiver down your spine. “It’s as real as you want it to be. No pressure, no expectations. Just us, figuring this out together.”

Looking up at him, you felt something you hadn’t quite felt before. This wasn’t about conforming to anyone’s idea of love or romance. It was about connection. And standing there, surrounded by stuffed animals and museum souvenirs, you felt like you’d found something rare.

You squeezed his hand, a small smile breaking across your face. “Alright, Jaemin. Let’s give this a try. Just... don’t go stealing all the last plushies every time we’re out together, okay?”

He laughed, his grin brightening at your words. “Only if you agree to keep that bunny plush with you as a reminder.”

“Of what?”

“Of this moment. And of the fact that someone finds you absolutely perfect, exactly as you are.”

The two of you walked out of the gift shop hand in hand, leaving behind any doubts and stepping into something perfectly real.

PERM TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @ldh0000 @polarisjisung

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lee-laurent · 3 months ago

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A Love Like No Other - Quinn Hughes

Summary: faye's whole life gets turned upside down

content: angst, pregnancy, making out, refrences to sex, dirty jokes, fluff, panic attacks, body image issues

wc: 17.8k

notes: i'll make a part 2 if you guys want! this took me ages

"I told you I'm fine, Mom," Faye sighed down the phone, continuing to highlight vocabulary words in her textbook.

"Are you sure? Your dad and I could make a trip to help out. Make sure things are-"

"Mom, you guys don't need to do that," Faye sat back in her chair, pressing her palm against the small but growing bump underneath her very oversized hoodie. It was always like this when her mom called--concern that bordered on suffocation.

"Well that Hughes boy isn't, so we just feel--"

"Quinn is busy, Mom. He's working," Faye gritted her teeth, trying to maintain her composure. It wasn't like Quinn could drop everything and come running every time she needed something. He had his own life...that was over 2,000 miles away.

"You and you're health should be his priority, Faye. It's not just about him anymore." Her mom's voice took on that disappointed edge, the one that always made Faye feel small. "You're carrying his baby and he's playing hockey like nothing has changed."

Faye squeezed her eyes shut, a wave of nausea washing over her and it wasn't entirely from the pregnancy. "I told you, he's helping in his own way. We talk. He's... trying." The words felt flimsy leaving her mouth. Like she was defending him way more than she needed to. Or maybe she was defending herself.

Her mom sighed. "I just want what's best for you, sweepea. Your senior year should be about school, not... this."

And there it was. The disappointment. The subtle reminder of everything Faye was now balancing. Projects, assignments, a baby growing inside her, and parents who could barely look at her the same way since she'd told them. It wasn't how things were supposed to go.

"I know, Mom," Faye sounded exhausted. "I've got it under control. I'm handling it." Even if some days it felt like she was hanging on by a thread.

"Okay. But remember, your dad and I are just a phone call away. If you need anything. Anything at all."

"I know." Faye swallowed back the lump in her throat. "I'll talk to you later, okay? I've got class in a bit."

"Alright, honey. Take care of yourself."

As Faye ended the call, she stared at the phone for a long moment, her thumb hovering over Quinn's name in her contact list. They hadn't talked much lately... not really. It was like there was an invisible wall between them, something neither of them knew how to address. Or maybe they just didn't want to.

She dropped the phone onto her desk and stood up, pushing away the overwhelming feelings of fear and isolation that were creeping in. She had class, a paper due, and a prenatal appointment next week. No time to fall apart.

Now how did Faye get into her current position? Well... it was quite the story.

The early summer air had a way of making everything feel lighter. All anxieties faded into the background as the music thumped through the backyard. Faye hadn't planned on going to the party, but Ethan had insisted, dragging her away for one night relaxation.

She stepped into the crowded house, the smell of cheap beer and sweat hitting her like a wall. She scanned the room for familiar faces, relieved when she spotted a few of the hockey boys gathered around the kitchen table, laughing about something she couldn't hear over the noise.

"Faye!" Luca waved her over, a large smile on his face. "We're playing pong. You in?"

She smiled back, shaking her head. "Maybe later. I'm gonna grab something to drink first." She was already regretting not staying home.

She made her way over to a cooler, but a light tap on her shoulder made her turn around. She was met with a slightly familiar face. Quinn Hughes. She knew him from being friend's with Luke's friends. They'd met once before... maybe twice. She wasn't really sure. But he looked relaxed, a grin tugging at his lips, a beer in his hand.

"Hey, funny seeing you here," he said, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the music.

"Yeah, well, Luke and his friends can be persuasive," Faye replied with a light laugh.

Quinn raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink. "You look like you could use something stronger than whatever's in that cooler."

Faye glanced at him, the casual way he leaned against the counter, his presence somehow more noticeable than the dozens of the other people crammed into the house. She bit her lip, weighing her options. It was just a drink at a party. "Maybe you're right," she smiled.

Quinn took her to take a shot with him. Then he went he passed her a cold beer from the fridge, a smile on his face. "They keep the good shit in the fridge."

She hestitated a second, but took it, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. "Thanks."

Quinn grabbed himself another beer, popping it open with ease. "So," he said, leaning back against the counter again, eyes on her, "what's a girl like you doing hanging out with a bunch of hockey degenerates?"

Faye laughed, taking a sip of her drink. "Oh, I've got connections," she said, nodding toward the group of guys still crowded around the table. "I'm friend's with your brother's old teammates. You know, the up-and-comers. Met them all first year."

"Up-and-comers, huh?" Quinn smirked. "That makes me feel old."

She raised an eyebrow, her lips turning up into a teasing smile. "You are old. What are you, like 23 now? And still hanging around college parties?"

Quinn let out a low laugh. "I've still got friends here, you know," he said, lifting his beer to his lips. "Besides, I'm not that old."

"Right, you're ancient," she teased. "At least for a college party."

"I'm not out of place. I mean, I can still outdrink everyone here," he leaned in slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. "Think you can keep up?"

"I think I can handle you, Hughes."

"Yeah? I like that."

She chuckled, feeling the lightness in the air between them, the chatter of the party fading into the background as they stood in their own little party. "So, does Vancouver know they've got an alcoholic captain, or is that a secret?"

Quinn put a hand on his chest in mock offence. "Alcoholic? You're really going for it tonight, huh?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Maybe I can prove you wrong."

"Maybe," Faye challenged. She wasn't sure if it was the beer or the way his gaze lingered on hers, but she felt like the whole moment could turn any second. Her usual defences of casual flirting and trying to play it cool, felt harder to maintain with Quinn standing so close.

"You're bold. I like that."

"I try."

"Guess I'll have to step up my game," Quinn said, his eyes flicking down to her lips for just a second. She would've missed it if she blinked. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Faye's pulse raced as Quinn leaned in just enough for their faces to be meer inches apart.

"So," his voice was low and teasing, "are you always this hard to impress, or is just me?"

"Maybe I'm just waiting for you to do something impressive," she tilted her head.

"Alright," he said softly like it was a dare. "Let's see if I can impress you."

Before Faye could respond, Quinn's lips were on hers. The kiss started slow and tentative, but quickly deepened as the spark between them came to life. Faye's heart was racing, her hand reaching out instinctively to steady herself, fingers brushing against his chest. All she could focus on was the heat of Quinn's mouth on hers and the way his hand gently gripped her waist, pulling her closer.

When they broke apart, her breath was short, her pulse still sky-high. Quinn's forehead leaned softly against hers. "Impressed yet?"

"Not bad, Hughes. Not bad."

She glanced around the crowded kitchen, suddenly aware of the fact that they were still in the middle of a party, surrounded by people. Feeling a rush of adrenaline, she looked back at Quinn, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"You know," she started, her tone casual but with an unmistakable undertone of suggestion, "my place is just a couple blocks from here."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Faye replied, stepping back. "If you want to... get out of here."

Quinn didn't hesitate, his eyes still locked on her. "Lead the way."

With a smile, Faye took him by the hand, pulling him gently out the back door, the party fading away as they made their way down the street.

Faye walked alongside Quinn, her hand still loosely intertwined with his as they made their way down the quiet street to her apartment. The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was comfortable, a shared anticipation hanging in the air.

Faye fumbled with her keys for a second before getting the door unlocked. She held it open for Quinn, watching as he took in the cozy studio.

"Nice place."

"Thanks," Faye replied, her casual confidence from the party now felt a bit more fragile in her apartment.

He smiled at her, the same easy grin he'd worn all night, and for a second, she wondered if he was feeling just as unsure as she was.

"So... what now?"

Faye smirked, stepping closer. "I think we left off somewhere around here."

She reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into another kiss. This was one deeper, hungrier, messier than the one they shared at the party. Neither of them was holding back anymore.

Quinn's hands found a place on her waist, tugging her flush against his body. The soft sounds of their breaths and the rustle of their clothes were the only sound filling the apartment. As the kiss intensified, Faye's hands slid into his hair as he pressed her against the wall. For a moment, she broke the kiss, breathing heavily with her forehead pressed against his.

"You good?" his voice carrying a hint of concern.

She nodded as she leaned in to kiss him again. This time softer and slower, savoring the moment. "I'm good," she whispered against his lips. Quinn smiled into the kiss, and they continued to her bed, the outside world disappearing completely.

Faye lay back against her pillows, the sheets pulled loosely over her chest, her body still warm and buzzing. She glanced at Quinn, who was lying beside her, one arm slung over his eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath, his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

There was an unspoken understanding between them. It wasn't love. It wasn't anything serious. Just two people enjoying a night that neither of them had planned.

Quinn shifted, lowering his arm and turning his head to look at her, a lazy smile on his face. "So, you impressed yet?"

Faye couldn't help but laugh. "You're really fishing for compliments, huh?" she teased, nudging him with her foot under the blankets.

"Can't blame a guy for trying." He stretched, then slowly sat up, running a hand through his messy hair.

Faye propped herself up on her elbow, watching as he reached down for his jeans. "So... what's the plan now?"

Quinn shrugged, slipping on his jeans and glancing back at her. "I should probably get going," he said, pulling his t-shirt back over his head. "Got some stuff to take care of tomorrow." He looked at her as if he was deciding to say something else or not. But he decided against it.

Faye nodded, not feeling any kind of disappointment. It was exactly what she'd expected. "Yeah, makes sense," she pulled the sheets tighter around herself. "I've got summer class work to do anyway."

There was no need for goodbyes or long explanations. It had been fun, casual, uncomplicated. Just how it was supposed to be.

Quinn finished lacing his shoes and glanced back at her. "This was... cool."

"Yeah, it was. No strings, right?"

"No strings," he echoed, moving toward the door, hesitating just for a second before opening it. "Take care of yourself, Faye."

"You too, Hughes." The door softly clicked shut behind him.

Faye lay back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, her mind clear. It had been a fun night--nothing more, nothing less.

Faye sat at the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the white stick in her hands. Two pink lines.

She blinked, her mind desperately trying to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. Two lines. Not one. Two. Her stomach churned as the realization slowly set in, sending her world into a spin.

It couldn't be real.

She stood up suddenly, dropping the test on the floor like it had burned her hands. Her hands shook, and she pressed them to her face, trying to breathe, to calm the panic that was rising in her chest. It wasn't possible. She'd been careful. Mostly.

The memory of the night with Quinn flashed through her mind, quick and very much uninvited. The way they had laughed, kissed, fallen into bed with that easy, casual energy, no strings attached. And no condom either.

That night had been something she was supposed to leave behind. But now she couldn't.

Her phone buzzed on her nightstand, filling the silence of her room. Faye glanced at it, her heart skipping a beat when she saw her mom's name on the screen.

"Hey, Mom."

"Faye, sweetie! Just checking in. How's everything going? Classes good?" Her mom's voice was warm and cheerful, completely oblivious to what was storming in her daughter's head.

"Yeah, uh, everything's fine," Faye replied, her voice cracking slightly. She cleared her throat, trying to steady herself. "Just... busy, you know. Summer classes and all that."

"Well, I'm sure you're managing fine, like always." Her mom's voice was full of pride, but it only made Faye feel worse. If she knew... if she knew about this...

"Yeah." Her eyes darted back to the test lying on her bed. Those two pink lines taunting her, screaming at her that nothing was fine. "I'm managing."

She had to tell someone. Eventually. But not now. Not yet. Not when she had barely processed it herself. How could she explain it to her parents? To her friends? Hell, how was she going to tell Quinn?

Quinn.

Her heart dropped into her stomach at the thought of telling him. She barely knew him.

Her mom's voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. "Faye? Sweetie, are you sure you're okay? You sound... off."

"Yeah, I'm fine," she lied. "Just tired. I'll call you later, okay?"

There was a brief pause, but thankfully, her mom didn't press further. "Okay, honey. Just take care of youself. And remember if you need anything--"

"I know. Thanks, Mom. I'll talk to you later."

She dropped the phone on the bed and buried her face in her hands. She felt like she was suffocating. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and she fought to calm down, to push away the fear that was eating her whole.

Why was this happening? What was she going to do? How could she do senior year with a baby on the way? How was she going to tell her parents? And Quinn... what would she even say?

She had to think clearly. Step by step. She wasn't ready to tell anyone yet--not her parents, not her friends, not Quinn. But she had to talk to him. He deserved to know. No matter what she decided, he needed to be a part of this conversation.

But how?

They hadn't exactly exchanged numbers that night. Faye knew she could probably get his contact info from Luke's friends--Ethan or Luca--but how was she supposed to ask for his question without raising questions? She didn't want anyone knowing the reason why. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Her eyes flickered to the pregnancy test on the floor, the two lines staring back at her, a reminder of the secret she was now carrying alone.

Faye tapped her fingers against her phone screen, staring at the group chat she had with some of the hockey guys she'd gotten close to over the years. She had to figure out how to word her request without making it obvious.

Hey, can I get Quinn's number? Totally normal, right?

She sighed, locking her phone and tossing it beside her. No matter how she phrased it, they'd ask questions. They'd want to know why she needed Quinn's number when she barely knew him. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to guess what was going on before she ahad the chance to figure it out herself.

There was no avoiding it. She had to talk to Quinn.

Her fingers flew over her keyboard before she could second-guess herself.

Faye: hey, does anyone have quinn's number? need to ask him something abt the canucks for a summer class project

Her heart raced as soon as she hit send, the lie hanging in the air. It wasn't a complete stretch--she was in communications, after all--but she felt a pang of guilt lying to her friends. Hopefully, they'd just let it go. No questions. No suspicion.

A few seconds later, her phone buzzed. It was Ethan.

Ethan: You need it for a project? That's kinda random, Faye. You good?

Of course he'd ask questions.

Faye: yeah, it's for a case study thing about sports teams. i figured since i knew some of you guys, i could reach out to a player i've actually met instead of just cold-calling some rando

Ethan: Makes sense, I guess. Hang on, I'll ask Lukey boy for it

At least he seemed to be buying her story now. She stared at her phone, her nerves making it feel like ages before he responded.

Ethan: Here you go. Don't tell Quinn I gave it to you for a project tho. He'll probs think it's weird lol

Followed by Quinn's number.

She copied his number and created a new contact. Staring at his name on her screen felt like she was a step closer to the edge of something terrifying and unknown. She couldn't just sit on it. She had to text him.

But what could she say? "Hey remember me? We hooked up, and oh, by the way, I'm pregnant"? It was ridiculous, but she had to start somewhere.

Faye: hey, it's faye. we met at the hockey house like a month and a half ago. can we talk?

Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the screen, waiting for the three little dots to appear. But they didn't. A few minutes passed. Nothing.

Maybe he was busy. Or maybe he didn't even remember her. Either way, she'd have to figure out something soon. She couldn't just not think about this. She had to handle it.

But all she could do for the time being was wait.

Quinn had just gotten back from training with Jack and Luke at a gym near their home in Michigan. All he wanted to do was crash on the couch, maybe play a round of 'chel with his brothers or scroll through his phone before taking a long nap. The grind was constant during the offseason, but he liked to be busy.

He slumped onto the couch, grabbing his phone to check if he'd missed anything during his practice session. That's when he noticed a text from a number he didn't have saved.

Faye? He had to think about it for a second before it clicked. She was an acquaintance of Luke's, someone he'd hooked up with at that party he went to at Umich. He hadn't really thought about it much since then--it had been a one-night stand. Just one night of fun.

But the way her message was phrased didn't seem like a casual "what's up" kinda text. Something about it felt off. So, he replied quickly.

Quinn: Yeah, I remember. What's up?

Faye: can we talk? it's kinda important

Important? His heart raced. She hadn't been weird that night. They'd both agreed it was just a one and done kinda deal. Maybe she needed something. Maybe it was something about Luke, or-- No, it was probably nothing.

Quinn: Sure, what's going on?

Faye: i don't really wanna do this over text. can i call you?

He sat up the straighter on the couch, his heart beating faster. This wasn't normal. Faye didn't sound like she was asking for a favour. His fingers hovered over the screen, before he typed back his response, thinking of the best wording.

Quinn: Yeah, I can talk. Gimme a sec. I'll call you

He headed up to his room, closing the door. He assumed it wasn't a conversation he wanted to have in the living room where his brothers and parents could hear. His gut told him that whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. Maybe she had crabs or something. He tapped the call button, and after a few rings, Faye picked up.

"Hey."

"Hey." Her voice sounded different. Shaky, like she was trying to keep herself together.

"So... what's going on?" he asked, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, waiting for her to speak.

There was a long pause on the other end, and he was considering checking to see if the line had dropped.

"I... I don't really know how to say this," Faye said finally, her voice faltering. "But I'm just going to say it."

He could practically hear her breathing heavily on the other end. He waited, his nerves eating him alive.

"I'm pregnant."

For a second, he didn't move, didn't say anything. His brain was still trying to process what he'd just heard. Pregnant? Did she just say she was... no, surely he just heard wrong.

"What?" his mind was struggling to keep up. "What did you say?"

"I'm pregnant, Quinn." Her voice was steadier, though she still sounded just as scared as he felt. "And it's yours."

Quinn's thoughts raced, spinning out of control. He plus thundered in his ear, drowning out anything else she was saying. How? How could this be happening? They'd only hooked up once. They'd been... no they hadn't. Shit. Once was all it took.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Quinn? Are you still there?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm still here." His voice sounded far away, even to himself.

Pregnant?

"Are you sure?" The question slipped out before he could stop himself, and he winced as soon as the words left his mouth. Of course, she's sure.

"I took two tests, but I, uh, I'll schedule an appointment with the campus clinic. I... I just found out today."

"Holy shit," he muttered under his breath. This was... a lot. He ran his hand through his hair again, pulling at the roots. He hadn't spoken to Faye since that night. And she was pregnant? With his baby?

"Yeah."

Neither of them really knew what to say. Quinn's brain was flipping through every possible scenario. His hockey career, his family, his entire future. Everything was crashing down on him at once.

"So what now?" he finally asked.

"I don't know," Faye admitted. "I'm still processing it, honestly. I haven't told anyone yet... you're the first."

The thought of being the first person she had told, hit him harder than he could have expected. He swallowed hard, a sense of responsibility creeping in even through the shock. He might not know Faye well, but it wasn't just about him anymore.

She's pregnant with his baby. His.

"I'm keeping it... I think. Like I know this is a lot, but I'm going to keep the baby."

He knew what he had to say next, even if he didn't fully understand it yet.

"I'll be there," he said suddenly, even catching himself off guard. "I mean... I'll help however I can. I'll be there for you. For the baby."

Faye was quiet for a moment, and Quinn was worried that he'd said the wrong thing.He barely knew her. How could he promise something like that? But the thought of leaving her all alone to deal with this felt wrong. Even if they weren't together, it was his responsibility too.

"You don't have to say that. I'm not asking for anything."

"No, I mean it. I'll be there. I don't know how, but... I'll, uh, figure it out." He rubbed the back of his neck, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders.

"I appreciate that," she replied softly. "I know this is... a lot. I didn't mean to just spring it on you like this, but I didn't really know what else to do."

"It's okay," Quinn lied. "I'm glad you told me."

There was another long pause, the air between them feeling more and more awkward. This was just the beginning of a conversation that was going to change everything for them.

"So, I guess... we'll figure this out?" Quinn said, trying to make it sound like he had some clue of what came next.

"Yeah. We figure this out."

He stared at his phone long after the call ended, his thumb still hovering over the screen like he might call her back, as if there was more he could say.

I'm pregnant. And it's yours.

He leaned back against his headboard, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing in particular. How had his life changed so quickly? One minute he was gearing up for summer training, focusing on hockey, and the next... he was going to be a father.

Father. The word made his stomach churn. He wasn't ready for that. Hell, he could barely manage taking care of himself, let alone another tiny human. How was he supposed to do this?

Nothing made sense. They hadn't spoken since that night. Just some stupid drunken hookup. He believed her when she said it was. But there was a part of him, a part of him that felt like a dick to say it, but what if it was another guy's. Was she 100% sure it was his? What if she asked for paternity test? No, that was too far. Way too far.

His phone buzzed. But it was a group text from Jack, something about dinner in a bit. He couldn't deal with that right now. He wasn't ready to face his brothers, or anyone for that matter. What would he even say. What could he even say?

Hey, guys, by the way, I just found out I'm going to be a dad.

He stood up abruptly, pacing his bedroom. What would his parents say? What would Luke say when he found out it was Faye? What about his team? Could this mess up his career? It was only his second season of captaincy. He couldn't take a break to look after a pregnant college student.

He stopped, standing in front of his dresser, his hands gripping the edge of the wood. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and he barely recognized himself. His face was pale, his hair a mess, his eyes wide with panic.

I'm going to be a dad. The thought sent a new wave of anxiety crashing over him. He didn't know the first thing about babies or fatherhood. He hadn't planned for this. He wasn't ready for this. But it didn't matter anymore. Faye was already pregnant.

Quinn's phone buzzed again, this time with a message from Faye.

thanks for taking my call. i know it was a lot. but we will figure this out

Figure it out. Easier said than done. His first instinct was to respond, to say something reassuring. But what? The words just didn't come. He didn't want to lie to her. He wasn't even sure he knew how to be the person that she needed.

He didn't respond. Unable to deal with it then. He needed time. Time to think. Time to process. Time to figure out how he was gonna make this work.

He sat back on his bed, his legs bouncing. He thought about his parents. How disappointed they'd be, how they'd probably give him the "we're here for you, but you messed up" speech. He thought about Faye, about how scared she must be, and how, despite everything, she'd told him first. Not her friends. Not her family. Him.

That alone felt like some sort of strange responsibility. She could ever kept it to herself, could have avoided telling him until much later, but she hadn't. Now he was all in. Whether he was ready or not.

Saying that he'd be there for her and the baby was easy in the moment. But now he wasn't so sure. Could he be a dad while balancing everything else in his life?

He needed to talk to someone. Jack? Luke? No, not yet. He wasn't ready for that conversation. He couldn't handle their reactions, not while he was still freaking out. His phone buzzed again, a call this time. From Jack. He didn't answer, instead placing his phone under his pillow. He let out a few long, shaky breaths.

For now, all he could do was wrap his head around it. He had made a promise to Faye, and no matter how scared he was, he couldn't back out of it now. But what came next? He had no idea.

Faye stared at the stack of textbooks on her desk, the words blurring together as she rubbed her eyes. It had only been a couple weeks since the semester had started, but she already felt like she was drowning. Her professors had no idea what she was going through, and she wasn't exactly in a rush to tell them. The fewer people that knew, the better.

She rested her hand lightly on her stomach, feeling the slight curve under her shirt. If anything it looked like she was very, slightly bloated. It wasn't very obvious. Three months. It was still early, but she could feel the changes. The nausea, the exhaustion, how she felt like napping after walking 15 minutes to class. How was she supposed to handle this? Classes, assignments, the baby? It was all too much.

Her phone buzzed on her desk with a message from Quinn.

How're you feeling? Everything good?

Quinn had been checking in regularly since she'd told him, but their conversations were brief. Surface-level. He was busy with training camp and preseason stuff in Vancouver, and she was busy trying to keep her head above water in Michigan. They lived in two differernt worlds, and no matter how many times he texted, the distance between them felt impossible to bridge.

Faye: tired. got a ton of work. but i'm good

She typed the words quickly, not wanting to burden him with how she was actually feeling. What was the point? He had his own life, his own career to focus on. Besides, she had immediate problems... like how she was going to tell her parents. They knew something was off. They'd been calling more often, asking questions, but she kept brushing them off, making excuses. She wasn't ready to face their disappointment. Not yet.

There was a knock at her door. Her friend and neighbour, Casey, peeked her head in. "Hey, you okay? You've been quiet lately."

"Yeah, just tired. I have a ton of work to do."

"You sure? You've been looking... kinda pale lately."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just stressed, Cas."

"Okay, well, I'm just down the hall if you need anything."

Faye exhaled slowly as her friend left, her fingers brushing her stomach. Soon, more people would start asking questions, and she wasn't ready with answers.

Quinn scrolled through his phone, staring at Faye's message. "tired. got a ton of work. but i'm good." He frowned, feeling the distance betwen them more and more everyday. He'd been checking in, but their conversations were always short. It wasn't enough. But how could it be when he was over 2,000 miles away?

Training camp had just started, and the pressure was already mounting. It was his second year as captain, and everyone had expectations--his coaches, his teammates, his friends, his family. There was barely time to breathe, let along figure out fatherhood.

He didn't know how to be there for Faye. Every time he texted, he just felt like he was checking off a box. He really did want to do more, but how? He was stuck there and there wasn't room for distractions.

But Faye wasn't a distraction. She was... something else.

His phone buzzed again. This time with a message from Petey.

Dinner in 10?

Quinn sighed, pushing himself off the couch. He didn't feel like going out, but avoiding his friends wasn't going to solve anything. He needed to keep his head straight. Focus. But even as he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, his mind stayed on Faye.

The phone call from her mom came earlier than expected.

"Faye," her mom's voice was laced with concern. "Honey, are you okay? You've been so distant lately. Your dad and I are worried."

She'd been dodging this conversation for weeks, but there was no avoiding it now. Her parents knew something was wrong, and she couldn't keep hiding.

"I'm fine, Mom." Her voice cracked, and she knew her mom had picked up on it.

"You don't sound fine, sweetpea. Is something going on? School? Your health? Please talk to me."

Faye closed her eyes, there was no easy way to do this. "Mom, there's something I need to tell you."

"Okay. Go ahead."

"I'm... I'm pregnant."

The silence on the other end was deafening. Her mom didn't say anything for what felt like forever, and when she finally spoke, her voice was tight. "What? Faye, what are you talking about?"

"I'm pregnant," Faye repeated. "I just... I didn't know how to tell you."

"With who, Faye? Who's the father?"

Faye hesitated, her heart racing. "Quinn."

"Your friend Luke's brother? The hockey player?" She sounded shocked.

"Yes."

Her mom's voice hardened. "Faye, how could let this happen? How could you throw your future away like this?"

"I didn't mean for it to happen. It just... did."

"But now you're stuck," her mom snapped. "This boy has completely derailed your life. Your senior year, your future--all of it, gone! Poof! What is he going to do about it, huh? Keep playing hockey like nothing happened?"

Faye bit her lip, holding back her tears. "He's trying to help. He's... he's going to be there."

"Be there?" her mom scoffed. "How? He's in Vancouver, Faye? You think he's going to stop everything and come running every time you need him? You're fooling yourself."

"I'm handling it, Mom. I'm figuring it out."

"You shouldn't have to figure this out. He should be stepping up, Faye. You deserve better than this."

Faye couldn't say anything. Her mom was angry, but more than that, she was disappointed. And that was the worst part. No matter how much Faye wanted to believe she could handle this on her own, the reality of it was that she knew she couldn't.

The call came late that night, after Quinn had had dinner with Brock and Petey. He'd just gotten home when his phone buzzed with a call from Faye.

"I told my parents."

Quinn sat down, his heart racing. "How'd they take it?"

"They're pissed. They think you've ruined my life. My mom... she think I'm throwing my future away."

Guilt settled in Quinn's stomach. "Faye, I'm sorry. I didn't--"

"I know you didn't mean for this to happen. But I'm the one who has to deal with them. You're not here."

The words stung, even though he knew they weren't meant to hurt. Faye was right. He was in Vancouver, while she was stuck dealing with things on her own.

"I'm trying, Faye. I want to help. I just... don't know how."

"I know. But it's hard. And I'm scared."

Her voice cracked at the end and Quinn felt his heart break. He hated that she going through it all alone, but he didn't know what to do to help.

"We'll figure it out, okay?"

"Yeah."

But the words felt hollow. Like she'd given up on him being there. And Quinn knew that "figuring it out" was going to be a lot harder than either of them realized.

It was mid-term season and campus somehow seemed quieter. The October air had settled, bringing out heavier coats and the crunch of fall leaves. Faye at her desk, trying to focus on her computer, but all she could think about was how tight her jeans felt that morning.

She had switched to only wearing oversized sweaters and hoodies to hide her growing bump. The baby had started to feel more real over the last few days. Her morning sickness had faded for the most part, but now her back had a constant ache. She was falling behind on assignments, skipping study sessions, and avoiding her friends. She couldn't keep pretending everything was normal. Her mom had been encouraging her to go to student services and tell them about her situation. Apparently the school was supposed to help pregnant students and students with children.

Quinn: You okay? Haven't heard from you in four days

It wasn't that she didn't want to talk to Quinn--it was just that every time they texted, she felt like she was letting him down by not being stronger, by not being more put together. He was busy with hockey and she was trying not to let her life fall apart all the time.

Faye: yeah, just busy with school. midterms

It was mostly the truth, she was drowning in schoolwork but most of it was that her body was changing faster than she could keep up with. She'd gone up two entire bra cup sizes in a month and new ones were not cheap. But she felt like that was a weird detail to drop on Quinn. Her mom said it wasn't, since he was the father of her child, but Faye disagreed.

She felt more isolated than ever, and she felt that that feeling would just get worse the further along she was. She needed to tell her friends still and it was just a matter of time until someone noticed something was up.

Faye had been invited to the hockey house for a movie night. If she said no they'd definitely know something was up, because she never missed a movie night with the guys. Bowls of popcorn and beers were spread out across the coffee table, and the TV blasted with some shit horror movie they'd found.

Faye had a watter bottle in her hand, keeping it close to her chest, hoping nobody would notice she wasn't drinking. But she could feel their eyes on her already. It wasn't the first time she'd skipped drinking during their hangouts, but the guys didn't want her to think they were peer pressuring her.

"Hey, Faye," Dylan called out. "What's with the water? You've been off booze for weeks."

She glanced at him, then quickly at the others, who were all staring and waiting for an explanation.

"I just... haven't felt like drinking."

But Ethan shook his head, setting down his beer. "Come on, Faye. You haven't felt like drinking since the summer. That's not the Faye we know and love."

"You've been distant. Is something going on?" Mark added.

Time to come clean. She took a deep breath, setting her water bottle down on the table. "I... I need to tell you guys something."

"What is it, Faye?"

She looked down at her hands, lifting up the bottom of her sweater. Her heart pounded in her chest. "I'm pregnant."

"Wait... what?" Dylan asked, blinking in shock. "You're pregnant."

"Yeah. I'm almost four months."

"Four months? Did you get with someone at the party? Last person I saw you talking with was..."

"It's Quinn's?"

"Yeah. It's Quinn's."

"Holy shit, Faye. That's... wow."

"I know," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I didn't know how to tell you guys. I didn't want you to look at me differently."

"Faye, we're your friends. We're here to help you, support you. Not to judge you. You don't need to go through this alone."

"Thanks, guys. I, uh, I'm not fully alone. My parents know. And Quinn. He's... trying to be supportive."

"Does Luke know?"

"Not if Quinn didn't tell him. Luke and I don't really talk that much."

The looks of concern on their faces, the way they were all pitying her made her stomach hurt. She hated it. She didn't want people to be sorry for her. She just wanted everyone to act like things were normal, even thought things would never be the same.

"I need some air," she sighed, grabbing her jacket.

Luke was laying on the couch, scrolling through his phone when he saw a text from Ethan come through.

Ethan: Hey man, Faye just told the group she's pregnant. It's Quinn's apparently. Didn't know they were seeing each other ngl

Luke blinked, rereading the text a few times to make sure he read it correctly. Faye was pregnant? And Quinn was the dad? Quinn hadn't told him he was going to be a dad, let alone that he was seeing Faye.

Luke: You serious? Quinn never said anything???

Ethan: Yeah, dude. She's almost four months along. She showed us the bump. Seemed legit

Without thinking he pulled up Quinn's contact, shooting him a message.

Luke: What the hell man? Why didn't you tell me that you're seeing Faye and that she's pregnant???

Quinn’s stomach dropped as he stared at Luke’s text. His chest tightened with guilt--a guilt he had been pushing to the side for weeks. He hadn’t told Luke, hadn’t told his parents. Hell, he hadn’t even processed it himself. But the truth was out now, and the window to figure things out on his own was gone. He decided to call Luke, instead of texting about it.

"Hey."

"Hey? That's all you have to say after I just found out you're dating one of my college friends and she's pregnant?"

"We... we're not dating. We hooked up at that party the hockey guys threw. Look, I know I should've told you. I just... yeah."

"How about starting with the fucking truth?" Luke scoffed. "You haven't told you family? You can't keep that kinda shit from us."

"I know. I'm going to tell everyone. I just... had to figure shit out with Faye first."

"Next family FaceTime. You should tell everyone. Mom and Dad will help out... probably."

Luke was right. Secret was out and if he didn't tell the family soon, someone else would. He had to tell them sooner rather than later.

Quinn sat in front of his laptop, staring blankly at the screen. His family's faces were staring back at him through the familiar layout of their family FaceTime session. Jim and Ellen in one square, Jack and Luke in another. He hadn't added much to the conversation yet, just letting out a couple half-hearted laughs when someone cracked a joke.

Luke had been on his case all week. Ever since the news had been handed to Luke through his friends, Quinn had felt like his walls were closing in on him. He wondered if that's how Faye felt too.

Ellen was in the middle of asking Jack and Luke about their latest game when Quinn cleared his throat. "Hey, guys," his voice was much more strained than he'd planned. "There's something I need to tell you guys."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "What's up, Quinn?"

He had rehearsed this a hundred times in his head, but the words were stuck in his throat now that he had to say it out loud. He glanced at Luke, who just gave me a slight nod.

"I, um... I'm going to be a dad."

Ellen blinked, her smile faltering. "Wait... what?"

"I... Faye, one of Luke's friends from Umich, she's pregnant. I'm the dad."

Jack was the first to react, his eyes wide. "Holy shit, Quinn. You serious?"

"Yeah. She's almost four months."

Ellen pressed a hand to her chest. "Oh my god, Quinn. Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"I didn't know how. I've been trying to figure things out with Faye, but... it's been really hard."

"Quinn, this is big. Have you thought about how you're going to handle this and your career?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, I'm still working through it all. Faye's in Michigan and I'm here, so... I'm just trying to be supportive."

"Oh, sweetheart. We'll help however we can. I wish you would've come to us sooner. You don't have to go through this alone. And neither does Faye. We'd be more than happy to help her out."

Quinn nodded, appreciating his mom's comforting words. He hadn't figured out how he was going to balance everything--hockey, the pregnancy, his future with Faye and the baby--but at least his family knew now.

"You did the right thing, Quinn," Luke nodded.

Faye stood in front of the mirror, smoothering her hands over her flowly tank top. She had agreed to a girls' night out after they'd all finished their midterms, and she was really planning on making it through the night without raising any suspicions. Her friends, Casey and Sarah, were already getting ready, throwing clothes around her apartment and laughing.

Faye had told them she wasn't going to drink because alcohol made her stomach hurt--which wasn't technically a lie. But it also wasn't the whole truth. She was trying to pull her favourite pair of jeans on, only realizing that they didn't button up.

She stared down at the small gap between the button and the buttonhole, her hands trembling. That was it. None of her jeans fit anymore.

"Faye, you almost ready?" Sarah called from the bathroom, sticking her head out as she did her hair. "We're running late!"

"Yeah. Just... gimme a minute."

She stood there, her hands still on the waistband of her jeans. Casey walked over, her eyes scanning Faye's reflection in the mirror. "Did you like... get a boob job or something?" she asked, half-joking. "You look different."

Faye wanted to brush it off with a laugh and make up a lie, but when she glanced at her reflection all she wanted to do was cry. Her body was changing too much, everyone would notice soon.

"I, um..." she bit her lip, her hands falling from her jeans. "No, I didn't get a boob job."

Casey frowned, picking up on Faye's seriousness. "What's going on? You've been acting so weird recently."

Faye exhaled slowly, her eyes stinging with tears she'd been holding back for weeks. She turned to face Casey, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm pregnant."

Casey's eyes went wide, and Sarah, who had just stepped out of the bathroom, froze, her mouth falling open.

"You're... pregnant?"

"Yeah. Four months."

Sarah walked closer, the initial shock wearing off. "Faye, why didn't you tell us? You've been dealing with this all by yourself?"

"I'm just really tired of people seeing my differently. I wanted some normalcy."

"We're not going to look at you differently. You're our friend."

Sarah nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Faye. You're not going through this alone."

"Thank you," she whispered. "I didn't know what to say. Everything's been... changing so fast."

Sarah smiled, giving her a hug. "We're here, okay? Whatever you need."

Casey grinned, her usual humour shining through. "Besides, you look pretty damn good for a mom-to-be. I mean, your tits look fucking amazing."

Faye laughed through the tears. "Thanks, I guess. But they hurt like hell all the time."

"Now, come on. Let's go out! Even if you're not drinking, you deserve a night out."

Faye nodded, digging through her drawers to find a pair of pants that fit and went with her outfit. At least she wasn't hiding from her friends anymore.

The ticking of the clock and the rerun episode of something on HGTV filled the waiting room as Faye sat in an uncomfortable, plastic chair. Her 16-week appointment. She had been dreading this one for some reason, even though she knew it was supposed to be one of the more exciting ones.

It wasn't that she wasn't excited to hear the baby's heartbeat--she was. But there was something about all the changes she was facing that made her uneasy. She had been feeling more emotional lately, the hormones sending her on a rollercoaster ride. And her body? That was a whole other issue.

None of her pants, except for stretch-band waisted ones, fit. Her skin was breaking out like she was in high school again, and the weight gain was starting to show in more than just her belly. It was making her self-conscious in a way she'd never been before. She knew it was all part of journey, but it didn't make it any easier.

"Faye Brooks?"

The nurse's voice pulled her out of her head, and Faye stood up, wiping her sweaty palms on her leggings as she followed the woman into the exam room.

"Let's get you weighed," the nurse said cheerfully, like it was no big deal.

Faye stepped on the scale, trying to avoid looking at the number that popped up, but the nurse read it out anyway. "Looks like you've gained about eight pounds since your last appointment. That's good--right on track."

Eight pounds. Her stomach churned. She knew that gaining weight was inevitable, but hearing the actual number sucked ass. She stepped down, forcing a smile. "Right."

The nurse led her to a small room, where she lay back on the table, her shirt pulled up over her belly. The bump was more prominent, although she could probably still get away with saying she was extremely bloated. The nurse prepared the ultrasound equipment and Faye tried to calm her nerves. This was supposed to be a happy moment. She was going to hear her baby's heartbeat for the first time.

The gel toucher her skin, and she shivered. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sound, the moment that would make things even more real... if that was possible.

And then it happened.

The steady, rhythmic thump, thump, thump filled the room, and she swore her heart stopped. The baby. Her baby. It was real. She blinked back tears, unable to stop the happiness that surged through her.

"That's your baby's heartbeat. Nice and strong."

Faye smiled through the tears. For the first time in weeks, the stress of school faded away. The pimples, the weight gain, the cravings--they didn't matter. All that mattered was that her baby was healthy.

"Would you like some ultrasound photos to take home?" the nurse asked.

Faye nodded quickly. "Yes, please."

She couldn't wait to send the little black-and-white photos to Quinn. He wasn't there, and that still made her heart ache, but at least he could see the baby in the photos. She grabbed her phone as soon as the nurse handed the pictures to her.

Faye: just heard the heartbeat for the first time. sending you the photos :)

Quinn was in the middle of a film session with the team when his phone buzzed. He normally ignored texts during meetings, but when he saw it was Faye, he felt that he had to answer. He quickly checked the message, his breath catching when he saw the words: just heard the heartbeat for the first time

Attached were three ultrasound photos. His baby. He stared at them for a couple minutes, barely listening to the meeting anymore. He hadn't been there with her, but seeing the phots made everything feel a bit better.

Quinn: Wow. That's amazing, Faye! Wish I could've been there

God, he wished he could be there.

Faye left the clinic with the photos tucked in her backpack. She felt so much joy hearing her baby's heartbeat, relief that everything was going well, but also frustration with everything happening to her body.

Her cravings had gotten stranger--pickles with vanilla ice cream, enough strawberries to feed a small town, peanut butter on everything--and her emotions were all over the place. Some days, she felt like crying over nothing. Other days, she was just restless. Her sex drive had skyrocketed, which was great since she wasn't seeing anyone and Quinn was in fucking Vancouver.

It sucked. She wasn't about to start dating while pregnant, but the hormones had her feeling much more needy than she was comfortable with. She tried to push those kind of thoughts aside, but when she was laying in bed at night, she couldn't help but wish Quinn was there with her.

That night, she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, staring at herself. She tugged at her shirt, trying to flatten it over her belly, sucking in as much as she could. But even when she sucked in, she wasn't as thin as she was pre-pregnancy. Her skin was breaking out, a cluster of pimples along her hairline and on her chin. Her hips were wider, her thighs thicker, and her favourite clothes didn't fit the way they used to.

She felt... ugly.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. It was a reply from Quinn. He'd asked for a 'bump-date.'

Quinn: You look beautiful. I know this is hard, but you're amazing. Can't wait to meet our baby

Quinn always knew how to say the right thing, but it didn't make the insecurities go away. She was grateful for his support, but it wasn't enough to make her feel better about the changes happening to her body. She was supposed to feel strong and capable, but she felt was out of control.

She sighed, placing a hand on her bump. "We've got a long way to go," she whispered to the baby. "But I'm doing this for you."

Faye sat at the back of the lecture hall, her arms folded over her stomach. It was the same spot she always sat in, tucked away in the corner where fewer people could see her. But even when she tried to disappear, she couldn't shake the feeling that everyone was staring at her.

With her belly starting to show more and more, and her face breaking out into what felt like a million pimples, she felt like a different person. She no longer looked like herself. Every time she caught her reflection in a window or glanced down at her swollen feet, she wondered where the old Faye had gone. The Faye that felt comfortable wearing the shortest mini skirt and tank top to a party.

She tugged at the hem of her Wolverines hoodie, trying to cover her stomach more. People were definitely noticing. She could feel their eyes on her when she walked through campus, feel their whispers following her as she sat down in class or waited in line at the coffee shop.

It wasn't just that she was pregnant. It was that she was pregnant, in college, and very much not in a relationship. Every time she passed a group of students, she imagined what they were thinking. Is she a single mom? Did the dad ditch her? What's her story? She hated it.

By the time class ended, Faye felt like she was suffocating. She gathered her things quickly, keeping her head down as she hurried out of the lecture hall. She was halfway home when her phone buzzed.

Sarah: girls night at my place tonight! you in?

Normally, she loved hanging out with her girlfriends, but lately, she'd been so tired, so emotional, that the idea of socializing just felt exhausting. But she also didn't want to push her friends away. They were one of the few things keeping her grounded.

Faye: yeah, i'll come by

At least she had friends. They didn't look at her with pity or judgement--at least, not in the way that she imagined other people did. They just supported her. And that's all she needed.

Sarah's apartment was warm and inviting, the smell of freshly baked cookies filling the air as Faye stepped inside. She shrugged off her coat, glancing at her friends already lounging on the couch with wine glasses in hand.

"Hey, girl!" Casey waved her over. "We saved you a seat!"

Faye smiled, making her way to the couch. She was grateful for the normalcy her friends provided. She sat down, tucking her legs under herself, and reached for the glass of water Sarah had already set out for her. It was a small gesture, but it meant the world to her.

"So," Sarah smiled. "Tell us what's new. How're you feeling?"

She wasn't sure how honest she wanted to be? How was she feeling? She felt like shit. Her body wasn't her own anymore between all her side effects, but she didn't want to bring the mood down.

"I'm... okay. Tired. Hungry all the time. You know, the usual."

Casey raised an eyebrow. "Girl, you've been looking tired. No offence, but your skin's been freaking out lately. Did you change your skincare routine or something?"

Faye bit her lip, trying to push her self-conscious thoughts aside. "Yeah, it's the hormones. I can't seem to keep up."

"That sucks, but you still look amazing."

She was trying to stay positive, but the truth was, she'd never felt more disconnected from herself. This wasn't her. The Faye she knew wasn't tired, overly emotional, or super uncomfortable in her own body. And the worst part? She had no idea when--or if--she's ever feel like herself again.

Quinn stared at the ultrasound photos on his phone again, a grin tugging at his lips. He had saved the images Faye had sent him and found himself looking at them whenever he had a quiet moment.

The baby. His baby. It still felt surreal at times, but whenever he looked at the black-and-white photos, a wave of excitement washed over him. This was real. The tiny little being in those pictures was growing inside Faye, and even thousands of miles away, he felt connected to it.

He scrolled through the photos one more time before pulling up the family group chat. He hesitated for a second, then decided it was time. His family had been asking about the baby since he told them, and now he actually had something to share.

Quinn: Hey guys, just got some ultrasound pics from Faye. Meet baby Hughes :)

He attached the photos and leaned back on the couch, waiting for the answers to come through. And it didn't take long.

Jack: Holy shit! That's so cool!

Mom: Oh, Quinn, that's amazing! Look at that little face! I can't wait to meet them

Dad: Proud of you, Quinn. Keep us updated

Warmth spread through Quinn's chest as he read their responses. Even though he wasn't physically with Faye, sharing those moments with his parents made him feel like he was more of a part of the journey. It made him feel less alone.

He sent Faye a quick text.

Quinn: Shared the ultrasounds pics with the fam. They're all super excited. How're you feeling?

He knew she was struggling, but every time he asked, she shrugged him off. He was trying his best. He was falling more in love with the idea of being a dad every day. He still had to figure out how to be there for Faye though.

Faye: i'm... okay. just feeling kind of off ngl. don't really feel like myself anymore

Quinn: I get it. But you're doing amazing, Faye. You're strong, even if you don't feel like it. Wish I could be there

She appreciated the support, but right now, no amount of reassurance was going to make her feel like herself again.

It was late, and Faye was curled up on the couch, flipping absentmindedly though a textbook she wasn't really planning on reading. She felt like she hadn't had a moment to relax recently. She sighed, shifting uncomfortably. He back had been aching all day, and felt an unfamiliar tightness in her lower belly.

She placed a hand on her stomach, furrowing her brow. The sensation wasn't painful exactly, but it felt... strange. A dull pressure that came in waves. She tried to brush it off, assuming it was just another pregnancy symptom she wasn't familiar with. But the tightness came again, stronger this time, making her sit up straight.

Something didn't feel right.

The pressure intensified again, her belly growing hard under her hand. Panic surged through her. This wasn't normal. It couldn't be normal. Was she going into labour? The baby wasn't due for months--she was only 20 weeks along.

Another wave of tightness hit her, and this time it was even more painful. She grabbed her phone, hands trembling as she dialed Quinn's number.

Quinn was getting ready for bed when his phone rang. When he glanced down and saw Faye's name, his heart skipped a beat. It was late where she was, and they hadn't planned on talking that night.

"Faye? What's going on?"

"I- I don't know," her voice was shaky and strained. "Something's wrong. I keep feeling this pressure in my stomach... I don't know what's happening, Quinn. What if the baby's coming too early?"

"What? Are you sure? How bad is it?"

"I don't know!" she cried, her panic rising. "I've never been pregnant before. What if something's wrong?"

Quinn's mind immediately went into overdrive. He wanted to be calm for her, but the fear that something was wrong with the baby made his pulse pound in his head. He needed to be there. He needed to help.

"Okay, okay, listen. You need to get to the hosptial. I'll book the next flight out."

"But Quinn, it's so far away--"

"I'm coming. I'll be there as soon as I can. Go to the hospital and let them check you out. Everything's going to be okay." He hoped his words sounded more confident than he felt.

"Okay. I'll call you when I get there."

"Text me as soon as you're on your way. I'll be there as soon as I can."

He hung up and immediately pulled up flight options on his phone. He mind was racing, fear settling deep in his gut. What if something was wrong with the baby? What if Faye was going into premature labour?

He fired off a text to his coach, explaining the situation. Within minutes he had a response telling him to go to Michigan. That they'd be fine if he missed two days of practice for his baby.

The hospital smelled sterile, and Faye felt her nerves buzzing as she sat on the exam table. Her hands were clenched in her lap and every slight tightening of her belly made her wince.

She had texted Quinn when she had arrived and he was already on his way to the airport. Finally, the door opened, and the doctor entered the room, offering her a calm smile.

"Faye, hi. I hear you've been experiencing some discomfort," the doctor said as she sat down beside her, pulling on a pair of gloves.

"Yeah. I've been having these weird contractions or something. I don't know. I'm only 20 weeks..."

"Let's take a look."

As the doctor examined her, her breath came in short, shallow bursts, her nerves eating her alive. But after a few moments, the doctor straightened up, her smile reassuring.

"It looks like you're experiencing Braxton Hicks contractions. They're often called 'practice contractions.' They're not harmful, and it doesn't mean you're going into labour."

"So... I'm okay? The baby's okay?"

"Yes! Everything looks normal. It's common to experience these at some point in your pregnancy. It can be uncomfortable, but it's nothing to worry about."

Faye let out a shaky laugh. "Oh my god... I thought I was going into labour."

The doctor chuckled. "No, not at all. Just keep an eye on things, but everything's perfectly fine."

As soon as the doctor left, Faye texted Quinn.

Faye: false alarm. it's just braxton hicks. baby's okay. everything's okay

Quinn's flight landed early the next morning, and as soon as he stepped off, he checked to see if Faye had texted. Relief flooded his chest, but even knowing things were okay, he still needed to see her. When she opened the door, she looked exhausted. Her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, and her hair was pulled back into a messy bun. Quinn didn't care. He pulled her into a hug, feeling the tension leave his body the second he held her.

"I was so scared," he admitted.

"Me too," Faye whispered, clinging to him. "I thought something was really wrong."

Quinn pulled back slightly, looking down at her. "I'm glad everything's okay. I'm staying for a couple days, just to make sure you're good."

Faye hesitated, then nodded, too tired to argue. "Okay. That... that would be nice."

Quinn sat on Faye's couch, a cup of coffee in his hand, while Faye lay stretched out beside him, her head resting on a pillow. She still looked exhausted, her body worn out from stress and the Braxton Hicks scare.

"How are you feeling now?"

Faye shrugged, resting a hand on her belly. "Better, I guess. I still feel... off. But the doctor said it was normal. It just freaked me out."

Quinn nodded, then hesitated before reaching out. "Can I...?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

Quinn placed his hand gently on her stomach. It was the first time he'd touched her bump, and the feeling of life growing beneath his hand hit him like a ton of bricks. He swallowed hard, his throat tightening with emotion.

"That's... our baby."

Faye smiled weakly, "Yeah, our baby."

Quinn's phone buzzed with a text from his mom.

Mom: Heard what happened. We're so relieved everything's okay. If Faye needs anything, let her know I'm here, okay? She's family now.

Quinn smiled, showing the message to Faye. "Mom wants to help you out. She's pretty excited to be a grandma."

"I appreciate that. Your mom's always been so nice."

"She means it," Quinn said. "And so do I. You're not doing this alone."

"I know."

It had been two days since the scare, and while Faye had physically recovered, the emotional exhaustion hadn't lifted. Having Quinn around helped, though. It was strange at first, seeing him so much more than usual, but also comfortable. He wasn't hovering, like a helicopter parent, but he was there, offering a helping hand

She wasn't sleeping well, though. Not anymore.

At 20 weeks, she'd finally hit the point where it was becoming increasingly difficult to sleep. It didn't help that her back constantly ached and her hips throbbed with every moment. Lying flat on her back made the pain worse, but when she shifted onto her side, it was like her belly was pulling her down, straining her already sore muscles.

Late at night, Faye lay awake in bed, shifting restlessly. Her body screamed for relief, but no matter how she positioned herself, the ache in her body wouldn't go away. She tried hugging a pillow like she'd seen online, but it didn't help. She was surprised she hadn't woken up Quinn with her constant tossing and turning, the rustling of her bedding.

Quinn had insisted on sleeping on the couch to give her space, but when the pain became unbearable, Faye found herself padding softly to the couch. She stood there a moment, watching him sleep, unsure whether she should wake him. But the dull ache made her decision for her.

"Quinn?" she whispered, nudging his shoulder. "I... I can't sleep."

Quinn blinked awake, his face full of concern as he sat up. "What's wrong?"

"I just... I can't get comfortable," she admitted, her hand resting protectively on her belly. "My back is killing me."

"How can I help?" his voice was deep with sleep.

"Come lay in bed with me?"

"Okay," he pushed himself up, following her over to the bed. Faye lay down beside him, curling onto her side, and after a second Quinn's arm came over her stomach. She closed her eyes, letting out a soft sigh of relief as his hand helped her prop her stomach in a more comfortable position. His touch grounded her in a way that felt... right. She shifted slightly, nestling deeper into the curve of his body, and for the first time that night, she felt like she could sleep.

"That better?" he murmured.

Faye nodded slightly. "Yeah. Thank you."

As she drifted to sleep, she realized how much she needed this--needed him. She wasn't used to relying on people, but with Quinn, it didn't make her feel weak. It just felt... safe.

In the morning, Quinn was already awake when she opened her eyes. His arm was casually draped over her, and Faye's cheeks flushed as she remembered how she practically crawled onto him in the middle of the night.

"Morning. How're you feeling?"

"Better," she replied. Her back still ached, but he pain wasn't as intense as it had been when she was trying to sleep. "I think you might've saved me last night."

"Glad to be of service."

She sat up slowly, stretching her sore muscles as she glanced to the textbooks scattered around the place. Finals were creeping up on her, and while she'd tried to keep up with classes, the pregnancy was making it hard. Her professors and the school were understanding, but she still felt the pressure to stay on top of things.

"Do you need help studying? I've got time," he suggested, following her gaze.

"You? Studying?"

"Hey," he shot back playfully. "I wasn't a complete slacker in school, you know."

"I wouldn't mind the company."

They spent the next few hours at her small dining table, Quinn helping her go over some notes for upcoming exams. It felt strangely normal, having Quinn sitting beside her, scribbling down notes on things she missed, cracking jokes to lighten the mood.

Faye let herself imagine what it would be like if things were different. If Quinn lived closer, if they were a couple, if they were navigating this together in a real, committed way. But she quickly pushed the thought aside. It was too much to think about.

"Do you ever think about the future?" she asked suddenly.

"Yeah. I think about it a lot."

"And?"

"And..." Quinn's gaze dropped to her stomach before meeting her eyes again. "I think about how I want to be there. For you. For the baby. I know it's complicated, but... I'm in this with you, Faye."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

That night, Faye lay in bed, Quinn next to her already this time. She needed rest, but her body was only sort of cooperating. Quinn groaned slightly, having trouble falling asleep with all her tossing and turning.

"You okay?"

"No. I can't fall asleep."

He pulled her closer to his chest, nuzzling his face in her neck. "Better?"

"A bit."

She turned over, resting her head on his chest, closing her eyes.

"Better?"

"Thanks," she whispered, her breath warmth against his skin.

Faye could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her mind spinning from the physical relief but also the chemistry she was sure was between them.

And then, in the heat of the moment, their lips met. Faye's heart raced as his tongue swiped across her bottom lip, her body responding to the need she'd been ignoring for weeks. She pulled back, her breathing uneven.

"It's the hormones."

But Quinn just smiled, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I know. But if you need me... I'm here."

She blushed but still laughed at his flirting. Then tension between them was electric, and she leaned up for another kiss. Quinn rested his hand on her belly, pulling away when he felt something.

"It moved."

"What?" she whispered, not liking that he'd ended their make out session.

"The baby, I felt it. It was like a little flutter. Did you feel it?"

"I wasn't really paying atten--"

Then she felt it, the strangest feeling yet. Just like Quinn had said, like a little flutter.

"Oh my god. It's moving!" she laughed, cupping Quinn's face. "Our baby is moving!"

Quinn leaned in, pressing a bruising kiss to her lips. Resting his forehead on hers as they pulled away.

"That's... that's so fucking cool, Faye! That's our baby!"

"I know, Quinn," she giggled, but as excited as she was, exhaustion was starting to take over.

"Do you want me to move my hand?" Quinn asked.

"No. It's fine there," she mumbled, falling asleep while Quinn sat there and waited for the baby to move again. He was even more in love with the baby and it wasn't even there yet.

It was Quinn's last day in Michigan, and Faye didn't like the heaviness that settled in her chest at the idea. She knew he had to go back to Vancouver. It was his job after all, but after everything that had happened, having him around felt comforting. He made everything seem a little less overwhelming.

To make the most of their last day, they decided to keep things light, indulging in Faye's latest pregnancy cravings. Currently, they were at her small dining table, staring at an odd combination of food.

"Are you seriously going to eat that?" Quinn asked, eyeing Faye as she spread peanut butter over a pickle.

"Trust me, it's so good," she insisted, though she had to admit it seemed strange. "It's the pregnancy."

"Well, I'm in. I promised I'd try all your cravings today, so let's see what this tastes like."

Faye handed him half the pickle, watching with amusement as he hesitated before taking a bite. His face twisted in confusion, then something more like... surprise.

"Okay... that's not as bad as I thought."

They spent the next hour going through her line up of food combinations--pickles in vanilla ice cream, hot sauce on a piece of white toast, avocado and chocolate, babybel cheese with whipped cream, lots and lots of orange soda. Each bite brought laughter and more jokes from Quinn, and Faye feeling better about her stupidity.

After, they sprawled out on the couch, stuffed from their culinary adventure. Quinn pulled out his phone, opening an app he'd downloaded to track the baby's development. "So, I was reading about what's going on with the baby at 20 weeks," he said, scrolling through the information.

"What does it say?" she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Apparently the baby's about the size of a banana now. That's... actually kinda big."

"A banana?" She placed her hand on her stomach. "Wow."

Quinn grinned, scrolling further down on the app. "It can hear things now too. Like they can hear your voice when you talk or when music is playing."

Faye smiled, imagining the little banana-sized baby growing inside her. She felt more connected with the baby every time she learned a new fact, but also much more anxious about the future.

As if reading her mind, Quinn set down his phone and said, "I ordered you something, by the way. It should be here tomorrow."

"You ordered something for me?"

"Yeah, I've been reading about pregnancy pillows. I figured it might help with the sleeping problems you've been having."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know," he smiled softly. "But I want to help however I can. Even when I'm not here. I hate that you've been struggling with getting to sleep."

Quinn had been supportive than she ever imagined, and while they hadn't had a serious conversation about the future, moments together like that made her feel like things would be okay.

They decided to end the day with a movie, cuddled up on the sofa. Faye was wrapped in a blanket, her head resting on Quinn's chest. It was peaceful, but just as she was getting comfortable, her phone rang.

"It's my mom," she murmured, sitting up.

"You want to answer it?"

Faye nodded, then slid off the couch and headed to the bathroom for some privacy. "Hey, Mom."

"Faye, sweetpea! How're you feeling? You've been awfully quiet lately."

"I'm okay. Just... busy with school and stuff."

"Well, your dad and I were talking, and we think you should move back home once the baby's born," her mom said. "It'll be better for you to have support--proper support."

She knew what her mom was getting at. "Mom, I'm fine. I can manage on my own."

"Faye, be realistic," she snapped. "You're going to be a single mother. It's hard enough raising a baby when you have help, but you'll be alone most of the time. And if you think Quinn's going to be around for the sleepless night and dirty diapers, then you're being delusional."

"That's not fair. Quinn wants to help."

"He might think he does now, but once the baby is here, he's going to be focused on his career, on hockey. You'll be left doing everything on your own. You should come home, where we can help you."

"I'm not moving back home, Mom! I've got everything under control."

"You're not thinking clearly, Faye! You're being stubborn, and it's going to cost you. You need to think about what's best for the baby."

"I am thinking about the baby," Faye fought back her tears.

"Then why won't you listen to us?"

"Because I don't want to move back home! I can handle this on my own! And Quinn's not going to just disappear, okay? He's been helping me, and he's going to be there."

Her mom sighed heavily. "I hope you're right. I don't want you getting your hopes up, Faye."

Faye ended the call abruptly, feeling her entire body tremble as she leaned against the counter, sobbing quietly.

Quinn had heard bits and pieces of the conversation from the couch, but when he saw Faye's face, he immediately stood up and rushed over to her.

"Hey, hey," he murmured, pulling her into his arms. "What happened?"

Faye sobbed into his chest, her words coming out in gasps. "My mom... She thinks I should move back home. She thinks... She thinks you're not going... to be around."

"What? Why would she think that?"

"She... she thinks you're just going to focus on hockey, and I'll be stuck all alone. She doesn't believe you'll actually be here."

Quinn felt a surge of anger rise in his chest, not at Faye's mom, but at anyone who would think he wouldn't be involved. He cupped her face, wiping away her tears. "Faye, listen to me. I'm not going anywhere. I'm in this with you. We're going to figure this out together."

Faye sniffed, "What if... What if my mom's right? What if this gets too hard, and you--"

"It won't. Yeah, it's going to be hard, but I'm not going to walk away. I care about you, and I care about our baby. I'm going to be here for you both of you. No matter what. Okay?"

"I'm scared."

"I know. But we'll figure it out. We're a team, Faye."

Maybe, just maybe, they'd figure this out together.

The snow was falling softly outside the Hughes' house, making everything look like a scene out of a Christmas movie. Faye stood by the window, watching the flakes settle on the ground, her hands on her ever growing stomach. It was strange being there surrounded by Quinn's family. Strange but... comforting.

She was 24 weeks along, her belly undeniably visible, and the baby had started kicking more regularly, constantly reminding her it was there. Her back ached 24/7 now and she slept most of the day, but she was still trying to enjoy her holiday break.

"Everything okay?" Quinn's voice came from behind her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Yeah. It's just... nice here. Your family is so kind. I still can't believe they invited me to stay for a few days."

Quinn chuckled, "Of course they did. You're part of the family now, Faye. Besides, my mom's been looking forward to spoiling you and the baby for weeks."

Ellen Hughes had gone out of her way to make her feel welcome, treating like she was already part of the family. And was overwhelmed as she felt, the whole thing made her feel less alone.

Later that evening, Faye sat on Hughes' couch, enjoying the warmth of the fire place, when Ellen came in and placed a large, beautifully wrapped, present in front of her.

"These are just a few things we thought might help," Ellen said, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "I know you've probably already started planning, but every little bit helps, right?"

Faye blinked, holding back her tears as she unwrapped the box. Inside was a collection of things she hadn't even thought about yet. There was a breast pump, a coupld sets of baby clothes, a few board books, and even a set of parenting books. One for her and one for Quinn.

"Oh my god, Ellen," her voice wavered as she ran her fingers over the small onesie. "This is so thoughtful. Thank you."

"It was mostly my mom," Quin grinned. "But I helped."

Ellen waved a hand dismissively. "Quinn picked out a few things. The parenting books were his idea."

The fact that he had been thinking about this--about them, about the baby--made her feel even more connected to him. Quinn was clearly committed to figuring things out.

"Thank you, Quinn. I mean it," she whispered.

Quinn reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We're in this together, Faye. You and me."

Faye was exhausted from socializing, so she and Quinn retreated to his childhood bedroom. It felt cozy and nostalgic, with posters of old hockey heroes still hanging on the walls and a few trophies lined his dresser.

"So this is where the great Quinn Hughes spent his teenage years, huh?" she teased.

"Yeah, it's nothing fancy. But it's home."

Faye lay on her back, immediately feeling the stretch of her belly above her. "It's nice. Being here with you. I wasn't sure how'd I feel, but... I like it."

Quinn lay down beside her, propping himself up on his elbow. "I'm glad you're here. It feels right."

They spent an hour talking about the baby, about names they hadn't settled on yet, and how crazy it was that in just a few more months, they would be parents. As the conversation quieted down, Quinn placed his hand gently on her stomach, his face lighting up when he felt a kick under it.

"Hey, there's my little buddy," he whispered, voice full of wonder. "You're getting strong in there."

Faye smiled, her heart swelling at the way Quinn talked to the baby. She placed her hands over his, enjoying the warmth. "The baby likes you."

Quinn leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her belly. "I like the baby too."

It was late by the time they finally turned off the lights, but Faye found herself still wide awake. She shifted slightly, trying to find a comfortable position without her pregnancy pillow. Sighing softly, she turned to face Quinn, who was lying beside her, his eyes closed but not quite asleep. "I can't get comfortable."

"How can I help?"

"Pillows and cuddles?"

"I can do that," he handed her an extra pillow from the floor, allowing her to stick it under her stomach. "Better?"

"A lot," she sighed.

Quinn gripped her jaw, turning her face towards him. He pressed his lips to her, a strong, quiet kiss. They'd shared kisses before, but this one felt more intimate, more real.

"I'm glad I'm here."

"Me too."

It was nearing the end of January, and Michigan was wrapped in a thick blanket of snow. Faye sat cross-legged on the couch under a heavy knit blanket. The baby's kicks were getting stronger, whenever she placed her hand on her stomach she could feel it responding to her touch.

She was 28 weeks, officially in her third trimester. The reality of everything was hitting hard. It wasn't just the growing bump, the constant back pain, or the shortness of breath. Now, the emotional weight of it all was settling in, and the need to start planning for the birth was unavoidable.

Faye glanced down at the notebook in her lap, where she'd started to write out ideas for her birth plan. It felt weird, putting pen to paper and trying to map out how it would all go. Of course, she couldn't fully predict how things would play out, but the idea of having a plan eased her worries,

Her phone beside her buzzed, and she smiled when she noticed it was Quinn texting her. They talked almost every day now, and she felt like a school girl with a crush every time he texted or called.

Quinn: You free for a FaceTime? Been thinking about some stuff we should figure out

Faye: yeah, call me!

Seconds later, her phone rang and Quinn's face filled her screen. His hair was damp, probably from a post-practice shower, and he was smiling brightly.

"Hey, how're you feeling?"

"Tired. The baby's getting bigger and I swear I feel every, single kick these days."

Quinn laughed. "Strong kid. Probably gonna play hockey."

"We'll see about that," she rolled her eyes, looking back at her notebook.

"So, I was thinking... We should probably start to make some real decisions here. Like about the birth and everything that comes after."

Faye nodded, "Yeah, I've been thinking about that too. I kinda started writing out my birth plan, but it's a rough, rough draft."

"Yeah? What kinda things are you drafting?"

"Well, I want to have the baby here in Michigan. I've already talked to my doctor about it, and she's amazing. I don't want to risk flying anywhere when I'm that close to my due date."

"Good call. I'll come as soon as I can. Make sure I'm there for baby's due date."

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that too. I know you'll have to travel for games, but I want you here as much as possible."

"I will be. I'll talk to the team, make sure I'm there whenever you need."

"Okay, so after the baby's born..." Faye trailed off, trying to put her thoughts into words. "I don't think I should fly to Vancouver right away. I'll need time to recover and moving across the country with a newborn... it just seems like too much."

Quinn nodded, "Makes sense. I don't want you to have to deal with that stress right after giving birth."

"So, I'm thinking I'll stay here in Michigan for the first few months. Maybe two or three? My parents will stop by and help, and you can come visit when you can."

Quinn's face dropped at the mention of her staying in Michigan. "I hate that we won't be in the same place right after the baby's born. But... I get it. It's the best plan for now."

"I know," she mumbled, her heartbreaking. She also hated the idea of being apart from Quinn for those couple months, but she knew it was necessary. "I just want to give the baby a stable place before we have to move all our shit to Vancouver."

"Absolutely. And I'll come to Michigan as much as I can. And then, when you're ready, you'll move to Vancouver. You... you can move in here with me or... we can get you your own place."

It wasn't something they'd discussed in detail yet, but Faye's heart fluttered at the thought of sharing a place with Quinn. The thought of building a life together with their baby, filled her with a lot of hope for the future.

"Okay, sounds like a plan."

"I've been looking into baby gear. Cribs, strollers, cars seats, all the works. We'll need to figure out what we need in Michigan and what we need in Vancouver."

"Yeah, I've been looking into childcare options for when we move to Vancouver. I still want to finish my degree online. It'll be a lot."

"It will be, but we're in this together. You're not doing it alone, Faye."

"Thanks, Quinn."

"Also, I think we should make a list of names. It'll help."

She giggled, "You've really been thinking about this, huh?"

"Yeah. This baby's gonna need the best name ever. No pressure."

"Alright, let's do it. Let's make a list."

Faye groaned, rolling over to look at the clock for the thousandth time that night. 2:47 AM. She was exhausted, but her body refused to cooperate. The baby liked to be active as soon as she was ready to rest. Which made it impossible to get comfortable and sleep.

Not that comfortable really existed anymore. She felt huge, like she had an oversized balloon under her shirt at all times. The baby had officially taken over. Every breath she took was shallow, and her bladder felt like it was the size of a peanut. She had to pee all the time. Every time she'd get settled, she'd have to get right back and waddle back to the bathroom.

With a groan, she pulled herself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom yet again. She'd lost count of how many times she'd made that trip in the last hour alone. The baby pressed on every single one of her organs.

"I swear, if you keep pushing on my bladder, you're grounded for life."

The baby gave a strong kick in response, making her wince and laugh at the same time. It was like they already had the same sense of humour.

After what felt like an eternity of pissing, Faye made it back to bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She drifted in and out of fitful sleep, and then the dreams started.

Faye's dreams had always been weird, but lately, her pregnancy was putting them on a whole new level. Vivid and bizzare, often leaving her very confused when she woke up. This dream, though, took the fucking cake.

In her dream, she was in the hospital, ready to give birth. Everything seemed fine at first--the doctors were calm, Quinn was there, holding her hand. But when the baby finally arrived, Faye's eyes widened in horror.

It had tentacles.

It wasn't a normal, chubby-cheeked newborn. No, this baby was some kind of squid creature, with wriggling, slimy tentacles where it should have had arms and legs. And instead of crying, it made this weird gurgling sound like it was trying to communicate to aliens.

Faye had stared at it in utter shock, unable to process what she was seeing. Meanwhile, Quinn was completely unfazed. He smiled down at the baby-squid hybrid like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Isn't it cute?" Quinn had said, his voice filled with pride. "Look at all those tentacles."

Faye woke up, her heart racing. She blinked in the darkness, trying to shake off the unease from the dream. 3:30 AM. No way she was getting back to sleep after that. She grabbed her phone, texting Quinn.

Faye: u awake?

Quinn: Yeah, what's up?

Faye: had the weirdest fucking dream. call me

"Hey? You okay? What happened?"

Faye bit her lip, trying to keep from laughing as she thought about the dream. "I had a dream that the baby came out... but it had tentacles instead of arms and legs."

Quinn was silent for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah! It was like the baby was a squid or something. And you were completely fine with it. You were holding it like 'Look how cute it is!'"

"Well, I mean, if our baby has tentacles, we'll figure it out, right? It'll be the cutest squid baby, ever."

"I'm blaming pregnancy hormones for that one. These dreams have been getting weirddd."

"I've read about that. Strange dreams are super common in the third trimester. So... get ready for more squid babies."

"Great. Just what I needed. As if peeing every five minutes and feeling like a human punching bag wasn't enough."

"How are you feel otherwise?" Quinn asked. "I know this trimester has been harder."

"Honestly? I didn't think it could get worse, and then... it did. I can't breathe half the time because the baby is squishing my lungs, and I'm always tired but I can't sleep. The baby decides to have a fucking dance party every time I lie down."

"Sorry, Faye. Wish I could help."

"I know. It's not your fault, Quinn. Every week I feel like something new pops up to remind me how massive I am."

"Baby's gonna be here soon. And the sleepless nights will be for a different reason," he offered.

"Great," Faye said sarcastically. "Something to look forward to."

31-weeks. 9 more weeks until their baby would be there. The days were flying by, and with each passing week, she got more and more anxious. Quinn wanted to be at the appointment with her, but he was busy doing hockey stuff. They were doing their best to navigate long-distance pregnancy, something she never thought she'd have to do.

Her OB entered the room with a smile. "How're you feelin' today, Faye?"

"I'm always tired, but good. Baby's active, which is probably a good sign."

"That's great to hear. We're mainly looking for the baby's position, measuring your uterus, and making sure everything is progressing as it should."

Faye nodded, trying to relax as the doctor took her measurements. She watched the doctor gently press along her stomach, feeling for the baby's position. The cold jelly made her shiver slightly, but she was more focused on the doctor's facial expressions.

"Looks like your little one is head down, which is exactly what we want to see. No signs of breech, which is good news."

"That's a relief."

"Things are looking good, Faye! And just to double-check you still want to keep the gender a surprise?"

"Yeah, Quinn and I talked about it, we both want to wait until the birth to find out."

"That takes some serious patience. But it'll be a great surprise when the time comes."

After the checkup, Faye called Quinn. He always wanted to be filled in on what was going on after appointments.

"Hey, Faye! How'd it go?"

"It went well! Baby's head down, which means no breech. Everything is looking good."

"That's awesome. I was worried about that."

"I know you were. But they're in the right position. Doctor said everything is on track, and we're still in good shape for a natural delivery."

"And the gender? They didn't slip up?"

Faye shook her head with a laugh. "Nope, still a mystery. Doctor asked, but I said we're stickin' with our plan."

"As much as I want to know, I think the wait will be worth it."

"Same. But it's getting harder to wait," she admitted, climbing into her car. "I keep imaging what they'll look like. If they'll have your eyes or my nose."

"Well, if they come out with tentacles, we're prepared."

"Let's hope not," she groaned.

"You're doing amazing, Faye. We're almost there."

"Almost there."

The day had finally come and Quinn was back in Michigan, standing in Faye's apartment, helping her settle down for the final countdown. 1 week until her due date. Faye had been anticipating this moment for months, but now that it was there, all she could think about were the things they needed to get done before the baby arrived.

It didn't matter that she'd already gone through every room, tidied the apartment, and organized all the baby gear. The urge to keep preparing, making sure everything was perfect, was strong.

"Hey, how's everything going?" Quinn asked, dropping his bags on the ground.

Faye barely heard him. "We need to get the crib set up today," she blurted out. "And I need to reorganize the dresser-- I don't think I folded all the clothes properly. Oh, and we need to clear space in the freezer for breast milk."

Quinn looked at her with an amused smirk. "You know the baby isn't coming today, right? We've got time."

"Time?" Faye repeated, staring at him like he'd grown a second head. "We have less than a week, Quinn. What if the baby comes early and something isn't ready?"

He laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Okay, okay. Let's do whatever you need. Where do we start?"

Faye was in nesting mode. She had Quinn building the crib, while she sorted through the baby clothes for the tenth time. Everything needed to be perfect.

"Do you think I should organize them by size or typer?" she asked from the floor, surrounded by baby clothes. "Or maybe I should put the newborn ones on top. But then again, I don't know how fast the baby is going to grow."

Quinn glanced over from where he was screwing the last part of the crib on. "I think whatever you decide will be great."

Faye huffed. "You're just saying that. What if I mess this up? What if we're totally unprepared for when the baby gets here?"

"Faye, we're ready. The baby's not going to care if it's socks are in the wrong drawer. You've done so much already."

"I want everything to be perfect, Quinn."

"It will be perfect. You're not doing this on your own."

"I know. Thank you for being here."

"I'd rather be here than anywhere else," he leaned down and kissed her temple. "What's next on the list, boss?"

Faye stood in the middle of the room, staring at the crib. It was freshly made, ready for the baby with nothing that cause any dangers while it slept. It should've given her a sense of peace, but instead she was still freaking out.

"We have the crib," she gnawed at her bottom lip. "But... we also have the bassinet."

Her eyes darted between the two pieces of furniture.

"Why do we need both?" she frantically ran her hands through her hair, pulling at the roots. "What if the baby hates the bassinet? What if they refuse to sleep in either? What if we've set everything up wrong and the baby doesn't sleep at all?"

Quinn came through the front door, just as she was doing another lap of the apartment.

"What's going on?"

"Do we really need the crib and the bassinet? Why do we have both?"

"The bassinet's for when the baby is super small. Easier to keep them close that way. Then we'll use the crib when they're older. That's what the book said, remember?"

Faye just let out a frustrated sigh. Of course she remembered. But nothing felt logical anymore. Everything could go wrong in a million different ways.

Quinn moved to the kitchen to make some tea while Faye continued to pace.

"What if the baby doesn't latch?" she stopped in her tracks. "What if breastfeeding doesn't work? What if we have to switch to formula and we're unprepared?"

"If breastfeeding doesn't work, we'll figure it out. Formula is fine, Faye. We'll handle it."

"But what if the formula we pick isn't right? What if the baby's allergic to it or something? And I've been reading about colic. What if the baby screams for hours every night and we don't know what to do?"

Quinn walked over, gently taking her hands in his. "Breathe. We'll figure it out if that happens. And if the baby doesn't latch, we'll get help. It's not all on you."

"But what about the bottles? Why do we need a warmer and a sanitizer? Can't we just use the microwave?"

Quinn stifled a laugh, realizing Faye wasn't in the mood for humour. "The bottle warmer is supposed to heat it more evenly than the microwave. And the sanitizer is for making sure things are really clean. Trust me, people do it all the time. We've got it covered."

"It just feels like there's so much to keep track of. I keep thinking I'm missing something important, and then I panic," she sighed, collapsing onto the couch.

"You're not missing anything," Quinn reassured. "You've done everything. The apartment is ready, the hospital bag is packed, the car seat is installed in your car, we've got all the gear we need. We are prepared."

"What if the baby gets cold at night? And the swaddle isn't enough?"

"They'll teach us about that at the hospital, Faye. And we have those sleep sacks, we'll make sure the baby is all nice and cozy."

"I-"

"Faye, no more. We're going to be fine. We don't have to be perfect. No first-time parents are perfect. Now, let's watch something and stop talking. You're giving me a headache."

"Hey!"

Quinn was right. They didn't need to be perfect, they just needed to work together.

It was late in the evening, just two days before her due date, when Faye felt a strange twinge of pain. She had been lying on the couch, flipping through Netflix while Quinn did dishes. At first she thought it was just more Braxton Hicks, she got those a lot, but as the pain spread and deepened, her brain told her it wasn't.

She took a deep breath, trying to stay calm as another wave of pain gripped her lower back. She knew what was happening now. This wasn't a false alarm.

"Quinn?"

"What's up?"

"I think... I think I'm going into labour. The baby's coming."

Quinn froze for a moment, his eyes widening. "Are you sure?"

"I don't now," she admit, feeling the pain again. "But these feel different. Stronger."

Quinn was at her side in an instant, his hand resting on her lower back. "Okay, let's time them. Figure this out."

The next half hour was a blur of counting and breathing. Faye's contractions came steadily, each one closer than the last. She could feel the baby moving lower with each wave of pain, the pressure in her abdomen nothing like she'd ever experienced before.

"Four minutes. We should go."

Once Faye actually got in a bed, doctors and nurses were hooking her up to things, checking her vitals, checking the baby's heartrate, seeing how dilated she was.

They told her she was about six centimetres. And that she and Quinn had some time to wait. Faye had to take her mind off the pain, wracking her brain for something to do.

"You know, Quinn, I really don't know the basics about you."

"What do you mean?"

"Like your favourite colour, favourite movie, that kind of stuff."

"You want to play 20 questions while you wait to push?" he laughed.

"Yes. I'll go first, what's your favourite colour?"

"Blue. I know it's basic. What's yours?"

"Green. But not just any green. Like forest green. Like deep in the woods of Vermont typa shit."

"You have quite the way with words, Faye."

"I know," she winked.

"If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?"

"Hmm, anywhere that I'm happy and with people I care about. But preferably close to a body of water. I find that calming."

"Vancouver, here we come," Quinn smiled, allowing her to squeeze his hand as another contraction hit.

"Are you scared to be a dad?"

"Wow, hard hitting question. I mean, a little. But isn't everyone? I think I'm mostly worried about being there for you guys. Are you scared to be a mom?"

"Fucking terrified. But I can't exactly shove it back in the oven for any longer," she joked, allowing him to brush some hair from her sweaty forehead. "Do I look hot?"

"Oh, amazing. Hotter than when I met you at that party."

"Don't even mention that party. That party's got me pushing a watermelon out of my--"

"Shut up," Quinn cackled.

"One more big push and we've got the baby, Mama!" the doctor smiled.

"I hate you, Quinn Hughes. Ahh!" she gripped his hand, giving her one final push. And then cries filled the room.

"It's a boy!"

Faye collapsed, too tired to cry as they placed the baby on her chest. Quinn, however, wasn't too tired to cry. He wiped at his eyes, staring in wonder at the slime-covered baby on Faye's chest.

"We'll get him all cleaned up and then you can hold him, Dad."

He nodded, kissing Faye's forehead. "You did it, Faye. I'm so proud."

"Is he okay?" she mumbled, beyond exhausted.

"He's perfect. He has my nose, I think. You tell me what you think once he's all clean."

"He's really here."

"He's here," Quinn nodded. "Our baby boy."

A couple minutes later, the nurse brought the baby back, now clean and bundled up, only his face peeking out of the blanket. "Here he is, Mama."

Her little face was scrunched up, his eyes closed, and his lips puckered in the most adorable way possible. Faye stared at him in awe, lightly tracing his cheek with her knuckle.

"Quinn," she whispered. "He's perfect."

Quinn leaned over, wrapping his arm around her as they gazed down at their son. "Yeah. He's perfect."

His little nose did look like Quinn's, but she could see traces of herself in him too, in his chin and the curve of his lips.

"He has your mouth," Quinn said softly, noticing the same thing she did.

"And your nose."

Quinn reached out, gently loosening the blanket and brushing the baby's tiny hand with his finger. The baby stirred slightly, his little fingers curling around one of Quinn's. It was just the three of them, wrapped in their own little perfect bubble of love.

"What are we going to name him?" Faye continued to whisper, not taking her eyes off the bundle of joy in her arms.

"I think... he looks like a James. What do you think?"

Faye smiled. "James. I like it. James Hughes."

Quinn grinned, kissing the top of her head. "James Hughes it is."

Everything they had been through--the stress, the worry, the fear--had all led to that moment. It was all worth it. And as Faye held James close, she felt her heart swell in a way it never had before. She'd never held so much love for one thing.

She glanced at Quinn, who was still staring at James. She reached up, wiping away the last of Quinn's tears with her thumb.

"We're a family."

Quinn smiled, leaning down to give her a proper kiss. "Yeah, we're a family."

#nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine

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covenofagatha · 1 month ago

Note

alright alright i’m thinking dub!con modern/nonmagic au.. into something rough and/or bondage. we love the age gap. i’m leaving a lot of holes lmfao i will talk shop if you want specifics baby

finally finished omg

hope everyone enjoys

title is from Chains by Nick Jonas cause why not

Chains for your love

When you're house sitting for your neighbors Agatha and Rio, you decide to throw a party and they are not happy when they find out

Word count: 3400

Warnings: dubcon, smut, rough sex, bondage (handcuffs), vibrators, fingering, spanking, choking, threesome, might be missing one or two sorry if so, age gap (all legal)

Your neighbors would kill you if they found out what you were doing right now.

Agatha and Rio, the couple next door, had asked you to house sit for them while they were on vacation to Cabo for a week as a favor to your mom.

You had just graduated from high school and she said, and you quote, “you need to get your lazy butt off the couch and do something with your life or so help me.”

So when Agatha mentioned to her that they were leaving for a while, your mom had thrown you under the bus.

You didn’t know much about your neighbors, only that they were two smoking hot older women who were kind of crazy. You had also barely ever interacted with them, always at school or doing homework when they came over to have lunch with your mom.

Agatha is about ten years older than her wife, with long dark curly hair and piercing blue eyes. Her fashion sense is always on point and her veiny hands do things to you.

Rio, while pale and a brunette as well, is tall and lean, and very intense. Her hazel eyes bore into you whenever you’d come downstairs to get a glass of water, like she knew something that you didn’t. When she looks at you like that, you can’t help but squirm and wonder if you did something wrong. And yet, for some reason, you find it hot.

All you had to do while they were gone was stop by, water their plants, collect their mail, and make sure their house was in order.

Which you did, perfectly, you might add.

It just so happened that on the last night of house sitting, you were supposed to go to a party at your friend’s house to celebrate the end of senior year, but her parents came home early so she needed to move it.

And you had the brilliant idea to use the giant, empty house at your disposal.

Cue the music, lights, and drinks.

“This is so nice of your neighbors to let us use their house!” Your best friend Wanda yells at you.

You laugh, pretending not to have heard her over the bass, because they certainly did not.

In fact, you think, you think they would be quite opposed to it.

Agatha and Rio were quiet people; they didn’t like mess, especially in their house.

And this here, with Jimmy Woo throwing up in the bathroom and Natasha Romanoff knocking over a bottle of beer on the ground and two people making out in the pool, was as messy as it could get.

You’re on your second wine cooler, feeling it start to hit, and you stumble around the living room, trying to assess the damage before the party is even over.

It may have gotten more out of hand than you were intending it to. When you had told your mom what you were doing, you had mentioned having a few people over for pizza, and she had said that if it got out of hand, or if she heard about even one thing being out of place when Agatha and Rio got back, she would, and you quote, “ground your butt until you graduated from college.”

You almost pointed out the irony of her wanting you to do something, but the moment you were going to, she threatened to not let you do anything for the next four years, but decided against it.

“Here!” A bottle of beer is pressed into your hand and you turn to find Darcy Lewis standing there. Even though you shouldn’t, you take a swig and Wanda leaves to go find her boyfriend. “Cool party!”

“Thanks!” You shout back and she giggles before taking your hand and leading you into the kitchen, where it’s a little quieter. You haven’t talked to Darcy that much, but she was in two of your classes and you know she’s going to MIT.

“Got any summer plans?” She asks but she slurs the words. You laugh like it’s the funniest thing ever. “What?”

You point at her, almost doubling over. “You’re so drunk!”

She looks scandalized for a second, raises her hand to fix her glasses, and then becomes hysterical too. “So are you!”

The next thing you know, Darcy and you are kissing.

You’re not sure who started it, but her mouth is against yours and your tongue is in her mouth.

You pull back, there’s some eye contact, and then the two of you crack up again and she goes outside to the patio.

Drunken makeout accomplished and your head sufficiently spinning from the two and a half drinks now, you make it a mission to start cleaning up.

You’ve collected half a trash bag full of cans when people start pouring out of the house, telling you to “stay in touch!” and “have fun at college!” and then it’s just you in the house.

There’s still a lot to clean up, but you’re tired and sloshed, so you set an alarm on your phone for six in the morning so you can get up and tidy up the rest before Agatha and Rio get home.

You pass out on the couch immediately.

Which turns out to be a huge mistake, because when you finally wake up in the morning, your neighbors are sitting in the chairs across from the coffee table, both wearing matching displeased looks.

You shoot up, scrambling into a sitting position, heart pounding. “What–” You furiously tap your phone to find out why the alarm didn’t go off, but it doesn’t turn on.

Of course it died.

Rio chuckles, leaning back and crossing a leg over the other, amused with your panic. “Care to explain what happened here last night, doll?”

Your cheeks redden and you try to think of something that won’t get you in trouble because it seems like you are fucked. “I had some friends over,” you say, and it sounds pathetic even to your ears.

Agatha tuts and rests her elbows on her knees. “‘Some friends?’ Angel, have you seen what our house looks like?”

You gulp and take a look around, dread sinking deeper into your stomach. The pieces of glass that no one picked up. All the cans and bottles you missed. A sweatshirt thrown onto the floor. Pizza crusts and plates scattered across the furniture.

“I was going to clean it up, I swear,” you say, your throat suddenly really dry.

“Oh, and,” Rio says, so cheerful for no reason. You can only imagine what she’s going to say, but she takes out her phone and taps the screen. You raise an eyebrow and she turns it to you.

At first, you’re not really sure what you’re looking at, but then it becomes clear.

It’s a recording of you and Darcy making out in their kitchen, the angle from somewhere on the counter.

You lurch back on the couch. “You were spying on me?” You hiss, feeling violated.

Agatha rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Please, darling, this is our house, we can do whatever we want in it. Plus, we weren’t sure if we could trust such an immature, young thing like you and clearly, we couldn’t.”

The jab about your age makes you angry. “I’m not that young and I’m not immature!” You say indignantly.

“Making out like a slut with the first girl who gives you attention while drunk at a lame high school party?” Rio taunts, standing up and sliding next to you on the couch. You feel the pit in your stomach grow when Agatha does the same on the other side. You’re not sure who to look at. “Seems like something a childish brat would do.”

“And now, we think there should be consequences,” Agatha coos, hand coming to brush a piece of your hair back behind your ear. Fear spikes through your veins.

“Please don’t tell my mom! She can’t find out about this, I’ll be in so much trouble,” you beg and Agatha smirks. You jump when you feel Rio’s hand touch your thigh and you freeze when it slides up to the hem of your short skirt.

“So you don’t want us to tell your mom,” Rio muses, toying with the edge of the fabric. You have to bite back a moan and it becomes hard to breathe. “I guess that means we’ll have to punish you some other way for creating such a mess.”

“What did you–” You have to stop to swallow roughly. “What did you have in mind?”

Agatha hums lowly. “We need to make sure you learn your lesson, no matter how hard we have to beat it into you.” You whimper and pray that neither of them heard it.

But of course they did.

Rio snickers and cups your pussy, all the air being punched out of your lungs. “God, she’s dripping, Aggie,” she says and your face burns hotter than it ever has.

You shake your head, denying how much you actually want this, and try to clamp your legs close, but Agatha pries one open and Rio moves her fingers up and down your clothed slit.

“We can always go next door and tell your mom,” Agatha warns and that’s all it takes to convince you. You turn to Rio, wrap your arms around her, and pull her in for a kiss.

Immediately, Agatha yanks you back by your hair and Rio slaps you across the face. It’s not hard enough to seriously hurt, but the sting makes you gasp.

“Bedroom, now,” Agatha barks and practically drags you off the couch and up the stairs, Rio practically cackling while she follows.

You’re thrown onto the bed in the room that you may have snooped through a few times this week. Enough times to find all of their toys in their bedside drawer and imagine the women using them on each other.

The same nightstand where Rio is heading toward now. You watch her saunter over, lips parting, but Agatha roughly grabs your chin and forces your mouth open with her thumb.

“Don’t look at her,” she growls and leans down to whisper in your ear, “If you ever want us to stop, say purple.”

The second you nod, she spits directly into your mouth. A strangled moan leaves your throat and Agatha slides two fingers inside your mouth to spread her saliva all over your tongue. You gag around them as she pushes them deeper and you feel tears pricking your eyes. She scrapes her nails against your tongue and you roll it up to flick at her fingers, not missing the way she bites her lip.

And then she flips you over so your stomach is on the bed, hikes your skirt over your ass, and spanks you. The impact reverberates through your body and the sound echoes throughout the room.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

“A young thing like you shouldn’t be using such dirty language,” Agatha tsks and slaps you again. “That’s for kissing that whore in our kitchen.”

Again.

“That’s for leaving a mess all over our house.”

Again.

“That’s for proving us wrong when we thought we could trust you.”

Again.

“That’s for making us punish you the second we get back from our lovely vacation.”

Again.

“And that is for teasing us all those times at your house when you’d come downstairs dressed in barely anything. It’s like you wanted us to notice how desperate you were for us,” she snaps.

You’ve dissolved into a moaning, sniveling puddle on their bed but the thought that you’ve been unknowingly turning this couple on makes you even hotter inside.

Agatha reaches down to the crotch of your underwear and laughs meanly. “God, you’re so fucking wet, did being spanked like a slut turn you on?”

While you consider yourself a proud person, there’s absolutely no pride in the way you nod your head so hard it hurts.

She tears your panties off and shoves two fingers in you without preamble. A loud sound rips out of your mouth and your body rocks forward with the force. She fucks you with a brutal pace and it’s exactly what you need, but then she pulls out and slaps you harder than before on the ass. You groan, absorbing the hit, and you feel yourself clench around nothing.

You need her fingers back inside you, but she turns you back over and you prop yourself up on your elbows.

Rio comes back into view with two pairs of fluffy handcuffs and a few other toys. “Get against the headboard,” she orders and you scramble to obey. She hands one pair to Agatha and they both make quick work of chaining one cuff to your wrist and the other to the bedside post. You give an experimental tug of both hands and while you can wiggle your arms and wrists comfortably, there’s no getting out.

The two women come back around the bed to face you and you squirm under their direct attention.

“What do you think we should do with our naughty little plaything?” Rio asks, tongue pushing against the inside of her cheek, eyes lighting up with possibilities.

They fall into these roles so well and you can only imagine what it’s like when the two of them have sex.

“I think we should fuck her until she can’t take anymore and she’s begging for us to stop,” Agatha muses with a smirk. Your breath catches at her idea.

“I think the slut likes that sound of that,” Rio says and Agatha nods in agreement. “Maybe we hold the vibrator against her until she cries. What do you think, doll?” She raises an eyebrow at you.

“Whatever you want, please just touch me,” you beg.

Agatha bends over to run a finger up your thigh, watching how you shake. “Be careful what you wish for, angel.” She crawls onto the bed so she’s kneeling in front of you and once again, pushes two fingers forcefully into your dripping pussy. She’s not gentle at all, curling her fingers and scraping her nails against your insides, but it’s perfect.

You struggle against the handcuffs, wishing you could touch her, but Rio tuts, takes off her pants and underwear, and moves to straddle your stomach, blocking Agatha partially from your view.

Your breath hitches as she pulls up the crop top from the party last night and lowers her wet cunt onto your abs and lightly grinds. Her head falls back and you think you could cum from the feeling of her against you like that.

And then she starts moving faster just as Agatha does, her fingers filling you and fucking you just how you need it, and Rio’s right hand comes to clasp around your throat. You throb around Agatha’s fingers and you had no idea that would be such a turn on for you.

Agatha’s thumb presses down so hard on your clit that it almost hurts while she keeps her merciless pace and your hips start to buck against her fingers. Rio squeezes harder and the lightheadedness you feel only drags you closer to the edge. Her nails dig into your skin and you think you might die from how good it feels.

“Are you going to cum for us?” Agatha asks from behind the woman riding your stomach faster.

“Yes,” you manage to choke out, seeing Rio’s delighted face on top of you.

And then Agatha pulls her fingers out of you and you whine loudly, only for her to slap your pussy hard.

You can hear the wetness.

And then you can hear buzzing.

Agatha presses something against your clit and you almost jump out of your skin.

It’s the vibrator and you’re guessing she turned it up to one of the highest settings. It’s so intense on you and you can’t help but cry out as it sends you straight into an orgasm. Being breathless from Rio’s hand around your throat only increases the pleasure and you’ve never felt anything like that before.

You expect some relief from the assault on your clit but it never comes. Agatha holds it against you while Rio slips a finger down to her own pussy to get more direct stimulation where she needs. The woman on top of you is beginning to fall apart and it only heightens your own sensitivity.

The vibrations have your hips rolling and you quickly cum again, and this time, you try to close your legs or scooch up the bed to get it off, but Agatha doesn’t let you.

She rakes her nails on your leg and then you feel her roughly bite your inner thigh. You gasp and your hips buck up, almost throwing Rio off.

Rio finally takes her hand off your throat and bends down over you so she can suck marks into your collarbones as well.

Both their mouths on you and the vibrations still on your clit throw you right over the edge again.

This time, Agatha does move it away from you and you can finally breathe.

But not for long, because Agatha slides a finger back inside your sopping cunt and lazily fucks you. Rio’s panting on top of you and she finally buckles with pleasure as she cums for the first time. It’s the hottest thing ever, the way she tosses her head back and seizes up, small sounds falling out of her mouth.

Once Rio comes down from her high, she gets off you, smirking at the glistening wetness on your stomach. You gape down at them as she joins Agatha to watch her fuck you.

And then your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back in your head when Rio pushes a finger into you too.

Fuck.

You have both of them inside you.

They move in sync, dragging their fingers out and thrusting back into you at the same time, and you groan loudly.

“How does it feel, angel?” Agatha says, voice thick and low.

“Feels so good,” you babble, sweat breaking out on your forehead as you raise your hips to meet them.

“Does our little slut need to cum over both our fingers?” Rio taunts.

Your head falls to the side, blissed out with the feeling of them both curling and pressing on that spot inside you that you can rarely get to on your own. Your stomach is almost cramping and your arms are aching from pulling so hard on the cuffs. “Yes, please, fuck, wanna cum, so close.”

And then they pull out of you at the same time like they planned it and you clench needily around nothing, your hips still undulating.

“Wait, what, why?” You wail and they start laughing at you. “No, no, come on, please.” You pull at your restraints like that will do anything and Agatha harshly slaps the inside of your thigh where she bit you earlier, and it makes you jump.

“Stop being a greedy little slut,” she scolds. Rio walks over and unlocks the handcuffs from you so you can sit up. “You already came twice. Maybe you’ll think twice about using our house for an orgy next time.”

“It wasn’t an orgy!” You protest and Rio rolls her eyes and grabs your jaw roughly.

“We don’t care if it was your fucking church group,” she snarls. “You made a mess and hopefully you’ve learned your lesson.”

You slouch, still feeling desperate. You can still feel both their hands in you, twisting and fucking you so well, and you don’t think you’re bound to forget that anytime soon.

“Well, angel, did you learn your lesson?” Agatha presses and you petulantly nod.

Not exactly beating their young and immature allegations anytime soon. Who cares though.

“You better get home before your mom starts to worry and thinks we’re torturing you,” Rio says, playful glint in her eye.

“Cause that would be so far from the truth,” you mutter and Agatha swats your leg again.

“Get out of here,” she says. “Maybe next time we go out of town, we can see if you were actually paying attention.”

All you know is that next time they leave, you’re going to throw an even bigger party.

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha smut #agatha all along #agatha x rio #agathario #agathario x reader #rio vidal x reader #rio vidal x agatha harkness

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edenianprincess · 1 year ago

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INTRO !! ❤︎ ׄ Dialogues Intros .ᐟ

Dialogues intros about characters’ relationships with a gender neutral!reader. Characters chosen are Johnny, Bi-Han, Kenshi and Kitana. Content warning: very slight suggestive theme in 2 dialogues. There’s a small bonus angst part for Bi-han but the rest of his dialogues is taking place in a world where he didn’t betray his brothers. Please, respond to the poll at the end!

Johnny ! Mirror Dialogues

You: Two of us? There can only be one. You: Yeah, if Johnny see this he’ll go nuts.

You: Jo-Johnny?! But how?! You: Hollywood makeup, darling.

Johnny: Let’s be real, Y/n would totally prefer me. Johnny: You got balls to say this as a copycat.

Johnny ! At each other

You: Are you ready to show me off your skills in kombat? Johnny: Real question is, are YOU ready to be impressed by my skills?

You: Just because I’m your partner doesn’t mean I have to watch every of your movies. Johnny: Who said the only thing we were going to do is watch?

You: The model who talked to you, she wanted what? Johnny: Who cares, is someone jealous?

Johnny: Win this, Doll, and I’ll show my biiiig surprise for you. You: Let’s not waste time then, and just show me it now.

Johnny: I’ve got to say, I never went on a date as odd as this one. You: Could you please focus, Johnny.

Johnny: I may be the outlaw, darling. But you're the one stealing my heart. You: From which movie did you steal the line this time?

Johnny ! With other characters

Mileena: How can you have a partner with your pride is beyond me. Johnny: You know how many people wish to be at their place?

You: Why do you want to train with me that much? It has been a week now. Smoke: I just need to work on my technique, and you’re the best fighting partner!

Smoke: I don’t think I can hold on much longer, they’re starting to doubt something. Johnny: Please Smoke, my man, I just need a bit more time.

You: How is working with Johnny? Kenshi: Even the Yakuza didn’t make me work that much.

Johnny: Will you accept to be my best man for the wedding if Y/n says yes? Kenshi: It would be an honor.

Scorpion: The Shirai Ryu are in need of members. You: I can advise you Johnny’s paparazzis, they sneak into your privacy without your knowing.

Liu Kang: I’m glad to see your heart has open again. Johnny: I’m thankful for what Cris taught me but Y/n is without a doubt my soulmate.

Kung Lao: How is it like to live in a big celebrity’s house? You: Depends which house are we talking about.

Bi-Han ! Mirror Dialogues

You: There’s still a chance of redemption for your Bi-Han. You: Wait, what happened to yours?

You: Bi-Han wouldn’t be able to handle two of us. You: That’s why there should only be one left.

Sub-Zero: Y/n made you soft. Sub-Zero: We’ll see who is soft when your face meets my cold fist.

Bi-Han ! At each other

You: I don’t ask you to abandon your duties, just show that you care for me. Sub-Zero: Everything I do is for the Lin Kuei and you.

You: Do we really need to fight? I wouldn’t want to ruin that handso- Sub-Zero: Not in front of the new recruits.

You: Do I really need to train that much? Sub-Zero: I won’t gamble on your life to know the answer.

Sub-Zero: You’re spending too much time with the actor. You: You know he isn’t cooler than you.

Sub-Zero: You’re not my Y/n. You: I’m here to stop you before the shadows take over you.

Sub-Zero: How dare you call me with your foolish names in front of the champions?! You: *laughs* Let it go, Bi-Han.

Bi-Han ! With other characters

Kung Lao: Should I go easy on Babi Han? Sub-Zero: I’ll put your head on an ice stake!

Johnny: Seriously, him?! What does he has that I don’t? You: It’s more about what you have that he doesn’t.

Raiden: You… having a partner. That’s quite the amazement. Sub-Zero: And what is that supposed to mean?

Smoke: He didn’t even yell this time, how did you pacify him? You: A magician never reveals their secret.

Kitana: I see that this cold heart has finally melt. Sub-Zero: Don’t think this made me weak.

Liu Kang: You kept Bi-Han away to deflect towards the wrong path. You: I’m always looking out for him.

Scorpion: I’m really happy for you to have found your one, brother. Sub-Zero: With them by my side, the Lin Kuei can only flourish.

You: I am concerned for Bi-Han, do you think he’ll stay stable? Geras: This will depend on your actions.

Bi-Han ! Angst part

You: How could I feel a part of the Lin Kuei, when you reject your own brother? Sub-Zero: Tomas won’t be the one to insure the clan’s future.

You: You put more trust in this sorcerer than in me. Sub-Zero: It’s not about trust, it’s about glory.

Sub-Zero: We could have ruled together. You: Indeed, and you ruined everything.

Scorpion: You were lucky to have found someone like them, and you had to crush their feelings. Sub-Zero: They were lucky I deemed them as worthy.

You: I'm sorry for his words, I'm trying to resonate with him. Smoke: I've stopped caring about what he says a long time ago.

Kenshi ! Mirror Dialogues

You: Do you think if we switch places he’ll notice? You: We have to try that!

You: Your Kenshi has lost his sight too? You: This man really should try to protect his eyes better.

Kenshi: My Y/n died in my timeline. Kenshi: And you think I’ll let you this one?

Kenshi ! At each other

You: You may have lost the tournament but you’re the champion of my heart. Kenshi: *laughs* Since when did you become that cheesy?

You: Here comes the man in black. Kenshi: I know you love it when I wear that suit.

You: I wish I could have been here to protect you. Kenshi: You already do a lot for me, and I can’t be more grateful.

Kenshi: Wait, it’s not Johnny who told everyone I’m the best swordsman in Earthrealm? You: I’m simply sharing my honest opinion.

Kenshi: Don’t go easy on me. You: So, just like last night?

Kenshi: I feel like my past with the Yakuza is haunting me again. You: This time, we will fight together against them, mentally or physically.

Kenshi ! With other characters

Johnny: Have you seen the new hottie? Totally would sm- Kenshi: You don’t want to finish that sentence.

Kung Lao: So, I conclude it wasn’t love at first sight with Kenshi, eh? You: Very funny, Kung Lao.

Johnny: I swear, I didn’t know they were your spouse. Kenshi: Hmp.. as if you care for that.

You: Are you sure you’re up to fight? I wouldn’t want to match my husband. Mileena: Why, wouldn’t that be adorable?

Reiko: Should I steal your magic sword to see how quick you’d die? Kenshi: An angry spouse is deadlier than Sento and believe me, you don’t want that.

You: You’ll pay for what you did. Shang Tsung: I wasn’t the one to blind your lover.

Ashrah: I can only sense sincerity in your lover’s heart. Kenshi: They have helped me in many ways.

General Shao: Once I find your partner, he’ll lose more than his sight. You: Too bad you’ll have to pass over my dead body first.

Kitana ! Mirror Dialogues

You: Do you really think Kitana would fall for your tricks, Shang Tsung? You: I just need to make sure I’m the only one remaining, first.

You: I don’t think I want to share Kitana even with another me. You: How strange, I was thinking the same thing.

Kitana: Y/n doesn’t exist my timeline. Kitana: I wouldn’t be able to imagine a life without them.

Kitana ! At each other

You: How about we go at Madam Bo’s after this fight? Kitana: It will be a pleasure to go with you. I’ve heard only great things.

You: Your fighting is just as graceful as your look. Kitana: Flattery will get you nowhere, beloved.

You: How about a double date with Mileena and Tanya after this fight? Kitana: Are you suggesting that I should date my sister and her lover..?

Kitana: I have lost sight of you in the fight against the titans. You: Don’t worry, we can’t get rid of me that easily.

Kitana: Leading the army can sometime become overwhelming. You: Rest is important even for someone as competent as you.

Kitana: *laughs* Do not fret, my sister does not bite. You: Yes, she does.

Kitana ! With other characters

Mileena: While I respect you if I learn that you’re toying with my sister, I’ll- You: Rip my face apart?

Kitana: Sister, please, trust my judgment on Y/n. Mileena: I’m just making sure of that.

You: Your daughter is truly a wonder. Sindel: She takes a lot from her mother.

Sindel: Is this lover of yours worthy to be by your side? Kitana: I deem them as so, mother.

Raiden: I’m really happy for you and the Princess. You: Is that so? Why do I hear disappointment in your voice.

General Shao: I’ll exploit you and your partner’s weaknesses that is you both. Kitana: You cannot be more wrong, General. We are each other’s strength.

You: Sorry, Cage. Kitana is off limits. Johnny: Not even a small place for a third person?

Kitana: Should I thank you for putting me with Y/n in this timeline? Liu Kang: I did nothing, it was you both who found each other.

‘𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓔𝐍𝐃 Please don’t copy/translate and don’t reblog if you’re a yand3r3 blog/reblog account, or you’ll be blocked. Besides that, likes/reblogs/comments are appreciated.

#mortal kombat x reader #johnny cage x reader #bi han x reader #sub zero x reader #kenshi x reader #kitana x reader #mk1 x reader #mortal kombat 1 x reader #mortal kombat imagine #mk1 intros #mortal kombat intros #kenshi takahashi x reader #Bi han #johnny cage #kenshi takahashi #kitana

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aha-chuu · 1 year ago

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Here's the thing. "Renheng but Blade is immortal and nothing goes wrong" goes totally against the themes set up in HSR. But it's so fucking funny.

So, Dan Feng loves Yingxing whatever. They decide to make Yingxing immortal together and then BAM no one finds out (so no big crime to be arrested for) but there's two ways to play it. Either they have to slowly gaslight everyone into believing YX was a long life species this whole time, or they have to somehow pretend this is not YX, this is some other 100% naturally immortal dude and Dan Feng just has the Most specific type ever, to the point that he basically got his exes twin but immortal with a cooler haircut.

And with the gaslighting idea - I think it could work. No one's gonna notice that YX isn't aging for at least a few years, probably more since everyone they know is long-life and they likely have a warped perception of how regular aging works. So DF & YX just gotta wait like 5-10 years, slowly dropping hints that "oh yeah can't wait till our 150th anniversary!!" And Jing Yuan is like "... Hmm is that normal? That's probably normal?".

Cos also. Who's gonna mention it? Like it's gonna take so long for anyone to notice, is Jingliu gonna eventually sit them down like "you did a big sin didn't you" and then YX and DF just play dumb: "what??? Jingliu what are you on about? Is Mara eating all your memories of YX definitely being immortal this whole time?" So that's not good for Jingliu's mental health but whatever.

Anyway so Dan Feng and Yingxing have successfully scammed everyone but DF is still definitely the High Elder and absolutely no one wants him to be dating this guy. Also the dragon heart is missing cos it's in YX's chest and surely the Preceptors would check up on that? Like a renewal service? Some sort of 200-year check-up? Does DF have to take his bf with him so the aura is nearby? It's just a game of "how dumb are these guys?" Until all those preceptors reincarnate into ones who DF can convince "oh no the High Elder is supposed to give the dragon heart to their beloved. Yeah it's a ritual. Oh the immortality uh no Yingxing had that forever obviously".

Eventually YX is gonna get stabbed and he's definitely more immortal than everyone else. More gaslighting ensues probably, cos otherwise it's like?? He's just an abundance monstrosity (Jingliu is seeing red rn) and Jing Yuan has sussed it out at this point but yknow he likes YX; he prefers him being alive than dead. Jingliu is gonna stab YX for being an undying monstrosity and JY steps in - "nooo don't you know I mean ig your parents never told you but if uhhhh you suck enough dragon dick this is totally normal -" and anyway Sanctus Medicus get a lil fetishy sex crazed from that conspiracy theory.

Then later DF has to be reborn which is sad, but I like to think YX just takes like. A gap year from their relationship. He's a divorced old man he deserves a mid life crisis while DH gets the "plss don't fall in love this idiot guy again" speech from the other Vidyadhara but it's working like reverse psychology, DH is all "pshh I'm way too put-together for that!!" And anyway YX is still a hot piece of ass so DH fails immediately.

One day DH gets a dream memory about the whole sinning part of their relationship and has to come to terms with That™ meanwhile YX is sipping a mimosa while he's having a moral dilemma. "No babe it's fine it's like. Yeah it is a hellish sin but it's cute that you're so worried about it. No they can't try us for crimes we did so long ago don't worry" meanwhile JY is still dealing with the paperwork nightmare from YX's birth certificate definitely not being that of a long-life person's but ehh.

Basically fluffy unproblematic renheng where no one gets amnesiaed or tortured is great and good even if it laughs in the face of canon.

#renheng #yingyue #hsr #blade hsr #dan heng #dan Feng #Yingxing #imbibitor lunae #Honkai star rail #jing yuan #jingliu

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thebearer · 2 years ago

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would you ever write something about protective baby daddy carmy, maybe it’s only a few weeks until the baby is born so super big belly and coming to family or making her spend all the time at the restaurant so he doesn’t miss the birth

"Make way, wide corner!" Richie bellowed, arms waving back and forth, guiding you through the kitchen like you were an airplane landing.

You glared at him, a snarl in your expression as you waddled around the corner. It was hot and you were so fucking pregnant, due any day now. "Shut the fuck up, Richie." You huffed, flinching at the heat of the kitchen, a wave of nausea coming over you.

"Richie, leave that poor woman alone. What's the matter with you, huh?" Tina snarled, glaring harshly at Richie. "How're you doin', Mama? How's the baby?" Her tone dropped to something sweeter, kinder for you, hand rubbing over your swollen abdomen. Normally, it bothered you when people touched your bump, but Tina was different. It was comforting with her.

"Miserable. Swollen. Hot." You muttered, looking down at your growing belly where baby girl was still jabbing at your ribs.

"I mean this in the nicest way, but... has the baby grew more since last week?" Sydney's eyes were skittish and wide, darting carefully from your stomach back to you.

You snorted lightly, running a hand over the swell of your abdomen. "She dropped a few days ago. Getting ready for launch." You muttered.

"Oh, that-that's, uh, terrifying." Sydney nodded, awkwardly. "Sorry, that's not what you want to hear, but, uh..."

"No, you're right. It is." You laughed, a little uneasy. It was fucking terrifying, all of it- pregnancy, birth, motherhood in general. It was scary.

"It also is so fucking painful because now everything is heavier and my back feels like it might snap." You gave a fake forced smile.

"Oh, poor Mama. That just means she's close. Only a few more days?" Tina beamed. "How much does she weigh?"

"They think eight pounds." You groaned, Sydney's eye bulging expression.

"Ay dios mio..." Tina muttered under her breath. "Well, you'll be so drugged up, honey, you won't even feel it."

"I'm praying for a C-section." You scoffed lightly. "Carmen's already said he's gonna be a wreck either way."

"Yeah, and he will be, won't you, Cousin?" Richie cackled, clapping his cousin on the back as he passed by.

"Be what?" Carmen muttered, too in the game to even see you there. "Chef, have you finished prep?"

"No, Jeff. Talking to your beautiful baby mama." Tina cooed, giving your arm a gentle squeeze.

Carmen's eyes lifted to you, brow furrowed when he looked at the time. "Hey, baby, I lost track of time." He muttered, lips brushing over yours in greeting, hand gliding down your growing stomach.

"We know you did, Cousin." Richie scoffed. "I went and got her."

"You drove with Richie?" Carmen's eyes flashed to you.

"C'mon, Carm. I'm a good fuckin' driver, alright? Quit busting my balls." Richie snorted, rolling his eyes at him.

"He drove safe, Carmy." You reassured, hand rubbing down his forearms sweetly.

Carmen hummed, rolling his eyes gently, but moved you through the kitchen after Sweeps almost hit you with a pan rounding the corner. "Here, come in my office."

"Is it cooler in there?" You moaned, lip jutting in a pout. "I'm about to stand in the freezer, Carmy, it's so fuckin' hot in here."

"I know." Carmen had learned, knew better now, than to do anything but agree with you. He'd been on the receiving end of your wild hormones too many times, your lashing tongue or worse- the fucking tears.

"I put the fan in here, and I have that neck thing in my little fridge, ok? You should be laying down anyways. Not supposed to be up." Carmen frowned lightly , pushing the door open to his office.

The couch was now used as your temporary napping place throughout the day. Carmen had put the bear in overbearing- a joke you told him that he did not find that humorous- when you became pregnant, and it only got more and more severe as months went on. When you got into your third trimester, put on bed rest the last few weeks, Carmen had taken it beyond serious. Insisting that you come stay with him at the restaurant. He was terrified at the thought of something happening or you going into labor when he wasn't around.

You'd agreed, reluctantly, really only because you wanted Carmen close and... because you were in a restaurant. Any type of craving would be satisfied easily for you.

"I think if I lay down, Carmy, I'm not making it back up for family." You yawned gently, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your hand.

Carmen grinned, reaching to turn on the fan besides the couch, pointing it at you so it would blow the cool air over you. "That's alright. I'll bring it here to you." He muttered, pulling the blinds closed for you.

You sat down, propped against the pillows, head lolling to the side to look at him. Carmen sat beside you, hand rubbing over your stomach. "Where's she at today?"

"Same place she was this morning. Right under my ribs." You grin, moving his hand under your left boob, pressing to the side when her fluttered kicks were.

Carmen beamed, eyes brightening as his hand ghosted over the spot there. "Talk to her, Bear." You muttered, eyes fluttering shut. This pregnancy fatigue was no fucking joke. "She likes your voice."

"Yeah?" Carmen grinned, perking at the compliment.

"Yeah." You nodded. "She likes to hear her Daddy's voice. Makes her kick like fucking crazy."

Carmen leaned down, cheek resting on your stomach gently. "Hi, baby. Are you bein' good?" He muttered, your body flushing with adoration at the gentleness of his words. "You ready to come out soon? We're ready for you to. I know your Mommy is."

You snorted, a breathy laugh cut short by a sharp kick to your ribs. "Keep talking." You muttered, moving his hand a little further to wear the kick was. "Bring out the cookbooks again."

"Yeah?" Carmen hummed, eyes crinkling with amusement. "Your Mommy thinks that's funny, but when you come out knowing how to make bruschetta, she's gonna be blown away. Won't she?" Carmen's voice lilted, a tone of baby talk that had you swooning. It was new, something he just recently started doing in the recent weeks. While you were nesting, so was he, in a different way. Getting used to the idea of being a dad, the anxieties he felt traded in for an excitement.

Carmen could feel it, tiny kicks pressing through your tight, stretched skin. His baby, kicking to the sound of his voice. His heart swelled. "See, she agrees with me."

You laughed, running a hand through his hair. "I know she does. Already got you already, hm, Berzatto?"

"Gets it from her, Mama." Carmen jested back, a playful twinkle in his eyes that had your heart soaring out of your chest, tears welling in the corners- damn pregnancy hormones. "Learnin' from you already."

You smiled wordlessly, a watery grin that had Carmen a little on edge until you reached out, pulling his hand to your lips, pressing a kiss into his palm. Carmen's hand cradling your cheek, free hand going back to where the baby had been kicking, soothing it gently while your eyes fluttered shut.

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theereina · 2 months ago

Text

Big Mama Pt. 6

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: +2.3K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, teasing, heavily dialogue-centered, no smut, use of pet names (Daddy, Mama, lil' mama, pretty girl, good boy, b*tch, etc.), fluff, dirty talk, choking, Dom/Sub(brat)~relationship established

A/N: I don't know how many parts there will be. However, I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

Big Mama Pt. 1 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 2 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 3 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 4 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 5 => 🦋

*Masterlist: 🔥🔥🔥

“So, where yo’ man at? He still ain't back yet?” asked Monica. We had been on the phone chatting all morning. “I guess on the lake. He's still probably fishing,” I said, leaning against the counter. “Oh, so he out fishing, and you at home being all domestic and shit. Okay, housewife!” Monica laughed. “Shut the hell up,” I laughed.

I had been cooking all morning since Terry left. I packed his lunch in a cooler before making breakfast earlier that morning. “So, we cooking three meals a day now?” she said being messy. “Listen, you messy whore. Stop picking on me,” I said, smacking my lips. I turned back to the stove and stirred the pot of collard greens. “You right! I'll leave you alone,” Monnie said.

I walked to the fridge and pulled out the variety of shredded cheeses I bought. I poured all of them into a glass bowl I placed on the counter. Since it was too soon to cook it, I only wanted to start preparing the macaroni and cheese for now.

“We both know you're lyin’!” I said into the phone. “Girl, it's just crazy seein’ you like this. It's so fuckin' cute. You all soft and shit,” she said giggling. “Whatever!” I yelled back while rolling my eyes. “You and I both know you ain't never did no shit like this. I'm used to Big Mama who be pressin’ niggas. Now, yo’ ass in the house cookin’ for one,” she hollered. I scoffed at her remark. Was I really that down bad?

I opened the oven and checked on the cornbread. The sweet smell of honey wafted through the air. I lightly pressed the top of the bread checking the firmness. I put on an oven mitt and pulled it from the oven. I sat it on a towel on the counter. “Girl, I wish you could see this cornbread. It's beautiful,” I said smiling. “Only you would call cornbread beautiful. Keep teasing me, and imma pull up, bitch. I'll bring my own Tupperware, so don't worry!” she cackled. “So, you just gone show up to eat, then leave?” I asked. “Well, what else am I supposed to do? Y'all too busy playin’ house and shit!” Monnie stated.

“You know what? Fuck you! I'm getting off the phone,” I snorted. “That's right! You betta have Mister’s plate on that table by the time he make it home. Oh, and bring me back a niece or nephew while you at it,” she giggled. “Bye, and it's still fuck you!” I said, hanging up the phone.

At this point, I was floating through the kitchen— mixing Mac and cheese, stirring collard greens, frying and flipping chicken, and whipping up a banana pudding. It felt so good to be in my happy place.

4 hours later ~ around 7 p.m.

Rinsing off the day, Terry was upstairs taking a shower, and I was finishing the final touches for dinner. The mac and cheese was browned to perfection. The collard greens were flavorful and savory. The fried chicken was chef’s kiss. The cornbread smelled like heaven. The banana pudding was just waiting in the fridge. I had outdone myself. Maybe Monnie was right. Was I in my housewife era? Had Terry put me in soft girl mode? Ah, shit!

As I reached to retrieve the plates from the cabinet, I felt something press against my back. “I got it, mama. Let me,” Terry said, reaching over me. “Thank you,” I said, kissing his cheek. He put the plates down on the counter in front of me. “Shit, I didn't realize you had done all this. You really weren't playin’, huh?” Terry asked, wrapping his arms around my waist. He leaned over and started planting small kisses on my neck.

“If you wanna eat, you gotta leave me alone. The plates haven't even hit the table,” I giggled while shrugging my shoulder to get him to stop. “It’s a shame that a man can't have dessert before dinner,” he said, turning me around to face him. He pressed his body against mine and trapped me against the counter. “Terry, you promised to behave. Come on!” I said, pushing my hip towards him. “No, I promised to try. I did. I swear, but you look so damn good,” he said, placing his arms on the counter beside me. I whined and scrunched my face. Did I want to fuck Terry’s brains out? Yes! However, I had also spent all day cooking his favorite meal and dessert.

I folded my arms across my chest. “Ah, mama! Okay, I’m sorry. You’re right. I asked you to cook for me, and you did just that. Thank you, love,” he said pulling me into him. His lips crashed into mine. He held my face in his hands and tilted my head to look him in the eyes. “Forgive me?” he asked flashing that devious smile. This sneaky bastard knew how to get me. “Yes, now move!” I said nudging him away from me.

Terry reached for the plate in front of me. “I said move. Didn't I? That means sit down, Terry!” I said rolling my eyes and laughing. I turned towards the counter, blocking him. “My bad. I don’t know what it is, but you knowin’ yo’ way around a kitchen like this makes me wanna…,” he said backing away from me. “Makes you wanna what?” I questioned as I turned around to look at him. Terry’s eyes lingered on my face and slowly dropped to my abdomen. A smile so sinister spread over his face. “I know damn well you aren’t suggestin’ that. A baby, Terry?” I scoffed while smiling. “I mean… You love me, right?” he asked while sitting at the table.

“First, it was Monnie talkin’ about bring her back a niece or nephew. Now, you! I can't deal with this. Why does everybody want me to get pregnant?” I laughed. “I don't know Monnie’s reasons because I wouldn't trust her to watch a pot of boiling water. However, I know mine, and I have… well,… many,” he said leaning back against the kitchen chair. He raised his arms so that they rested across the back. “And what might those be? Hm? I really wanna know, sir. Tell me,” I said as I turned to the food waiting on the stove.

“Don't worry about it, Mama. Just know I haven't found a reason not to. I'm just waitin' on you,” he said smiling. “Yo’ ass gone be waitin' a long ass time, too. A baby? Terry, you can't be serious!” I squealed. “A long ass time, huh? That's what you think. Imma get one out of you, ‘Vana. Best believe, I'm not gone have to trap you to do it either,” he cackled. “You know what? I'm not doin' this with you!” I said beginning to plate the food.

20 minutes later

“Done, baby?” I asked Terry while standing with my plate in my hand. “Uh,… Yeah,’’ Terry said. “You sound unsure. Baby, I ain't gone ever tell you you can't have more,” I said placing my plate in the sink. Terry’s eyes rose to meet my backside. His eyes lingered on my ass since my back was still turned. “More of what?” Terry asked biting his lip. I could sense a hint of something in his voice. I peeked over my shoulder to see him watching me. I giggled at his antics. “Terry? You know I can see you, right?” I said walking back to the table. I leaned over so that my face was close to his. If this was the game he wanted to play, let’s do it!

“Mmm. Why you playin’ wit’ me, ‘Vana?” he said shifting in his seat. “It’s easy,” I responded. “Oh, really?” he said licking his lips. I could feel his breath on my face. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. I could tell he was becoming more aroused by the second. “You never answered my question, honey. Do you want more?” I asked squatting down in front of him. “And you never answered mine. More of what?’” Terry asked as he leaned up to gently grab my chin. “You want my honest answer?” I asked placing my hands on his knees.

Terry's eyes watched my hands. “Of course, I want honesty, mama. Talk to me,” he said letting his thumb stroke my cheek. “If Daddy wants more, he can have whatever the fuck he wants,” I said trailing my hands up his thighs. Terry’s movements stilled, and his eyes shot up to my face. His eyes clouded with lust and darkened with desire.

Terry’s grip on my chin tightened as he used it to pull me forward. My knees hit the floor so I was kneeling in front of him. I leaned over and let my cheek rest on his growing erection. “Mamas, don't start something you can't finish. If you aren't ready for this, find you something safe to do,” he said. “The fuck is that supposed to mean,” I snapped as I looked up at him. “Aye, watch yourself. You heard me, little girl. I meant what I said,” he said grabbing my chin again. “Me? A little girl? Does someone need a reminder of who the fuck I am?” I asked leaning back on my calves and folding my arms across my chest. “You got one more cuss word before I…,” he said lowering his eyes into slants.

I couldn't believe I was doing this. I was initiating “playtime”. The excitement of the unknown pulsed through my veins. I was about to allow Terry to fully indulge in his needs and wants. I calmed my breathing before looking up at Terry again. “Before you what? You ain't gonna do shit, and we both know it. There ain't shit you can give that I can’t take,” I said fully committing to brat mode.

“You sure you wanna take this route? Once we begin, there's no turning back. You know that, right?” Terry asked leaning over me. His posture had changed and so had his energy. His shoulders were stiff and squared. It was as if his body was blanketing my entire aura and being. I sat for a minute contemplating my next move. How could I outdo myself?

I smiled as a thought crept into my head. I pulled my hands away and placed them in my lap. With the confidence of a goddess, I said, “You created this monster. Deal with it.” Terry's breathing halted before a smirk spread across his face. His hands instantly grabbed a handful of hair at the back of my head. “You got a lotta mouth, lil mama. I don't like that. I don't like it all,” he said tightening his grip. I moaned loudly. I could feel a puddle growing in my panties.

I was fully committed to my role as a brat. I laughed at Terry in an attempt to piss him off. That was having little to no effect on him. I knew I had to make him execute his fantasy to the fullest. I took a deep breath before speaking. “Fuck all that! What you trying to do, huh?” I asked biting my lip and cocking my head to the side.

All sentiments of expression left Terry’s face, and his body grew in anger. His hand quickly left my hair and found my throat. He squeezed tight enough for my breathing to stop. Ironically, all I could think about was how good this felt. My pussy quivered and ached as I released what felt like a mini orgasm. It soaked through my panties as he loosened the grip he had on my throat. “Look at you. Daddy’s little slut. You just couldn't help yourself, huh? That’s fine, mama. Just know this— when we get in that room, I’m gone turn yo thick ass every which way but loose. Don't run. Don't speak. Don't touch shit. It's my turn. Got it?” he said, releasing me with a push.

I looked up at Terry with big doe eyes before speaking again. “Yes, Big Daddy. I understand,” I said while struggling to hide my excitement. “Oh, you think those pretty brown eyes gone help you, huh? Ha! Too late for that. I’m trying to see the monster I created. Bring her out. Fuck all that cute shit!” he said leaning back into the chair. “But…” I started. “Aye, I don't remember asking you to speak. The only thing I want you to do with that there pretty mouth of yours is to suck, lick, slob, swallow, and do it again. You nasty, bitch!” Terry demanded.

As if activated on cue, I could feel the heat between my legs. I wanted this man’s hands all over me. RIGHT THE FUCK NOW! It was Terry’s turn to indulge in his fantasy as a dom. I loved the idea since he would show hints of it sometimes. His only request was not to be easy. He didn't want me to fully submit without any pushback. He liked the idea of me talking shit and provoking him. Terry’s plan involved leaning into a darker side of himself that he had never completely let out, and I trusted him enough to agree to do it. I felt he deserved this moment especially since he didn't judge me about mine.

So, let’s see where tonight takes us.

Taglist: @brattyfics @avoidthings @5headsupremacist @insidefeelingofanadult @creartivefairy @kirayuki22 @nayaesworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @ariiijestertheklown @miyuhpapayuh @megamindsecretlair @nayaxwrites @jimmybutlrr @gg-trini @vivaalenaa @slutsareteacherstoo

@skyesthebomb @blowmymbackout @blackerthings @mymindisneverhere @androgynousgaz @becauseimswagman1 @gwenda-fav @poektiou624 @keyaho @pocketsizedpanther @sageispunk

@charismablu @4ftwonder @4pfsukuna @writingsbytee @babybratzmaraj @pinkpantheris @honeytoffee @talkswithdesi

@onherereading @blyffe @beenathembo @helloncrocs @thiccc-c @persethegawd

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floralscented · 9 days ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/wttcsms/771245447419428864/thinking-about-older-coworkermanagercharacter-x

how much do i have to pay for you to write this for either dean or soldier boy ?????

i have a tip jar on the front counter xoxoxo pls tip ur service workers !!!!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ────

he gets mad every time you call him ben, but that's his name, isn't it? what else are you supposed to call him? the boys at the office call him boss, and yeah, he's your boss, but it doesn't sound as slick coming out of your mouth when you practice it. feels a bit demeaning, really, to yourself. and you've only just started here ─ you're not about to reduce yourself to what they want you to be already.

ben's different, though. he's... intense. a lot to handle. his voice carried around the cubicles even when he was just making small talk at the water coolers. his suit was always a little mussy, like he'd not bothered to straighten it out before throwing it on, but he always had something to say about your outfit. too short, too clinging, not office appropriate. it was worse being the youngest new hire there, and then this?

still, every time he talks to you, there's those undeniable butterflies in the pit of your stomach. he has to feel it too, at least some regard of it, because his bright green eyes darken every time you get caught staring at him. many a time has he called you into the office already to reprimand you for your behavior, even if all it was, was talking to him. too old, he'd say, back off, he'd plead.

he stands at your desk, now, leaned over the back of your office chair, ringed finger tapping on the screen to direct you in what you're doing. another thing that he always did, and then flipped on you for. in your space whenever he could, close enough that his body heat was like a warm embrace.

rings on his hand... but not the ring finger. nail taps the glass of your monitor, because he's just old enough to be convinced that all devices are touch screen now, just because his phone is.

"finish these documents here, alright?" he says, and his voice is like a sounding alarm, warning you away, echoing throughout the quiet room.

your eyes are still on his ring. a thick silver band on his middle finger. you lick out to wet your lips before your eyes drag their way up to his face, so much closer than it should be. you could count his eyelashes if you wanted, could run your thumb over the crease between his eyebrows. you don't. instead, all you say is, "okay, boss."

the tension is thick enough to be physically cut. those long, strenuous moments where ben's eyes hold yours captive, lips parted between the thick, neatly trimmed facial hair.

"okay."

his voice is a bit more strained than it'd been earlier. rough around the edges, deep and melted in the center. for a split second, you think his eyes might drop to your mouth, but before you can so much as blink, he's pulling back.

it stays on his mind the rest of the day, and well into the night, and lingers like a stain for days to come. your tongue over your pretty pink lips, how the word boss sounded in that breathless voice of yours. how was he supposed to cut up with anyone else in the office and hear himself be called that, and not think of the way you'd whispered it like a prayer?

maybe he was sick, maybe he was desperate for something he couldn't have, but his hand around his cock provides some sort of relief from the sound of your voice in his ears, in his mind. you plague him, and he hates you, and he needs you, all at once.

he never looks at himself in the mirror when he cleans off his hands, skin dry from how often he has to do this, how often he has to find some sort of refuge in pleasure to get you out of his mind. ben's not sure he could ever look into the mirror again, knowing that the boss title he once prided himself on was now embedded with the sound of your voice, took root in those simple four letters.

he was so stupidly fucked.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ────

#──★ dahlia's jrnl #──★ postcards to anon #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles smut #soldier boy #soldier boy drabble #soldier boy smut #the boys #the boys tv #the boys amazon #IF THIS IS SHIT NO ONE TELL MEEEEE #also thank u anon for this idea #bc its gonna be in my head all day now

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aventurineswife · 28 days ago

Text

“Think I like you best when you're just with me, And no one else”

Tags: @aseqan, Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Romance, Vulnerability, Intimacy, Soft moments, Trust, Aftercare, Emotional Depth, Quiet affection, Established Relationship.

Warnings: Mild Sensuality, Emotional Vulnerability, Light Introspection, Mentions of Past Trauma (subtle).

Aventurine leaned back against the warm, tiled wall of the bath, the water lapping gently around him. The room was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of candlelight, casting shadows that danced over his skin. His left hand, which had been so carefully concealed during their passionate night, was now unguarded, resting on the edge of the tub. He couldn't suppress the rare moment of vulnerability, the cool water soothing his tired muscles and even cooler emotions.

Beside him, your soft laugh echoed as you ran a sponge over his back, the intimate touch a stark contrast to his usual calculated demeanor. The sensation was almost foreign, too tender for a man whose life had been nothing but high-stakes games and cold calculations.

Aventurine tilted his head back, letting the water soak through his hair, feeling the weight of the past few hours—and the weight of everything that came before it—dissolve with each passing second.

“You always manage to make me feel like I’ve won,” he murmured, his voice low but full of sincerity. His eyes met yours, the usual playful glint in them now softened, a flicker of something deeper—a desire to let go, just for this moment.

The sponge moved to his shoulders, working away the tension, the gentle rhythm comforting in its simplicity. He knew the games would resume tomorrow. But for now, in this shared moment of quiet affection, Aventurine let the world outside fade.

"I never want to stop," he whispered, a statement more to himself than anyone else.

Ratio sat by the edge of the bath, his hair damp and hanging loosely around his face. The steam from the water curled lazily into the air, and his body felt heavy with exhaustion, but his mind was quiet for the first time in what felt like an eternity. He glanced over at you, who was lounging back in the water with a serene smile on your face, an expression of contentment that he couldn’t help but admire.

“I suppose this is a form of recovery,” he remarked, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness. His usual intellectual rigidity had softened, a rare moment of calmness settling in.

You reached over, brushing a wet lock of hair from his face. He didn’t flinch at the touch—though he had, at one point in time. Instead, he allowed himself to lean into it, a gesture of silent trust.

"You are... difficult to read at times," you said softly, your voice like music in the quiet room. "But when you're like this... it's hard to believe you're the same person who spends hours lecturing on the importance of knowledge."

Ratio chuckled lightly, though it was softer than usual. “Knowledge is important, yes. But there’s something to be said for understanding the quiet moments as well. Not everything can be solved by intellect.”

The cool water swirled around you as Ratio allowed himself a rare moment of rest. It was a strange thing, this aftercare, but it was a relief. There was something about the intimacy of it—the way your hands moved over his skin, the way you communicated without words—that made him feel like maybe there was more to this life than just the pursuit of knowledge.

He sighed, leaning back with a quiet sense of satisfaction. "Maybe some things don't need to be calculated," he admitted, almost to himself.

The night had unfolded in a whirlwind, a dance between affection and a shared understanding neither had voiced but both had felt. Now, in the quiet aftermath, Sunday found himself still holding you, the rhythmic beat of his heart syncing with yours. His eyes were soft, filled with a rare warmth that contrasted his usual stoic demeanor. He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your jaw as if memorizing the feeling of your skin.

"Do you feel it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a gentleness to him now, the weight of his thoughts momentarily silenced by the presence of someone who, in this fleeting moment, felt like the embodiment of peace he so longed for.

"Sometimes I wonder," Sunday continued, his gaze unwavering, "if we could create a world where people could just... be happy, without pain, without struggle." His voice was tinged with a bittersweet longing, but he didn't let it show on his face. Instead, he leaned in and kissed your forehead tenderly, the warmth of his lips lingering for a beat longer than necessary.

"Tonight," he murmured, "wasn’t a dream. It was real, and it’s something I never thought I’d find in this life." His words were vulnerable but not weak, a testament to his trust in you. With a soft smile, he wrapped his arms around you once more, letting the quiet of the night stretch on, neither of you needing to speak to understand that this was more than just a fleeting moment—it was something worth protecting.

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absurdthirst · 3 months ago

Text

Hurricane Heat {Frankie Morales x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Hurricanes, dangerous weather, alcohol, fear, anxiety, sexual innuendo, the boys being menaces, oral sex (male and female receiving), sixty-nine, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Comments: With a hurricane headed straight for you, you decide to shelter in place with the boys. Frankie's house being the best location to ride out the storm. Once the power goes out, the howling wind will push the two of you together.

A/N: @storiesofthefandomlovers and I wrote this as Hurricane Milton was barreling towards and affecting Charlie's area of Florida. This is not to make light of anyone's suffering from either hurricane over the past weeks or to encourage anyone to stay in the path of a deadly storm.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

*Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Frankie Morales MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Hey man! I’ve got six cases of beer and twelve bags of chips!” Benny hits the door with a grin and holds up the two cases in his hands. “Let’s get this hurricane party started!”

You snort, shaking your head and coming to help him haul in supplies. The hurricane that is bearing down on your town is supposed to be a doozie and because of that, you had all agreed to hunker down at Frankie’s house. He’s got a generator and more importantly, a grill, so it’s a natural choice. “So what will you eat and drink?” You joke.

Benny snorts, “you laugh, but lemme tell you, Doritos have got me through a lot of shit.” He sets the cases down and you look over at Santi and Frankie while Will brings in another case of beer. “We got the ice in the cooler. Extra gas cans and flashlights.” Santi lists and Frankie pats his friend on the back, “we got it all covered. We just gotta ride it out.” He says and you nod, “the worst part is the air going. It’s been a heatwave. If I could guarantee AC and Internet, I’d be fine.” You confess with a sigh, glad to be with the boys for the storm. They are all highly trained and they wouldn’t put you in danger if they thought it was best to leave.

“We’ll grill up the steaks and make that five pounds of bacon I know Frankie bought.” Will snorts and Frankie shrugs. “You laugh, but bacon cures all ills.” He huffs. “BLTs, Bloody Mary’s, just eating bacon and drinking a beer while the wind howls. Good times.”

“Bacon and booze. The best combination.” You grin, “and I have my Bluetooth speaker so we have some tunes. It’s gonna be a bad storm but we are ready.” You nod and Frankie comes over, “I have the sofa bed pulled out for you. The boys are on the blow up beds.” Frankie says, methodical and wanting to make sure everything is ready before you shut up for the storm. “Thanks.” You smile, squeezing his upper arm. You’ve known the boys since you were their medic on their missions, serving your country with them by your side and you’ve been close ever since. You’ve been in love with Frankie for the same amount of time but the timing has never been right. You’ve been in a relationship or he has. You’ve yearned for him and the timing has never worked out for you. Even now, you’re both single and there’s a damn hurricane coming for you.

Frankie shifts and props his hands on his hips. “How are you doing, sweetheart?” He leans in closer and speaks quietly, sure that you wouldn’t want the others to hear. You are nervous about the storm, much more than you are letting on, he can tell. He’s spent plenty of time studying the way you act over the years. “I know you’re scared, but we will be fine. Even if the shit hits the fan, we have an evacuation plan and plenty of survival gear.” He tosses you a small grin. “Just think of it as a deployment.”

You nod, knowing he’s being logical but these storms always make you nervous. You can’t control them. It’s completely at the will of the earth and you hate that. With ops, you could control your destiny, account for all factors that could happen, and ensure your safety but Mother Nature? You can’t control her. You snort and lean a little closer. He’s always made you feel so safe.

Hugs have always been freely given and this time is no different. Frankie pulls you against him, trying not to feel guilty for enjoying how you feel pressed along his body. He’s comforting you, not trying to cop a feel. “Come on. I’m almost done making that crack chicken dip you like so much.”

You grin, "you're too good to me, Morales." You enjoy how he holds you and you hug him for a moment before you step back, "come on. Let's finish up and get locked in." You wink at him and walk into the kitchen to finish getting your snacks prepped. "Fuck, Will. How much booze did you buy?" Santi chuckles as he looks at the bottles and Ironhead shrugs, "Publix had a bogo. It's a hurricane, man. Nothing to do but drink." You chuckle and shake your head, looking over at Frankie as he works on his dip.

“I’m going to put the extra gas cans out with the generator on the porch.” Will tells everyone, disappearing outside again to bring them in and you know that he will check and double check that everything is ready for the storm

You watch the news as the storm keeps its track and you are nervous now that you’ve locked yourselves in. You sit next to Frankie, biting your lip, and he slides his arm around you to rub your upper arm. “It’s gonna be fine, sweetheart.” You nod, looking at him before you look at the screen.

He ignores the sly grins from the guys, keeping his arm around you. They know how he feels about you. They’ve known from the beginning. Frankie doesn’t lack confidence, he has no problem going out and picking up a girl, but you are different. You are a part of their team, family in a weird way. If he took his shot and you turned him down, it would change the friendship you have and you mean too much to him. “Getting another beer.” Benny announces as he climbs up from his spot on the floor. “Anyone else want one?”

You shake your head and Frankie nods, “I’ll have one.” You chuckle, patting his leg, “you’re all gonna be wasted for this storm.” You look over at Santi who has Jack and Coke in a tumbler. “Nothing else to do. Other than fuck and I’m not Benny’s type.” Santi chuckles and Benny snorts, “in your fucking dreams, Pope.” You giggle and lean into Frankie, loving how he smells. Strong and capable. The musk has you crossing your legs to squeeze your thighs together but you are just friends and you cannot make it awkward.

He enjoys the way you curl into him. Pulling you close and humming. If it weren’t for the wind blowing outside and the guys here, he could pretend this is a cozy evening watching tv with you before he takes you to bed. “You okay?” He asks, checking in again to make sure you are good.

A few hours pass with pizza being cooked from the freezer, drinks poured and you are watching the news show the storm barrelling towards your state and you sigh, nerves twisting in your stomach. “You want another beer?” Frankie asks, sitting down next to you and you shake your head, “Valium?” You tease and he chuckles, “I’m fresh out.” You rub your cheek, “it’s the waiting that’s frustrating me. I wish it was here already so we could get it over with.”

“Ready for the dark already?” He teases. “The internet will be down and we will have to play poker or a board game to stay entertained.” He grins and jerks his head over at Will. “And that one is too competitive at Monopoly.”

“God and no AC. It’s gonna be killer.” You confess, “and you know I kick all your asses at poker.” You remind Frankie who chuckles and nods, remembering how you’ve schooled them during your time served together.

“We’re gonna play poker?” Pope asks as he smirks. “Strip poker?” Frankie rolls his eyes. “Why, cabron? So we can all be sitting butt ass naked while the only woman here is fully clothed?”

You giggle, glad that Frankie thinks you’d win and you nudge him, “why don’t we play Monopoly? I need a distraction from the storm.” You shudder as you look over at the TV to see the storm heading towards you. The boys nod, not arguing with you when they see you’re nervous and you work fast to get everything set up.

Frankie helps, wanting you to be comfortable and feel safe. The wind has picked up and the storm shutters are starting to rattle on the kitchen window. “Too bad they don’t have a helicopter playing piece.” Frankie huffs, picking up the ship. “I would definitely be playing that.”

You giggle, “I think the cat is the best one for you. Catfish.” You wink at him and he nods, taking the piece from you. The storm shutters shake and you shudder, nervous about the storm hitting you outside. You sigh and take a seat, calling the others over to begin the game.

****

“No fucking way. Pay up.” Santi demands from Benny, holding his hand out for the cash just as the lights flicker. “Shit.” You murmur, looking up at the light. “Dude, that’s not a hotel. I don’t owe you that much.” Benny argues and Santi goes to speak just as the lights flicker then it goes dark. “Well, fuck.” Will mutters, “maybe they will come back on.”

Frankie groans, knowing that it’s wishful thinking at this point. Power will be out for the duration and he immediately reaches for the lamp he had put on the end table and flicks it on before he grabs his headlamp. “We’ll give it a few minutes but then we start the generator.” Cords have already been run through the house to everything they need to power up to keep things somewhat comfortable. “Knew I should have bought one of those standing AC units.” He grumbles to himself.

“We will be fine. Hopefully power comes back soon.” You murmur, shivering despite knowing the heat will creep in soon enough. The power doesn’t come back and Frankie makes the decision to start the generator. The wind blows outside, rain hitting the shutters, and you fan yourself with the monopoly instructions as the heat starts to get to you. “Okay. I think we are done with Monopoly.” You sigh, reaching for the money. “How about truth or dare?” Santi suggests with a smirk. “Truth? We know literally everything about each other and we aren’t teenagers.” You scoff, gathering the tokens before you fold up the board.

Frankie glares at Santiago, knowing he would be pulling some shit in the effort to get the two of you together. All of them think that you want him, but he isn’t convinced. Normally, he knows when a woman is interested. “Why don’t we go to bed? Things will look better in the morning.”

The boys smirk, nodding at each other, and you don’t notice. “Sure, Cat. Let’s get to bed. It’s gonna be a long night and I’m sure we’d all rather sleep through this shit.” Will says and everyone nods. “I call dibs on the bathroom before you all go in there.” You declare and Frankie hands you a lamp. “Thanks.” You smile and make your way into the bathroom after grabbing your toiletries.

“Go to bed.” Benny scoffs as Frankie throws him a frown. “She’s scared enough that she might crawl in the bed with you.” He teases, Laughing when Frankie shoots him a bird. “Keep it up and I’ll make you sleep outside with the generator.” He threatens. Although he knows that he wouldn’t do that. The bad thing is that Benny knows it too.

“Just trying to get you guys together, man. It’s gotta happen. We are sick of watching you two make eyes at each other.” Benny says and Frankie scoffs, rolling his eyes in disbelief that you make eyes at him. You get ready for bed, changing into a tank top and shorts. It’s too hot to wear anything else, and you brush your teeth before you take the lamp and make your way back into the living room. “Bathroom’s free.” You tell the others, knowing they will want to clean up.

Frankie groans quietly when he sees your outfit. It’s nothing extremely provocative, but he still thinks you look stunning. All the guys go get ready for bed and Frankie changes into some shorts and a t-shirt. “You good, sweetheart?” He asks, coming through to check that .

You nod, “I’ll be fine.” You promise, offering him a small smile despite your stomach twisting with nerves. “Just - just nervous to go home and see how it is.” You confess, “what's gonna be damaged.” You bite your lip, “anyway, let’s get some sleep, baby.” You murmur and rub his shoulder, leaning in to kiss his cheek without thinking about the term of endearment.

Frankie hums and turns towards you, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth and he inhales sharply. “You- you come to me if you need anything. A distraction.” He manages, his voice rough and low.

His words make your stomach twist and you nod, “thank you.” You pull back to look at him. So many years you’ve hidden your feelings and tonight could be worse than all your nights spent on ops. The boys are ready for bed and you watch Frankie as he makes sure everyone is comfortable before he makes his way to his room. You settle into the sofa bed but it’s hot. So damn hot without the AC running. You toss and turn as the wind howls and the shutters shake against the windows. The boys snore around you and you huff, sitting up, and you decide to get some water. It’s dark and you curse quietly as you try to navigate the boys laying on the floor until finally you stumble into the kitchen. It’s so hot. You grab the lamp and turn it on, finding a bottle of water, and you decide to pull your tank top off since everyone is asleep, allowing yourself to cool a little with your bralette on.

Frankie wakes up the moment he hears someone moving. The drone of the generator chugging away mixes with the hurricane and honestly had become background noise. But he hears a cabinet door open and then the fridge. Getting up, he knows it’s one of the guys or you, but he wants to check. If it’s you, he wants to make sure you aren’t about to jump out of your skin.

You hear footsteps and turn to see Frankie standing there in his t-shirt. “Shit.” You hiss, still startled despite his slow approach and you place your hand on your chest. Your normally steely nerve is displaced by the storm. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” He murmurs, stepping closer and watching you in the lamplight. “Are you okay, sweetheart? I know you’re nervous.” His eyes dip down to where your hand is on your chest. “I’ve got a fan in the bedroom.” He offers.

You are tempted. It’s so damn hot. You press the water bottle from the cooler to your chest, sighing in relief. “I - are you sure? I don’t wanna - I’m sure you want to stretch out.” Frankie rolls his eyes which you see in the lamplight. “Come on. Cool down.” You grab your tank top and make your way into his bedroom, “oh God it’s so cool in here.” You groan, walking towards the fan.

“Sorry.” He swipes his hand over the back of his neck and chuckles softly. “I sleep better when I have a fan blowing on me. So instead of charging my phone, I plugged in my fan. It’s the only one I have unfortunately.”

You shake your head, walking to the unruffled side of the bed. “It’s your house. Your generator. Your gas. You are more than entitled to use the fan.” You promise and shift to lay down, still in your bralette and you sigh in relief as the cool air hits you. The wind rattles around the house and you shiver. “Too cold?” Frankie asks as he shifts to lay down next to you. “No. Just hate that sound.” You murmur, staring up at the dark ceiling.

“I know.” He hates it too, but he tries to not let himself think about what is happening outside. “You need to think about something else.” He offers. “What’s your craziest idea?” He asks, suddenly wanting to know. “Could be anything.”

You chuckle, “oh God. You cannot drag this out of me after tonight because I’ll never admit it but right now, anything for a distraction. I, uh, I want to have sex in a helicopter while it’s flying.” You confess, “everyone has a mile high club in a plane but that’s boring. I wanna have sex in a bird. Thought about it a lot when we were running ops.”

Frankie groans, cock twitching in his shorts. “Fuck yessssss.” He moans, not looking over at you. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself. “I have that same fantasy. Although it would be difficult to maneuver.”

“I know but if anyone could figure it out, it would be you.” You giggle, shifting to lay on your side to face him. He looks up at the ceiling and you bite your lip, knowing he doesn’t want you like that but right now it’s too easy to imagine. “Imagined it so many times when you were the pilot.” You confess quietly, keeping your eyes on him.

He closes his eyes, swallowing harshly and taking a deep breath. “Baby, you shouldn’t say things like that to me when you’re in my bed and wearing the sexiest little shorts and bra that I’ve ever fucking seen.” He opens his eyes and looks over at you, eyes dark with lust. “You have no idea what I’ve imagined doing to you.”

You inhale sharply, your heartbeat dropping into your pussy as you clench, slick from just being near him. “Show me. I want you to show me what you’ve imagined. Because I guarantee you it’s along the lines of what I’ve imagined you doing to me.” You promise, shifting closer to him.

Frankie takes a second, watching you to see if this is some kind of test or joke. When he doesn’t see anything but impatience, he lunges forward and grabs you as he presses his lips to yours eagerly.

You gasp into his mouth when his lips press against yours. Surprised but delighted as he pushes you back into his mattress, shifting closer to hover over you. You cup his cheek and eagerly let his tongue tangle with yours as the wind howls outside.

Your thighs part, letting him settle between them and press his hardening cock against your core. Making him groan into your mouth as his hands turn greedy, practically ripping your little bralette off your body to get to your tits.

He is immediately kissing along your jaw as his hand cups your tit, squeezing, and you moan, grateful that the storm is covering your noises from the boys sleeping in the living room. Your hands grip his shirt, desperate to feel his skin, and he reluctantly pulls back to let you drag the shirt from his head. You toss the shirt across the room, your hands sliding along your back, and you moan, “you are so fucking strong and sexy, Frank. Always thought that.”

He hums, taking the compliment when it would have been easier for you to have thought that about any of the others. You’ve chosen him to fantasize about and that makes him burn to make you happy that you wanted him. His fingers pinch your nipple and roll it around before he ducks his head down and wraps his lips around it.

You moan, sliding your hand up to tangle your fingers in his hair, his tongue lathes your nipple before he sucks on it, releasing it with a pop that makes you whimper. You rock your hips up to grind against his hard cock. He switches to your other breast and your hand snakes between you so you can slide your hand into his boxers and wrap your fingers around his hard cock.

Frankie grunts, rocking his hips forward and groaning against your nipple. You are so much more responsive than he ever imagined, your sounds sweeter. He flicks his tongue over the taunt bud and carefully grinds his teeth around it until you are whining his name.

You whimper when he switches over to your other nipple, making them deliciously sore and distracting you from the roar of the wind outside. You try to pump his cock, squeezing him in your hand as he releases your nipple with a pop to groan your name. “Lay down.” You plead, wanting to touch him.

“You don’t want me to eat your pussy?” He rasps out, nearly salivating at the thought. “What do you want, baby? I can lick your little pussy and make you forget all about the storm outside or you can ride my cock and see what’s louder, you or the wind.”

“Fuck.” You gasp at the filth from his mouth but it makes you wetter. “Wanted to suck your cock but shit. I need your tongue. You want me to sit on your face while I suck your cock?” You ask breathlessly.

“We can do that.” His grin is filthy and he licks his lips suggestively as he pulls away and flips onto his back. “Come sit, baby.” He coos, patting his cheek. “Always wanted to smother myself in your pussy. Drown in it. Bet you taste fucking amazing.”

You shift to kneel above him, dragging his boxers down to expose his cock, and you groan at the thickness of him. “Holy shit.” You murmur, “you’re gonna stretch me out.” You confess and he groans when you slide your finger along his length. “Sit on my face.” He demands and you push your shorts down along with your panties, naked as you straddle his chest.

“Fuuuuuuuck.” He groans when he gets the first glimpse of your cunt when you bend over. “Sorry.” You cringe slightly and rock your hips away from him as if you are embarrassed. “I didn’t know I was going to do this. I would have shaved.” Frankie snorts, shaking his head as he grabs your hips to drag you back. “I don’t give a fuck if you shaved.” He huffs. “You have a pretty pussy and I’m going to bury my tongue in it.”

You moan when he surges forward to slide his tongue through your folds. “Fuck, Frank.” You gasp and close your eyes as his hands squeeze your ass while he slides his tongue over your clit. The wind howls outside and you inhale shakily, reaching down to wrap your fingers around his cock. You love how he groans into your folds and you bend over so you can take him into your mouth. You flick your tongue over the head, the salty taste of pre-cum hitting your tongue and you swirl your tongue around the head before you close your lips around it.

He can tell that you’re surprised by his enthusiasm, but you shouldn’t be. Any and all of his girlfriends had bragged about his willingness to go down on them, but you make him eager for it. Wanting to show you how good he can make you feel and taste how you come apart for him. He groans into your flesh, enjoying the tangy taste of your cunt while you lap at his cock.

You moan around his cock, taking him deeper as you relax your jaw. He’s thick and stretching your mouth, but you love it. The storm shutters shake but you don’t pay attention as you focus on Frankie sliding his tongue through your folds and you take his cock deeper until you choke. It’s been a while since you’ve given a blowjob to a cock this big and you pull off to catch your breath.

“Don’t hurt yourself baby.” Frankie reluctantly pulls his tongue away from your clit to warn you. He knows he’s a lot and if you can’t handle it, he won’t be upset at you, “I’m still going to make you cry out even if you don’t suck my dick.”

His words make you moan his name and you wrap your fingers around him, pumping him while he’s slick with your saliva. “Wanna make you feel good.” You reply breathlessly, “fuck. Your tongue - it’s so good, baby.” You moan as he flicks your clit again.

He hums, knowing that you do make him feel good. Just letting him touch you is making him feel good so he dives back into your pussy with a long lick to your pussy and feels you squeeze his cock before lowering your head again.

You want to pleasure him, and distract yourself from the roar of the hurricane outside, so you take him back into your mouth, fingers working what you cannot wrap your lips around. Your jaw is stretched as you bob on his length, saliva dripping down into the coarse hair at the base of his cock.

He moans into your folds, toes curling when you swallow around him. It’s the best fucking blow job he’s ever had because it’s you. You are the girl he wants and everything you do is just amazing. He doubles his efforts on your pussy, wanting to feel you cry out around his cock when he makes you cum.

You moan around his cock when he pushes his tongue into your fluttering pussy. His mustache rubs against your folds and his nose nudges against your skin as he shakes his head. It’s incredible and you rock back against him as you relax your jaw. His efforts are not in vain as you get closer, thighs pressing against his ears as he works you over. “Fuck. Frank- oh fuck.” You gasp, letting his cock drop from your mouth when he sucks on your clit. “I’m gonna - oh God. It’s - shit. Fra-” You don’t finish your cry of his name as you choke and fall apart on top of him. Thighs smothering his face as you soak his chin in your cum.

The storm howls outside the house, but your sounds are covering them up. Making him groan ravenously when you start to shake and your pussy floods his mourn with a wave of your sweet juices.

You pant against his thigh as he works you through it, lapping at your clit, and you whimper when it becomes too much. You shift away from his face and wrap your fingers around his cock again. “Want you inside of me.” You murmur, squeezing him.

Frankie grunts, twitching against your palm. “How do you want me, sweetheart?” He pants. “You want me to be in control or do you want to ride me?” He knows you would never let him pressure you into sex to begin with, but he wants you to choose how you take him the first time.

You let go of his cock and shift off of his chest, kneeling on the bed. “I want you to be in control. Show me what you’ve wanted.” You demand, shifting to stretch over his body so you can kiss him. “Take what you want from me, Francisco.”

That is fucking music to his ears. Gone is the worry, the softness. His jaw set and his eyes narrow as he wraps his arms around you and flips you both over on the mattress, eager to get you under him. “God, you won’t regret that.” He promises, his voice low and husky.

You stare up at him as he settles between your thighs. “I want you to fill me up. It’s safe. I have an IUD and fuck, Frank, I need you. I want you.” You promise as he hovers over you and you surge up to press your lips to his.

He hadn’t even thought about protection, but he trusts you. He knows you and knows you would never lie about something like that. So he’s kissing you back while he’s taking hold of his cock and sliding it through your folds to press against your entrance. Groaning when you nip his bottom lip with your teeth and he pushes inside you with a slow, firm thrust until he is buried in your pussy.

Your mouth falls open as he pushes into you, stretching you out, and you caress his shoulders until you grip his back. “You’re so thick, baby. God, so fucking good inside me. I need - I need you to move.”

He groans, loving how needy you are. Leaning down and pressing his lips to your before he starts to move. Right now, his control is threadbare and he shows that with the harsh, sharp snaps of his hips, pulling back and drilling into you again.

He seems animalistic and you love it. Your focus is solely on Frankie and you moan his name into his mouth as he slams his hips against your ass. “Oh fuck. I - I love this. You feel so much better than I imagined.” You moan into his chin and he squeezes your thigh.

He grunts in agreement, teeth snapped together and his brow pinched in concentration. Wanting to see how much you can take and greedy for every time your pussy squeezes his cock tight. “Fuuuuck.”

You tilt your head back into the pillow, mouth open as you moan, “oh shit. Yes. Right there baby.” You whine, rocking your hips up to meet his and the room fills up with noises of sex, drowning out the gusting winds.

He is spurred on by your breathless praise. The needy whine for more, making his hips plunge down again and again. He’s drunk on you, completely wrapping up in how you react to him.

You wrap your legs around him, needing to be closer, and you love how he looks as he looms over you, illuminated by the lamplight. “Wanted this for so long.” You confess breathlessly, squeaking when he adjusts his hips and thrusts into a spot that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

He groans, loving your confession. “Me too.” He pants into your neck. “Fuck, want you to cum for me baby.” He concentrates on that spot, hammering against it again and again and chuckling when you start to squeal every time.

He hits that spot over and over and it makes you squeal his name until you finally fall apart around his cock. You soak him, thighs shaking as you arch your back, consumed by an orgasm from the man you’ve wanted for so many years.

Frankie growls your name, hips stuttering and his pace grinding to a halt from how hard you are beating down on him. Your orgasm pushes him over the edge and he buries his face in your neck, painting your walls with ropes of his sticky seed as he cums.

You grip his back, your nails digging into his flesh as he rocks into you. Grunts muffled into your neck and you moan, loving how the warmth of his seed feels around you. “I love you.” You pant breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist, keeping him inside you.

Frankie whimpers your name, turning and pressing his lips to your pulse. “I love you too.” He promises. Even if you are just saying it because you’ve been caught up in the moment, he means it. He has always loved you. “So much, baby.”

You sigh, a smile on your face as your heart pounds. Maybe it’s the high of the moment for him. The stress from the storm and the first time you’ve had sex, but you feel warm throughout your body. “I think we are in the eye of the storm. It’s gone quiet out there.”

He listens for a moment, his head lifting from your neck. “You’re right.” He murmurs. “We are through the worst of it.” He promises, kissing you softly. “Are you still scared?”

You shake your head. “No. I know you’ll keep me safe. And the guys. Can hear them still snoring from in here.” You joke and caress his shoulders before you run your fingers through his hair. “I really do love you. I have for years. You’re - you’re the man I’ve always wanted. That’s why it’s never worked out with others. I love you, baby. I’m here and I’m all in if you want me.”

“You’re mine now.” Frankie promises. “The moment you wanted in my bed, I knew I was keeping you.” He reaches up and caresses your cheek. “We will work out the details, but I want you, sweetheart.”

You smile, kissing his nose and you whimper as he pulls out of you. “I’m gonna clean you up.” He declares and you stretch out on his bed while he grabs the lamp to get you a rag to clean up. Once you’re cleaned up, you settle under his sheets, glad to have the fan, and you curl into his chest. The winds are picking up again as the eye passes and you close your eyes. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. The storm will pass.” He promises and you sigh, listening to his heartbeat as you fall asleep. You feel protected and loved and safe which is more than you ever imagined when you heard the storm was heading your way. Yet here you are, you and Frankie together in the eye of the hurricane and you’ve never felt happier.

#pedro pascal #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales imagine #catfish morales

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strangersteddierthings · 1 year ago

Text

Rockstar Life

It might have all been forgiven, if Eddie had called. If Eddie had called and begged forgiveness immediately.

Steve could believe- would be willing to look past one drunken mistake.

But Eddie doesn't call.

Eddie doesn't call. Not in the morning after. Or the following day. Or the next.

Steve doesn't reach out either, because how can be he expected to? Paparazzi caught Eddie shoving a mysterious man against the wall in a dark alley, captured their heated kisses and how they barely separated for long enough to get into the back of an uber, and Steve knows as soon as he sees the pictures that he won't be reaching out.

He's not the one that's done anything wrong.

It takes three days for Steve to hear from Eddie. It's a shock, a genuine surprise, because it's face to face. Steve hears the front door close, and he thinks it's Robin, come to check on him again so he doesn't even turn around from where he's making a quesadilla directly on the stovetop.

He does freeze completely when it's not Robin's voice he hears.

"Steve, I am so sorry. So fucking sorry. I can't even begin to explain how sorry."

Three days ago, Steve might have forgiven him.

Today, he's not feeling so generous. He turns the burner off and scoots the half-cooked quesadilla to the cooler side of the stovetop before turning around.

Eddie looks wrecked. Dark bags under his eyes, made even darker by his paler than normal skin, hair a type of messy Steve hasn't seen since the spring break Eddie was in hiding and unable to take a proper shower. He looks heartbroken, distraught and upset. All things Steve felt up until this exact moment. Now that he's face to face with the love of his life, he feels nothing.

"Am I moving out, or are you?"

The noise Eddie makes is heart wrenching. Steve's not so numb and hateful to not recognize that. "Babe, please-"

"Do not call me that," Steve interrupts, "not when you were probably whispering that to someone else just days ago."

"Ba-Steve. Steve, please. I swear it was a mistake. It- I was way too drunk and high to be thinking clearly-"

"I don't want your excuses, Eddie. I want to know if I'm packing my things, or if you are."

"Steve, can't we talk about this?"

That makes Steve's blood boil. "Talk about it? Talk about it? Now you want to talk about it? You should have wanted to talk about it the second you slunk from that guy's bed. Or did you have to kick him from yours? Or, worse, has it taken three goddman days to hear from you because you were still in bed!?"

"No!" Eddie cries, "no, it didn't- it was just-"

"Stop!" Steve shouts, "I don't want to hear any details! I don't care if that uber only made it a block before you came to your senses and bailed. That doesn't- those pictures- you pinned him to the wall, Eddie!"

Eddie is silent, shrinking in on himself in a way Steve's never seen. Steve pushes down the urge to comfort him.

Steve is the one in need of comfort. He's the hurt party here.

"If I were sober, it never would have happened," is all the reply Eddie finally gives. It's not good enough.

"I can't trust that!" Steve turns away, pressing his hands against his eyes hard enough to see light that isn't there. "How am I supposed to believe you? You didn't even- you didn't even call. It was like- like you didn't even know that I knew. But you must have found out. That's why you're here." Steve drops his hand and turns around. "Who told you I knew?"

Eddie swallows. "Max."

Steve nods because of course it was Max. She was the one who handed him the tabloid with the picture in it, three days ago. "So, if you didn't know I knew, you would have, what, never told me?"

"NO, no, I just- I didn't know what to say. How to say it. But then Max called yesterday and-" Eddie says Max's name with too much bite, like it's a curse. Like Max tattled on Eddie instead of exposed his betrayal.

"Shut. Up," Steve growls, "you don't get to be mad at Max for your fucking mistake! I've know you're a goddamn cheater for three days, and it's not until Max let you know that I knew, that you decided to fix it? Well, it can't be fixed, Eddie!"

"Steve, please," Eddie is crying, and Steve's seen him cry a handful of times before but this one hurts deepest. Steve's the reason for the tears, and because you don't just stop loving someone overnight, that hurts.

"No. No! I can't trust you! How many other times has this happened?-"

"Never, never I swear-"

"- Would you have ever said anything if you hadn't been fucking caught on camera?!"

"Yes, of course I would have!"

"How am I ever going to believe that?" Steve cries, "I had to learn that the love of my life cheated on me at the same time the rest of the goddamn world did! Jesus Christ, Eddie, when you said you wanted that rockstar life, I thought you meant like, big fancy house, grammy's and an invite to the met gala. Not goddamn sex, drugs and rock n' roll!"

For the first time since Steve's known him, Eddie Munson stands before him with nothing to say.

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @skepsiss @afewproblems

#steddie #my fic #hurt/no comfort #cw cheating #its a modern au but steve doesnt use social media #just a lil ficlet #i have no plans to continue as of now

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literaila · 1 year ago

Text

house rules (roommate au)

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

so immediately you slam the door.

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

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

oh, fuck.

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

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

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

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

"and you're less than dressed."

"i thought you stood me up."

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

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

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

"you're late."

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

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

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

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

"are you going to apologize for being late?"

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

"really?"

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

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

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

you slam the door against his foot again.

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

something in his voice already implies that it will.

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

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

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

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

"ten minutes. maybe twenty."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you attempt a fake smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"um... sort of."

"sort of?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"did you change rooms?"

"what?"

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

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

gojo snorts.

"what?"

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

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

"you're not going to look around?"

"it looks like the pictures."

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

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

"not that i know of..."

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

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

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

"yes."

"can i see?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"no."

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

and somehow you doubt that.

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

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

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

"yes."

"such as?"

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

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

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

"okay."

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

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

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

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

"these are not negotiable."

he only continues to smile at you.

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

"fine. you still want to live here?"

"mmhmm."

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

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

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

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

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

but satoru gojo is hard.

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

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

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

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

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

and honestly, gojo's just asking for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you ate my ice cream?" you repeat.

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

"i might kill you."

"i thought we banned homicide from the apartment."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you blink.

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

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

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

you laugh.

"clearly you've never been."

"i'm still expecting ice cream."

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

"like you've never skipped a class."

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

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

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

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

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

"i seriously doubt that."

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

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

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

"nor ever will," you grind out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh, wait. it does.

you frown at him.

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

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

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

"do you own this bar?"

"what? no."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"because i didn't realize."

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

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

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

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

"he promised me alcohol."

she nods knowingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru laughs, not questioning this, and walks away.

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

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

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

how long had that taken?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"are you ready to go home?"

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

you don't, for whatever reason.

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

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

"oh, really?"

"learned when i was a kid and everything."

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

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

like he's an actual toddler.

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

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

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

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

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

he smiles at you. you roll your eyes.

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

but were you really expecting it to?

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

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

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

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

you try not to laugh.

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

"sorry?"

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

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

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

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

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

"did you lose some pigment in your hair?"

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

"from what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo looks like he might start crying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"no."

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

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

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

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

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

"clearly."

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

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

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

"a book."

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

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

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

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

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

seriously, his presence is impending doom itself.

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

"i crave my fist on your face."

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

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

"probably?"

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

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

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

you groan and he laughs at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you're cleaning air?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"nanamin," he interrupts. "go."

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

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

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

you raise your brows but do as he says.

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

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

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

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

"satoru, she's just watching--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

from suguru :p :

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

can you please kick him awake?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"telepathy. now get up."

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

"suguru said you'd say that."

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

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

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

"why are you so mean to me?"

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

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

"i'll sue back for mental damages."

he laughs, and wiggles from your grasp.

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

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

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

"yup."

"he's a terrible friend."

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

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

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

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

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

"what class is it?"

"theoretical physics."

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

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

"i can imagine."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"really?"

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

he grins. "cruel."

"and i'll record it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...and?"

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

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

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

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

"how did you even find the library?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"nope, again."

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

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

"do i seem worried to you?"

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

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

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

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

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

you squint. "did you actually?"

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

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

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

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

"flip night."

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

"it wasn't that bad."

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

gojo smiles. "consider yourself lucky."

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

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

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

you laugh that thought away as soon as it comes.

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

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

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

"why not?"

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

"do it in the morning."

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

"then don't study."

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

he grins. "i get it from you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...going home?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"no."

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

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

"so you gave it away?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"yes."

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

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

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

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

"well, it was true then."

you roll your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"whatever will i do now?"

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

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

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

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

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

"getting turned on by my pain?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...are you sure?"

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

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

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

"what?"

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

your brow furrows. "about what?"

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

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

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

"no, and i don't dance."

gojo rolls his eyes. "everyone dances."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you left me--"

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

"you'll get me that anyway."

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

"that's usually expected, you know?"

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

"i don't know that, actually."

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

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

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

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

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

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

it's probably just the alcohol, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it sounds like something else to you.

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

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

"'cause you deserve it."

he laughs and leans in, so you follow him.

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

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

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

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

"really?"

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

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

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

"you okay?"

"i think i might be a little drunk."

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

"you're a lightweight."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"what?"

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

"i'm not?"

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

"why not?"

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

gojo's brow furrows. "how?"

your brows furrow. "how what?"

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

"you'd have to ask him."

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

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

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

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

"hey," gojo says, interrupting that feeling.

"what?"

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

"i'm not?"

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

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

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

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

"they do?"

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

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

how long has it been now?

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

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

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

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

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

he just smiles easily, ruffling your hair.

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

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

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

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

and so maybe you hang out with him sometimes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"to the store."

"it's eleven."

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

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

"i need stuff."

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

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

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

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

"you can't leave right now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i can do whatever i want."

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

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

"when i realized how weak you are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you are ruining my mood."

"oh, good."

you scowl. "move. right now."

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

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

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

he snorts.

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

"what is that?"

you frown. "what?"

"what's wrong with your face?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"gojo?"

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

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

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

"where were you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru only smiled a little bit at your question.

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

you'd frowned. "what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i'm busy, gojo."

"no, you're not."

"i am doing homework."

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

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

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

he sighs again. "canceled."

"why?"

"my dad had a meeting or something."

"oh."

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

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

he shakes his head.

"do you want me to make you something?"

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

"not intentionally."

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

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

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

"that's not what i asked."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this shouldn't be happening.

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

he should not be this close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"there's at least five."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it wasn't fair like this.

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

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

like you're doing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"gojo, i'm really--"

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

"what?"

"that's not my name."

you frown. "yes it is?"

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

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

"when you were drunk."

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

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

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

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

"you're sorry?"

"i didn't mean to."

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

"it was an accident?"

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

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

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

"...okay."

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

you stare at him.

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

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

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

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

"why not?"

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

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

"wasn't it obvious?"

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

you shake your head.

"c'mon, just a little."

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

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

"don't tell me what to do."

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

you kinda want to hit him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"when?"

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

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

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

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

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

"you flirt with everything."

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

"who said anything about making out?"

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

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