#I'M SO SORRY THIS IS ABSURDLY LATE BUT

[strayslost]

Fyodor, despite often being assumed to do so by others, doesn't literally know everything about everyone. This child - known by most as Q, has been a closely-guarded secret of the mafia for a long time, locked away and shut out of sight completely as if that would make them disappear. How typical of humanity... treating a child with such cruelty, and then justifying it to themselves through their own fear - they can't help but fall into sin again and again, while telling themselves they're still in the right.

Fyodor smiles to himself. There will be punishment for every crime in the end, and this is a kind that none of them will see coming. How amusing it'll be to watch...

"Excuse me. I seem to have found myself lost in a place I shouldn't be... I don't suppose you'd be willing to help me out...?"

@theircurse ( starter! )

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

P*rn ☆  Chapter 5, Drive me crazy

Masterlist Word count: 1.9 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Author's note: This one is a doozy. I was a little stuck and I hope this makes sense. Next chapter will explain a little more about Sylus' life before moving next door.

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, mentions of domestic abuse, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Mature content under the cut.

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1 pm and you're just now making your first coffee along with your breakfast/lunch. You're not used to late nights anymore. Not like you were when you were still in school and partying. Well, "partying." Aka movie night with your friends and making stupid drinking games around the movies you were watching. 

Lucky for you, it's Saturday. You've got a whole weekend left to fix your sleeping schedule. Fixing is a big word. Make it so that you've at least had seven hours of sleep before you get to work. 

While lazily reading Tara's dramatic retelling of getting Kieran into bed, you notice a notification. One that usually only pops up when Red Crow, or Sylus, posts but it's Saturday. That's not his usual schedule. Frowning, you check the notification. 

Red Crow liked your comment: "Raw, next question." 

You feel as if you've just shat out your heart. "Cocky," you think to yourself as you tap the notification. It takes you to the comments under the video from last night and that's when you notice it... Your biggest nightmare. 

You were horny on main instead of on your alt account and now he probably knows it was you. But now comes the real big question. Do you leave it there as a testament to your thirst for him, or do you delete it in hopes he hasn't noticed it was you to protect your sanity? You scroll a little through the comments and quickly notice that Sylus never likes any comments. "Shit, he definitely knows." 

Still, you decide to delete the comment. If he saw it when he was drunk yesterday, then maybe there's a chance he doesn't remember or was just fucking around on his phone. The moment the comment disappears from your screen, there's a knock at your door. You're not sure who it could be. Maybe it's Tara. Did she leave anything yesterday? Or Kieran forced by Tara to apologize? But he would go to Sylus’ house for that. 

By the time you're done wrecking you're brain, you're already opening the door and there stands the one and only Sylus. Suddenly there are no more thoughts in your brain, just the picture of Sylus in front of your door wearing grey sweatpants and a black tee that seems a size or two too small. You can see every muscle on his stomach and chest through the shirt. However, that's not even the best part. The best part is that he stretches and moves one hand behind his neck, making his tee rise up and showing the little happy trail that you've salivated over more times than you'd like to admit. 

'Hey, sorry to bother you but I'm out of coffee.' 

'Go to the store,' you grumble and try to close the door again but he pushes against it. 

'Let me try that again,' he says, a playful but subtle grin on his lips, 'I'd like get to know you better over coffee. Preferably at your place.' It seems getting your brain fried is a regular occurrence when Sylus is around and you are suddenly awfully aware of how you look. 

Yes, you showered this morning, but you aren't exactly dressed. You threw on a shirt and a big sweater over top with some absurdly stupid miffy pajama shorts. Your words get stuck in your throat and you only seem to be able to mutter out a weak: 'Why?' 

He chuckles in response, the sound rumbling through his chest. 'You intrigue me. I'm curious what's going on in that pretty little head of yours.' 

"He called me pretty," is the only thought that sticks and you want to hit yourself over the head for only picking up that part, but you remind yourself of the video he had made after meeting you. He must have ulterior motive. 'Nothing else?' A sly smirk appears on his face, like he had been banking on you asking a question like that. Like he had been practicing his response, and it comes out sticky as honey. 

'Only with your willing participation.' You try to keep your bratty attitude but it's hard when he is so damn beautiful and so damn close and so damn hot. Goddamn! 

'In your dreams, big boy,' you sass, 'come in before I change my mind.' 

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There's a tense sort of feeling as you both sit on your couch with coffee in your hands. He keeps watching your movements, almost as if he's studying you or stalking his prey. It makes you feel on edge and at the same time, insanely turned on. To push him off balance, you decide to ask a question that had been hanging in your head for a while now. 

'How'd you get into it?' 

'It?' He's teasing. His lip quirks up into a smirk again. He wants to hear you say it, hear you say what he does, wants to watch your reaction to it. You feel strangely alien in your own space. 

'Porn.' You try to keep a straight face, but you can feel your ears heat up the slightest bit, and he fucking notices. You can tell he fucking notices. He's noticed everything so far. It's so fucking hot and so fucking annoying at the same time. You can only imagine how attentive he would be as a partner. 

'I was doing voice acting for a while and got hired for some smut books,' he explains like it's the most normal thing in the world, like it's the same as any office job, 'and I liked reading those books and the reaction people had to my voice. So, I tried my hand at posting some pictures of myself to see if people liked my voice and my body. After that I kind of rolled into it.' He takes a second to study your reaction and then asks you: 'And what do you do?' 

'Interior decorating.' He nods. 

'So I should've met you before I started decorating my place.' 

'I don't work for free,' you retort. 

'Neither do I,' he says, that damn smirk on his face again, 'but your reaction was more than enough payment for that video.' You're sure you're bright red now. 

'I didn't request your services.' Why did you invite him in? Are you that desperate? He puts his mug on the coffee table and takes yours out of your hands to set it down next to his. Then he leans over you, one arm on top of the backrest of your couch, the other gripping the armrest behind you. Naturally, you lean back a little bit, tilting your head up to look at his face. He doesn't look predatory, nor dangerous. In fact, you feel like if you would say no right now, he would go home in an instant. It's strangely comforting. 

'See it as a free trial.' He is impossibly close, closer than a stranger should be. Then again, you're not really strangers, are you? You are to him, but he's been on your mind for quite some time now. He's toying with you, he seems to want you for some reason. Barely knows you but it feels so familiar, so nice. You feel desired and... sexy. 

'A free trial for what?' You absentmindedly bite your lip. A low groan slips from his lips in response, and he shifts his position on the couch. With one swift motion, his one leg is kneeling on the couch while he pushes your legs onto the couch so you're laid underneath him, your back against the cushions. His lips are next to your ear now. 

'Worship,' he growls and ever so gently takes your earlobe between his teeth. You whimper in surprise. He lets go and moves on to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to your collarbones. 'Pleasure.' The hand that was on the armrest moves to your waist, slipping under your shirt and you shiver. 'And sex.' His words sound like a promise. A promise you would offer up your life for. You feel breathless as he leans back a little bit to admire your figure. That damn smirk of his, back on his lips as he sees your lust filled eyes. He definitely knows that comment was yours. 'What do you say?' 

'You don't even know me,' you manage to mutter. 

'I know enough,' he answers and leans down to press a featherlight kiss on the corner of your lips. A strange surge of despair rushes through you and suddenly your hands are behind his neck, entangled in his grey hair, pulling him towards your lips. 'So needy,' he teases, readjusting his knee on the couch to be between your legs, 'I thought you were worried I didn't know you. You wouldn't want to take advantage of me, would you now?' 

His lips are only a breath away from yours, his eyes stare into yours intently. You tell yourself it's just sex, yet there's something soft in the way he looks at you. Something you can't quite place, because he shouldn't be looking at you like that. You've only just met him. 'What are you thinking about?' 

'Why me?' He doesn't have a quick nor sly response to that. You can tell you've caught him off guard. His eyes widen a little and his head moves away the slightest bit, but you can't tell if it's because you've just asked the dumbest question in existence or because he does not know either. 

'There's something about you,' he tells you, his tone no longer teasing but as serious as he can get, 'it's intriguing and I want to find out what it is.' 

'Because I gave you a hard on when we first met?' He cracks. His serious demeanor disappears for a second, as does the sexual tension when he sits up on his heel trying to stifle a laugh. The hand that was under your shirt is now on his face, rubbing his jaw to hide his smile. 

'You've got a dirty mouth on you, sweetie,' he comments, trying to get back into it but you've already propped yourself up on your elbows with the cheekiest of grins on your face. 

'Shouldn't you be used to those kinds of comments by now,' you say, trying to provoke him even more. Truly, you don't know what it is about him that brings your brat out but you don't hate it. It's fun. 

'They're different when you read them on a screen,' he answers, sounding almost sincere. Almost. Only if you hadn't known what he proposed so sweetly just a minute ago. 

'Maybe you take me out some time and I'll try to behave,' you offer, feeling as daring. This is all so new for you but it just flows. There's no good reason for why you feel this way and yet it's fucking exhilarating. You don't want any of it to stop, but your ovaries are running your brain right now and you can't trust them. Not when it comes to men. They've shown that to you before. You need a second to calm down before you engage in anything that could someday become regrettable to you. 

Though you probably wouldn't have minded sleeping with him right here and now. 

Sylus doesn't answer you, he just hands you his unlocked phone. You type in your number, already regretting it when you hand it back to him and see the grin on his face. You've just given him so much power to tease you. Well, you should regret it. You think you should. 

In reality you can't wait for what's to come. 

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[revelboo]

Hello, sorry if I'm being annoying. But I’d love to see something with IDW Ratchet or Tarn if you could write anything with them—especially Ratchet. I just don’t see enough good stories about him. I really enjoy your writing style and can’t get enough of it. Sorry for any mistakes; English isn’t my first language.

Sure, I’ve been meaning to do an IDW Ratchet. Tarn’s on my list, too, but he and Ratchet will likely be the last new characters for a while. I’m currently over 30 ongoing storylines at this point 😅

Feel Like Rain

IDW Ratchet x Reader

• Sometimes it’s all too much. Even with First Aid helping, there’s just not enough medics in the Ark to support so many Autobots. Wheeljack and Perceptor can help if push comes to shove, but even then once the fighting begins again it won’t be enough. He’s never enough. And when he can’t get his processor right, when it threatens to drown him, he goes driving in his alt mode. Feels the sun baking him, the sand and hot asphalt under his tires. No real destination in mind, just trying to calm the panic that’s always there, the worry about what might happen. Driving for hours sometimes in a widening spiral about the Ark. Never going too far in case he’s needed. As he turns, he almost misses the car down in a crevice, only part of the bumper still visible, emergency lights flashing. Not his problem, but he’s still slowing anyway. Because he’s still a medic and someone might be hurt.

• Transforming and sliding down next to the car, he lays a hand on the roof feeling the heat of the metal and knowing it’s been there a while. Leaning to look inside anyway, there’s a human slumped forward against the wheel, broken glass glittering in their hair. Unmoving. Too late, then. Spark constricting, he’s turning away, pushing off the car to make the metal groan, when their little fingers flex and you make a low, guttural noise of pain that freezes him.

• It takes time to carefully peel back the roof of the car, snap the seatbelt and pull the door off to remove you. Feeling how hot your skin is against his servos as he lifts your limp form. Your eyes never open but you mumble incoherently, broken fragments he can’t make sense of. That make him wonder just how long you’ve been here, trapped and waiting to die. Because there’s no leaving you now that he has you in his hands. Carefully transforming around you to carry back to the Ark.

• Wheeljack’s in Medbay when he returns, digging through his tools and looking up guiltily, vocal indicators flickering green before he notices the human. “Haven’t seen that one before. Looks rough,” Wheeljack murmurs, moving closer as Ratchet lays you on a berth, your tiny form looking even smaller in the bot sized space. He’s almost absurdly glad Wheeljack’s there. Even though he’s been trying to brush up on human medicine since there’s so many of them now in the Ark, he doesn’t know nearly enough. Doesn’t know how to help you, but Wheeljack has a human. He has to know something.

• Snatching a scanner to run over you, he frowns at the results. Wrist and arm broken, one leg fractured. Body temperature well outside of normal parameters, dehydrated. Blood pressure off from normal, too. And he doesn’t know enough to know which problem is a priority. Which will kill you if he doesn’t fix it first. “Get your human,” he says softly. Temperature? It’s a place to start, cooling you off. “Now, Wheeljack,” he adds without looking up when the other bot doesn’t immediately move. Using a servo to brush your hair from your face, he can see the glass glittering on your skin and in your hair. “You held on this long.”

Next

[kithtaehyung]

would u? (3tan717) | myg

3tan717 drabble #1: would u? pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | 3tan717 rating/genre: pg (18+) ; fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: you see a certain fruit-centered trend online.. and decide to test it on yoongi note: i am so so so sorry this is out on the very last day of feb but things have been absolute bananas lately! tbh i’m surprised this is even getting posted on time and i have even more to do after this is shared but eff it shibal!!! note 2: as promised, this is dedicated to the people that submitted the answers i’m using for this drabble: anon, grapes / @yoongrace, and apryl @aprylynn for this idea hehehe! also i literally just finished this so it's legit unedited so i'm sry for any mistakes! off to go prep for events now! warnings: 3tan yoongi as always, working yoongi??, kitchen, period cramps suck but yoongi to the mf rescue drop date: feb 29th, 2024, 10:03pm est word count: 2.3k

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Ugh. 

Why does this have to happen every fucking month. Why can’t it happen every three? Or six? Or never ever ever? 

Groaning, you roll over, burying your face into the pillow on Yoongi’s side. 

To some degree, you feel placated, probably due to his scent still lingering next to your dismay. He had to get up early to finish a track, but he assured you can be in the room. 

You can hear a little bit of what he’s working on as it bleeds through his headphones, and even just this sliver of sound gives you chills. Not just because of what it sounds like, but the sole fact that Yoongi’s letting you even listen in the first place. 

Huffing out a bit of amusement, you remember the last time Yoongi let you stay while he worked—albeit at his place while he went to the studio. 

Damn, how much you’ve grown since then. All those memories, those quiet times and tumultuous times, everything leading up to now. How time has molded you with knowing hands. 

However, no matter how much has changed all these months, some things have not wavered, like the fact that you needed to be sure he was okay with it—and his answer making you absurdly shy. 

Did he really have to say that you’re either staying or he’s gonna leave? That scheming motherfucker! 

Some drum beats hit your cheek before you realize the menace himself is playing multiple different ones. It’s only a couple hits before he moves onto the next, and you’re about to lift your hea—

���Fuck, where the hell is that kick?” 

Your laugh is stifled by cotton. As tickled as you are to hear Yoongi like this, you don’t wanna do anything to distract him. 

But by doing so, that causes your body to tighten and fuck, it hurts. It hurts to move, it hurts to laugh, it hurts to just exist. God, you want him to come back and join you so bad, but you don’t wanna be that person. 

…Yet. Maybe if it gets so bad you can’t even sleep? 

“Found you! Fucking finally. Thought you could hide from me, huh?” 

Oh, fucking hell, he’s adorable. 

Yeah, there’s no way you’re making him drop everything right now. This is too precious of an afternoon to stop. 

Exhaling a mile long breath, you fight through your pain and feel for your phone, groaning as you shift yourself. When in position under sheets and warm sunlight, you cycle through apps as a distraction. 

Scrolling. Scrolling. Smiling at some animal videos a bit before scrolling again. 

After all of five minutes, you start to see a trend on your feed, and suddenly get the idea to try it on Yoongi. It’s simple and harmless, right? 

You [3:30pm]: would u peel an orange for me 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, and you lift your head slightly to see if he looks at his phone. 

When he does, he checks it really quick before setting it back down on his desk, back to clicking on his screen. 

Ah. Damn. He must really be in the zone because… 

Uhh. 

Blinking, you watch as Yoongi rolls his chair out to get up, setting his glasses down and heading out of the room with a light swing of his chains. 

Uh. What just happened? Did you upset him? You’re so stunned that his swift exit has you wanting to get up and follow him.  

But ow. Ouch. It’s maddening how much your cramps are getting to you. 

Bearing the punches to your gut, you start sliding out of the bed, straining and sucking in sharp breaths just to stand and pull Yoongi’s comforter over your tension. 

Padding out the bedroom, your worries make your steps tiny and heavy, and you regret sending that text because you literally just said you weren’t… gonna…

On the dining table—quiet—lie three tangerines, peeled and placed next to vibrant scraps while your lover peels a fourth with diligent, devoted hands. 

And you can’t even form words that match how you feel. 

Your vision swims right as Yoongi looks your way, his body stilling before he puts the fruit down. 

When he approaches with concern, you answer his silent questions through hiccups, “I—I thought you left cus—you were mad.” 

“Huh?” 

“I don’t even know,” you swallow, gesturing to all of your lower half and feeling him hold the slipping blanket. “It’s just… this, I guess.”

“Does it hurt?” 

“Like a motherfucker.” 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, doll. Hold up.” Handing you the comforter, Yoongi goes to his cabinets in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of medicine before walking it over. “You gotta take something as soon as you feel it. Don’t let it get this bad.”

“I know,” you groan, resting your head on his shirt and inhaling his healing presence. “I didn’t wanna bother you.” 

Your forehead is kissed. “You’re not bothering me. Especially with something like this.” 

“Okay.” 

He walks away again to grab some water, and you watch as he pours some into an electric kettle before starting it up. 

Glancing back at the fruit, you sigh, clutching the bottle of pills while feeling the weight of his comforter. He’s probably not pleased with the way it might drag on the ground, so you gather it and pick the end chair to sit on. 

And then you sigh, “Sorry for making you peel those. I didn’t even plan on eating anything.”  

“Too bad. You’re gonna eat what I make you anyway.” 

Wait, he’s cooking? He has work to do! “You’re working, though. Don’t worry about me right now.” 

“It’ll be quick.” 

“What are you making?” 

A glass bowl and pan are procured from random places before Yoongi blinks in place. “Uhh.. You’ll see.” 

As he clunks them onto his counter and stove, you watch with hearts for eyes as he bustles around the kitchen space. Even doing things as simple as washing his hands, opening his fridge, and simply grabbing a knife gives you pause. 

And this is when you realize that you can watch Yoongi do absolutely anything and be amazed. 

Even when he stands, watching you with a look that’s wait why doesn’t he look—

“Take the medicine, baby girl.” 

Oh. 

Snapping out of your trance, you nod. “Sorry.” 

Yoongi continues to give you glances until you swallow down the painkillers, satisfied enough to continue his cooking venture when you take the second one. 

As the sun paints the apartment in marigold and light, you keep watching with a smile as he brings the kitchen to life. Butter sizzles in a pan, tangerines are getting halved on a board, and something is getting mixed with a whisk. 

Who knew that the neighborhood fuckboy would have a whisk on hand? Not the younger you, that’s for damn sure. 

But here Yoongi is, in the flesh, whisking away with veiny forearms that have you thinking the most absurd thoughts during this time of the month. The only thing that would cut through the raging horniness would be getting up to see what the hell he’s making. 

It’s starting to smell familiar though. But he put the tangerines in the pan so you don’t even know what to expect right now. 

Walking up—blanket left behind—you observe the kitchen before peering over his broad shoulder. “Mm.. Smells like pancakes.” 

Yoongi doesn’t answer, but when you see the consistency of the batter, you realize you’re correct. “Oh, it is! I’m smart.” 

“You are,” he laughs. “But you didn’t get it all the way right.” 

“No?” 

“Nope.” Yoongi then gently gets you to move before he pours the batter over the slices, and you crane your neck to watch as he evens it all out. “Just one tangerine pancake.”

“Oh, okay,” you scoff, earning a laugh at your side. “Whatever, chef.” 

“We’ll see what you say in a bit.” 

Is he gonna leave it or flip it? Probably the latter. 

“K. Gonna flip that once it’s done.” 

Nice. You smile to yourself, loving how you’re starting to really be on the same page. Nudging him, you keep watching as he lowers the heat and sets the lid on the pan. “What now?” 

“We wait,” he responds, dusting his hands together before cleaning up his mixing bowl. “And I’m gonna see if we have any sugar.”

Damn it, Yoongi cannot keep saying that two-letter word. It’s starting to be detrimental to your health. “I can help.” 

“S’ok,” he assures, nose upturned. “Just watch me work.” 

“Oh, I’m very good at doing that.” 

At this, Yoongi turns and gives you a smile that immediately reminds you of summer, and you almost feel like crying again. 

“I’ve actually never tried this, but. We’ll see if this works.” 

With nothing snarky, or teasing, or fake to say, you reply with a smile and a genuine, “I’m sure it will.” 

When he keeps staring, his eyes lower to your lips, and you don’t care that you probably look like a wreck, or feel like one. Because the way he’s looking at you now makes you glow. 

If only the kettle didn’t decide this was the moment to stop boiling. 

You were probably about to get the kiss of your life. 

But Yoongi halts in his tracks before shifting to get a mug, setting it down with a thud before checking on the pancakes. Pancake. Whatever that delicious-smelling thing is gonna be. 

“There’s some tea packets in that right drawer. Help yourself cus I’d rather you pick.” 

Chuckling, you oblige before scooting over. After seeing a small jar of granules on the counter, you start rummaging through the drawer, exploring the various options while hearing the sound of a plate behind you. 

Ah, Yoongi’s flipping it. 

As you turn, you’re just in time to watch the muscles in his back protrude through his shirt as he flips the pan, impressed as he sets the plate down because holy hell that looks great. 

“Sugar, sugar, sugar… Suga, suga, suga.” 

Laughing, you interrupt his silly search as you grab the jar you just saw. “Suga suga, how you get so fly?”

Yoongi stops to see what’s in your hand, and he huffs through a grin before grabbing it. “Thanks, doll.” 

You keep humming the song that’s now wedged into your head as you watch him sprinkle bits on the pancake. 

“I don’t have a blowtorch,” he admits, “But I do have this.” 

Rolling out a drawer, Yoongi takes out a long lighter before holding it to the sugary top, humming the same song you were just singing without even knowing it. As the sugar slowly but surely heats, you both keep humming and basking in a calm afternoon. 

And you don’t even feel the pain anymore. 

“Go ahead and sit, babe.” 

“You sure?” 

“Uh huh.” 

Following instructions, you make your way to the table, cocooning yourself in his comforter again as you await the cutest meal you’ve had in weeks. Months. Lifetimes. 

Speaking of lifetimes… You hope every version of you meets every version of him. No matter when. No matter where. Because you want every version of yourself to find happiness, and Yoongi has been the one to help you finally find it. 

And he certainly passed whatever the hell this orange theory thing was supposed to be. 

Plates are set down to break you out of introspection, and you glance up with eyes sparkling. 

When Yoongi raises a brow, you just smile. When he asks what’s gotten into you, a chuckle escapes before you shake your head, 

“Nothing, baby. Just didn’t expect all this from that text.” 

As he plops into the next chair, you love the way the sun settles on his skin. Highlights his hair. Shimmers in his eyes. 

“Don’t even need to ask, babe.” He captures your attention with a calm look. “I was waiting for any distractions anyways.” 

So this was for him, too? Good. 

Grabbing your fork, you giggle. “Sounded like you were having a little trouble over there.” 

“I was! This is what I get for not saving my shit.” 

Both of you sit back in laugher as you throw your hands out. “Do that!” 

“I’m lazy!” 

“Tough shit!” 

“I know!” 

Grinning, you loll your head before waving your fork out. “You’re gonna save those sounds, and you’re gonna remember this day and thank me.” 

Yoongi just tightens his lips in a smile, eyes creased and glimmering. “Maybe.” 

“Yes. I’ll stand there and watch you until you do it.” 

"Really.."

For the rest of the afternoon—with full bellies and clear minds—you rest on the edge of Yoongi’s bed, forcing him to find the files he needs and watching him groan his way through saving everything. 

Constantly laughing at the ridiculously random names he’s assigning them.

When he’s done, you watch as he spins around in his chair, heart thumping with anticipation as you’re met with a waiting pair of eyes.

Breathtaking. 

When he leans in, you feel incredibly shy. Always, always, always. This will forever remain the same.

And—just as well—Yoongi's kisses will forever taste like tangerines. 

Three of them, to be exact. 

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fin. :)

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how did the first 717 drabble go! | join the discord hehe

a/n: nothing much to say other than i love y'all so much! i will try responding to anything when i can (there's literally still all the 3tan12 feedback to get to) but i do read all the commentary sent in and it keeps me going strong :'))) so thank you again for being here and being amazingly patient with me. off to work on more things but i shall be back once the wild weeks are over!

a/n 2: suga suga how you get so flyyyy hahaha

[nctstar]

Can I get a smut of Johnny suh using his size and strength kink on a petite female Y/N? Thank you~

heyy! i'm so sorry this is absurdly late :(( but hope you still like it! <3

small

Wasting no time to rid himself of his clothes, he spoke. “This room is fine, right?” Muscles bulging as he fiddled with his shirt, the ridges of his chest drawing in the singlet, you bit your finger almost comically. “Hello? Earth to _?” The brown of his eyes were soft, a sharp contrast to his stature. He smirked, his hair bouncing as he threw his head back slightly. “Like what you see?”

pairing: johnny suh x fem!reader

other members: none

word count: 2.4k

genre: romance, smut

warnings: sexual content so minors please dni!! as per the request the reader is smaller than Johnny but I refrained from describing body parts or her specific size or anything like that, she is just short. if you're sensitive to this kind of talk though maybe don't read <3 mild profanity, lots of kissing, johnny carries reader, manhandling, descriptions of johnny's torso and body throughout, dirty talk about the size of his ding dong schlong, mild degradation (use of slut), ripping clothes bc those muscles do more than lift weights <3, clitoral stimulation/fingering, reader is pretty slutty and dumb during sex (aren't we all), missionary sex, praising (sweet girl, good girl), condom use, talking after sex (post nut clarity fr)

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction purely from my (filthy) imagination. I don't know the nct members and don't claim that they act like this in real life. I also do not condone any of the activity by any of the characters in this fic. 

a/n: i have been in such a writer's slump particularly with smut! like i think i need some time off to write some good fics and some good smut, so i'm sorry anon and to all my lovely readers if this is shit :(

“Now why would he ever say that?” You peeked at your friend pacing around your small room through your hair. Scissors in one hand, your (new) bangs in the other, you winced. “Wait, girl, I made a mistake I think.”

She sighed as you let the strands flutter across your forehead, uneasiness settling in your stomach. “Didn’t you follow what he said?” Brad Mondo’s curtain bangs tutorial continued in the background as you turned your head expectantly from side to side. Your friend held your head in place with open palms, looking at you through the mirror. “It’s actually kinda cute. Makes you look…well…”

“Don’t say small.” She snorted, bringing a hand to her face to unsuccessfully cover her mouth. “I don’t care, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

You pushed yourself off the stool, rolling your eyes as you started undressing. “He didn’t mean it like that.” Your belt clinked as your jeans fell to the carpet, and you started bringing your shirt over your heard. “I’m sure it was his way of complimenting me.” Despite all your efforts, you couldn’t stop the annoyance that cemented your words into place. “I guess.”

“Girl, you need to tell him that it bothers you.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“Yeah, and it’s not weird to call some girl you’ve been on two dates with small.”

The doorbell cut through the air, making you both jump. “Shit. It’s like he heard or something.”

“Shit. Wait, just let him in and get him to wait downstairs. Okay?” Sudden panic was settling into your body, making your hands shake. Your friend got the message and hurried downstairs, zipping her skirt up in record time while hobbling downstairs. “Hope I don’t smell like chicken. I hate having shifts on Fridays.”

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you pulled the skirt over the curves of your thighs and butt, watching the way it held onto your body. Stuffing the ends of the top into the skirt, you walked over to pick out a pair of shoes.

“I’m heading out! Johnny’s waiting down here!” Your friend’s voice made your body do the kind of useless flurry that it does whenever you know you’re running out of time, and you drag out the highest heels you own. Small, my ass.

“Hey!” As usual, he softened his frame when he saw you, placing his hands in his pockets and smiling so big so you would forget to feel intimidated by his 6-foot stature, or rock-hard physique. His eyes were like small moons, bursting on his face whenever he smiled. “Hey, nice bangs.” You instinctively went to fiddle with them, silently cursing yourself for messing them up. “Thanks.” Your smile was a little forced, but you were giddy to see him, your body rocking back and forth without your permission, ankles rubbing against each other.

∞

“The pasta was so good,” you couldn’t stop raving, your hips knocking into Johnny as he walked you home, arms linked. “Like seriously, Johnny. So good.”

He laughed, the sound leaving him effortlessly. “I’m so glad you liked it. I remember the pasta here being amazing, but I was worried you would think I’m cheap or not taking you seriously. The place being run down and all.” You shook your head, your bangs shuffling from side to side as you did. “No, of course not. I would rather eat something good on the street than a tiny portion of something small and pretentious at an upscale place.”

He hummed, moonlight hitting his body, softening some angles and sharpening others, hair glowing golden brown as he walked. Your heels clacked against the linoleum of your front porch as you wondered whether your friend was home, but before you could reach for the front door, your knees buckled. You let out a small gasp as you felt Johnny’s arms around your body, pinching into your skin almost uncomfortably. “Oh shit! I’m okay, babe.” You both froze at the sudden nickname, his arms loosening around you as you straightened up. You shakily continued. “U-uhm, sorry, I mean-“

“I think your shoes broke.”                                                                   

Yeah, no shit, you wanted to bite back. But you held your tongue, frustration seeping through your pores as you held onto the rail, Johnny hovering protectively over you as you took the right heel off, now newly broken in two pieces. “Oh my god. These were so expensive! Ugh!”

“It’s okay. Maybe I can buy you another pair. Babe.” He said the last word almost sarcastically, and you glared at him. “Johnny.”

“I’m serious. I’m sorry those broke so easily. I’ll bring a new pair next time?”

“Johnny, wait.”

“You like me, right?” His face crumpled just a tiny bit. Not exaggerated like in the movies or anything, so subtle you would never notice from afar, or if you weren’t close. You warmed at the thought of knowing him so closely, so well, enough to know that something was not right in the lines of his eyebrows.

You gulped, not knowing how to respond.

“I feel like you kinda hate me.” He crinkled his nose when he said hate, almost sarcastically, but his tone jabbed you straight in the chest. You shook your head. No, of course not, you wanted to say. I like you. I like you so much. But I am small to you. I wonder if you think of me as small. Do YOU like me?

“I just, I don’t like being small.” He frowned, and so did you, the words sounding stupid as soon as they filled the small space between your bodies. “I mean, you called me small the other day. And I know you probably, well, definitely, meant it as a cute thing. Like physically. Like a term of endearment, you know? But, I don’t wanna be seen as small, like more than physically. You know what I mean?” You cringed internally at your words, watching him stare blankly back at you.

“Right.”

“I’m so sorry. I sound like such a jerk. I don’t mean to be hung up over one little word you said.” You bit your lip, tasting the remnants of your lipstick on your tongue. “It’s just what made me feel a little weird. But, I do like you, Johnny.” Your heart raced as you looked up at him. Your body moved without permission for the umpteenth time, and your arms melted around his hips, fingers splaying across the small of his back. Your mind screamed at you, but your body ignored it, burning up from within.

Tentatively, he brought one hand to your chin, skin warm but rough on yours. “I don’t think low of you. I never have. I just think you’re so fucking gorgeous. So perfect the way you are.” The butterflies in your stomach were now dancing, free, leaping over hills and grassy plains. “Sorry for the poor choice of words.”

You smiled, some of the tension leaving you as you let your bodies merge seamlessly, like lanes on an open road, like the sun as it meets the horizon. You kicked off your other shoe, standing on your tiptoes to meet his lips with yours. He tentatively glazed his hands over your sides, making you shiver and moan into his mouth. You brought your fingers to the nape of his neck, savouring the taste. “Mmm, Johnn-“

You yelped when he gripped your thigh, guiding it to press against his hips. “Jump up for me, baby.” You giggled, nodding as you straddled him, his torso gently rebounding back with your weight. As you met his lips once more, dragging your forearms across the top of his shoulders, you heard your front door open and close, the door to the downstairs bedroom fling wide open. As your back hit the bed, your hair splayed out onto the fresh sheets, knees bent, lipstick smeared.

Wasting no time to rid himself of his clothes, he spoke. “This room is fine, right?” Muscles bulging as he fiddled with his shirt, the ridges of his chest drawing in the singlet, you bit your finger almost comically. “Hello? Earth to _?” The brown of his eyes were soft, a sharp contrast to his stature. He smirked, his hair bouncing as he threw his head back slightly. “Like what you see?”

“Uh huh.” All the shame left your body as you drew circles on his body and face with your eyes, letting his thick frame tower over you. “Is this okay?” He breathed into your collarbone, and when you nodded fervently, you felt his lips suck and nip at your neck. Gasping, you gripped onto his neck, letting your ankles hook around the back of his jean-clad legs. “Y-yes. Yes please. Don’t tease, I want y-you so much.”

“Yeah?” He played with the buttons of your top, but you stopped him. “I can’t wait…just rip it off, please. I need you. Right now. Please, just use me. I know you can.” He drew an eyebrow upwards, and you almost felt a slight twinge of embarrassment until you heard the top rip, cold air exposing your lace bra, tits bulging as you arched your chest off the bed. “What a slut. Is this what you wanted all along?” He laughed as you wriggled under him, mouth latching onto the tops of your boobs. He released you only to throw your arms up, pinning your wrists down to the bed to watch your reaction. When you bit your lip in response, bringing your core closer to his, he laughed darkly. “Freak.”

“Yes, just for you, fuck, please.”

“Bet you’re just soaked under this tight little skirt. Want me to rip this off too?” You nodded before he could even finish his sentence, and the sound of your fabric ripping filled the air. “Mmm, just as I suspected.” As he dragged your panties down your thighs, you felt your wetness pool onto the sheets under you. “Please, please, hold me down and fuck me.” You whispered into his ear, letting your plump lips graze against his skin as you massaged the nape of his neck with your fingers. You whimpered when his jean-clad bulge bumped against your clit, the burn in your core growing with every passing second.

He kissed you deeply, pulling away at an agonising pace. “Tell me why, baby.” You whined, trying to gather some friction between your legs with no avail. His arms pinned yours to either side of your head, his legs like heavy weights against yours. “Please, I just, I want your cock i-inside me, w-want it to split me open…” He shook his head. “What makes you think I would do that to you? I’m too big for you, honey.”

You whined. “N-no, please. I don’t care, just, push it in me…” He laughed, kissing you. “Please, I want to feel so full…” He shushed you, sitting up to unbuckle his jeans. “Mmm, yes, yes please…” You were just babbling nonsense, the anticipation too intense to bear. His cock sprung out of his boxers, hitting his stomach, precum spilling out the edges of the tip. You heard him rip open a condom packet, dragging it on his length at lightning speed. He ran his cockhead through the folds of your pussy, making you whimper. “So wet.” He breathed, and you gasped as his tip entered you at an agonisingly slow place. “J-Johnny.” Your brain fought your body, wanting him to continue but feeling apprehensive at the impending stretch. “You’re so big. Fuck.” You snuck a hand down towards your clit, but Johnny grabbed your wrist, leaning over to kiss your chin. “Let me.” As he pressed one finger onto your core, you gasped, back arching, eyes squeezing shut. “O-oh, oh my…”

“You like that?” He started speeding up, your gasps and moans like drugs to his system. When he pulled away, he started pushing his length in, and you let out a deep breath, as if you had been holding it in the entire time. “Fuck.” You drawled, feeling him in every corner of your insides. “Fuck, Johnny. You’re, you’re so big, and s-strong.”

Johnny laughed, and you wondered for a second whether you had ruined the mood. “My cock making you lose your filter, babe?” You blushed, but the constant bump and stretch on your clit had your vision go foggy, your head spinning deliriously. You used your forearms to push away, breathing deeply as if his cock had suffocated you from the inside out. Johnny wrapped his arms around your hips, bringing you flush against his pelvis in one swift movement. “Uh uh, where do you think you’re going?” His snarkiness and the fulness in your lower stomach made your core squeeze excessively. “Ah, shit! Fuck, I think I’m gon-“ You felt it before you could finish your sentence, your climax stealing the words out of your mouth, making your heart thump incessantly against your ribcage.

Johnny cooed at your, his forearms now caging you by your head, peppering light kisses on your face. “You alright, sweet girl?” You nodded, gasping. “Please, please move.” He chuckled, groaning as he pulled back to thrust into you, making you throw your head back and scream. “Fuck, oh my god.” Your body shook with the force of his steady thrusts, his legs pinning your body down to the bed. “Good girl, that’s it.” He groaned, getting sloppier as he reached his climax. “You’re so good for me. So eager for me to pin you down and fuck you. Because I’m so big and strong, right?” You reached for Johnny’s neck, the embarrassment at your previous comments leaving you as you felt your core tighten, coil ready to snap. “Fuck, you just gripped me so tight, fuck. Nasty girl.” You moaned as you came, feeling him release inside the condom with a throaty moan.

Both of you heaving, gasping for air, you pulled Johnny close to your body, kissing his collarbone, his neck, his face. “I do like you, a lot.” Your breath tickled his skin as you spoke, and he stroked your hair gently with one hand, using the other to pull away from you to look into your eyes. “I’m sorry for calling you small. I admit, it’s a little weird.”

“Apology accepted. I think we’ve both called each other things we’re never gonna say again.”

“No, hon, you should always call me big and strong Johnny-“

“Johnny, please. Never mention that again. It was a moment of weakness!” You whined, shielding your face as he laughed, slipping off you to lie next to you on the bed. “Kinda sexy though.” You slapped his arm playfully, laughing as slipped down his forearm to take his hand in yours.

“I’ll think of something better for next time, promise.”

[literaila]

house rules (roommate au)

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary:

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

so immediately you slam the door. 

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

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

oh, fuck. 

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

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

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

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

"and you're less than dressed." 

"i thought you stood me up." 

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

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

"i didn't cancel. i'm here." 

"you're late." 

"so i've heard..." he drawls. 

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

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

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

"are you going to apologize for being late?" 

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

"really?" 

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

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

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

you slam the door against his foot again. 

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

something in his voice already implies that it will. 

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

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

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

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

"ten minutes. maybe twenty." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you attempt a fake smile. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"um... sort of." 

"sort of?" 

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

gojo hums. "why'd he move out?" 

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

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

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

"okay, good, 'cause that's hideous." 

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

"did you change rooms?" 

"what?" 

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

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

gojo snorts. 

"what?" 

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

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

"you're not going to look around?" 

"it looks like the pictures." 

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

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

"not that i know of..." 

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

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

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

"yes." 

"can i see?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"can't you?" he asks, challenging. 

"no." 

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

and somehow you doubt that. 

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

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

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

"yes." 

"such as?" 

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

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

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

"okay." 

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

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

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

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

"these are not negotiable." 

he only continues to smile at you. 

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

"fine. you still want to live here?" 

"mmhmm." 

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

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

*

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

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

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

but satoru gojo is hard. 

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

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

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

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

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

and honestly, gojo's just asking for it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you ate my ice cream?" you repeat. 

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

"i might kill you." 

"i thought we banned homicide from the apartment." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you blink. 

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

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

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

you laugh. 

"clearly you've never been." 

"i'm still expecting ice cream." 

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

"like you've never skipped a class." 

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

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

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

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

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

"i seriously doubt that." 

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

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

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

"nor ever will," you grind out.

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh, wait. it does. 

you frown at him. 

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

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

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

"do you own this bar?" 

"what? no." 

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

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

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

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

"nanami," you cut in, "hey." 

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

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

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

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

"because i didn't realize." 

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

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

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

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

"he promised me alcohol." 

she nods knowingly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru laughs, not questioning this, and walks away. 

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

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

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

how long had that taken? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"are you ready to go home?" 

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

you don't, for whatever reason. 

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

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

"oh, really?" 

"learned when i was a kid and everything." 

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

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

like he's an actual toddler.

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

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

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

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

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

he smiles at you. you roll your eyes. 

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

but were you really expecting it to? 

*

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

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

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

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

you try not to laugh. 

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

"sorry?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"did you lose some pigment in your hair?" 

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

"from what?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo looks like he might start crying.

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

"don't you have a room?" you ask. 

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

"no." 

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

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

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

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

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

"clearly." 

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

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

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

"a book." 

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

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

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

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

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

seriously, his presence is impending doom itself. 

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

"i crave my fist on your face." 

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

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

"probably?" 

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

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

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

you groan and he laughs at you.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you're cleaning air?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"nanamin," he interrupts. "go." 

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

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

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

you raise your brows but do as he says. 

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

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

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

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

"satoru, she's just watching--" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

from suguru :p : 

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

can you please kick him awake? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"telepathy. now get up." 

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

"suguru said you'd say that." 

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

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

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

"why are you so mean to me?" 

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

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

"i'll sue back for mental damages." 

he laughs, and wiggles from your grasp. 

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

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

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

"yup." 

"he's a terrible friend." 

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

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

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

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

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

"what class is it?" 

"theoretical physics." 

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

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

"i can imagine." 

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

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

"no, suguru just thinks i'm lazy." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"really?" 

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

he grins. "cruel." 

"and i'll record it." 

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...and?" 

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

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

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

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

"how did you even find the library?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you're a part of a study group?" 

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

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

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

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

"nope, again." 

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

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

"do i seem worried to you?" 

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

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

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

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

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

you squint. "did you actually?" 

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

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

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

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

"flip night." 

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

"it wasn't that bad." 

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

gojo smiles. "consider yourself lucky." 

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

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

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

you laugh that thought away as soon as it comes.

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

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

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

"why not?" 

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

"do it in the morning." 

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

"then don't study." 

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

he grins. "i get it from you." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...going home?" 

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"no." 

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

"i told you, that's not mine." 

"so you gave it away?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"yes." 

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

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

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

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

"well, it was true then." 

you roll your eyes. 

"i wasn't going to say that anyway." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"whatever will i do now?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"getting turned on by my pain?" 

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...are you sure?" 

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

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

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

"what?" 

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

your brow furrows. "about what?" 

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

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

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

"no, and i don't dance." 

gojo rolls his eyes. "everyone dances." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you left me--" 

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

"you'll get me that anyway." 

"i'll let you pick it this time." 

"that's usually expected, you know?" 

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

"i don't know that, actually." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

it's probably just the alcohol, though. 

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it sounds like something else to you.

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

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

"'cause you deserve it." 

he laughs and leans in, so you follow him. 

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

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

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

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

"really?" 

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

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

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

"you okay?" 

"i think i might be a little drunk." 

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

"you're a lightweight." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i don't look at you a lot." 

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

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

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

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

"what?" 

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

"i'm not?" 

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

"why not?" 

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

gojo's brow furrows. "how?" 

your brows furrow. "how what?" 

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

"you'd have to ask him." 

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

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

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

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

"hey," gojo says, interrupting that feeling. 

"what?" 

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

"i'm not?" 

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

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

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

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

"they do?" 

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

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

how long has it been now? 

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

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

*

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

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

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

he just smiles easily, ruffling your hair.  

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

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

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

*

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

and so maybe you hang out with him sometimes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

"to the store." 

"it's eleven." 

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

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

"i need stuff." 

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

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

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

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

"you can't leave right now." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i can do whatever i want." 

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

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

"when i realized how weak you are." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you are ruining my mood." 

"oh, good." 

you scowl. "move. right now." 

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

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

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

he snorts. 

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

"what is that?" 

you frown. "what?" 

"what's wrong with your face?" 

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

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

"don't talk to me. ever again." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

"gojo?" 

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

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

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

"where were you?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru only smiled a little bit at your question.

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

you'd frowned. "what?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i'm busy, gojo." 

"no, you're not." 

"i am doing homework." 

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

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

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

he sighs again. "canceled." 

"why?" 

"my dad had a meeting or something." 

"oh." 

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

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

he shakes his head. 

"do you want me to make you something?" 

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

"not intentionally." 

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

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

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

"that's not what i asked." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

this shouldn't be happening. 

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

he should not be this close. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"there's at least five." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it wasn't fair like this. 

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

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

like you're doing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"gojo, i'm really--" 

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

"what?" 

"that's not my name." 

you frown. "yes it is?" 

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

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

"when you were drunk." 

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

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

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

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

"you're sorry?" 

"i didn't mean to." 

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

"it was an accident?" 

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

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

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

"...okay." 

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

you stare at him. 

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

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

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

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

"why not?" 

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

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

"wasn't it obvious?" 

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

you shake your head. 

"c'mon, just a little." 

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

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

"don't tell me what to do." 

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

you kinda want to hit him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"when?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"you flirt with everything." 

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

"who said anything about making out?" 

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

*

[weird-is-life]

helloo! okay this might be a long request so buckle up. idea for spencer based off of my day; let it be know that i relate to spence, even if I have a "low" iq, what i mean is, I ramble. and watching people shut down spencer when he's about to rant always made me sad (obviously). but i realized it's because that happens to me. I'm a very geeky person so i get passionate and i understand why people would shut me down (still hurts tho). but today one of my friends asked a question it was about simpler animals and what the difference was. me loving animals and knowing the answer, well I spoke up but immediately got talked over about something not relevant. my real idea is, what if spencer had someone that rambled with him and appreciated his rants. like i think it'd be cute and they don't have to rant about the same thing, just both like in the corner talking absurdly fast together. and the team probably rolling their eyes. maybe??? (sorry if it was to personal) hope you have a great dayyy!!

Hiii lovely, ty for the request💕!! Hope this is okay, warnings: fluff, like one pet name (0.6k)

Sometimes Hotch kind of regrets hiring you (not really, you're a great  addition to the team and everybody loves you), but when he sees you and Spencer together, the thought crosses his mind.

What he really does regret, is putting your desk and Spencer's desk next to each other. Big, big, big mistake.

You and Spencer are hunched over something at your desk, talking very quickly, as you two often do. Hotch finds your conversations, against his better judgement, cute. But not when he's trying to start a meeting and you two can't seem to notice.

He and the team see this on a regular basis, it's nothing new, that you and Spencer talk and talk about something, anything, completely in your own world.

Your conversations are still the same just like the first time, you and Spencer met. Maybe they got even worse. You two can ramble on and on for hours like it's nothing.

And you love it. You love talking to Spencer. The topic of your conversation is never a problem, you can talk about anything and nothing at the same time.

Just the fact, that you can talk to each other without being talked over, interrupted or hushed down is everything to you and to him.

Spencer feels the same. He loves talking to you. Your sweet, sweet voice makes it even better. He loves even just listening to you talk, it's maybe his favourite thing in the world.

Especially, when you two talk about the most silly, random stuff, while lying in the bed late at night. Chuckling and rambling without a care in the world. Maybe he loves it so much, because the team doesn't know about it. It's like something sacred between just you and him.

That's definitely his happy place, just you two having a quiet conversations with sleepy voices.

"Spence, have you read this book before?" you ask, pointing at the book lying on your desk.

"Oh," Spencer's face lights up with recognition," I have. It's really good, right?"

"I don't know, I haven't started it yet. I want to, but I can't bring myself to read it after a day full of work," you say to Spencer.

"I-I could read it to you?" he hesitantly offers.

"Spence, it's almost 800 pages long...." you chuckle at his offer.

"I don't mind," he quickly responds.

You think about it, but not for too long. You don't really need convincing, not when it comes to Spencer.

"Well, okay then. But only if you really want to," you give him a smile.

"I want to," he reassures you," and i do have some suggestions...."

"Like what?"

"Like books, that are similar to this. If you like this one, I could lend them to you-" Spencer's fast rambling gets interrupted, but not by you, never by you.

"Yo, lovebirds, we'd be very happy to let you talk about whatever nonsense you're talking about, but we all want to have this meeting over with. So if you'd be so kind to join us, that'd be nice," Derek basically yells at you from the conference room's doorway, making everybody in the room look at you and Spencer.

Your cheeks go a bit pink at Derek's words, you haven't realised that they were waiting on you and Spencer.

"Relax Derek, we're coming," Spencer says back loudly, " come on sweetheart, let's go there before they get mad at us," Spencer tells you, rolling his eyes over Derek's words.

"We'll talk about the book more later, yeah?" Spencer promises.

"Later?"

"I could come over tonight?" Spencer unsurely proposes.

"That'd be great, I'd love that," you'd never pass an opportunity to spend time with Spencer and getting to listen to him talk.

Somebody would maybe find reading to each other boring, but you and Spencer would never. It's like your love language.

[muddyorbsblr]

save my room for last

'one look and they'll know' collection masterlist See my full list of works here!

Placement: the morning after 'a sizing mishap', hours before 'a tale of ice baths and hot sauce'

Summary: One of the duties you're assigned for Soccer Aid Training Week is to run wakeup calls for a handful of players. Today you and your fellow staff members draw names for who you have to wake up.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: 18+ | smut-ish times [minors & pearl-clutchers, don't even try me i am not the one]; one (1) cuss word

Things to be aware of: cuddly clingy and overall menace bf Tom; cozy steamy times 🥴😮‍💨

The high-pitched scandalizing notes of your alarm pierced the quiet of your hotel room, effectively steamrolling your peaceful slumber in your boyfriend's arms.

"Too early," Tom grumbled, holding your naked body tighter against him. "Sun hasn't even begun to peek through." You fought the urge to snuggle further into his side and burrow your face into the crook of his neck as large hands freely roamed your back.

"I gotta go," you groaned, pushing yourself off the bed and trying to roll out of his hold, only making him let out a whiny groan and wrap his fingers around your thigh to pull you back to him. "Sweetie if I'm late I get whoever's left in the bowl for the wakeup calls." You had to bite your lip to hold back any reaction you had to his hand now lazily kneading at the back of your upper thigh, fingers traveling dangerously close to the part of you that was already most definitely awake and beginning to ache for him. Again.

"Not yet," he mumbled, pressing his lips to your forehead, tracing the features of your face lazily in sloppy kisses. "Just a few more minutes, goddess."

Dammit, when he got all whiny and needy like this, combined with the gravel of his morning voice, it was damn near impossible to deny him anything. You'd be downright hilarious to even try. And yet here you were, doing exactly that.

"I'm really sorry, sweetie, but I gotta go," you mumbled, letting out a few giggles that were muffled when he pressed his lips to yours, already pulling you tighter against him and sighing out in contentment as he did so. "I wanna at least have a chance of drawing your name from the bowls."

"Hmmm…you as a wakeup call," he pondered, the tips of his fingers running lightly up and down your side. "But I already have that luxury. That pleasure. Why give that up now for the possibility of having it again later?" He tightened his hand around your thigh and pulled you on top of him, making you brace your hands on his chest. "Why don't we just enjoy the early morning…" he trailed off, running his hands up the side of your body and down to your hips. "Just like this?"

You let out a groan, leaning down to press a brief kiss to his cheek before making a motion to get up and out of the bed. "Because if we do this it could very well be my first and last time on the committee, which means that if you get called back next year, chances are I won't be working the event with you."

Stepping away from the bed, you held back a giggle from the sight of his absurdly long arm reach out for you before flopping down the side of the bed, fingertips barely grazing the floor. You had to turn around to focus on getting your clothes back on, seeing as the sight of his naked form stretching in bed with the sheets so haphazardly draped over him and barely covering him from the hips down served as quite the distraction.

Add to that the way that the sheets traveled down when he stretched, putting on a sluttish display of the well-defined Adonis belt that framed the smattering of hair from his belly button leading down a path you were all too familiar with. If you didn't look away now you would find yourself back in bed and taking him up on his offer, position in the committee and wakeup call assignments be damned.

Unfortunately you knew that you needed to be there when they drew names. You prided yourself in being fairly decent in reading people, and you saw how the other members of the committee eyed Tom. They would be there before the names were even in the bowl trying some way to rig the system and get his name on the off chance that maybe they would catch even a fraction of the glimpse of the view you'd had just seconds ago. The worst part was that you couldn't even blame them.

The only thing you could really do was make sure you had an equal chance of drawing his name, too.

You opted not to bother with your bra and underwear, seeing as you would end up showering when you got to the room that you were designated to share with two other members, Lilly and Simone, anyway. "Go back to sleep," you whispered into the relative darkness. "Whoever ends up drawing your name, just make sure you're fully ready because I don't trust them not to have a camera on them just to snap a picture."

"Will you do something for me, sweetheart?" he mumbled, seeing the silhouette of his hand raising as if reaching for yours in the dark. You put your hand in his once you'd slipped your shirt on, letting out a little squeal when he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. "Save me for last if you draw my name. I'll barely see you between my practice and whatever gets assigned to you for the day. If I get even a few minutes having you all to myself I want to savor it until the last possible second."

"I promise," you said with a giggle, easing your hand out of his and pressing a quick kiss to his lips before you headed out the door.

You tried your best to make as little sound as possible when you stepped through the door of your assigned room, not wanting to wake your roommates so rudely considering the ungodly hour. Of course, there was only so much you could do with the hinges of the door closer all but sounding trumpets at your return.

"Hmph…" Lilly groaned into the darkness. "There's no way it's already time for the briefing."

"Calm down, it's just me. We have half an hour, go back to sleep."

"Y/N?" Simone queried softly. "Bloody hell where'd you sneak off to? When you didn't come in last night we thought you fell asleep in the lobby prepping the media passes. Had half a mind to go out there and retrieve you so you could actually sleep on a bed."

"I appreciate the concern, but I'll have you know that I didn't pass out in the lobby, or a conference hall, or anywhere of the sort. My boyfriend's working the event, too. I spent the night with him." That announcement seemed to perk them both up considerably, both women sitting up from the bed. "I'm gonna take a shower and then we can all head over to the briefing together and see whose names we end up drawing."

"Please let me get Beck," Lilly whined. "My sister will be totally stoked and maybe I can even get him to greet her in a video or something." She was practically bouncing on her bed from excitement now. "Who do you two wanna get?"

"I don't much care who I get," you  bluffed, blindly choosing an outfit from your suitcase. "What about you, Simone?"

"Asa," she answered without hesitation. "Absolutely adorable, that one." She then let out a stream of giggles. "I'll tell you who a handful of women would absolutely slaughter each other to draw, though. Heard them last night talking about how they were tempted to rig the bowls somehow just so things go their way and maybe they could get a glimpse of the famous bulge that Marvel needed to shell out some extra bucks for to buff out with CGI."

"Rig the bowls?" you huffed. "What're they gonna do, have Hiddleston's name printed in special textured paper so they can feel which one to pick out?"

"Upper level conspiracy material right there," Lilly joked. "I'd bet they'd try and trade with whoever ends up drawing him. Gotta admit, though. I wouldn't mind getting his name."

"Same," you and Simone murmured.

Twenty minutes later and the three of you stood among the other staff members in the briefing room, four bowls filled with paper strips lined up on a table in front of you, and the head of committee, Johanna, standing on the other side of the table with a clipboard in hand.

"Right then. Each of you step up, draw one name from each bowl, and hold on to them until everyone's drawn four names each, two from Team England, and two from Team World. Then and only then will you all take turns sharing the names you've drawn. No swapping." She looked at the members closest to the door, her gaze landing on you. "Y/L/N. You're up first."

Your heart was pounding in every part of your body the entire way through, hoping beyond hope that one of the scraps of paper that now laid in your hand held Tom's name. You watched as the other staff members approached the table one by one, some of them doing the sign of the cross before reaching their hand in, others outright expressing how they wished they'd drawn your boyfriend's name once the papers were in their hands. All the while you did your best to feign indifference, fighting against your body's knee jerk reactions of tensing your neck or glaring at them as if you were imagining what they'd look like if their hair suddenly caught fire.

Once everyone had four scraps of paper each, Johanna randomly called out your names, instructing you to share what was written on your respective papers. With each disappointed announcement came more blatantly optimistic expressions from the remaining members; Lilly proudly announced that she drew the TikTok influencer Beck, and Simone beamed as she read out the name "Butterfield".

You took a deep breath before opening the papers when your name was called, struggling to not show the relief that washed over you as you read out the names in your hand. "Bolt…Claflin…Scott…Hiddleston."

"Y/N name your price," one of the more outspoken members from earlier, Brynne, called out. "Come on, you'd still have--"

"Rules are rules, Brynne. You heard me earlier," Johanna's voice echoed through the room. "No swapping. You know your assignments. Meet back here at oh-eight-hundred to receive your designations for the rest of the day."

Passing through the wakeup call runs of the players from the World Team went off without a hitch, consisting purely of knocking on their doors, announcing your presence, and they were out within five minutes and off to the practice field. There was a tiny bit of an awkward interaction with Sam Claflin pointing at your neck and asking if you were alright because it looked "concerningly red", even wondering if it was a rash.

"Thanks for the concern, but I promise everything's fine," you answered him, not-so-casually moving your hair about so that it fell down in front of your shoulders and covered the area in question. "It's not a rash."

That got quite the reaction from him, causing fairly taller man to break out in chuckles and lightly shake a pointed finger in your direction. "You're quite the character. I hope whoever gave you that 'not a rash' appreciates that."

"I think he does," you quipped. "I mean we've been at this seven years and he doesn't seem bored yet so looks like I might be doing something right," you topped off with a shrug, heading to Jill Scott's room next. "Good luck out there."

"Lovely meeting you, Y/L/N," he said with a wave before heading off in the opposite direction.

A few minutes later you were knocking at the door to Jill's room, a ridiculous excitement slowly building inside of you and making you rock back and forth where you stood thinking about the next and final stop on your list before you had to return to the briefing room.

"Who is it?" you heard her call out from inside the room.

"It's Y/L/N. From staff," you said for the third time this morning. "Morning wakeup call."

"I'll be right out." A few moments later her door swung open, the woman greeting you with a warm smile. "Hey…Y/L/N, at the risk of sounding presumptuous or giving you cause of concern I have to ask you something."

Her premise took you aback, making you walk a little straighter and touch the ends of your hair, making sure that your neck was still considerably covered. "Pretty sure that just brought my blood pressure up a few points, but go ahead," you prompted her, trying to make light of the concern you were already feeling.

"It's just I noticed something whenever you passed by the field yesterday afternoon and--Ah screw it, best to just bite the bullet. You and Hiddleston…are you two an item?"

The question had your eyebrows shoot to your hairline. "Hmm? What uhh…what made you think that?"

"Well, if you two aren't a thing, I highly recommend letting the lad down easy because he looks at you like those videos of pets when they see their owners come home. Wide dopey eyes and like his heart wants to burst out of his stupidly wee jersey. That is the most irretrievably in love man I've ever seen with my own two eyes."

You didn't even bother to fight back the smile that stretched across your face. "We uhh…we are. I won't be letting anyone down easy today because honestly I'm so in love with the man it's borderline painful," you confirmed to her with a little shrug. "I may also be the one responsible for that tiny jersey currently fighting for its life. And the shorts. We're just trying to keep things a bit…less public, you know?"

She clapped her hands together loudly, suddenly looking victorious. "I knew it! For the record, you two make a lovely couple. His face lights up whenever he'd steal a glance your way yesterday. And when the other ladies from the committee try to chat him up, it's like he barely even registers that they're paying him any attention. You caught a rare one."

Her testimony on how he behaved when you weren't around had your heart swelling. If there was one thing that was eating away at you, it was the insecurity you felt knowing exactly who you were with and how much more objectively attractive those women that practically draped themselves over him were. And the fear always lingered in the back of your mind that one day he'd wake up and realize exactly that.

"I know," you choked out. "I really lucked out with him."

She pointed down the hall, starting to make her way to the elevator. "Am I last on your list or you have to make a few more stops?"

Your smile grew even wider, basically giving the answer away already. "No uhh…there's one more. Saving him for last."

A deviously amused toothy grin stretched across her face. "Ah, I see I see. Well I won't keep you. I'm sure you're excited to see him again."

You made your way back to Tom's room as fast as you could short of breaking out into a jog, practically power-walking down the halls until you rounded the final corner to the hallway where he'd carried you in his arms just the night before. Nearly even began to skip on your way there until you saw the small group of people that were waiting just a few doors away from his, the one closest to your destination being Brynne.

"Uhh…are you all waiting for your assigned players to get out or…?" you trailed off, already straightening your stance, deepening your voice, and taking on a posture that you only really dished out once in a blue moon. In private. With Tom.

Everyone but Brynne stepped away from their relaxed positions against the wall and walked back toward the elevator. You eyed the audacious, slightly taller auburn-haired woman expectantly. "Come on, Y/N. Be a team player here. Every time I've worked an event that involved him I don't even get the chance to be anywhere near him, I'm asking nicely please trade with me. I'll give you Payne--"

"Ew," you cut cut her off, not backing down from your 'boss lady-slash-domme' tone. "Shouldn't have led with that, Brynne. I mean I kinda feel for you that you got Mister more than big enough for you luv, when in fact I've been to children's parties that served vienna sausages bigger than what the guy's packing--"

"Exactly!" she empathized, letting out a chuckle and reaching for your hand as if to form a bond between you two. You knew better, though, and moved it just out of her arm's reach, knowing full well that the motion was meant to reach for the keycard you were suddenly holding tighter in your fist. "So please? Be a pal and let me shoot my shot?"

You did your best to keep your jaw unclenched, fighting every urge you had to make a show of this particular wakeup call and reveal the very blatant reason why you would not be helping her 'shoot her shot'. "You know, Brynne, I really wish I could help you but…it's my first year here and I really don't wanna get on Johanna's bad side by disobeying her 'no swapping' rule." The conspiratorial smirk on her face dropped, now eyeing you with incredulity as if you'd given her a resounding slap right to her ego.

With her more or less out of your way, you walked over to Tom's door and knocked three times, same as you did for the rest of your assignments.

"Who is it?" his muffled voice queried from the other side.

"It's Y/L/N. From staff," you called out. "Morning wakeup call."

You could practically hear the smile on his face as he spoke again. "Am I the last on your list?"

Oh sweetie there's no list. It's you. It's only ever gonna be you, you thought to yourself with a smirk. "Yup. Last one."

"Please, come in then." The eyes of your onlookers widened the side of saucers at what they heard. "I'm nearly ready, I wouldn't want you to wait out there on your feet. Come in, catch your breath. Really, I insist."

You made a show of looking a bit perplexed at the offer. "O-Oh. Uhm…alright then." You turned to give your fellow staff members a casual look, shrugging before using the keycard in your hand to open the door and slip into the room, your cheeks and neck already straining from the laughter you were reining in as you saw the image that greeted you. "That is not even remotely 'nearly ready'," you playfully accused, motioning to the towel that he held around his waist, water droplets still running down his torso from the shower you suspected he'd just finished at most a few minutes ago. "What if someone else drew your name?"

Before he could answer, you held a finger to your lips and pointed at the door, then signaled toward your ear to tell him that there were people outside listening, or as you snidely put it in your thoughts, 'rummaging for scraps'. "Simple, darling. I wouldn't have invited them in," he answered in a more hushed tone. "I really should finish getting ready, though. Wouldn't want to let this wakeup call go on for longer than is expected of me," he said in a teasing tone, making a motion as if to turn around.

The air left your lungs in a disbelieving chuckle as he released his hold on the towel, the weighed down fabric falling to the floor with a wet sounding thud, and baring every inch of his gloriously naked form to you.

You had to force yourself to look away, gripping the edge of the dresser so hard that you were sure the skin on your knuckles turned white the second you caught a glimpse of the perfectly rounded cheeks of his ass.

That was monumentally easier back when he was mere feet away from you, and now nearly impossible with the way he walked right up to you, lightly wrapping his fingers around one of your wrists and leaning in to bring his lips closer to your ear. "I noticed you didn't have anything to put your hair up. I know how you get when your hair starts to stick to your neck," he whispered, lips lightly brushing across the shell of your ear.

He leaned in even closer, his slightly damp chest pressing against your shoulder as he reached around behind you with his other arm to tie a ribbon around your wrist. Your breathing hitched in the bach of your throat when he stepped even closer, working his thigh between your legs as he dipped his head and traced along your neck with the tip of his nose. "I uhh…I have to get back to the briefing room by 8…" you trailed off with a whimper, letting out a soft moan the moment you felt him press a kiss to your neck.

"We have time," he murmured, pressing another kiss on the same spot and smiling against your skin when you tilted your head and exposed more of your neck to him. He hummed into your skin, pressing closer against you, taking a deep breath as if he was breathing you in. "Is this a new perfume?"

His question, coupled with how he continued to press kisses along your neck, hands leisurely roaming your body as if you two had all the time in the world, put your mind in a haze. "It uhh…it is. One of the girls I'm assigned to room with suggested I try it out."

You began to grow weak in his arms as he kissed a trail down to your chest, his hands traveling to the back of your thighs to lift you up onto the dresser. "It's divine on you," he breathed against your skin, his lips kissing up to the other side of your neck and making you rest your forehead against his shoulder, struggling to take deep breaths.

When he started nipping and sucking at your neck was when you had to hold a hand over your mouth before you moaned so loud that everyone outside and maybe even the room above you would know exactly what was going down in this room. "What--"

"The mark on your neck looked lonely. Let me fix that," he whispered into your skin before latching his lips onto your neck again and proceeding to bite and suck a bit harder, causing you to press your lips to his shoulder and muffle your moan that way.

When you felt the all too familiar flames of your desire start to lick at your skin, your hands found themselves gripping at his back, struggling to remain cautious to not dig your fingernails in and claw at him.

"No," he grumbled against your skin. "Don't hold back, goddess. Sink your teeth into my skin. Mark me. Let me have you with me all day long." He weaved his fingers into your hair and moved to press his shoulder harder against you, as if urging you even more to leave your mark on him the way he was currently doing for you. His grip at the base of your hair tightened when you bit down on his shoulder, groaning into your neck a near euphoric sound that nearly sounded like a guttural 'thank you'.

You pulled away first, nearly gasping for air. "I have to be out soon or they're going to start gossiping about what they think is happening in here."

"They wouldn't be gossiping, sweetheart, because they would be correct," he shot back with a chuckle, pressing a kiss to your cheek before stepping back from you and finally letting you down from the dresser, giving you a soft smile as he fixed your hair to cover both sides of your neck. "I'll be ready in two minutes. Grab a water before you leave, you look a bit flushed."

"Menace," you murmured, scrunching your nose at him and giggling when he tilted your head up and pressed a quick kiss to your lips before walking back into the bathroom to actually get ready. You made sure to take a few extra seconds before walking back outside. No sense in letting a perfectly good view go unappreciated.

As you'd suspected, Brynne and the other staff members were still outside when you stepped out of the room, water bottle in hand. "Wow…" she droned at you, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "If you were going to nick anything from the room, you shoulda gone for something with a bit more substance. Amateur."

"Okay first of all, I didn't swipe this," you bit back, your tone from earlier suddenly making a return and causing a few of the staff members to flinch at the sudden shift in the room. "He told me grab one, said something about me looking 'redder than usual'. Second? If you have a problem with me being assigned to this particular player, take it up with Johanna. Because frankly I don't have the fucks to spare to deal with your petty toddler pageant behavior."

She stood in front of you gobsmacked, a small sound of utter shock escaping her when you made sure to bump against her shoulder hard when you walked past her as the door to Tom's room opened.

"Oh…I suppose you're all here to perform wakeup calls for your assigned players? Like Y/N?"

His words seemed to snap everyone out of their reverie and they haphazardly approached the doors and knocked, hollering their names and telling the person on the other side that they were there for the morning wakeup call. Your boyfriend let out a soft chuckle, subtly shaking his head at their antics and lightly touching the inside of your wrist before signaling for you two to walk toward the elevators.

"Am I mistaken or did I hear you using that voice you have tucked away for some of our more creative nights out here?" he asked under his breath, deftly swiping the bottle from your hand and bringing it to his lips to take a few gulps before handing it back to you.

"Had to," you answered before you finished off the contents of the bottle. "She was trying to make a move on what's mine."

That had him quickly wrapping his hand around your elbow and leading you into a more narrow hallway that probably led into the hotel staff's service walkways, walking you back against the wall and lightly gripping your chin with his thumb and forefinger. "Much as I adore it when you get a touch territorial, you do know that no one will ever succeed? There's no one in this world that can lure me away from you. I'm yours. Always."

You rose to the tips of your toes, bringing a smile to his face as he met you halfway, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. "I love you," you murmured against his lips, letting out a whiny whimper when you heard the footsteps of the other players and staff members about to round the corner.

"I love you, too." He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before you two parted ways and he went toward the elevator, casually greeting the other players as he met them. Meanwhile you made your way back to the briefing room, surprised to find yourself the first one there.

"Ah. Y/L/N. With fifteen minutes to spare, too," Johanna greeted you. "How'd you like to be assigned to set up for the Elementals video?"

You fought to keep back the sheer joy that you felt from the offer, the knowledge that you'd be seeing Tom again in a short while filling you with so much excitement you were itching to dance on the spot. "I'd like that very much. Thanks, Johanna."

A/N: I was supposed to have posted this yesterday during my birthday but I got sidetracked building a Baby Groot Lego set 😂🫡 There's about 4 more stories that take place during Soccer Aid week for these two and honestly I can't wait for y'all to see what else I have in store for them because they're precious menaces in love 🥹🥹

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @gigglingtiggerv2

[quintessenceofdust88]

Gabby you already know what I’m gonna ask

👵🏼👵🏼👵🏼🍼🍼🍼🌊🌊🌊

Cinda I do know what you're going to ask hehe, and I am so so happy to deliver! Starting with 10 sentences of Nonna meets the 118 for you:

- 👵🏼

Nonna is, predictably, the life of the party. Buck and Tommy introduce her to everyone as each one of their friends and family arrive, and she has a hug for all of them. She takes over as host from Buck and Tommy, easily mingling with everyone and making sure they’re eating appetizers. Her bruschetta is as delicious as anything else she prepares, and it’s not long before Bobby is asking her for the recipe, which she promptly shares with him by heart.

“If you make it, Roberto, don’t forget to send a batch over so I can give you my seal of approvement, hm?” She says cheekily, and Bobby chuckles. 

“Yes, Nonna, I’ll make sure Buck brings it over. But I know it won’t be as good as yours; he keeps telling me your cooking is the best he’s ever tried. I’m even a little jealous” He jokes, and Nonna dismisses the compliment with a handwave.  “Ah, that’s only because I’ve been cooking since before you were even alive, caro. I am sure you are a wonderful cook, Evanino is always praising your recipes” She says, patting Bobby’s cheek affectionately, and to Buck it’s absurdly funny seeing his captain on the other end of this kind of affection; usually he’s the one parenting everyone, and he can see how good it feels for Bobby by the way he smiles and flushes pleasantly, exchanging an amused grin with Athena.  (Blobs and Tsunami under the cut!)

- 🍼 (if the Blobs part feels slightly familiar, it's because it's part of the rewriting I'm doing on this chapter!)

Tommy grabs his chin and presses a deep kiss to his lips, deep enough that Buck lets out a little moan against his mouth. When he lets go, he's staring at Buck intensely.

“Listen to me, Evan Buckley-Kinard. You are the most handsome man in the world for me, and you gaining weight would never change that. But the fact your body is changing to accommodate our babies? Sweetheart, that makes you even more attractive to me”

“Really?” Buck asks, touched by his words, and Tommy smirks, pressing a kiss to his earlobe.

“Oh, baby” He huffs, his breath tickling Buck's ear. “If we weren't late already, I'd show you how much”

“Hm, here's a wild thought. I cancel with my parents and you show me how much right now?” He says, and Tommy rolls his eyes at him.

“Nice try, Evan” Tommy smirks at him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You know you'll just get more anxious the more you postpone it”

Buck does know it, but he hates it when Tommy is right, so he pouts, because that's the only way he has to win an argument.

“You’re cute” Tommy says, kissing his pout away, and Buck huffs, trying to fight back his smile.

“You’re not allowed to think I’m cute right now. I’m trying to be mad” He complains, and Tommy chuckles, kissing his cheek. 

- 🌊 (it's angstyyy, I'm sorry!)

Tommy drives through LA’s streets with complete disregard for speed limits or traffic laws, his mind set on getting closer to the shore, his eyes widening as he takes in everything that’s happening with the city that’s been his home for so many years. It’s completely different seeing the chaos from above as he was doing from the chopper, and being in the middle of it as he is now. Everywhere he looks, desperation clings to people like a second skin—exhaustion in every step, despair in every glance. There are many parents clutching their children close, and the vision makes Tommy’s heart squeeze in his chest when he realizes his own child is lost and scared in the middle of it. And then, an even more unbearable thought crosses his mind: what if she’s not? 

That’s too much for him to bear. He parks his truck in the middle of an unfamiliar street, eerily empty, and steps outside, his breath quickening in what he recognizes as a panic attack, the same kind he used to have back in Afghanistan, only worse. So much worse, because Tommy never feared for his life as much as he’s fearing for Vivie’s. He knows with certainty he can’t go on without her. Tommy clutches his steering wheel until his knuckles are white, and single sob wrecks through his chest. He tries - fails - to push the worst scenarios of his mind. Vivie has to be alive. Anything else is just unthinkable. 

(make me write)

[cosmic--dandelion]

Something I think a lot of people forget about Stolas and Blitzø is how much "Ozzies" changes their dynamic.

Before that, they're a patron and a client. Stolas might indulge in some not strictly sexual damsel-in-distress fantasies, and Blitzø might occasionally match Stolas's absurdly horny energy, and there's s few hints at affection here and there, but at the end of the day, Blitzø wants the book and Stolas wants to be the sub in a bdsm relationship, and that's that.

Their "date" at Ozzies turned their entire affair on its head. Stolas is alone and miserable at his huge empty mansion; Octavia is his only emotional outlet, and Stella's whisked her off somewhere.

He has no friends, no family who actually care about him aside from his daughter, and he's not even close to his servants like he was as a child. Stolas is desperate for any positive social interaction. Then Blitzø calls out of nowhere, asking him on a date. Stolas literally chokes on his Lucky Charms he'd so desperate to get to the phone.

Stolas is in full infatuation mode. This is probably his first real date in his entire life. He was forced into an arranged marriage with a cold, hateful woman and became a father against his will when he was around 19 at most. So he shows up dressed like he's about to be crowned Emperor of the Universe and even bows to Blitzø. Again, just like in "Loo Loo Land," he'd completely oblivious to how obviously unenthusiastic, distracted, and borderline uncomfortable Blitzø is.

Blitzø is legitimately taken aback when Stolas starts trying to make conversation and shows interest in his personal life beyond the carnal. This isn't some sort of machiavellian scheme on Stolas's part. He's being completely sincere. But he's ultimately still projecting his fantasies onto Blitzø instead of actually engaging with him, only this time they're romantic instead of sensual.

Shit goes down, and goes down HARD. Not only does Stolas hide his face in shame when Asmodeus publicly exposes their affair, Blitzø gets it rubbed in *his* face that their "arrangement" destroyed Stolas's reputation and family and is even starting to turn his own daughter against him.

Stolas tries to salvage the evening, but it's way too late.

"Stolas, don't act like what we have is anything but you wanting me to fuck you. You make that very clear all the time. Buf I just can't tonight. I'm sorry."

This is single-handedly one of the best call outs in the entire series, and HOLY SHIT does it hit home. It throws Stolas into a complete tailspin, and he probably came close to drinking himself to death that night. It's what he always does, burying himself headlong into whatever he thinks will bring him temporary happiness until whoever he's dragged along with him practically has to scream in his face.

It's telling that the very first thing he does is scroll through his phone to reassure himself that he and Blitzø have something more, only to see that Blitzø doesn't look happy in any of his photos, and he was deluding himself the whole time. Ouch. A well-deserved ouch, but an ouch nevertheless.

I think this is where Stolas actually starts to develop feelings for Blitzø, or at least realizes he has them.

Before this, their affair was more of a distraction and an outlet for his pent-up sexual frustration. Stolas went from being so emotionally and physically repulsed by his own wife he had to dissociate when Octavia was conceived to jumping right into a hardcore bdsm contract with a near complete stranger. It's incredibly cathartic for him, but not necessarily good for his mental health. It leaves him deeply psychologically dependent on Blitzø but unable to put aside the kinky bedroom stuff for the basic emotional labor and personal growth a serious, long-term relationship needs to function. For now.

Stolas changes after this. Not all at once, but the lesson sank in. It sinks in even further in "Western Energy". We see that Blitzø has been responding to his walls of text with one or two word replies and blows off his rather tepid apologies and attempts to be considerate. He doesn't visit him in the hospital, doesn't text him more than a half-hearted "git bevver swoon :(".

If Stella hadn't called off the hit, his last words would have been: "Blitzø will...[save me]", followed by a knife through the heart.

Stolas treats Blitzø VERY differently in season 2. While he'll still call him "Blitzy" on occasion, it's hard to imagine the Stolas in "Seeing Stars" or "Oops" calling him his "impish little plaything" or pinching his cheek or embarassing him in public. Stolas is trying so hard not to step on Blitzø's boundaries ar this point that it actually seems to annoy Blitzø, who's so convinced that Stolas could never love him that he seems like he'd almost rather things stay as they were. For all his good intentions, Stolas hasn't given Blitzø any reason to trust or forgive him, at least not yet. Bur he's trying, and I think that's important.

In my opinion, whether you have faith in this relationship ultimately depends on if you think people can truly change.

[dreamstar-moonlight]

Hey! I was wondering where I can find that drive for CaffeinatedFlumadiddle fics? I've been looking for a fic for about a year now and thought I was going insane, I just learned about the situation, it's so awful.

Hey anon!!!

First off, I'm SOOOOOO EXTREMELY SORRY for replying to this so ABSURDLY late -

I never imagined someone would send in an ask - to me, of all people! Because I've only ever seen Important People on Tumblr being sent asks, and I'm definitely not one of them!

So, uh - I actually made a detailed post with all the links to the now deleted fics, which you can find here,

But in case Tumblr messes up, and the link doesn't work, lemme copy-paste the contents of that post below:

1) Son of Sea Foam, originally published on Ao3

SoSF Google Doc Part 1 | Part 2

SoSF in pdf format

2) Descendants of Olympus, originally published on Ao3

DoD Google Doc Part 1 | Part 2

3) Highway To Hell (fic)

4) Hello Ocean, My Old Friend (fic)

5) Fishing in Alaska (epub) | archived Ao3 site

6) Stealing Shells (fic)

7) Google Drive folder of a bunch of fics and one-shots | 

8) Another mini-google-drive backup of a few fics 

9) Even more fics (there’s 70 of them here)

10) Almost all PJO and Merlin fics in epub format! Estelle series has series order in metadata.

To read epubs, good apps are Moon+ reader for Android and Calibre for PC. epub is a reflowable format that allows changing the font size, background, margins etc, and has title/author/series into embedded and sortable. 

11) Roman Percy | V2

12) A bunch of archived Tumblr posts

13) The entire tumblr (but on the archive website)

14) OneDrive link to download PJO & Merlin fics. 

Once again, my HEARTFELT APOLOGIES for not seeing this sooner!

Edit: @cmxlkaze brought it to my notice that the link to “Descendants of Olympus” Part 2 had been broken It's fixed now, though it took me a bit – sorry about that! If any of the other links get taken down or appear broken, do let me know, and I shall fix them immediately.

[nqctar]

★ snoring troubles

pairings: cg! seok matthew x f!little reader. genre: sfw age regression, fluff. warnings: no major warnings apply. brief (non-sexual) usage of "daddy."

석매튜 / cg!seok matthew x female!little reader ✿

dni: you sexualize age regression.

word count: 681

summary: your cg, matthew, unknowingly prevents you from sleeping.

"this cannot be happening." you think to yourself, staring up at the ceiling. normally, you would've fallen asleep with ease, letting your dreams take over for the night as your imagination soared.

though tonight, any chance of getting sleep was basically out of the window. beside you slept matthew, deep as ever in his slumber and unluckily for you, snoring absurdly loud.

you tossed and turned, picking your pillow up and hitting him with it a few times in hopes of getting him to stop. any attempt was futile, because he continued to snore beside you as if there wasn't a very tired little next to him.

"mattie?" you tried, to no avail.

"mattie, you gotta stop snoring!" you whisper-yelled. even though you were becoming frustrated, you kept his rule about inside voices in mind. though, did a situation like this call for inside voices? you couldn't tell. not wanting to potentially make him mad, you refrained from screaming directly in his ear.

even though that was really really tempting.

suddenly, a thought popped into your head. you'd woken matt up this way before, all it took was a whisper of the title you call him when you're feeling extra little. as if he were some sort of sleeper agent, he'd wake up immediately if you called him this.

so, you tried.

"daddy?" you said, hoping he'd jump to your attention.

still, absolutely nothing. he continued his lawn mower like snoring next to you. growing angry, you hit him with your pillow three more times before deciding to move to the living room.

"meanie." you mumbled through your paci.

you grabbed your dollie and blanket, quietly trudging to the sofa. none of this was fair to you, mattie was the one snoring, therefore he should be banished to the sofa!

huffing as you tried to make yourself comfortable, turning on cartoons was your only chance at having something to lull you to sleep. when matt wasn't snoring, he sometimes sang you to sleep.

snoring does NOT count as singing.

finally, you were dozing off into dreamland. even though you would've preferred to be cuddled up next to mattie instead of having to just cuddle your dollie, it was better than suffering through more comically loud snoring.

and then, someone cleared their throat behind you.

just as you were about to fall asleep.

this made your blood boil.

turning to look at matthew, he stood with his arms crossed and an unamused look on his face.

"why are you up this late? you're supposed to be in bed right now."

now definitely angry and done with following the rules, you pick up the pillow beside you and throw it at his face.

"YOU WOULDN'T SHUT UP!" you yelled, on the verge of tears now. it was way too late for you to be up while regressed, but this was in no way your fault.

matt's expression softened once he saw how distraught you looked, coming over to you and wrapping you in his arms.

"hey, shh. you're okay. tell mattie what's wrong, hm?"

where would you even begin?

"mattie kept snoring so loud! i tried waking you up so many times.." you sniffled.

matthew stifled a giggle, knowing how upset you were. though to him, the situation was just a teeny tiny bit funny.

"aw princess, i'm so sorry!" he kisses the top of your head, still cradling you in his arms.

"how could i be so inconsiderate to my little baby?" matthew whispers, rocking you side to side.

"mattie is such a meanie..." you trailed off.

whatever he was doing was definitely working, because you felt yourself growing more and more sleepy. at some point, you closed your eyes and fell asleep.

matt carried you back to the bedroom and moved you so that you were cuddled against his chest. quietly, he began singing while tracing circles with his fingertips on your skin.

"i love you so much, pretty girl." he whispers.

this time, there was absolutely no snoring. just the sound of matt's heartbeat as you laid against his chest.

[hiskillingjar]

ren forcefemming is my favorite thing in the world like ... because i feel like he has such a warped perception of femininity . i think ren is like "yeah being a girl is when you act like a dumb whore and wear tiny clothes"

a heem heem...whimper...

i had to write something for this. don't look at me. i'm sorry women.

1200+ words, masc reader, cw for like. you know.

"You're an absolute degenerate, do you know that?"

Your voice was terse and irritable as Ren slid the skirt's waistband up your legs, a dumb smile on his lips and his tail wagging erratically as he did so.

Your bound wrists twisted tightly behind you and you could feel that your bare (for the most part) legs were trembling, but you were determined not to show just how nervous this was making you. 

"Seriously, this is some perverted shit, Ren. What fucked up hentai have you been watching lately?"

"Ah-ah-ah," Ren chided, his smile spreading into a sharp-toothed grin as he straightened out, his eyes, glittering with malice and sick amusement, meeting yours as he wagged a finger condescendingly at you. "That's pretty bad language for a girl. You shouldn't be speaking like that, especially not to me."

"I'm not a fucking girl!" You snapped with a fierce look in your eyes, giving the zip-tie currently cutting into your skin a firm pull, knowing full well that it wasn't going to snap any time soon, and would, in fact, just dig even more painfully into your sensitive wrists. 

Whatever, it felt better to put up a fight than to sit passively, doing nothing.

"Well, you kinda look like one right now," He drawled with an eye roll, moving closer to you and bracketing your trembling thighs with his own as he knelt in your lap. "And, like, I know it's not 'PC' or whatever," He chuckled and bit his lip, reaching to his side to pick up what looked like an eyeshadow palette and set it down on his thigh. "But normally, when someone looks like a girl and acts like a girl...they are one."

You gritted your teeth together, tensing your jaw as he took your cheeks in a painful grip and opened the palette with an elegant flick of his wrist, sweeping his pointer finger in glittery pink.

"I mean, you're not a very good girl," He continued with another mean chuckle, like he was saying something especially cruel. "But that's okay. I can help you with that. Close your eyes, please."

In spite of how much you wanted to cuss him out, you were very quickly deathly still as Ren gently rubbed his finger over your eyelid, incredibly cognisant of the tiny scratch of his claw over the thin, delicate skin that covered your eyes, your tense jaw trembling a little more as the tip (as sharp as a needle) traced the curve of your eye’s socket. 

You wanted to put up a fight, of course you wanted to, but fuck, not when he was this close to putting a finger in your eye if you pissed him off.

"And, you know, make-up and clothes are just one thing...or, er, two things." He smiled, dabbing another colour of glitter in the corners of your eyes with his pinky. When there wasn’t the threat of a claw, the gesture was almost a little pleasant.. "It also comes down to attitude, you know...the way you carry yourself. Expression." He pulled his fingers away from your lids then, and you felt the press of what felt like a felt pen against your lids. 

"You're such a freak...." You mumbled, though you did your best not to flinch as he drew a neat line across your lid, drawing it out to a sharp point, spanning up to your temple. 

"Be nice, sweetie," He chided softly, paying attention to your other lid. "That's what I like...nice, sweet girls. Girls who know their place."

"Seems to me you like sluts," You grumbled, opening your lids to tiny slits to peer down at your lap. The plaid skirt he had forced you into was absurdly short, and had you been able to stand, it would have barely covered your ass, let alone the fishnets and the cheap, studded garter he had buckled around your thigh. "Or bad crossdressers."

"Mm, I mean, yeah, I guess I kind of do,” He agreed with an airy titter, setting down the pen and picking up a brush, which he dabbed into the eyeshadow palette. “I like nice girls, yeah…” He paused and idly licked his lips thoughtfully. “But I like it even more when they stop being so nice and act like a girl should act, ya know…when they stop playing smart and act like dumb whores instead.”

You grimaced at his hungry expression.

“Fucking incel,” You mumbled through your grit teeth, which only made him laugh harder as he powdered your cheeks with hot pink. “Jesus. I thought you were just a pervert, turns out your’re also a total misogynist too.”

“Ah, that’s a big word for you, sweetheart.” He teased with a mean snicker, continuing to blush up your cheeks. “You really are a girl…so fucking sensitive.”

You yanked your head backwards and glared hard at him.

Ren sat still for a moment, looking almost surprised as he gave you a long and considered look before he smiled innocently and hopped off your lap, setting the make-up supplies to the side again and pacing to his desk.

“I’m kind of sick of you cussing at me, actually,” He mumbled to himself, opening up the top drawer and fishing out a cheap-looking ball gag, pale pink, fake leather and hard plastic. “What’s the saying…” He drawled out again, unbuckling it as he paced back to you. “‘Girls should be seen and not heard?’ Yeah, that’s the one.”

“NGH-!” 

You grunted roughly as he pushed a hand into your hair (gripping a chunk of your bangs) and forced your head back, pressing the ball between your teeth and buckling the leather belt around the base of your skull quickly and efficiently. You could already feel the cheap straps digging into the corners of your mouth, painfully tight.

“There we go, much better.” He said brightly, his eyes creasing with delight as he sat back in your lap.

Despite your muffled protests and how much you were now pulling at each tight binding to be away from him, he pushed both hands up your skirt, feeling for and groping the first stirrings of (unfortunate) arousal in your…well, his panties.

“Haha, you can’t even pretend that you’re not enjoying yourself, can you?” He asked with a giggle, pressing his chest against yours, his tail wagging even faster. “I hope you know that this doesn’t make you any less of a girl, by the way…”

He punctuated his ‘validation’ (because what else were you going to call it?) by giving your arousal another firm squeeze. His fist was tight enough, squeezing and rubbing in the first oozing drips of pre-cum, that you couldn’t hold back a groan into the firm plastic of the ballgag, and pressed your face into his shoulder to hide how much your blushed cheeks were flushing. 

“You’re gonna be stuck like this for a while, by the way…so just try to enjoy it instead of fighting me, hm?~”

[covenantofthedeep]

i call and you come through ☆

☆ feat. | lumine, zhongli, lyney, lynette, yelan and kunikuzushi ☆ summary | they help you when you're in trouble. ☆ a/n | a lumine for lumiconic. and a country skewer too. this is so not ok. i'm so sorry if lyney/lynette/anyone is ooc!

lumine |

lumine hadn't expected to see anyone at all, much less you. you were somewhat of a subject of interest to her; she wasn't quite sure what you did, and yet she hated you, or at least she told herself she did. she had headed out with the intent of soaking up the cool air before the morning came and the sun sweltered down again, but instead she'd run into you.

she's so focused on your face, at first--the frozen expression of terror as you scrabble uselessly at the drainpipe attached to your house, the way your lips look as you whisper, "back! get back, oh my archons! get back!"--that she doesn't realize what, exactly, you're sending back, and then she looks down. she has to blink a couple of times; are you really scared of cats?

you glance up at her as she makes her way closer, flashing her a pained smile. "thank archons you're here, lumine, seriously. i really can't manage all of these things by myself." her name in your voice sends a spark through her veins, but she ignores it and rolls her eyes at you. "huh, yn, i thought you were so brave? scared off by a couple of cats, are we?" she bends over to grab one around its waist. it mews plaintively at her as she strokes its head, and your eyes flicker to her hands and make their way to her lips. "i guess you aren't so much the brave knight that you let everyone believe you are?" she glances up at you, at the scarlet blush across your cheeks, and wants to drop the cats and give you a kiss.

"i'm just- i can handle everything else, but not cats," you protest, nudging one away with your foot. she bites her tongue. it's so cute. everything about you is endearing, but she can't say it. oh, archons, what a struggle this is. "can you really handle everything else, though?" she prods at you, nudging a rather insistent gray cat away with her boot.

you look at her with furrowed brows, stepping forward as the cats in your path clear away. "lumine, do you hate me?" you ask her, so sincerely, so nonchalantly, almost as if you don't care what her answer will be either way.

she starts, then stops. she looks at your cheekbone, your right eyebrow, your lips. she glances down at your hands, at her feet, anywhere but your eyes. "yes," she says to the ground.

"huh," you respond, squinting at her. she finally drags her gaze upwards, and your eyes sparkle with amusement. "because it doesn't seem like you do. in fact, it sort of seems like the opposite." and you walk down the pathway towards the gates of mondstadt with a newly acquired pep in your step, leaving her absolutely blindsided and spluttering.

kunikuzushi |

kuni goes explicitly out of his way to avoid bumping into you, so really, he doesn't know why he stops when he sees you almost in tears at a food stall. he hovers behind you for what seems like an eternity, debating tapping you on the shoulder and asking what's wrong. he studies the back of your head and your neck, the slump of your shoulders wonders if he's acting like a creep. the vendor behind the stall has his back to the both of you, busily prepping something that smells absolutely exquisite.

you step back a bit while he's lost in his thoughts and step on his foot--and jump about a foot in the air. "oh, archons!" you exclaim, turning around. "i'm so sorry, kuni. i didn't realize you were there."

his face feels absurdly hot under your direct gaze, and he stutters out something along the lines of oh, it's okay. archons, it's like he's stupid when you're standing in front of him. why did he stop? why didn't he just keep walking? now he's going to be late, and you're still smiling at him, looking insufferably beautiful despite crying your eyes out a moment earlier.

he realizes he'd looked down at your feet, almost instinctively, and slowly drags his gaze upwards to meet your eyes. your eyes, which are perfectly ordinary, perhaps, but they send something through his veins, and they're so arresting, maybe he could drown in them? could he? your eyes, which reflect the stars, but there aren't any, because it's the middle of the day? maybe he's hallucinating, he tells himself.

you smile at him, and he's prepared to do anything you ask him to--honestly, why is he still here? you seem fine, he could probably move on, he thinks, but before he can, the vendor places something down in front of you.

"160 mora," the man tells you, and your brows draw together anxiously as you rummage through your purse. you pull out a handful of coins that jingle against each other in the palm of your hand, and the whole while, kuni watches your face. he watches the way your shoulders tense and the cords on your neck stand out as you swallow, and the way you blink rapidly but a tear slips out anyway. your eyebrows stay scrunched, and he can't resist the urge to pull out his own coin purse and wordlessly set down 160 mora.

you whip your head around to look at him, protesting wildly, but he flashes you a pained smile and tries not to look at your eyes as he steps back. "consider it my treat," he tells you, forcing the words out from his throat, wondering why you have such an impossible hold on him.

as he walks away, he replays the entire exchange in his head and vows to never stop for you again.

yelan |

yelan regrets telling you that you can call her for help whenever, because now your cat's stuck in a tree and she's standing at the base, looking up at it, feeling immensely foolish. you're looking at her, though, and whenever you do that, her heart pounds so hard she's worried it'll leap out of her chest. she's seized by the undeniable urge to leap into the tree and fish your wretched cat out, if only you'll keep looking at her like that.

"please, yelan," you beg her, your face the epitome of pleading. she stares at you for a few seconds longer; in her mind, she's tracing your eyebrows and cheekbones and also your lips, oh archons, your lips. she can feel the heat rising to her cheeks and neck, and she's positive she's red, so she clears her throat and steps towards the tree.

she doesn't do romance, she doesn't do daydreaming about you, and she certainly should not be helping you wrangle your beast of a cat out of this tree, but unfortunately, here she is. you cheer her on as she turns a deeper shade of beet red, climbing up the tree in a way that she never had imagined she would ever do; climbing as though her life depends on it.

she finally reaches a branch that she can comfortably sit on, and realizes, to her horror, that she's out of breath. she leans over and rests her forehead against her knees and wills her breath to slow down so that she doesn't seem so desperately out of shape that you regret having asked her for help. when she looks down at you, you're staring back at her with an intensity in your eyes that makes her blush. "are you okay?" you call, voice threaded with concern. "do you want me to come up there?"

does she want you to come up here indeed. archons, she would kill for you up here. unfortunately, who knows what would happen if you came up here. so she shakes her head and continues upwards, craning her neck to impossible angles to search for your fool of a feline.

zhongli |

zhongli doesn't pine after strangers (albeit a stranger with whom he's gotten rather close over the past few months) and he certainly doesn't stop to help many others. but for some reason, he's spent the evening chasing your dog around your house because you had cornered him earlier when he had been on his ritual walk. your closeness, combined with your hand on his (why did you always feel the urge to touch people in some way or another when you were talking to them?) had dried up all of the words on his tongue, but you had looked at him expectantly and he had nodded. nodded. he doesn't even like dogs.

now, he sits on the ground and tries in vain to coax the dog over (mora, its name was; what a stupid name) but it's set on ignoring him. "come here," he tries. "here! come here!" and then he realizes he's switched to the baby voice you often use on mora and has to glance over his shoulder to make sure no one's watching.

he inhales and leans back against the couch he's sitting in front of, staring at the darkening sky outside and wondering what it is you're up to. perhaps a dinner? when you'd let him in earlier, you'd been all dressed up; hair pinned up and your face bright and glowy. you'd smelled like glazelilies, and he had sputtered out agreements while trying not to look you directly in the eyes. briefly, he wonders who you would go to dinner with--and then banishes the thought from his mind.

mora ambles over to him and settles in his lap, but for once, he finds he doesn't mind. he strokes the dog's head and sighs, finally feeling at ease. "oh, aren't you a little nugget of gold? oh, yes you are. yes you are. yes you are." he's so wrapped up in the dog that he doesn't hear the door open and you come in until you're standing directly in front of him, your shoes dangling from your hand. "enjoying ourselves, are we, zhongli?"

lyney |

lyney has taken a liking to you, as much as he tries to pretend it's just platonic. he follows you around, brushing off your complaints of lyney, please! i need to work! instead choosing to focus on the fact that him being around distracts you from your work. so when he stumbles upon you in tears on the ground, of course he sits down beside you.

you scrub your face with your fists, burying your head in your knees as lyney pats your back awkwardly, unsure of what to do. "yn...?" he finally asks. "are you... are you okay?"

"yeah," you squeeze out. "yeah, i'm fine." you blink up at the sky, trying to stop the pressure of tears from making their way out. "i had been working on these documents for a week, and i tripped over the bridge." you gesture weakly in the general direction of the bridge. "and now they're all... gone. down there. in the water."

he digs around in his pocket, searching desperately for a handkerchief. he had one yesterday, when he was practicing his magic tricks... where is it? where is anything when he needs it? blowing out a frustrated breath that rustles the hair on his forehead, he hands you some fake flowers. "do you want me to go get them?"

you laugh, the sound shaky and tear-filled. "thanks, lyney." you set the flowers by your feet and lean against him. "no, no, please don't. seriously, i don't want you--"

he leaps up, his cape flying out behind him. crossing one foot behind the other, he bows, tearing off his hat. a stray dove soars free, flapping erratically. "anything for you, ma cherie," he says, flashing you a wink. he trots off towards the bridge, his heels clacking against the pavement, heart racing.

you stare after him, unable to stop the laugh from bubbling up in your chest. you wipe your eyes and make your way down after him, calling his name. "no, yn!" he shouts valiantly, looking over his shoulder. "you sit down! and rest! i'll get them for you! i'll get--" and he trips over the bridge, splashing into the water below.

you lunge for the railing, scanning the bubbles worriedly. "lyney!" you yell, debating leaping in after him. "lyney, can you hear me? lyney, if you can hear me, come back! lyney, come back!"

he pops up with a sputter, his hat sodden and filled with--are those your documents? his hair sticks to your forehead, giving him a look akin to a rat, but he flashes you a smile so brilliant it sends your heart galloping again. "for you, ma cherie! for you!"

lynette |

lynette ignores all of your attempts to woo her, despite the fact that they get her heart fluttering. you bring her romaritime flowers every tuesday, garlic baguette on thursdays. she thanks you cordially for these gifts, and then spends an hour writing thank-you letters that she never sends.

lynette tries to avoid you, even adding five minutes to her journeys across the city when she sees you. not because she hates you, but because simply being around you sends her into hysterics. (in her head.) she's flustered, she's red, and you're standing in front of her right now, offering a handful of berries. why, oh why, oh why hadn't she just cut behind the houses? now she's cornered, trying hard not to lose her composure. she closes her eyes and opens them, and you're still there, smiling at her, holding those berries.

"thanks," she mutters, reaching for them. you yank them out of reach and tsk. "you can't have them until you help me with this one thing! just this one, i promise."

she crosses her arms firmly over her chest, because oh my archons, your smile has her fully disarmed. "what is it?"

you clap, beaming. "i knew you'd say yes! i knew it!"

she interrupts you. "no, no, i haven't said yes yet. just tell me what it is."

"okay, okay! okay, you need to help me put up these posters." from seemingly nowhere, you wrench out a stack of crisp thick sheets--all with "REWARD: 5000 MORA. LOST CAT!" printed on them in big, alarming letters. she takes one, her brow furrowing.

"is your cat... lost?" she asks, glancing up at you.

you nod, sighing. "he's been gone since this morning. he's not an outdoor cat, you see. he's just so clingy, and it's not like him to be like this...." you trail off, clearing your throat. "you don't have to help me look for him, but could you please help me put up these posters?"

lynette shifts from foot to foot. she's got loads of work to do with lyney, but also... you're looking at her so plaintively, concern written so clearly in your eyes, that, she feels, to say no would be similar to murdering an animal. a baby animal.

"fine," she huffs, and you grab her hand. "thank you, lynette! thank you, thank you. i'll make it worthwhile, i promise!"

you let go and spin around, heading down the path, but she's frozen, her hand ice-cold and red-hot all at once. "lynette," you call over your shoulder. "are you coming?"

she shakes her head, trying to clear her feelings like cobwebs, and dashes after you.

four hours later, the sun's setting and everything is bathed in a golden glow, almost as though you're a statue. you're spent; exhaustion pools in dark circles under your normally-alight eyes. her legs ache and her fingers hurt from plastering posters on walls. "oh, my poor baguette," you complain, sitting down against a tree.

she can't stifle a chuckle. "you named your cat baguette?"

you look at her indignantly. "she's very long and very brown. it seemed fitting!"

this strikes lynette as the funniest thing she's ever heard, and she laughs until tears run down her face. her ribs ache and her stomach aches, but it's worth it for the look of bemused adoration on your face.

something brushes against her leg and she jumps, shrieking. your grin stretches ear-to-ear, literally, and you dive for the barrel she's sitting on. "baguette!" you yelp, cradling the cat in your arms. "oh, my gosh, baguette!"

the sun vanishes behind the clouds, and they glow from the inside. almost like you, she thinks. it's a picture-perfect scene, an indignant baguette pinned between you and her, one of your arms wrapped around her shoulders as you kiss her cheek. she never wants to leave.

[mecachrome]

What is the hype around jendo? I am trying to do research but I feel like they barely had any interactions?? Especially recently? Is there a primer or something cause I totally want to try to get into them!

OMGGGG well i wouldn't call myself a jendo expert or anything but i can briefly tell you why i like them!!! also soz for late reply 😭

tbh the very first thing that converted me was watching this interview forever ago because i remember being deeply intrigued by lando's demeanor + relative shyness + how hard he tried overall to appear Respectable and Mature in front of jense while answering his questions??? like the way jenson smiles at him during "are you happy?" "UMMM... kind of" wtheck T__T

jendo honestly have a lot of lore though! again i am not an expert but @cuthechicane has so many fantastic clips and gifsets if you're looking for interax that will rewire your brain chemistry ☝️ (the sheer giddinesssss of their miami interview 😭 also this is a classic moment). part of their thing is that they're both "somerset boys" (lando grew up in glastonbury / jenson is from frome) so that connection also kind of adds an extra layer to jenson having raced for mclaren / lando looking up to him and the general hero worship or cyclical nature of f1 that is palpable in their dynamic and a lot of other f1 agediff ships. ofc rossi was lando's real hero but... you know jenson is jenson

really though i think what i like most about jendo is how much jenson genuinely ADORES lando lmfao like their dynamic is so ridiculous but in a really absurdly sincere way!!! ofc it's super fun to go all in on the rancid age gap power imbalance vibes etc. and the way they flirt in public and fluster each other but jenson 100% RATES lando and hypes him up constantly to the point that it's almost embarrassing negl. lichr him going all in on lando like 4 hours ago... what's craziest to me is that he sincerely believes everyone else loves lando too like his brain can't comprehend the mere concept of someone not being obsessed with his favorite little british twink 😭 he's those innocent guys on reddit who still post comments like "lando is so nice it's impossible to hate him!!!" as if we're still in 2019 or something...... i want to live in that world

imo there's also an aspect to jendo where it's like...? jenson sees so much of himself in lando to the point of having preconceptions about lando's mentality that he projects onto him a bit which i think adds dimension to jenson's vulnerability but that goes into way more my own Meta and isn't really relevant to this post. but part of jenson's personality is that he is very charismatic and a natural speaker and also Usually Right so he loves to SAY shit and although he's not quite a nico-level professional shit stirrer he does kind of um... always speak like he knows something you don't. as evidenced by his time as lewis's teammate wherein he won the idgaf war by not acknowledging it going on in the first place. this is also why he and oscar should banter more because i feel like the comparisons between oscar and jenson are honestly so apt HLSDFH i have a jenson/oscar/lando post if that is of any interest

ok sorry i'm getting off-track but >>>all of that to me is why jendo is fun... jenson presents as very self-assured but if you do a psyche deep dive you realize he was quite sensitive growing up and Personally Victimized by briatore and has been quite open about his anxiety and the way f1 culture functioned at the time, and he's always been quite emotionally regulated but obviously there was... also a lot of glamour that accompanied that until later in his career LOL. so getting to explore those sides of him with a 20-something lando who very much mirrors him (self-reflective and sometimes overly critical and learning to live the "highly committed and industrious playboy" life) but also makes his façade crack in ways you don't often see is so fun & fascinating...!!! imo you can take them in a lot of different directions as a ship :3c

^ bonus bits i like from his book

[spirit-mail]

Fresh Meat

this is some "old" writing that I've decided to continue... idk, but it's on ao3 under the same title! rai_viz <- my ao3

König × M!Reader - 2.5k -

C1 - C2

___×× follow n send asks so i can write more ♡

The bass filled your ears and sent vibrations through every crevice of your body, eyes closed while your hands flew into the air, waving and slapping against other peoples hands. You couldn't tell if you were on the dancefloor, and you could barely tell if your friend was still with you– he was probably shitfaced drunk at the bar– or maybe he went home with some idiot. Either way, you figured you'd be better off pretending Kyle didn't totally abandon you after he invited you to meet his friends.

You were sort of a shut-in? To be fair, you were just touchstarved- and you were perfectly fine with it, really. Relationships were never your thing, you always had something else to focus on- and now that you didn't, you spent your time fantasizing about all sorts of things- things you could have pulled off if you used your confidence correctly. Kyle- or Gaz, your only friend for the past 6 years, total slut, and not in a bad way of course. He never stayed with a guy (or girl) for more than a week, unless they were rich. You admired him, really, you just didn't understand his extroverted behavior- chatting constantly with random people about absurdly uninteresting things, or just pretending to be a nice person for some shitty sex in an alleyway- it bored you to death.

Kyle's bountiful friendships and dumb ideas lead you here, to some shitty club filled with drunkards and people looking for one night stands.

Either way, he was tired of your stupid moping, and listening to you rant about how badly you want a relationship with no emotional ties, so he set you up. You were sort of asking for it, in a way, and he was just being a good friend! A good friend hooks you up with a friends friend. His name was Soap, apparently, stupidly weird name but hey– no judging. Kyle was supposed to take you to meet Soap and his anonymous friend, but now that he was gone you had to do it yourself.

Once your legs got tired and your arms went limp from waving in the air so long, you found yourself weaving through the crowds of people and trying not to trip on the spilt drinks and strange substances that you'd rather not think about for the rest of your night.

You quickly found yourself seperated from the sweaty maze of people, standing on the velvety floor, staring at the bar in front of you. 3 bartenders moving around and serving drinks hastily, people chatting, others covering their drinks anxiously, surrounding the bar. You looked around a bit before you saw two large figures approaching you. The shorter one, average guy with a stupid haircut. You figured that was Soap. He waved at you, grinning and walking quickly towards you. His gargantuan friend behind him, walking fairly slow to take in the atmostphere of the club. He was underdressed and overdressed at the same time, somehow. He wore a simple hoodie and some sweatpants with crocs, but you couldn't see his face whatsoever. He had on a thick pair of sunglasses and a black mask- as if he was some kind of world famous celebrity. You winced, immediately wanting to go home. What if this dude was a total fucking creep? Is he wanted in this state- what's he hiding his face for?

Thoughts rushed back and forth through your head, some negative, and some positive! Maybe he was so blindingly attractive that looking at his face would kill you... totally. You nervously stepped closer as the shorter man, Soap, placed his hand out for you to shake.

"Sorry we're so late! He took a stupid long time to get ready.." He rolled his eyes jokingly, pointing to the oblivious man behind him. "Ah- you must be Gaz' friend- yeah? I'm Soa- John. Soap is what they call me though." He stuttered out in a thick scottish accent, constantly checking his phone nervously. He looked like he had somewhere to be, and you instantly caught on. "Nice to meet you too, Soap.. I'm [Name], and you?" You shake Soap's hand and gesture to the tall man behind him who was staring at you aimlessly through his glasses. He practically jumped, his scarred hand met yours as he crouched down awkwardly. "König."

"Nice to meet you, König," you smiled, giving his hand a light shake while Soap quickly slid out of the way, running off to find Gaz. "is that your real name? Or another nickname?"

He looked around, realizing his only friend had abandoned him. He was annoyed, to say the least."Yes." You nodded, you frowned at his short answers and frank lack of interest. "So, how do you know Soap?" You beckoned for him to follow you down to the last two empty seats in the bar, taking a seat and watching how he still towered over you even then. Your neck was starting to hurt from looking up at him. "Work friends- acquaintances. He is very- how do you say..." He thought to himself before continuing. "Extrovert! Very extroverted." you smiled, maybe he wasn't as bad as he dressed. "Seems like it. Would you like a drink? On me."

His eyes lingered on you for a minute before he nodded a quick yes. You ordered two Shirley Temples, simple non-alcoholic drinks. The silence quickly shrouded you both, he stared on around the room and you watched the bartender make your drinks, each hoping that the other would strike up conversation. He reaches his hand up to his face, sighing as he slid off his glasses. You immediately took notice, getting a better look at his bright blue- almost crystal clear eyes. He had blonde- maybe reddish eyelashes as well. You quickly noticed the scar running from below the mask, across his nose and slitting his left eyebrow- looked tough. He probably wouldn't appreciate you bringing it up- with how he went out of his way to hide his face. His eyes darted back and forth from yours to every single detail of the atmosphere around you, adjusting to the bright lights and random flashes from the dancefloor.

"You have beautiful eyes." You stated, taking a quick sip of your drink as you stared him down. "T-thank you very much.. what is this?" He picked up the drink and swirled it around with his straw a few times, examining its contents. You grinned, "no alcohol in it, if that's what you're wondering. It's just soda and cherry syrup." He nodded again, poking the straw underneath his mask to take a sip.

His demeanor towards you instantly changed. He practically drank the whole thing within seconds, and then asked for another one. "Thank you for showing me this- it's- it's very good." His eyes squinted in a smile and you smiled back. "Of course."

"If you don't mind me asking, why do you wear the mask?" You questioned, maybe he didn't trust you?

"I just prefer it.. I'm not a big fan of crowded places.." He answered sweetly. "Ah, me as well! Did Soap force you?"

"Yes.." You both rolled your eyes, mentally cursing Gaz and Soap for their stupid, stupid set ups. "Where did they go, by the way?" König asked you, now on his 4th Shirley Temple. "Fucking in the back, most likely. Or they went back to Kyle's place." he chuckled, his mask unable to stretch, revealing certain parts of his face. A few scars here and there, some freckles. You desperately wanted to see his face. "So, where do you guys work?" you figured that would be the start to a long conversation, so you asked. "I work at KorTac Labs! I know Soap through a project partnership with 141 Tech." He lit up at your question, obviously excited to talk about his work. "That sounds fun, what's the project about?"

"It's confidential, sadly. Government work." He trailed off, taking another sip of his drink. "What about you? What is your occupation?" He lit up once again. "I work at a cafe," you laugh at yourself softly, "just a simple job. I also make art though. Its enough to pay rent, plus, painting and latte art do go hand in hand." He chuckles, staring at you again. "Wow,"

Your conversation continues for a while. Long enough for the both of you to forget your friends abandoning you, as you laughed together, graduating from Shirley Temples to light alcoholic drinks. You both were tipsy, having asked eachother every ice breaking question in existence, you passed jokes between eachother, and told stories as you drank.

"Hey, you know what-" He paused, emptying a glass and beckoning for you to move closer to him. In your drunken haze, you slid closer as he crouched down to whisper in your ear. "I know a place- we can go, if you.." he paused, his eyes closing before his head dropped onto your shoulder. You almost fell from just the weight of his head as he giggled softly with you. "Fuck- sorry.. If you'd like, we can- we can go to a hotel.. it's too loud here.."

He spoke without bad intentions, and so you agreed, standing up as he followed you. "I hope you do not think I'm some kind of.. pevers." He hesitated, holding your hand tightly and ripping his mask off. It was around one AM, pretty dark, but with the city lights around you, you could see the freckles that danced across his face, the scars littered around his cheeks, and his eyes that practically glowed in the darkness surrounding you both. You finally saw the full scar, from his left brow, all the way down to the right side of his lip. It was quite a deep cut, leaving that part of the lip opened enough for you to see his tooth.

"[Name]? Ah- sorry about my uhm- mask.. But your staring is making me want to put it back on." He grinned, you continued to stare blankly, your eyes wide with admiration. "You're so pretty." He instantly covered his smile with his hand, a light blush creeping across his cheeks. "Thank you.."

"L-lets get going then, yes?" He looked away for a minute, grabbing your hand once again and dragging you along with him until you had reached his hotel. "You get flustered very easily, König." You smirked, wrapping your arm around his as you entered the luxurious hotel. He was totally entranced, from the way you walked to the way you talked, the way you fluttered your eyes towards him sweetly. You were a fucking monster.

You practically had him on his knees for you already- all the time you spent moping in your room imagining how you'd get some guy to fall head over heels for you might have actually been worth it, you think to yourself while sauntering into the empty elevator with him. "Well- yes, but my friends do describe me as a "shy guy", so.." Oh my god he's so cute. He didn't know how to act around you- let alone look you in the eyes. You entangled your arm within his, actually proud of yourself for the first time in a while- and yeah, maybe you were being vain, or manipulative, but isn't everybody?

"It is a bit.. unangenehm- unpleasant!" He corrected himself, leading you out he elevator and to his suite. "It's very cute, I think." he looked like he was about to pass out, and you hadn't even done much. His cheeks were red, palms sweaty, and despite his intimidating appearance, he was shaking- like a scared kitten.

He opened the door and you were instantly met with the glorious fruits of money and power.

Honestly if you didn't know this was a hotel, you'd have thought it was an apartment. The entrance lead straight into the large livingroom, a lavish couch sat in front of a flat-screen TV, a coffee table with a plate of half-eaten breakfast on top, adding to the homely feeling. Across from that area, a dining-area connected to a small, but still modern kitchen. "Scheiße.." You heard him mutter under his breath, using your basic common sense you understand immediately what he says, his arm pulling out of your grasp to quickly grab the messy plate off the table.

"My apologies for this mess- I didn't really plan to have visitors.." He smiled awkwardly and slid the plate out of view into the kitchen. "It's fine, really." You grinned, striding towards him with a hand out. You had a bit of trouble at first, wrapping your hands around his neck- you would have had to climb him if he didn't lift you up with his left hand, unconsciously placing his right on your thigh to support you.

"Y-you're very pretty- or handsome.." He breathed.

"You're pretty handsome too, König."

You ran your fingers through his hair before tugging on it softly and lowering your neck to kiss him. Your lips met eachother softly, no tongueing- just a simple, sweet kiss. You felt the warmth radiating off of his cheeks, his grip on your thigh getting rougher. You quickly pulled away, enjoying the way his eyes widened immediately in shock.

He almost dropped you, the silence making you question whether he wanted it or not. Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by his raspy mumbles. He placed you down with a quick plop, touching his lips and smiling. "Do it again, bitte?"

You instantly found yourself face to face with him, hands running through his hair wildly while he picked you up happily and walked over to his bedroom for a more.. comfortable experience. "Please, again? I'm- I'm sorry I just-" You stopped him mid-sentence, kissing him again, but rougher. Biting at his lip gently and tugging on his hair. He turned around, seating himself on the large bed and allowing you to straddle him. "You're so.. so cute." you panted, both of you catching your breath. You mindlessly started to buck your hips against his groin, holding onto his shoulders as one side of your nearly fully unbuttoned shirt slid off, revealing your chest to him.

Within seconds you could feel his entire energy change, his hands rested on your hips, head tilted back in a slight groan. "Scheiße.." You took the chance to lean into his neck, kissing and biting as gently as you could- but hard enough to leave a mark.

"König," You called, resting your hands on his hips while his eyes met with yours shyly. He was breathing heavily, leaning on his hands for support. "...are you sure you want to do this?"

"Ja, bitte.."