#Oh i hope none of this breaks the universes rules | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

literaila · 8 months

Text

house rules (roommate au)

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

so immediately you slam the door.

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

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

oh, fuck.

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

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

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

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

"and you're less than dressed."

"i thought you stood me up."

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

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

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

"you're late."

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

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

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

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

"are you going to apologize for being late?"

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

"really?"

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

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

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

you slam the door against his foot again.

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

something in his voice already implies that it will.

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

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

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

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

"ten minutes. maybe twenty."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you attempt a fake smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"um... sort of."

"sort of?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"did you change rooms?"

"what?"

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

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

gojo snorts.

"what?"

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

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

"you're not going to look around?"

"it looks like the pictures."

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

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

"not that i know of..."

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

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

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

"yes."

"can i see?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"no."

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

and somehow you doubt that.

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

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

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

"yes."

"such as?"

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

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

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

"okay."

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

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

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

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

"these are not negotiable."

he only continues to smile at you.

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

"fine. you still want to live here?"

"mmhmm."

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

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

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

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

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

but satoru gojo is hard.

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

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

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

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

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

and honestly, gojo's just asking for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you ate my ice cream?" you repeat.

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

"i might kill you."

"i thought we banned homicide from the apartment."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you blink.

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

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

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

you laugh.

"clearly you've never been."

"i'm still expecting ice cream."

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

"like you've never skipped a class."

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

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

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

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

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

"i seriously doubt that."

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

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

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

"nor ever will," you grind out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh, wait. it does.

you frown at him.

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

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

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

"do you own this bar?"

"what? no."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"because i didn't realize."

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

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

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

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

"he promised me alcohol."

she nods knowingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru laughs, not questioning this, and walks away.

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

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

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

how long had that taken?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"are you ready to go home?"

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

you don't, for whatever reason.

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

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

"oh, really?"

"learned when i was a kid and everything."

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

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

like he's an actual toddler.

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

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

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

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

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

he smiles at you. you roll your eyes.

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

but were you really expecting it to?

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

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

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

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

you try not to laugh.

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

"sorry?"

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

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

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

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

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

"did you lose some pigment in your hair?"

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

"from what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo looks like he might start crying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"no."

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

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

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

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

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

"clearly."

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

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

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

"a book."

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

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

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

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

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

seriously, his presence is impending doom itself.

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

"i crave my fist on your face."

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

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

"probably?"

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

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

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

you groan and he laughs at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you're cleaning air?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"nanamin," he interrupts. "go."

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

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

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

you raise your brows but do as he says.

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

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

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

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

"satoru, she's just watching--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

from suguru :p :

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

can you please kick him awake?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"telepathy. now get up."

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

"suguru said you'd say that."

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

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

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

"why are you so mean to me?"

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

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

"i'll sue back for mental damages."

he laughs, and wiggles from your grasp.

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

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

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

"yup."

"he's a terrible friend."

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

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

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

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

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

"what class is it?"

"theoretical physics."

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

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

"i can imagine."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"really?"

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

he grins. "cruel."

"and i'll record it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...and?"

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

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

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

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

"how did you even find the library?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"nope, again."

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

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

"do i seem worried to you?"

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

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

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

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

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

you squint. "did you actually?"

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

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

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

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

"flip night."

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

"it wasn't that bad."

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

gojo smiles. "consider yourself lucky."

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

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

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

you laugh that thought away as soon as it comes.

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

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

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

"why not?"

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

"do it in the morning."

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

"then don't study."

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

he grins. "i get it from you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...going home?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"no."

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

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

"so you gave it away?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"yes."

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

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

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

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

"well, it was true then."

you roll your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"whatever will i do now?"

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

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

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

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

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

"getting turned on by my pain?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...are you sure?"

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

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

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

"what?"

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

your brow furrows. "about what?"

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

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

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

"no, and i don't dance."

gojo rolls his eyes. "everyone dances."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you left me--"

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

"you'll get me that anyway."

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

"that's usually expected, you know?"

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

"i don't know that, actually."

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

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

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

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

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

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

it's probably just the alcohol, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it sounds like something else to you.

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

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

"'cause you deserve it."

he laughs and leans in, so you follow him.

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

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

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

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

"really?"

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

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

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

"you okay?"

"i think i might be a little drunk."

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

"you're a lightweight."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"what?"

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

"i'm not?"

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

"why not?"

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

gojo's brow furrows. "how?"

your brows furrow. "how what?"

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

"you'd have to ask him."

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

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

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

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

"hey," gojo says, interrupting that feeling.

"what?"

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

"i'm not?"

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

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

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

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

"they do?"

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

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

how long has it been now?

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

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

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

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

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

he just smiles easily, ruffling your hair.

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

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

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

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

and so maybe you hang out with him sometimes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"to the store."

"it's eleven."

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

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

"i need stuff."

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

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

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

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

"you can't leave right now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i can do whatever i want."

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

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

"when i realized how weak you are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you are ruining my mood."

"oh, good."

you scowl. "move. right now."

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

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

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

he snorts.

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

"what is that?"

you frown. "what?"

"what's wrong with your face?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"gojo?"

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

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

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

"where were you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru only smiled a little bit at your question.

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

you'd frowned. "what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i'm busy, gojo."

"no, you're not."

"i am doing homework."

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

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

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

he sighs again. "canceled."

"why?"

"my dad had a meeting or something."

"oh."

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

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

he shakes his head.

"do you want me to make you something?"

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

"not intentionally."

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

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

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

"that's not what i asked."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this shouldn't be happening.

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

he should not be this close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"there's at least five."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it wasn't fair like this.

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

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

like you're doing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"gojo, i'm really--"

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

"what?"

"that's not my name."

you frown. "yes it is?"

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

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

"when you were drunk."

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

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

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

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

"you're sorry?"

"i didn't mean to."

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

"it was an accident?"

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

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

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

"...okay."

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

you stare at him.

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

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

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

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

"why not?"

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

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

"wasn't it obvious?"

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

you shake your head.

"c'mon, just a little."

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

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

"don't tell me what to do."

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

you kinda want to hit him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"when?"

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

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

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

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

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

"you flirt with everything."

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

"who said anything about making out?"

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

976 notes · View notes

thewritingofspencerrose · 9 months

Text

Little Lady Masterlist

The Lady Hughes

age sixteen

"Jack! There you are!" A small brunette's voice rings through the quickly emptying ice rink, her skates in hand and skating uniform still on.

"Oh, Mags, I was looking for you," The matching head of brunette hair announces, pulling the girl under his arm, having a good six inches on her.

Usually the shorter of the twins would complain of her brother's arm on her shoulders, his body still wet from his post practice shower. Instead, the boy in front of them, the one she had noticed her brother with on the ice, was the only thing she could focus on.

"Mags, this is Trevor Zegras, he's on my team. Z, this is my twin sister Margaret, we call her Maggie though. She's on the figure skating team that practices before us," Jack introduces, not missing the looks they are giving one another. "And she is entirely off limits."

Trevor raises his hands in surrender, not wanting to anger his friend.

"Don't worry about me dude."

age eighteen

"Lady Hughes?" An ever familiar voice asks, stealing my attention from the junior ice skating team that is practicing on the ice. "What are you doing here? The draft's tomorrow, isn't your family flying out with us tonight?"

Two years of him in my life, and with every day he's made it more and more difficult to not want to break the biggest rule Jack and I have.

No dating the other's friends.

"I couldn't leave without seeing them practice. I used to be on this team when I was younger," I explain, his body heat radiating off of him as he takes a seat next to me, hockey bag resting in front of us. "I was hoping it would make it feel more real."

"Make what feel more real?"

"The fact that we graduated a week ago. It just doesn't feel real that I'll be leaving in two months, no more coming here for practice, no more advanced placement, no more living at home," my head starts to spiral.

"We met here two and a half years ago, do you remember that?" Trev asks, the feeling of his eyes on my face as I watch the girls.

"How could I forget? You've been around almost every day since," I can't help but remark, my eyes shifting over to his as he smiles, running a hand through his short hair.

"Things have changed since then, haven't they?" Is his next question, hands hesitantly taking mine from my lap. "I mean, back then none of us had remotely thought about college, you and I hadn't had the chance to be as close as we are, and so many other things, yet we still felt like nothing would change."

He must sense my confusion, because before I even ask he's explaining, "I'm just trying to say, things may be changing, but look how good the things that have already changed turned out."

And I can't help but smile at him, running my thumb along his. "Is Trevor Zegras, NHL draft prospect and Boston University soon-to-be star giving me a pep talk?"

"I'd give you anything you needed," Is his response, and you can tell by the blush on his face that he did not mean to say that out loud.

"I know," I assure. "And I'd do the same for you."

He just nods, looking over my face and I can feel my heart speed up as his eyes linger on my lips.

"We should probably go," I finally prompt, looking one last time to the girls doing their routines. "Knowing you, you still have stuff to pack and our flight leaves in five hours."

"You're right," He agrees, albeit dejected, standing and grabbing his bag before putting his hand out for me to take. "Everything will change tomorrow night."

"You and Jack have nothing to worry about. Alex or Cole either."

"But-"

"What were you just assuring me of Mr.Zegras?" I question, interrupting him. "You have nothing to worry about. The change that's coming will be amazing."

He smiles, pausing with me one last time at the entrance to the rink we have used for years.

And with one last smile, I nod, and he opens the door, the two of us walking out with memories to last a life time.

#original character #the writing of spencer rose #nhl fanfiction #best friends to lovers trope #hughes sister #trevor zegras x hughes sister #maggie hughes story #trevor zegras x oc

53 notes · View notes

anulithots · 3 months

Note

Hi, can I ask your top 3 favorite characters from Link Click? And why you love them? Also your top 5 favorite moments from the series?

As shiguang shipper, what do you think are Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang's greatest personality strengths and weaknesses? Why? What do you love about their dynamic? Thanks if you want to answer.....

(Last one, are you surprised with that plot twist in s2? Can it enter your top 5 fav plot twist ever from any media?)

TOP THREE FAVORITES!

Cheng Xiaoshi - craves a childhood he lost (so real), empathetic and one of the empathetic characters that is done soooo well with all of the dives paralleling his character and exploring it, canonically likes cooking and makes sure LU Guang and him don’t survive on ramen noodles alone (+ Lu Guang’s bio things says he likes gourmet food sooooooooooo)

The silly and the way he stays hopeful and doesn’t accept finalities because of what happened to his parents and how he trusts and relies on others.

How he tries his best to fix the past and can adapt to the situation, predict how people will act, and is hyper-observant, but he doesn’t act on this ability because of how much he trusts Lu Guang and he cares about Qiao LIng so much and immediately cares about every case he hears about because of his empathy.

(Headcannon that he doesn’t watch the news after the earthquake, hence why he didn’t know about Emma despite it being all over the news)

Lu Guang - mystery boi. Cares about Cheng Xiaoshi sooo much and the way he relies on the future, on rules and on control and will freak out whenever the future becomes uncertain, a rule breaks, or things fall out of his control.

The way he’s shy about being in public but will not hesitate to yell at a police officer if it concerns CXS. How he reads all keeps himself learned and tells others (CXS) to do the same like it will fix all their problems (keep him less immature). The way that he has the trust of both CXS and Qiao LIng because of the way he acts. The way that one might look at him and think ‘oh the serious levelheaded one’ but NOPE. He lightly teases CXS constantly (whereas CXS is overdramatic about his teasing) and again, goes feral at times, as you do.

The fact that he creates rules and tries so hard to keep everting under control and no one the wiser but this is time. This is reality. He’s fraying at the seams.

Qiao LIng - will not hesitate to beat up her brother or lawyer for her brother if the situation calls for it. An incident she had no control over (Doudou’s kidnapping) stuck with her and caused so much turmoil that she went to university somewhere else and tried to escape her lack of decisions, regretting it the entire time (so real).

Compared to the rest of the trio, she’s the levelheaded one, and she has the most real takes on the weirdness of shiguang (’I thought you two were doing some ritual with the photos!’) and the way she’s the one who talked to, comforted, and connected with Wu Xia, Doudou’s father, CXS(multiple times), and Li Tianshi.

Her friendship with Xu Shanshan (’calling her beautiful all the time’) along with Xu Shanshan saying that she has to take care of Qiao Ling… QIao LIng is more like her brother than she admits. Also her (and Lu Guang’s… and CXS’s obsession with Boba tea alkfkajsdf)

the trioooooo

… just five… moments... sigh okay okay /pos

When CXS got angry at Qian Jin but was restrained, then Qiao LIng SLAPPED HIM AND IT WAS WONDEROUS (should’ve beat him up tbh but alas the paperwork)

The little moments in episode two. Especially where Cheng Xiaoshi says ‘just because you see no hope doesn’t mean there is none’ and Lu Guang SMILES

CHENG XIAOSHI’S SPEACH TO EMMA WITH KEEP IN MIND PLAYING THEN THE TITLE CARD SAYS ‘when there is light, once can photograph’ AND IT’S A MASTERPEICE I”VE SEEN IT A MILLION TIMES AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH

In season two where Qiao Ling connects to Li Tianxi via telling a story about her younger self and CXS, who she calls her LITTLE BROTHER AAAAAAAAAAAA

SIgh okay okay so like… all of episodes six, seven, and ten where Lu Guang is overprotective of CXS OKAY BUT IN PATICULAR - where Lu Guang notices that CXS is getting anxious about Xu Shanshan’s disappearance and tells Qiao Ling to keep him safe. Just how the calm and collected Lu Guang gets angry and frustrated when things don’t go according to plan and it puts CXS or those he cares about in danger. It shows a lot about his character

(Then of course there’s episode 5 where it’s just done in a masterful way with the earthquake scene and s2ep1 where CXS flashbacks to all the moments with Lu Guang and…)

Shiguang shipping + strengths and weaknesses

I have some thoughts I need to write down about their dynamic so that first if you don’t mind! (I’ll probably somewhat answer it here but aklfaklsdjf analysisssss)

(Also QPR shiguang is peak ahem ahem thank you /pos )

Okay so CXS is an optimist and looks for the best, for solace to fix the past he lost, and he views that Lu Guang loses hope too easily (I think, still formulating the thoughts on this one) which causes him to act on his own in episode 9 (when he goes back in time and witnesses Emma getting strangled.)

But okay the moment at the end here where he realizes Lu Guang only did all this to protect him because he does tend to get too emotional about things and ruin the past in his longing for a perfect one (which leads Lu Guang not to tell CXS things because he thinks that CXS is an ‘unpredictable variable’ and wishes to protect him from himself.

Which is nice of him but still. CXS is competent he just trusts others more than he trusts himself), where he asks Lu Guang what he should do as he curls up in painful defeat, which parallels where he says he’s afraid of being alone and in the dark in episode 5?

It’s link click and I kajdsfklasjdflkj

So CXS then sees what Lu Guang sees, that he can’t fix the past no matter how much he tries. Which is a painful thing, but to be honest, it’s something he needed… or not… it’s a nuanced growth that isn’t good nor bad (and CXS’s view on this will probably change when he finds out that Lu Guang went back in tiem to save him ).

BEcause CXS accepts now that while he cannot change the past, the future will surely change because of what he does, then he accepts that he cannot change Li Tianxi’s past. Okay so trusts and weaknesses with Shiguang is that they do trust each other and care for each other’s well-being… but the care for each other’s wellbeing causes them to not trust the other as much…. okay that made no sense here we go

SO CXS completely and totally trusts Lu Guang (at first trusting that he knows best - he said this in ep 3 I think - while also fighting with himself with his desire to fix the past, constantly questioning Lu Guang if things will really turn out okay, and in turn, reassuring himself that he doesn’t need to be swept up by his emotions.) which lessens after episode 5 - which was a risk on Lu Guang’s part and he did not want CXS to find out about the earthquake but alas - which then returns back to a different sort of trust (The ‘I understand now that you tried to protect me from myself because no matter what I try I cannot fix the past, so now I’ll hope for the future like you told me’)

Whereas the reason Lu Guang likes CXS is for his naivety, his innocent hope that everything will be okay, and for that reason Lu Guang attempts to keep CXS’s own faults from hurting him, along with the reality of the past and its hardships.

(Hence all of the ‘and remember that you cannot change the past and you’ll have to face the results of this’). THEN it’s BECAUSE of this overprotectiveness that drives CXS to think that Lu Guang gave up too easily (see episode 10 where Xu Shanshan is kidnapped. Lu Guang told QIao ling to keep CXS’s phone away from him and keep him at the shop to calm down)

OKAY so that’s all I got for now in this brain dump. LIsten to BishaJAWS. Thank you for the ask!

#link click #cheng xiaoshi #lu guang #shiguang daili ren #qiao ling #shi guang dai li ren #shiguang #shiguang dailiren #noorie answers asks #answered asks

15 notes · View notes

five-miles-over · 1 year

Text

The Forbidden Room - Part One

Summary: During a late night alone in the lobby of the Hotel Meister, you - a student at the University of Zurich - meet the charming night manager Mr.Jonathan Pine. And what starts out as simply two strangers getting to know each other turns into something more when Pine shows you a secret part of the hotel.

Warnings: Innocence/corruption kink, age gap (reader is of legal age, maybe 19?), sheltered reader has overprotective parents, mentions of strip poker, some comfort/fluff

Word Count: 4,234

"My name is Pine. I'm the night manager."

Sitting in the empty, luxurious lobby of Hotel Meister, you looked up from your hardcover copy of Henry V. You wore a little black dress, matching flats, and red-tinted lip balm, with your hair remaining as close as possible to its natural texture. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Pine." You offered the tall, blond man standing in front of you a smile.

"And you are…?" Jonathan's eyes traveled over your form, and his thin, pink lips reciprocated your smile.

You gave him your first name, crossing one leg over the other and placing the book in your lap.

"It's nearly eleven-thirty. What are you doing here by yourself?"

"Oh," you craned your head to glance at the gilded windows of the hotel. "I…I'm so sorry, I didn't realize the time. I…" You closed your eyes and shook your head. "I was here to have dinner at the restaurant, and after I finished, I was hoping for some time to read, and to enjoy the…the ambience of this place. Sorry, I didn't realize it was so late."

The night manager chuckled, and he glanced at the hardcover. "No need to apologize. Are you a big reader?"

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yeah, always was."

"You must be quite intelligent." After a moment, Jonathan sat next to you. "Are you here on holiday?"

"No," you gently corrected him, sharing that you were actually a student at the University of Zurich, studying history and political science.

Jonathan listened intently, his smile widening just a little. "So…what's a lovely, intelligent young woman doing here all alone tonight? No boyfriend or perhaps a date?"

You nervously chuckled. "Actually, I…I have never had a boyfriend before. Or have ever been on a date. No boy was ever interested in me like that."

He raised his eyebrows, and a small laugh escaped. "That's impossible. A young woman like you…pretty and smart. How could no one have noticed that? Unless…" Jonathan bit his lower lip. "Unless you're not interested in dating. How long have you been single?"

"My whole life?" You shrugged. "My parents were protective; I wasn't encouraged to have a boyfriend or date."

A more clear picture of you formed inside Jonathan's mind as you spoke: a picture of a young woman who was constantly guided to focus on her studies, someone who'd never gone to parties or dated people, someone with an innocent demeanor. "So you've been a good girl your whole life?"

"I…I was the good girl." You confessed. "Perhaps I still am." Leaning forward, you rubbed your knees underneath your dress. "My parents had a lot of rules growing up - no short clothes, no clothes that showed cleavage, no boyfriends, no dating, no sleepover, no swearing, no…running up and down the stairs, no crushes, no bold makeup, and screaming."

The night manager laughed. "And what did you do? Did you rebel, and break a few of those rules? Or were you a perfect girl, like a doll?” His glance flitted towards your hands and knees. “Let me guess…no tattoos or body piercings either?”

“None.” You shook your head with a small giggle. “"Though...there were a few times I used to go to school early, sneak into the bathroom before class started, and put on magenta lipstick behind my parents' back."

Jonathan laughed again, he was already beginning to adore you. "That's very naughty: putting on makeup behind your parents' back. Did they ever notice it?”

“No. If they did, they would’ve scolded me, asking why I would need lipstick for school.” You joined in his laughter, leaning against the leather couch in the hotel lobby. Never before had you felt so safe around an older man whom you'd barely known, yet there was something about this night manager that gave you the sense of protection, like nothing bad was going to happen to you under his watch. Maybe it was just because he was handsome, older, and charismatic. Or perhaps it was because this night manager was meant to be so much more.

“I bet wearing that lipstick made you feel quite free,” Jonathan surmised. “Tell me, darling…have you ever broken any other rules?”

“I…” You began, your cheeks growing hot. “I…once got caught reading an erotic book that my mum bought when I was twelve years old…I’m not really sure why she bought it, but I snuck into her closet to read bits of it in the morning while getting ready for school. And one morning, my father caught me.”

“And what did he say?” He chuckled, enjoying how comfortable you were to talk to him like this. “Did he get angry?”

“Yeah, he did. He loudly scolded me to stop filling my head with unnecessary things that polluted the mind, and to get ready for school.” You placed one hand over the other. “My mother also got upset with me for reading it, so you sat me down and lectured me about how erotica exploits women."

“They seem quite strict. Did you keep reading the book after they found out?” He tilted his head o the side, out of curiosity.

“It was my mother’s book. I…I don’t think I ever saw that book again, she probably hid it really well.”

“Perhaps that explains why you seem innocent.” Jonathan teased, a thin row of white teeth present as he smirked. “Your parents never let you do anything! I bet they never let you go to parties or go out to have a good time with a group of friends. You've never even drank alcohol or smoked a cigarette, have you?”

“No cigarettes or alcohol.” You shifted in your seat, crossing one foot over the other. “But I was allowed to go out with a few friends in high school to have ice cream. Only girls though, and my parents had already met those friends.”

“See!” Jonathan remarked. “Your parents were strict with you; your friends couldn't even be male. But you don't seem resentful of your parents, not at all. Why is that?” His playful demeanor shifted into an expression of curiosity.

You shrugged. “Maybe it's because I was given anything I needed. If I wanted a book my parents were willing to buy it for me. Of course it had to be something educational, not dirty. My parents took good care of me, and because of them, I have the privilege of going to a wonderful university.”

The night manager took a breath, relaxing into the couch. “Perhaps you’re right in that sense. But you never got to experience the parties, the dates, the kisses that are so typical of adolescent experiences. Don't the strict norms of your parents make you feel as if you've missed out on some things in life?”

“Sometimes…but it’s not like there was a line of boys waiting to date me or anything like that.” You laughed a little.

“Are you sure?” Jonathan’s lip reverted to a smirk, and he raised an eyebrow. “I doubt it. You’re smart, pretty, and not at all rebellious as we’ve previously established. A girl like you would have made any boy crazy about her.” He leans forward a little. “Maybe they were just too scared to ask you.”

“Maybe.” You blushed, tapping the hardcover book in your lap. "I've talked a lot about myself, I'm sorry. I'm not very good at keeping secrets.”

The night manager chuckled, his cerulean eyes twinkling with amusement. “I love hearing from you, it's a pleasure. You’ve told me about your school days, your parents…even that you wore lipstick behind their backs. You’re not exactly shy.” Jonathan smiled and leaned back on the couch. "Now I think it's time for you to hear about me. What do you want to know?" Jonathan put his hands behind his head as he spoke your name for the first time.

You turned onto your side and ran a hand through your hair. “I want to know...what were you like as a boy, Mr.Pine?”

“Me?” Jonathan looked up, as if he were buying time for his next words. Then, he began to make up a backstory for himself, one that was akin to a young man from a privileged yet troubled background “I was…I happened to be a bit mischievous when I was a boy.” He tilted his head and assumed a jovial tone. “Always stirring up trouble, always getting into something.”

You giggled.

“That’s how I ended up in military school.” Jonathan continued, “There I got involved with a group of boys, and we had our own set of shenanigans.” “What did you do?”

“We…” the night manager narrated with a hint of bravado in his voice, “stole, like a merry little band of thieves. We used to steal from our superiors’ stash of alcohol, even before we were of legal age to be drinking.”

Continuing to giggle, you gazed at him. Just the way he told these things with such conviction made you believe that he was truly someone who’d seen the world, someone who’d been through more things than you could even imagine.

"I swear, we didn't just steal alcohol. Guns, watches, souvenirs,… you name it and we could steal it." A mischievous smile crossed his face. "Do you want to know the biggest thing we ever stole?"

You nodded eagerly. “Was it an antique?…A tank?”

Jonathan grinned. "No, nothing like that. No, when I was about fifteen or sixteen, my friends and I stole a car - our lieutenant’s car: a nice, new black Corvette. It was risky but we took it at night and went on a joyride in the streets of Dover. It was the best night of our lives.”

With a gasp, you burst into a fit of giggles that made Jonathan’s heart melt. To him, yours was the type of smile that would make someone do a million things just to see that smile reappear. “Wow! Did you..” You bit your lip to stop laughing . “Did you break any speed limits?”

“Of course. We were practically kids,” Jonathan explained. “We went over 160 kilometers per hour a few times, we even had a few shots of vodka while we were driving. Stupid, yeah, but the adrenaline…it was incredible.”

“Did you get pulled over by a police officer?” Your eyes widened.

“Yes. You’re a smart girl.” The night manager admitted, “We got caught by the police and our lieutenant in charge had to come and get us from the station. I remember him yelling at me like never before, I had never seen him like that, it was terrifying.” Jonathan laughed and shook his head. “We were sentenced to corporal punishment for a month, but it was worth it.”

You giggled, still leaning against the couch. “So…how did you grow up? I’m assuming you don’t race cars or steal alcohol anymore.”

“Not anymore.” Jonathan took a deep breath and rested his head against his hand. “I grew older, and eventually had to stop being irresponsible.” “What made you realize that you didn’t want to race cars and steal booze anymore? Was it...when you turned of legal age, and you could have alcohol?”

Jonathan clicked his tongue. “"That's a good question. Well... it was not only when I turned of age, it was... it was when I realized that I could die. I lost someone close because of alcohol. And when I was deployed across the globe, and nearly lost my life in combat several times. That’s when I realized that life is much more." Jonathan said quietly, a serious expression on his face.

Your smile disappeared. "I'm so sorry, Mr.Pine. I...I couldn't even imagine what that must be like.” You took a breath, straightening yourself. "So...what does life mean to you now?”

"Life... life is a gift. I always try to do the right thing. To do something that impacts others or leaves a small mark on the world.” Jonathan simply said with a small, charismatic smile. "To try to be happy without hurting anyone, and maybe help others along the way. I think that's what life is all about.”

You looked into his eyes with amazement. How could such a wonderful man be so real? “That’s really brave of you to say, Mr. Pine.”

Johnathan eyed you for a moment, and replied. “I have a feeling you’re pretty brave yourself. After all, you moved away from home to study at the University of Zurich, that’s not easy. And you’re here all by yourself in a hotel lobby past eleven-thirty at night.” He stood up from the couch and offered you his hand. “Follow me, I want to show you something.”

You blinked, wrapping your fingers around your book. “W-w-where…where are we going?” Your legs shaking and your heart pounding inside your chest, you stood up and cautiously followed the night manager.”Mr. Pine, where are we going?”

"You'll see soon enough...." Jonathan said with a devious smile as he walked further and further away from the lobby without saying a word.

You shuffled your feet behind him, holding your book in one hand and glancing at the artwork that lined the opulent hallways. Finally, you and Jonathan reached a door near the staff room at the very back of the hotel lobby. Without a word, Jonathan opened the door at the back of the lobby, led you down a flight of dusty stairs, and near a small door at the end of the staircase revealing a room. Inside the small, dimly-lit room were filing boxes, dust and some old furniture: a coffee table, two sofas, one small fridge, and a bedroom. "Welcome to the hotel's basement. This is where the... more private activities happen," he introduced with a mischievous smile on his face.

"Private activities?" you trembled, your voice barely louder than a whisper. Taking a few steps, you glanced around to find no window in sight, no way of escaping except for the door, which Jonathan closed with a click.

Jonathan leaned against the door. “Yes. Private activities. It’s the hotel’s forbidden room, the one place where clients can be sure no one can find out what they’re doing. No one other than the staff, of course.” He crossed his arms, and let out a small, darker chuckle. “Perhaps you can imagine what kind of activities they might be up to in a room like this.”

You swallowed. “Drug deals?…Smuggling.” Your knuckles whitened as you held onto the hardcover book in your hand, while your free hand stroked your own arm in a self-soothing manner.

The night manager smiled and walked towards you. “No. Those aren’t the activities that I had in mind.” His tone turned a bit more flirtatious. “Why don’t you have a seat, darling?”

The word rolled off his tongue like honey, and all of a sudden, you were reminded why you felt so…comfortable around this man. Despite having known him for a few hours - what time was it even?- you felt as if you could tell him anything, and that he would keep you safe.

“Come on.”

You sat down on the edge of one of the couches, your eyes following his every move with curiosity. “Gambling?”

“Sometimes, but that’s not the most popular thing to take place in this room.” Jonathan laughed, standing an arm’s length from you. “Be honest,” he gently said, calling you by your name, “and tell me what you think happens in a hotel’s forbidden room.” Jonathan looked into your eyes with a hint of seduction. “Don’t be scared, darling. I won’t hurt you.”

After a few moments of silence, you answered with a thick swallow. “Adultery.”

“Something like that.” With a smile, Jonathan placed his hand on your upper arm. “This room is ideal for... discreet affairs. The clients can come with their lovers or mistresses and have a good time with them without anyone knowing. And the staff is sworn to secrecy - they won’t tell a soul. This room is a safe heaven for all those forbidden and hidden romances.”

Your eyes widened, and you felt a slight tingling in your lower stomach, butterflies perhaps. “If it’s supposed to be forbidden, how do people come to know about it without…getting the hotel in trouble? Does the hotel owner know about this?” Your voice grew quieter with every question.

“A forbidden romance can’t be incriminated in this city.” Jonathan simply said, rubbing a circle along your arm. “And because only certain people know about this secret, those who frequent the inner circles of the hotel’s patrons. A rule that the staff and I never break: what happens in this room stays in this room. No words spoken, no information given, no clues.” The night manager smiled. “And do you know what happens when that rule is broken?”

You rifled through your mind, thinking about what you already knew about famous gangsters and their affairs, which probably took place in seedy hotel rooms and luxurious private lounges .“They’re silenced.”

His smile faded. “Exactly.” He leaned in, close enough that you could see the incandescent light of the room reflected in his ocean blue irises. “Now…can I trust you to respect the one rule of this room? Can I trust that you'll never mention anything about what happens in this room?”

You bit the inside of your cheek and watched as Jonathan let go of your arm and sat down on the other sofa. “You can..You can trust me, Mr. Pine. But tell me why we’re here.”

“I didn’t want you sitting in the lobby all night, a place open to the public. This way, you’ll have a bit more privacy without having to take one of the guest rooms. Now,” he began, “let me tell you what kind of activities I had what kind of activities I had in mind for this room. And if you like them, we’ll do them. Alright?”

Placing your book on the coffee table, you nodded. “What did you have in mind, Mr. Pine?”

“Well... first I was going to invite you to drink some champagne with me. To celebrate our new friendship and to make sure you're relaxed.” Jonathan stood up and walked to the small fridge "Then... I was thinking that we could start with a game of strip poker. If you lose a round, you have to take off one piece of clothing. And we'll see where that takes us." Jonathan said with a flirtatious smile. "Sounds good?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know…”

Jonathan continued to smile, confident that he could get you to change your mind. “What if you win? What if I'm the one that has to take off a piece of clothing?” He opened the fridge and reached inside it, grabbing a bottles of champagne. "Come on. You only live once, darling. It's time to do something dangerous and live a little. And this is the perfect place for it, don't you think?”

“But…why me?” You quietly asked, looking up at him with shaking hands. “Why…why would you do this? Bringing me here of all places?”

The night manger set the bottle of champagne down, and his demeanor morphed into a caring one, almost protective. He put his hands in the pockets of his blazer, and gazed upon you as if you were a rare, exquisite piece of living art.

“Because I think you’re someone special, darling. I think you're smarter and braver than you think you are. I have a gut feeling that says we're going to get along and understand each other. I like talking to you, I believe that we could have... something special. And if you let me, I want to show you a night you'll never forget.” Approaching you again, the night manager brushed the back of his finger along your shoulder. His eyes seemed to soften from their striking ocean hue to a soft shade of pale blue. “I want you to have fun, experience new things, to live a little.” He took a step towards you. “Would you let me make this night unforgettable for you, darling?”

You blinked, and harshly bit the inside of your cheek, your heart racing at the infinite possibilities of what could unfold throughout the night. Would there be more people involved? Was something illegal going to happen?

“Yes, Mr. Pine.” You uttered.

With a rakish smile, Jonathan took the champagne bottle and opened it with a loud pop. The bubbles freely flowed from the bottle until the night manager filled two clear flutes with the golden liquid. Then, he offered you one of the glasses. “To a special night,” he declared with a soft theatricality in his voice, raising the other glass.

That damn smile was enough to make you wrap your fingers around the stem of the glass, clink it against his, and raise it to your lips. “Cheers.” You took a sip of the golden liquid, sucking your lips in while the alcohol trickled down your throat. “It’s…it’s bitter,” you admitted, “but it’s good.”

Jonathan took a drink as well. “That's the effect of alcohol: the first time it tastes bitter and even repulsive. But sooner or later, you discover that it's not so bad. Some people start to enjoy it…others, not so much.” He took another gulp and emptied the contents of his glass. “Just be slow with your drink, take your time. If at any point you feel uncomfortable, please tell me. Alright, darling?”

You nodded. Your fingers crept towards the rim of the champagne glass as Jonathan knelt before you. He took your free hand in his, looked into your eyes with a sincere expression, and murmured your name. “I think you’re very beautiful.” His large, pale fingers stroked the back of your knuckles. “Would you let me give you a kiss?”

You took another sip and gently set the glass aside. Never had you been kissed before and yet here you were, alone with one of the most charming men you had ever seen in real life. And this man, this elegant variant of a man was asking to kiss you.

“Just a kiss,” you agreed, leaning towards the night manager. Closing your eyes, you felt his lips, slightly chapped, delicately brushed against yours.

The kiss started off sweet and affectionate, as delicate as a feather, but soon Jonathan’s fingers reached for your hair and pulled you closer. His lips pressed harder against yours, allowing him to savor the aftertaste of champagne on your lips while his fingers rested on your soft cheeks. After a few moments, you leaned back on the couch and allowed Mr.Pine to take control. He grabbed your waist with his free hand and you put your arms around his broad shoulders, your fingertips enjoying the crisp fabric of his blazer. A little intoxicated by the champagne and a pleasure you never thought you desired, you couldn't help but admire how easily he could overpower you.

“Mr. Pine…” You breathed after a few moments, breaking the kiss for air. As Jonathan pulled apart from you, you licked your lip, hoping you could catch the aftertaste of his lips.

The night manager blushed as he watched you recover. “Now, for the next part of our night…a game of poker,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, already a bit excited about the game. “Do you know how to play?”

“I know how to play poker,” you answered, straightening yourself. “I learned how to when I was fourteen, some family friends taught me.”

He nodded. “In this game of poker, we can use anything as a bet: a kiss, an article of clothing, a touch... whatever comes to our minds. But only one rule applies: the loser has to do what the other person asks, no questions asked. Are you okay with it?” Jonathan asks, his voice getting slower and more seductive with each word.

“Okay.” You climbed off the couch and sat on the floor, in front of the old, worn-out coffee table. You couldn’t believe you were actually going to play poker - a game you’d only seen among grown-ups in real life and mafia men in films. And now instead of watching them with awe, you were going to play for the first time. “Do you know where the cards are?”

Jonathan smiled and walks to a nearby cabinet, opening the rickety door to find a dusty box. "They're right here.” He opened the box and fished out two decks of cards, taking one and shuffling them in his hands several times."I give you the deal, do you want to cut the deck first?”

"Sure." You split the deck of cards into two halves, lifting one half of the cards and placing it face down next to the other half.

Jonathan picked the deck of cards, holding it in his hands. "Here's how we play this game: it's just a simple poker, five cards for each one of us. The person who has the most points wins and he gets to choose the bet of the next round. Do you want to deal the first hand or should I?”

Part Two

Tagging: @lokischambermaid @smolvenger @lovelysizzlingbluebird @evelyn-kingsley @omgsuperstarg @holdmytesseract @lokidbadguy @stupidthoughtsinwriting @icytrickster17 @thatdummy-girl @fantasyfan4life @anukulee

#tom hiddleston #jonathan pine imagine #jonathan pine x reader #jonathan pine #the night manager #the night manager fanfiction #tom hiddleston character x reader #tom hiddleston character #tom hiddleston characters #jonathan pine fic #jonathan pine x you

73 notes · View notes

saynomorefic · 4 months

Text

20 Questions For Fic Writers

thank you @darktwistedgenderplural <3 so sweet of you to tag me hehe

How many works do you have on Ao3?

15 - 5 YR and 10 one direction that I wrote like 10 years ago lol

What's your total Ao3 word count?

81,454 :0

What fandoms do you write for?

Young Royals, that's it <3

Top five fics by kudos: (I'm doing my top 3 young royals fics because I reaally don't want people re-reading my old 1d fic lol)(It is in the [public] archives)

Falling for you

All the rules to this game I bend

You Kill Me & Like birds do, I need to fly south (tied)

Do you respond to comments?

YES always!! I tend to have pretty long responses bc I love learning what people like and having a conversation <3

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I'd say I won't treat you like you're oh so typical. However, this is a WIP and so I'm just going off of where I left things.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hmm most of them have happy endings! My fluffiest fic is Like birds do, beginning to end.

Do you get hate on fics?

Do you write smut?

Yes I do! Not all my fics have smut though. I will say I prefer writing my characters talk about sex, and exploring their sexuality as a major theme, to writing actual smut, not because I don't enjoy it but because it's hard!! I sometimes struggle to be creative.

Craziest crossover:

None

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No although I'd love to

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I've gifted works, but never co-written anything. That would be so fun!

All time favourite ship?

Wilmon ofc <3

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

That one's hard. I hesitate to say because sometimes I get inspired by old ideas. I had one that is Wille as a new cat dad with a rascal of a cat who keeps breaking things, and Simon is called as a cat whisperer. The catch: Simon's methods are unique and involve him spending three days 24/7 at Wille's apartment. I just am not capable of this level of fluff lol

What are your writing strengths?

I think I develop really elaborate ideas and worlds in my head, and I do try to make them as convincing as possible. I only write AUs, so I think this is a big part of that. I like writing descriptively bc of my liberal arts degree, and I also try to work in as many life experiences and make things feel relevant to the world around us, aka writing from a critical perspective even if it's fictional. I hope I'm achieving this even slightly!

What are your writing weaknesses?

Oh god lol. I get writing exhaustion pretty hard because of idea overload, and I look back at the page and feel like I've lost my voice or style completely. I think I struggle with varying the sentence structure so things feel natural. I'm also working on incorporating metaphors and symbolism effectively - I've been writing papers for so long in college that metaphors don't come as easily anymore.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I think it's great, although sometimes I won't do it because google translate is unreliable and I don't have a beta reader currently. However, I like throwing in phrases here and there we see on YR a lot :-)

First fandom you wrote in?

One direction

Favourite fic you've written?

It would have to be You Kill Me, although it's not done. I put so much into their world and have so much more to show!! I'm proud of directly tackling a lot of the power dynamics and their intimate effects (on Simon especially) that I feel weren't addressed fully in the show, albeit in another universe. (Also yay for Felice and Simon's friendship and talking about racial issues together <3) The recent love for it has been so amazing and inspired me to keep going.

I tag: @nothingadoaboutnothing @youngroyalsforeversposts <3

thank you so much! <3

#ask #20 questions for fic writers #wilmon #about my fic

8 notes · View notes

beneathashadytree · 2 years

Note

Hi.. hope I'm not bothering ya or something, may I request modern au with Sherlock? Reader is female (u can make it gender neutral). Reader is studying music, while she was practcing on the violin in the music room, Sherlock sneak in without her noticing till he complaints her, then she asked him to teach her ( 'cause she isn't very well), and that ended sweetly? Like with kisses and such (idk how but let ur imagination magic works). Btw they're both studying in the university

A GENTLE HAND - SHERLOCK HOLMES X READER

Warnings : none I think, modern AU, this is not proofread, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : comfort and fluff <3

Word count : 1.3K words

Additional notes : You could never bother me! Thank you so much for requesting such a sweet idea, and for giving me the choice to make the reader gender-neutral. It’s what I’m most comfortable writing, to be honest🥰 I personally saw Sherlock as a criminology and criminal justice student. I hope you like this!💗

Requests : Are open! Check the rules over here.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp!

Masterlist

It wasn’t something they’d foreseen; realizing that the major they’d chosen to follow their dreams would be the thing they most struggled with on the daily. They’d spent years praying and hoping that they’d get accepted at this university, so they could begin to study music and music theory, and someday pursue a career as a violinist in the meantime. Their hopes and dreams relied entirely on this being their future plan.

What had come as a surprise, though, was them soon coming to realize that they had a frustratingly difficult time trying to learn how to play that musical instrument that they’d been so eager and impatient to learn. No one had warned them that the violin in particular was one of the hardest string instruments to master, and that getting even the basics down would prove to be a challenge. It was equally frustrating and saddening to have their dream right within reach of their fingertips but be unable to grasp it.

Their boyfriend, Sherlock, was infinitely patient, and never once complained about the absurd number of hours he had to tolerate their trials of playing the violin. How he never got irritated by the grating noise of the bow harshly hitting each string with their horrendous technique, they had no idea. After all, living together in such close quarters as broke college students wasn’t at all easy.

He majored in criminal justice and criminology, and holed himself up in his office whenever he had to study. Given just how busy he was, they usually tried their best to wait till he was taking a break or something to practice, and resorting to studying from their notes and textbooks whenever he was hitting the books. Sometimes, however, the time crunch prevented them from doing so, and they were forced to disturb the peace and quiet even as Sherlock studied on.

Times like this, for example, were the worst of all. They’d been trying for the past hour to work on their handling of the bow in a particular piece, seeing as for some reason the notes always came out a lot sharper and harder than they should. They couldn’t pinpoint exactly where they were failing, and by now their fingers were blistered with all the pressing they did on the strings. Their agitation was so intense and all-consuming that they hadn’t noticed their boyfriend’s presence in the room until he tapped their shoulder.

Jumping a little, they turned to him. “Oh, sorry love. Want me to take a break so you can focus?”

He shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t worry about that. It’s just that you don’t look like you’re having a particularly good time.”

Shoulders drooping, their arms fell to their sides, the violin feeling even heavier now. “It’s just that… I don’t know,” they sighed, “I used to think that becoming a violinist was my dream, but now…”

As they trailed off, Sherlock gently reached out to squeeze their shoulder. “Your dream hasn’t changed. I’d have to be blind to not see the longing look you have in your eyes whenever you watch an orchestral performance. You’re overwhelmed, and there’s nothing strange about that.”

They leaned into his touch, edging closer to his chest and simply enjoying his presence when frustration was tearing them apart like this. “And do you ever get this way? About your own studies I mean?”

“I’ve always wanted to become a detective, but you have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to just chuck my textbooks into the fireplace and just quit school,” he chuckled, bitterness on his face as he went on, “But then again, I’d be doing exactly what my entire family expects of me, and that wouldn’t do, now, would it?”

“Guess we’re stuck in this boat together, huh,” the mumbled, exhaustion rolling over them in waves that seemed to never end. Sherlock must’ve noticed that, because he almost instantly reached out to pluck the bow and violin from their hands.

“You’re tired. Without getting proper rest you won’t be getting much further, trust me on this.” Grinning up at them, he added, “Coming from someone who stayed up three days straight for a sociology quiz only to get an E.”

They let out a weak laugh, before pausing as realization hit them. “Wait, hold on… didn’t you tell me that you can play the violin?”

Sherlock stilled in place. “Well, yeah, but I’m not that good at it.”

Rolling their eyes, they said, “Now’s not the time to be modest for the first time in your entire life.”

He gave them a pointed look as he lifted the violin up to his shoulder and nestling his chin on the pad. “Then you should know that I’m not being modest. I honestly took it up as a hobby for a short while, so I wasn’t all that good.”

“Still, you’d definitely be better than me. Maybe you could teach me a thing or two?”

After a moment’s pondering, he nodded, lifting the bow to the strings and fluttering his eyes shut as he did. “I’ll slow things down a bit, and try to help as best as I can.” And with that, he gently slid the bow over the strings, and let the music entrance them bit by bit.

Sherlock wasn’t by any means a professional, and his technique was a little lacking indeed—however, he’d completely omitted the fact that he was capable of evoking a certain mix of emotions whenever he played; that his playing would pull forth the feelings of pure devastation and melancholy and put them to sound, letting them linger in the air and leave lightness in their chest behind. It was beautiful in that sense.

Infinitely patient, he went through every single step with a gentle look in his eyes and deft fingers guiding them. He repeated every movement, not once, not twice, but a million times if needed, seeing to it that his sweetheart would understand and be able to follow through every single one of his instructions. The goal wasn’t for them to imitate his movements, but to learn and incorporate their new abilities in their own playing style. Perhaps in that sense, despite his lack of professionalism, he was a better teacher than they’d ever had.

Another hour had passed, though this time none of their troubles and annoyances weighed down on their shoulders. This time, they had a perfectly content glow to their face, satisfied with their progress and proud to have such a multi-talented boyfriend. Sherlock never ceased to amaze them, and they made sure to voice that.

“You’re wonderful,” they grinned at him, awe in their eyes as they finally set the violin down on the nearest armchair, “I’m so grateful to have you. Thank you for this.”

His eyes softened, a fond look on his face as they leaned in. “You’re welcome. It really wasn’t much. You can rely on me whenever.”

“It’s one thing to say as much, and a whole ‘nother to prove it every time.” Looking head over heels in love all over again, they wrapped their arms around his neck, pulling him in with an unexpected strength. “You really are the best,” they mumbled against his lips, before softly pressing theirs to them in a slow kiss. Languidly brushing their lips together, they made sure to show just how much they’d appreciated the gesture. His own hand reached back to pull their head in closer and angle their mouths perfectly against each other, deepening the kiss as a small sigh escaped them. Humming against their mouth with pleasure for a second before he broke them apart, he was too quick for their taste to pull away.

Still, it was always lovely to stay in his arms and have him look so tenderly at them. They knew that eventually they would have to accept the fact that they’d soon find themself in another predicament, overwhelmed by their studies and their slow progress, but for now, they’d rather bask in his attention and affection. Just a few minutes more.

Taglist: @sherlockscumslut @lilias-highlights @thispersoniscrazy

31 notes · View notes

rws2871 · 9 months

Text

The Mercy Of Humans - Chapter 1: The Golden Rule

I had heard about humans. Everyone in the Galactic Confederation knew about humans. Descended from predators, they were often violent, even to each other. They were contrary, illogical, confrontational and worse, easily angered. In the three hundred narns since the humans discovered FTL, they had dozens of armed confrontations with many peoples, including several Confederation members.

Once, they had gone to war with a trade consortium because the Tloung-hi had blockaded the Ublot’s home system. A human cargo ship had contracts to deliver products to the Ublots and when they attempted to do so, the Tloung-hi destroyed them.

The Tloung-hi were unprepared for what happened next. Humans have a fetish for something they call ‘free trade.’ Add to that, humans as a whole took offense to the Tloung-hi destroying that one ship. You would have thought they were of the same nest but most of their people did not even know the names of the thirty some humans who died.

Several hundred human warships descended upon the Ublot system and completely destroyed the Tloung-hi blockade and then proceeded to hunt down any Tloung-hi ship within fifty light years. They only stopped when the Tloung-hi capitulated, offered financial restitution, and agreed to never attack a human vessel again. Needless to say, after losing more than a hundred ships, the Tloung-hi were fully prepared for the third demand.

When the Confederation offered the humans membership, the humans refused, citing the laws of the Confederation were incompatible with their Constitution, something about universal rights. I do not completely understand it all. But the Confederation leaders, those with real power, decided to isolate the humans and refused them passage in Confederation space. That did not work. The humans still travelled brazenly in Federation space and no members desired to challenge them militarily.

I sat outside the ruins of my home, holding my youngest hatchling, wondering when she would take her last breath. I was not alone. All over my planet, other parents did the same. Some already mourned.

It had been thirty-nine days since a series of solar flares had decimated my home system. Overnight, the planet’s infrastructure was completely destroyed. There was no power and little clean water. Crops failed and livestock died. What land not suffering severe drought was subjected to monsoons or hurricanes. Some of these hurricanes spanned entire continents.

In space, all our orbital platforms had failed. The largest had even crashed to the ground. Further out, past the fifth planet and in the asteroid fields, some platforms and factories survived. But not enough to help. We asked the Confederation for help but so far, none has come. Oh, they had promised to help. They claimed it would just take time.

Not in time to save billions of lives. Not in time to save my little Y’dochka. Tears fell down my face as I looked at my little girl. Her feathers had fallen out days ago. Her skin burned and painful to the touch. She occasionally regained consciousness, smiling up at me. Touching my face. Breaking my heart even further. I was helpless to save her.

I heard the crack of a distant sonic boom, then another. Dozens more followed. I looked up to see dozens, no hundreds of flaming paths as more debris entered the atmosphere. What now? More destruction? What had we done to displease the gods so?

But it was not debris crashing down. The objects slowed, changed directions and slowly I could see the outline of shuttlecraft. Ships I had never seen before. I stared in wonder as a second wave of booms cracked through the blistering heat. As far as the eye could see, ships dropped from space.

I felt a twinge of hope as one separated from the pack and slowed to a gentle stop over my home. Gracefully, almost delicately, the ship touched down. Steam hissed from exhaust ports and I could see the heat shimmering above the giant shuttle as the rear ramp lowered and dozens of beings ran out. Some pulling grav-pallets of cargo. One ran up to me and stopped.

Humans were the boogeymen of the Confederation . Nobody crossed them. Nobody really trusted them. Only criminals consorted with them.

Everyone knew that. I thought that. But I was wrong.

“Here,” the large human said as he dropped to my side. He had some sort of device on his shoulder that translated his words. “I have a medpac. We can save her.”

“But your medpacs will not work on Dalutians,” I answered. I dared not allow myself to hope.

“We planned for that,” the human waved a flashing metal wand over my child. “These medpacs are designed for your people. With the solar flares and your physiology, we knew we would need medicine for the burns and infections. Artificial skin to cover the worst. It has built in painkillers. But she needs fluids. I took a crash course on how to start IVs for your people.”

I must have looked stupid to the human. I just could not accept what was happening.

“Here. You are not as bad as her, but need some fluids, too. This has concentrated electrolytes and medicine to help you. Food will be ready pretty soon.”

The pouch he handed me, and it was a he as I had read that only their males had facial hair, was full of a cold fluid. I took the straw and drank greedily as I watched the man tend to my daughter. As he did, others dragged pallet after pallet out of the shuttle. Some started assembling some sort of prefabricated buildings while others ran through my little village, offering help where they found the need.

“Thank you,” I said softly. “I have nothing to repay you.”

“No need. We came to help.”

“But why? You are not part of the Confederation. My people have rarely even encountered yours.”

“So? You needed help. We had help to give,” the human never stopped treating Y’dochka. He had pierced the large artery in her left leg with a needle attached to a bag of greenish fluid. “Right now, there are over fifty cargo vessels in orbit with relief supplies and a dozen Nightingale class hospital ships. Once my people have the hospital built, we can treat the worst of your injured.”

“Even the Confederation could not… did not send this kind of help.”

“Shit, this is just the first wave. In a day or so, a hundred more ships will be here, then even more after that.”

“Your government sent so much?” I was dumbfounded.

“No. I mean, some of them are Terran Navy, maybe six cargo ships and all the Nigthingales. The rest are private ships with volunteers and donations from my people to yours.”

“Again, why? We are not allies. Your people even dislike the Confederation.”

“One, your people are not the Confederation. And two, we do not need allies. Alliances are political things and allies can betray you when it is in their best interest. We find that having friends is better.”

“But we are not friends.”

“We weren’t. But we are now. My name is Oliver Pierre.”

“I am Lakhul Solmnar. My daughter is Y’dochka. You said that most of your people are civilians?”

“Yep. An odd bag, too. Got two ships of nuns from the Sisters of Charity, four ships full of Mormons. They always show up where there are disasters. Two ships from New Damascus. They provided most of the medical supplies. About a dozen ships full of the crazy Vikings from Ny Österlen. They are the closest to your planet. And a bunch more.”

“I still find it hard to believe. Just… why you would help us.”

“There is a saying among some of my people. We call it the Golden Rule. ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’ Then there are others that believe in karma. Hell, old David over there was Boy Scout. He always says to do one good deed every day.”

“I do not know this word, karma.”

“It is a belief that the good or bad you do in this life determines your next one. Put simply, ‘What goes around comes around.’ I don’t quite know if reincarnation is real. But why take a chance, eh?”

I did not know what to think. It was all so alien.

“Ok. I have Y’dochka stabilized. We can move her to the hospital. She might need to go up to one of the ships for full treatment. These burns look pretty bad.”

The human carefully picked up my daughter as if she was a precious toy. My people were barely half the size of humans.

I followed him as he trotted to this freshly built hospital. Everywhere I looked, humans were doing the same for others in my village. I felt hope for the first time in weeks.

Yes, humans were a bit scary. They were huge and powerful. They were descended from predators. Maybe they are a bit prone to violence at the smallest provocation, or even contrary, illogical, and confrontational. I say, so what? In our time of need, when our allies sent platitudes and empty promises, when the trade consortiums waited to pick over the corpse of our system, the humans sent help. Out of all the known peoples in the galaxy, only the humans showed up in our time of need.

I tell you that the humans are also kind, compassionate, selfless, and even friendly, though I still do not understand their humor.

Allies? The human was right. My people needed less allies and more friends. From this day forth, I would thank the gods for that lesson.

#scifi #original story #oc story #original characters #original fiction #original work #part 1

1 note · View note

channiemoonlight · 1 year

Text

LIKE A FOOL

{angst/ trigger warning ; death & self harm}

981 words

{writer notes : thank you to everyone who like my first story before, I actually wrote quite a lot on my phone but didn't had time to post them here due to work priorities. This story might be heavy for some readers, you can skip this if its too much on you. This story has nothing to do with the boy identity or well-being. It is a story that held something important issue in my life too. Please give it a lot of love!}

hope you enjoy!

love, channiemoonlight.

like a fool

By channiemoonlight

There are so many things you wish you could get your hands on it back. Whether it’s items or just the presence of someone you love. That’s all you can ask for. Another chance to be a better version of yourself.

Sliding open the kitchen door as you took a seat watching Minho intently cooking on the other side of yours.

It was a rule that your cousin, Bangchan made that he wants you to stay inside their apartment to lessen the burden of you paying bills. Knowing you’re just a student miles away from your parents and he is the wiser and older cousin offered to help you pay bills.

Getting to his household gave you another 5 friendships that you adore so much than your own existence. Everyone loves you as much as you do.

And that’s where it goes wrong.

“Morning y/n!” It’s unusual for Jisung to be this chirpy early morning but you shrugged it off and took him into the warm hug you didn’t give Changbin at all. One by one the table fills with everyone, Jeongin helping Minho to set up the plates on the table as you saw Felix took the last seat.

You adore him very much. Felix. He’s the one who gives a lot of cuddles whenever he’s done with assignments. He is always there when you have another relapse of anxiety. He’s your savior. Noticing no plate of pancakes given to him you stood up earning the glances from the boys. “What’re you doing y/n?”

Smiling at Changbin, you pick another plate and put it in front of Felix. “Minho forgot Lix plate” At first you thought they’re just thinking you’re weird. The frequent glances they’re sharing. But you again, took nothing serious out of it. “Okay.” The way Bangchan voice trails away, focusing back on his plate.

Likewise, you’re enjoying reading a book as you glance a few times at Felix back who’s staying on his study desk, probably gushing all his brains out for ideas for his essays. “Take a break Lix, want some coffee?”

“Lovely thanks y/n!”

Making the coffee as you hear Changbin slide into your side. “Another coffee?”

Shaking your head as you put away the tablespoon on the sink. “It’s Felix” This time you notice the unexplainable glint on his eyes. Again, you shrug it off—probably they thought both of you were something more than just friends?

Hours passed by and Felix finally stood up from his desk, going to the living room for some fresh air maybe. Taking a seat at his desk you noticed how scattered his papers were.

Eyes gliding over his options of book, all about galaxy. None of his major books were on the table. Almost calling for him not until your eyes stop on a blue diary with sunflower sticker on it. He never had a diary before, it urges you to look at it as you felt the familiarity.

You flipped the pages open. It was your handwriting.

If there’s another universe where I can stay at the same place appreciating, you more than before. I would do everything to get there.

“Oh, I wrote this? Why don’t I remember such things?” You’re obviously weirded out, this is Felix notebook, but your handwriting was there.

Galaxies on your eyes

You keep flipping until the last word you wrote. Staring—no, maybe glaring intensely on the paper as you read until the last words.

I will remember you forever Felix, I love you “What is this?”

“You saw it” His voice blooms over the silence as I stood up staring at him. “What is this, Felix? What game are you implying?” You push the book toward his chest, hating the way he looks at you right now, how it felts strange and eerie at this point.

“Y/N it’s your handwriting, you know about this” Feeling him coming closer you took a step back. “Knowing what— “

A rush of adrenaline went over you, pieces of memories that you never go through seep into your brain as if it was wiped out perfectly before. You were there, on the street floor clutching Felix lifeless body crying for help as his blood smears the shirt he gifted you.

“No! What is happening Felix? “He wasn’t there anymore. Glancing at every corner of your bedroom, there’s just you. Standing there. Your bedroom slammed open; all the boys stared at you worryingly. Stomping towards Bangchan as you grab his collar harshly. Hands shaking.

“What happened to me? Where’s Felix?!” The familiar glint that you saw before on Changbin was enough to give you a hint about whatever happened before.

The memories were true. The scene is true. “I’m sorry y/n. I’m so sorry” Feeling your knees weaken, lifelessly holding onto Bangchan. You trick yourself. You locked the possibility of hating to know the truth. Minho kneels in front of you, taking your cold hands into his warm ones. “It has been 6 months y/n. Felix is no longer with us— “

All this time, it was just a memory of him. He doesn’t exist but just a hint of memories that your brain plays along. “Why no one told me?” Your body was shaking in anger and disappointment. Tears on your face fall down the floor. “It is because you’re hurting yourself and we don’t want you to go through it again, we’re sorry” Minho caresses the scars on your wrist. “You’re lying inside the bathroom and all of us didn’t want to see that again even if it means to let you like this.”

All this time, it was you creating the images of him. There’s no longer him, that was just another hope that you didn’t want to let go. A hope that you wish he wasn’t dead but alive, loving you. Like a fool.

#stray kids #hanjisung #bangchan #leeknow #seochangbin #leefelix #jeongin #seungmin #hyunjin

0 notes

fictionplumis · 2 years

Text

Listen, I know Dream winning his duel with Lucifer with hope is like... A BIG DEAL and super symbolic and beautiful, HOWEVER I have something that may not be better, but would definitely be FUNNIER.

Dream loses. He's been locked in a bubble and had his hopes dashed again and again, even though he's still fighting and still hopeful, it's harder for him to reach that and it doesn't come to mind in time for him to win against Lucifer. He's to stay as a servant in Hell and there's no Endless or divine being that can or will come to his aid. He's trapped. Again.

Only Matthew isn't Jessamy, Matthew knows when the best way to help is a tactical retreat to gather reinforcements. So that's what he does, going immediately to Luciene like, "Hey, so, uh..." And there has to be some way they can help him! Luciene makes it clear that none of the dreaming denizens can. None of the Endless can, no deity would be of any help there against Lucifer. There are Old Laws dictating that Dream lost fair and square and no one can interfere with that. And Matthew's like, "Well what about someone who can challenge Lucifer to win him back? Someone not bound by the Old Laws?"

"The only beings not bound by the Old Laws are humans. There's no human--"

Except there is. There's one. One human that Dream would go off once a century to meet, and it's a long shot, but--

That's how Hob Gadling finds himself being approached by a talking raven asking him to trek into hell to rescue his boss. "You know, Dream of the Endless? Lord Morpheus?"

Hob doesn't know who the hell the bird is talking about until Matthew describes him. "Oh, my Stranger!"

"...He seriously didn't even tell you his name?"

Now, the idea of setting foot into Hell itself to do battle with Lucifer Morningstar is, y'know... Not something he wants to do. He confirms over and over if Matthew is SURE he doesn't have to die to achieve this, because he's not ready to leave yet, and Matthew is like, "Yeah, buddy, shouldn't be a problem." He's lying. He has no idea if it's a problem. (It's not.)

Hob is like, "Yeah, but... I can't FIGHT Satan himself and expect to win, I AM still human."

And Matthew's like, "You don't actually have to fight her, it's like a game! But uh... Pretty sure you still feel all the pain and stuff." And he explains the rules, and like, okay, feeling the painful death of whatever kills whatever you decide to be in your round SUCKS, but Hob's been through that before. It's actually a pretty intriguing game, one he thinks he might win.

See, the way he sees it, it's a combination of the "times infinity" type of game (I love you, I love you more, I love you times two, I love you times a thousand, I love you times a million-- so on and so on) with that counting game where you either say one or two numbers, back and forth with someone, and whoever says 21 loses. Basically, there's one logical conclusion the game is going to reach. Someone is going to bust out the "times infinity" or in this case, "heat death of the universe" or some other completely life-ending thing. And like with the counting game, if you can get your opponent to say specific numbers on the way to 21, you can make sure they're forced to say it.

There's a strategy if you think ahead enough, and he has an entire walk through Hell to plan it.

(It SUCKS. He sees Robyn there. It breaks his heart. It's meant to, it's meant to keep him from reaching the palace, seeing his son in Hell, but they don't know Hob. They don't know the grief he's had to overcome in order for him to say, with absolute certainty, that he still wants to live even though it hurts. He reaches that citadel.)

Dream is, of course, horrified to see Hob there. Hob meanwhile is like a jilted exe all, "Yeah, yeah, we're not friends, you stood me up, but I'm still here for you because I'm the bigger person and I fucking care."

He challenges Lucifer for Dream's helm and their safe passage out of Hell. Lucifer is... Intrigued. She just beat Dream of the Endless, and this human thinks he can beat her when humanity's collective unconsciousness couldn't? His immortality has made him cocky, clearly. So she accepts, and bargains that if Hob loses, he has to give up his immortality.

There's a good minute where Hob pauses at that and has to really think about whether his arrogant, condescending not-friend is really worth that but yeah, yeah he is. Meanwhile Dream is off to the side. "Don't do this, Hob Gadling. It is not your responsibility to fix my missteps." Basically his version of pleading for Hob to leave and not risk this up until Lucifer is like enough out of you and shuts him up.

They play. Lucifer starts out with the wolf again, because it's a good starting point to see what direction her opponent plans to take, to get a glimpse into Hob's mindset entering this game. Her plan is, of course, to cause pain enough that Hob will have a hard time thinking, but Hob makes that really fucking hard from the get-go and throws everyone in the room for a loop when his answer is...

"I am the over hunting of the local deer population. Ecosystem destabilizing, predator killing."

Well. Okay. Yeah, sure. Fucking fine. It's hard to kill that painfully. Lucifer manages to come up with, "I am hunting restrictions, nature preserving, ecosystem balancing."

Hob, by that point, is like, I got this, actually. This might be fun. "I am the expansion of civilization. Forest destroying, hunting law nullifying."

Matthew, who had been feeling pretty iffy about calling this guy in to help, is no longer questioning that choice. Dream is a little starry-eyed.

Eventually Hob is the head of the Home Owner's Association. Lucifer is a bear, scrap hunting, person killing. Hob is family, revenge-seeking, bear euthanizing. Lucifer is Pride, argument starter, family destroying. Hob is friendship, blood covenant, thicker than womb water. Lucifer is jealousy, friendship rending, relationship ruining. Hob is personal growth, jealousy ending, apology giving. Lucifer is relapse, progress destroying, confidence killing. Hob is perseverance, step taking, progress rebuilding. On and on until finally Lucifer decides to end this the way she did with Dream and Hob leads her along until it reaches that natural conclusion, the death of all.

Now there's some temptation there to go with the obvious, since he can't die even if the universe was destroyed. At least he doesn't think so. But he had already decided that it was an obvious choice to go for and he could think of a few clever ways Lucifer might get around that. So instead, Hob goes the far better choice and personal insult of being God, universe creator, life giver. He's very proud of himself when the demons erupt into boos and Lucifer looks about ready to rip his fucking throat out with her teeth.

The way he sees it, there are two choices for her there, unless she really pulls something unexpected out of her ass. Option one is the whole "what's a god to an atheist" thing in which Hob would have then been a miracle, faith affirming, god-proving. Not much can destroy a miracle.

But Lucifer, livid and prideful, goes with option two. "I am Lucifer Morningstar, God defying, His Kingdom ripped sunder!"

And Hob has the absolute glee to grin and go, "I am Hob Gadling, clever, death defying, and triumphant over Lucifer Morningstar."

He and Dream are promptly kicked out of Hell on their asses, Dream's helm is thrown at his head with a force strong enough to break the sound barrier, and the gates are slammed shut behind them. The whole thing is so humiliating that Lucifer has to change their gender and moves to LA to open a nightclub.

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #morpheus

20K notes · View notes

comfortwriting · 3 years

Text

The Secret Son - A.S

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Guidelines

Anakin Skywalker x Fem Reader

About: The reader falls pregnant with Anakin's child and instead of telling him, she leaves the Jedi Order goes back to her home planet. Years later, a war takes place on her planet and she is attacked and finds herself and her son reuniting with Jedi she truly loves.

Warnings: mention of nausea, food, violence, blood, shooting guns, death of children (what is a result of war), mention of sex, plenty of fluff, swearing, and all the feels!

A/N: We get to see Jedi Master Anakin in this.. oh my heart... Please reblog my work to support me!

You knew it was stupid, dangerous, and unprofessional to strike up a heated romance with your fellow Jedi classmate - but none of that stopped either one of you from sneaking around at night, getting hot and heavy during quiet moments on missions, and going as far as almost getting found out by your Jedi Master.

Part of you couldn't put your finger on what made you so captivated by Anakin, perhaps it was his hair that rested just below his ears, or the scar on his perfectly sculpted face, or maybe his eyes that had glimmers of both hope and frustration, or even his contagious laugh and scowl.

All that you knew now was that you needed to leave the Jedi Order, cut ties with everyone you once knew, and return back home to Alderaan and shield your secret from the universe. Every single other outcome had the exact same end, you knew deep down that no matter what you would crush not just your dreams and future, but also Anakin's.

Everything happened so fast, one minute you were spending time alone in the Jedi Temple and now you were carrying a new life inside of you.

"Anakin!" you gasped at his hands taking you by the waist "We could get caught!"

Anakin smirked and planted a soft kiss on your ear before whispering "Not if we're quiet."

Your cheeks started to burn and turn a deep shade of pink, truly wanting to be touched and to touch the Jedi, you gave in and made a promise to yourself to keep quiet and to never engage in such risky behaviour in the temple again.

Anakin panted and wiped the sweat from his forehead, pushing away his soft curls that stuck to the sweat, your arms reached up to him and caressed his face before dressing yourself quickly as the sound of a Jedi Masters boots came closer and closer.

An unsettling feeling started to weigh heavily in both your stomach and mind, you couldn't figure it out - you and Anakin both just bonded and there were no issues, so why are you panicking? You haven't been caught red-handed and you were both safe from harm.

"I love you Ani," you whispered in Anakin's ear, straightening your robes.

Anakin shot you a loving glance, "I love you too," he whispered back, standing up straight with his hands behind his back.

Training became harder than it used to be, your breasts were tender and swollen making it hard to wield your lightsaber, your mind fog got in the way during your lessons when teaching the younglings, and you could no longer stand to be around food because the smell of the morning juicy apples and evening thick gravy turned your stomach upside down.

You didn't need someone to tell you what you already knew, you could feel the life inside of you grow stronger as more time passed by, if you didn't leave now you wouldn't be able to forgive yourself for getting in the way of Anakin's dreams.

You stared at yourself, your robes, and your lightsaber, reflecting on everything you had learnt, everything you had been through, the younglings who looked up to you, and the masters who trusted you and fought hard to help you reach your potential as a female Jedi who didn't discover the force until later on in childhood.

How could you throw this away? How could you waste your potential and everyone's time? How could you successfully live a lie?

Obi-Wan was behind you with his hand resting on your shoulder, his soft voice breaking you from your ocean of thoughts.

"Is everything alright, Y/N?"

The once young and ambitious apprentice who found you on Hoth with his kind and caring Master Qui-Gon, now a master who could see the way you looked at his padawan Anakin and the way he looked back.

If you had to announce your leave to anyone without fear of crushing them, surely it would be him, right?

Swallowing hard and closing your eyes for a moment, you let out a big sigh and turned around slowly to face him, opening your eyes to meet his concerned gaze felt like tiny needle pricks spread across your chest. You were scared of letting him down.

"It's not Master," you admitted, taking your lightsaber out and handing it to him "something has happened and I must return to my home."

Obi-Wan glanced down at your lightsaber and then back at you, not taking it "To Alderaan? What requires you to return there-"

"I cannot say," you interrupted "but I must go, please make this easy for Ani-Anakin to understand. I care for him deeply and my absence could get in the way of his success."

Obi-Wan studied you closely, his suspicions had been confirmed and while he wanted to scold you and approach his Padawan - he could sense that there was something much more going on than attachment. You were also aware of him and Satine, Obi-Wan knew you would never speak of it out of respect for him, so he nodded his head and refused to press you further on the matter.

He gently accepted your lightsaber although he wanted nothing more than to give it back, knowing what you endured on Hoth.

"Will you be needing any assistance?"

You shook your head "No, I'm a pretty good pilot thanks to your Padawan." you smiled sadly, walking away.

Obi-Wan broke out into a smile, "May the force be with you," he said quietly.

Looking back at him with your tear-filled eyes, you waved "and also with you."

"How long can we keep this up, Ani?" you asked sleepily, your head resting on his rising and falling chest.

Anakin looked down at you and ran his fingers through your hair "for as long as we can, my love," he replied softly "one day we may even get married-"

"Married?!" you gasped in disbelief "How could we hide such a thing? I want to show you off as my husband with pride, not hide it."

Ani stayed quiet, the plans of him proposing swirling through his head again, wondering when and where would be the right time, asking himself if you would even say yes.

"One day we won't ever have to hide it," he mumbled "attachments aren't such a bad thing-"

You sat up in his bed and started to get upset, you truly loved Anakin but you knew that having a family was too dangerous for a well-known Jedi who had money placed on their death.

"They are when you lose someone you care about," you whispered

Anakin sat up too, retracting his hand from your hair.

"I know what it's like to lose that someone-"

"Anakin I'm not saying you haven't-"

Anakin continued to speak "I lost my mother, who I cared for deeply - that loss hasn't stopped me from falling for you, has it?"

"No-"

"I'm afraid to lose you, Y/N, why do you think I train so hard? You and my mother are my motivation to become a powerful Jedi, to stop people from dying-"

You put your head in your hands and pressed your closed eyes into your palms, tiny little stars spreading across in front of you.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore, Ani, I don't want the pain of losing you to become real."

"She left?!" Anakin freaked and paced around the room, no longer able to control his emotions "And you didn't tell me!"

"Y/N left because she had to." His Master replied calmly "she is safe Anakin, that is all you need to know."

"All I need to know?!" Ani huffed "She cannot get by on her own! You've seen how I've come to her aid on missions-"

Obi-Wan raised his hand, outstretching his palm.

"If we did not feel it would be safe for her, she wouldn't have gone alone, Anakin. Y/N is quite capable of taking care of herself."

Anakin shook his head and clenched his jaw, his hands bunching into tight fists.

"If anything happens to her-"

"Nothing is going to happen Anakin - if it did you know that we would do our very best to help her."

The guilt pained you every moment of every single day, the bigger your bump became, the bigger the guilt of leaving Anakin without explanation came back to bite you.

Your pregnancy wasn't easy - how could it? You were alone, in a small house that struggled to trap and create heat as you were surrounded by the snowy mountains, and you relied heavily on those around you to help fetch your food and furniture for your child's room.

With each kick, wriggle, and movement your child gave you, you placed your hand on your bump, closed your eyes and imagined that Anakin was with you; bringing you to tears and falling down on your knees.

Tensions were building up and you heard the rumours of war, death, and violence - you had seen it all already on your missions with Anakin and his master Obi-Wan and you knew just how brutal they could be; you were on death's door more than once thanks to General Grievous, Count Dooku and Ventriss.

You started to question what universe you were bringing your child into and if leaving the Jedi order and continuing your pregnancy was the right choice.

"Do you see yourself having children?" Anakin asked you one evening.

The two of you sitting on the balcony enjoying your time off whilst your masters were in an important meeting.

The soft breeze stroked your hair back behind your shoulder, you didn't want to react the same way that you did to his marriage question which resulted in the both of you not speaking for a week.

"I'd like to," you replied, "one day when it's safe enough for me to raise them."

A small smile crept upon his face, you caught it in the corner of your right eye and started to blush, trying not to get shy.

'he's thinking of me becoming a mother?'

Anakin often thought about the day you would announce that you were carrying his child, the months he could count done and watch see your bump grow, the day when you would finally go into labour and cradle the product of love you both made in your protective arms.

"I see myself having children," Ani admitted "I often believe that I'll be a better father than Jedi."

Going into labour was long, stressful, and painful. You were standing up from the table and felt water burst from within you, trickling down your legs and forming into a puddle on the floor. You tried not to panic but knowing that you were alone and had no one to help you deliver this baby, you couldn't help but panic.

Anakin had nightmares, similar to that of his mother dying, but instead, you were on the floor, screaming and crying, calling out his name. Your face was pale and your skin clammy, your eyes slowly going dim before he would wake up drenched in sweat.

Anakin often sensed something else around him, a deep pull that he couldn't recognise or explain, he could feel its fear, its happiness, he could feel it entirely disappear the closer you got into your labour.

Closing your eyes, you tried to reach out, begging for Qui-Gon despite him being gone, begging for Obi-Wan, begging for any Jedi master that you could to come and help you, save you from dying before you could bring your child into this world and see their father in their eyes.

Unable to stop yourself from pushing, you tried to control your breathing and tugged up your skirt from covering your knees so you could pull down your soaked underwear, beads of sweat formed across your forehead and chest.

"Please-" you cried, feeling faint "Please-"

Darkness. Darkness everywhere. No one and nothing, until the cries of your child pierced your ears, and the feeling of someones hand supporting your back so you weren't laying out cold on the floor.

Slowly opening your eyes, you were stunned, Obi-Wan was supporting you and holding your child in his arms, his eyes staring down at his Padawans offspring.

"It's a boy," Obi-Wan smiled again.

"Obi-Wan?!"

Obi-Wan smiled and turned to face you, he handed you your newborn gently, you opened out your arms and pulled your baby into your chest, the very sight of him bringing you to tears.

Most newborns looked nothing like their parents or relatives for weeks, months even, you were a blank canvas until you were twelvemonths old - but not your son. No. He was Anakin from his ambitious eyes, his nose, full lips, and ahead of thick, sandy blonde hair.

"He looks just like him," he said softly.

There it was. The guilt again.

"H-How is he?" you croaked.

Since leaving, Anakin continued to work hard but his bouts of inappropriate anger and mood swings got him into trouble, he was still just as ambitious and passionate as you remembered, but he refused to be around women again.

"We handed him the task of being Senator Amidala's bodyguard, he refused," Obi-Wan explained, watching your tiny bundle of joy reach out to grab your finger.

"And Ahsoka?"

Obi-Wan sighed "she gets disappointed and fed up at times but he refuses to fail her."

"Good," you replied "Ahsoka has just as much potential as her master."

As the years went by more and more civilians were being murdered, tortured, caught in the middle of a war they had no involvement in. Children without parents, wives without husbands, parents without children, Alderaan was slowly turning into shambles and many other planets were being obliterated one by one.

Screaming, blasters and yelling filled your area and you knew that you had to try and flee or hide if running was no longer an option.

"Luke!" you panicked, grabbing your son's bag and stuffing it with food and clothes "Luke we need to go now!"

A small boy with soft skin and long blonde hair peeked from behind the door, his eyes were wide and full of fear, his tiny hands were shaking.

"Mummy I'm scared," he started to cry, slowly walking towards you.

Quickly zipping up his bag you lifted up his chin with your finger, the fright on his face hurt you so deeply - reminding you of Anakin and the face he might've pulled at the announcement of your departure.

Luke was just like his father, from his looks to his laugh, to how he talks, sometimes you questioned if any part of you was in him at all. He often asked if he had a dad and why he only had a mother - you had no choice but to lie - if the wrong ears caught wind of a baby Skywalker, you'd lose him before he could even have a chance.

"Baby," you said calmly "we need to leave, you're going to keep this bag on your back and hold onto my hand tight."

More screaming. More crying. More yelling. More banging. More shooting.

Tears started to pool in his eyes, making his vision go glassy.

"Mummy-"

"Luke, you need to listen to me," you tried to keep calm "you keep your head down at all times and keep walking, run if I start running, and do not say a word to anyone. Okay?"

Luke started to nod, his tiny hand reached up to wipe his tears, you pulled him into your arms and planted a kiss on his forehead, catching the scent of his hair.

You couldn't lose him, you'd rather die than lose the only part of Anakin you have left.

"If we get split up, you run and run and don't stop until you find somewhere safe where you can hide. I will come for you but if I'm not back by sunrise-" your own voice started to crack "you keep on running until you see a man that looks like Uncle Ben."

Before you could say anymore, a loud blast rang through the air, the ground shook and your door flew from its hinges. Your house was filled with tall, strong men and scary looking droids that you hadn't seen in years.

Pulling Luke's arm you took off running towards the back door but stopped when you turned around to see that your son was frozen; his bag was on the floor, his hands covered his eyes and his loud cries pierced your chest.

Some mothers left their children in these moments, yours did - but as desperate as you were to live, you were more than ready to die if it meant Luke got to see another second or minute before the two of you would be nothing more than a number, a statistic, a victim.

Falling to your knees in front of him, you threw your arms around Luke, shielding him from the yellow eyes staring at you in the dark, from the blasts and hands that reached out to grab you.

You closed your eyes, remembering his eyes, his soft skin, the smell of his hair, the sound of his laugh, bringing you an image of what life could have been with his father - on another planet at a different time; Luke playing with ships as his father taught him everything he knew about flying, and days outside watching Anakin chase Luke and tickle him.

"Do you see yourself having children?"

Say no. Don't give him hope.

"I'd like to," you replied, "one day when it's safe enough for me to raise them."

How could you be that deep in denial?

"I see myself having children," Ani admitted "I often believe that I'll be a better father than Jedi."

Tell him he's being foolish, that he can't be both.

"I love you Ani," you whispered in Anakin's ear.

Take it back.

"I love you too," he whispered back.

Don't believe him.

"attachments aren't such a bad thing-"

End it now.

"They are when you lose someone you care about,"

End it. Now.

Luke's cries and screams were all you could hear as hands reached out, clutching around your arms and neck in an attempt to pull you away. You could feel your child moving away from you, you tried to pull him closer to you but it was no use.

"Not him!" you cried out "You can take me, don't hurt my son!" you begged.

Anakin's face dropped at the sight of a large bruise peeking from underneath your sleeve, he took hold of you and yanked up the fabric, your black and blue arm now on full display.

"Ani! Stop!" you hissed, pulling back your arm and stepping back.

"Y/N, you told me you handled it, who did this to you?" Anakin demanded, closing in on you.

You started to tear up, remembering what happened when you outsmarted another apprentice you were left alone to train with.

"No more missions," Anakin answered for you, his face suddenly softening as you began to cry.

You shook your head "It wasn't on a mission, Ani..." You slowly pulled off your vest and revealed the bruises on your chest and down your spine.

"It was someone we train with."

The protective rage Anakin felt that day came back in full swing when he found your life and his sons being drained.

He moved fast and didn't miss a beat, swinging his lightsaber, blocking bullets and sending them flying backwards, using his hands to push them away so forcefully they fell apart and collapsed into pieces.

Anakin's heart became warm and joyful, yet full of hurt, terror and rage at the sight of you.

You were barely alive, but you had been alive this entire time, in one piece - Anakin's nightmares often showed you broken and bloody, in pieces and unrecognisable.

At the very sight of the young boy, he could finally recognise the strange pull he had felt inside of him since the day you left - he knew that the boy was his. He had a son.

You scrunched your eyes shut, gripping onto Luke as the sound of the screams and bodies falling to the ground finally ceased, you were afraid that someone much worse had come along and was saving you best for last - or even planning to take you away and torture you for answers you didn't have.

"Y/N," a familiar voice called out softly "it's okay, you can open your eyes."

You felt as if the wind had been knocked out of you, as if someone's hands were wrapped around your throat, choking you.

The voice belonged to Anakin.

Slowly opening your eyes, a tall man stood in front of you, his hair now long and styled like Qui-Gon's and small bristles started to form a beard. His shoulders were much broader and his eyes were darker, appearing to be more tired. The scar on his face was no longer a pale purple, but now a shade of white.

"Ani," you gasped in disbelief "it's you."

Anakin slowly walked over and fell onto his knees, tears of joy and hurt streamed down his face, he pulled you into his arms and squeezed you, his nose brushing against your ear.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he cried.

"I'm sorry for leaving," you replied, also crying "I had to"

"To protect our son," Anakin barely spoke out, slowly pulling away.

Luke had his hands cupped over his eyes and he was still shaking and crying out of fear, his hair stood up in all directions and his bag was now covered in soot and blood.

"Luke," you said calmly "it's okay now, you can open your eyes.. there's someone who is here to see you."

Anakin felt sick, his palms were clammy and his eyes continued to pool with tears, he watched as his own son slowly removed his hands from his face, his big eyes staring back at him like a reflection in a mirror.

Anakin couldn't believe what who in front of him - his future, his product of love, his tie to you forever.

"I am your father," Ani announced softly, holding out his hand.

Luke glanced at his father's outstretched hand and then back into his eyes, instead of taking his hand, he ran into his arms, placing his tiny arms around him and snuggling his face into his father's chest.

Anakin held Luke, stroking his hair and planting a soft kiss on his head.

You watched, fearful of Anakin pulling away and saying goodbye, the doubts and guilt over what you had done started to sting at your heart.

"We need to leave," Anakin said, pulling away from the close embrace and reaching out to hold your hand.

You didn't refuse and instead, you squeezed his hand; ready to start again.

"As long as I'm alive, the two of you will never be in danger again."

- - -

"I love you," Anakin said softly as you brushed his hair in the garden, the two of you watching Luke play with his toy ships.

"I love you too, Ani," you replied, feeling the baby inside you kick their feet.

"Do you have any names picked out?" he asked.

You paused for a moment before tying back his hair into a loose bun "for a girl, I like Leia."

#star wars #Star Wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars anakin #Anakin Skywalker #anakin fanfiction #anakin fanfic #obi wan kenobi #anakin x reader #anakin imagine #anakin oneshot #Luke Skywalker #luke skywalker imagine #fluffy #angst

872 notes · View notes

watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

Text

THE DEAL

a/n: i literally wrote it in less than a day because i was inspired by a movie... of god, i have issues, but ANYWAYS! this one is a classic friends with benefits to lovers story with so much angst and a grandiose love confession at the end so buckle up, you are in for a treat!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEEEEASE give feedback if you enjoyed it!!

pairing: Harry X Reader

warnings: some, drinking, sexual content, a hell lot of it, angst and messy emotions, it’s a lot!!

word count: 11.8k

masterlist

If your life was some romantic comedy his would be the moment where the camera would zoom on you, your eyes blankly glued to the ceiling, makeup from last night smudged under them as a muscular, inked arm gets thrown across your chest, a snoozing man beside you as you have the internal little monologue.

“You’re wondering how I got into this situation, right? Completely naked with one of my best friends after a night spent with heavy drinking and ending up fucking in his apartment until we both fell asleep.”

Yeah, this is probably what the voiceover would say as the camera would slowly get farther from you, Harry’s sleeping figure coming into the frame while you’re still lying like a damn statue. This was not supposed to happen. Not that it was bad, because oh God! Harry really is as good as his ex-girlfriends gushed to you when you met them on night outs. You could never blame the women for falling for him, he has the charm, the personality, the humor and definitely the looks. If you weren’t you, you’d be one of those girls who would do anything to get his attention just for a split second. But you’re not.

Growing up with a single mother that was repeatedly fucked over by several men, you were taught to be the kind of independent woman who needs no man. Who only uses them for whatever reason and throws them away before they could even realize what’s happening. Feelings could never be involved in the equations, those are just not for you.

For a while you thought you weren’t even capable of feeling anything at all. But the way you cried when your hamster you got for your sixteenth birthday died changed your mind and you realized that you are just saving yourself the time of allowing people to make you develop feelings for them and then give them the chance to break your heart. You’ve seen that happen to your mother enough times to know that you don’t want to go through that. It’s not worth it and why would you risk it all when you could easily get what you need and move on to the next one?

Your friends always joked how you’re gonna be the single aunt to their children later who would take them to clubs and honestly? You’re just fine with that. Because you always thought that while your married friends will be busy with keeping their marriage together with whatever pathetic man they chose to marry, you’ll be living your best life without a worry on the world. That sounds pretty good for you.

There’s no need to make it prettier than what it is, you’ve had a lot of hookups the past years but you always tried to keep yourself in check, have some kind of rules to follow so you don’t hurt yourself or anyone else in the process. One of those were that under no circumstances would you ever sleep with a friend. No matter how badly you want to, no matter if they are begging, it can never happen.

But you broke that rule.

Turning your head to the side you look at Harry’s sleeping face squished into the pillow and you almost wince, because you know that when he wakes up, this gonna hurt like a bitch. He’s gonna freak out, or what’s worse, he’ll want to take it further, take you out on a date… be in a relationship with you! And you’ll have to break his heart because none of those will ever happen.

You and Harry went to high school together and he is one of the very few people you stayed in touch after graduation. Though you grew a little apart when you went to different universities, later on you both somehow ended up in New York and while you’re working as a graphic designer at a magazine, Harry is making good money from writing music for other artists. He’s been one of your closest friends these past years and while you’ve always found him attractive, you should have never let this happen, because it will mess everything up and you didn’t want to lose such a good friend.

Harry stirs in his sleep next to you, his hand squeezing your side before his eyes blink open, green irises finding your wide eyes. He stops for a moment, looking around, taking in his surroundings before his eyes fall closed again.

“Wow, must have been one wild night?” he mumbles into the pillow before a raspy chuckle falls from his lips.

Last night, the two of you and a couple of your mutual friends celebrated that Harry has gotten his biggest deal so far, having to write an entire album for an up-and-coming artist, so you all got pretty wasted, especially you and him. It’s a little blurry how the two of you ended up like this, but you do remember wildly making out hidden somewhere behind the bar before he asked if you wanted to come to his place. You stupid little thing, should have said no…

Groaning, Harry rolls to his back, his arm falling from you as he lies sprawled out next to you.

“The tequila shots. Shouldn’t have had them,” you rasp out, a smirk tugging on his lips at your words. “So, um… we both can agree this was a one time thing, right?”

Harry peeks at you, pushing himself up a bit so his head rests against the headboard. The sheets slide down a bit lower on his body, revealing his toned chest and his several tattoos. Memories of you kissing them eagerly last night flash into your mind and you can only hope you’re not blushing like a school girl.

“What if I don’t agree?” Harry cocks an eyebrow and you almost groan. You knew this was going to happen!

“Harry, I’m not going out with you. You know me, I don’t do that. It’s nice that you think that it could work between us, but I don’t do relationships and I’m not changing my rules, not even for you.”

Harry starts laughing, as if you just said the best joke of the century, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. You give him a puzzled look as you sit up, holding the sheets to your chest.

“Who talked about dating, Y/N?” he then asks. “You said last night was a one time thing. We fucked last night. What if that wasn’t the only time we did that?”

You start to put the pieces together, though you’d definitely be sharper if you already had your first coffee of the day.

“Are you trying to start a… friends with benefits thing with me?”

“I mean, you could call it whatever you want. I personally really enjoyed last night and judging from the way you were screaming my name, you did too.” Now you’re for sure blushing. “Why not do it again?”

“This is not a movie, H. I don’t think it’s manageable without ruining our friendship.”

“Have you ever tried something like this?” You shake your head no. “Then how could you know?”

“Have you tried it?”

“Never,” he chuckles. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. We are both cool, smart people. I think we can give it a try and whenever someone is feeling like they had enough, we’re just gonna stop.”

“What if you catch feelings?” you ask, raising eyebrows at him.

“Oh, but what if you fall for me?” he throws the question back with a cocky smirk and you smack his naked chest.

“You know I never do that!”

“I don’t think you can just decide that, but alright,” he chuckles, holding his hands up in defense. “I promise you I won’t catch feelings for you, Y/N. I swear on my…”

“Your mom’s and sister’s life!” you point at him. It’s clear that he thinks it’s silly, but you just keep staring at him until he gives in.

“I swear on my mum’s and my sister’s life that I will not catch feelings for you, Y/N.”

“Alright. And we can end it anytime?”

“Whenever you’ve had enough of me,” he smirks back, so pleased with himself that it’s clear he doesn’t think that could ever happen.

“If you keep that cocky look on your face it’s gonna be a very short deal, Styles,” you warn him, but he just laughs before he quickly pulls you back down to bed, getting on top of you, his hips sinking between your legs and you gasp when you feel that he is already semi-hard.

“Why don’t we get a head start on it then?” he offers, his lips crashing against yours before they travel down your body and soon enough he gives you something that’s a thousand times better than a coffee in the morning.

At first you’re clearly hesitant about it. Not sure if it was a good idea or you just ruined everything between you and Harry, but soon enough you realize that it wasn’t as bad of a decision as you thought it to be.

Harry is the one to call you for the first time, two days after the night you drunkenly hooked up. You’re just leaving the office when he hits you up, asking if you have plans for the night or you’re free to go over to his place. An hour later you find yourself pressed up against the wall of his apartment’s hallway, both of you eager to get each other out of your clothes. Now that it all happens without either of you being drunk, you actually have the chance to think about how good it is with him. He is just the perfect mixture of dominant and soft, knows when to be the boss and when he has to slow down a bit.

He makes you cum three times. Three mind-blowing times, and you also give him two orgasms. You try to make it equal and make it three, but he respectfully says no.

“If you touched my dick again I think I would start crying,” he chuckles jokingly, so you don’t even think about pushing it.

Instead, the two of you order Chinese, have dinner together, talking like you always used to before the deal and then you go home. There’s no awkwardness, no weird situations, not even when you leave. Harry leans closer and for a moment you think he is gonna be corny and kiss you goodbye, but then you feel him smack your ass before pushing you out the door, just like he always did before, joking about how he is gonna charge you rent if you stay any longer.

Nothing has changed, only that you now spend a good chunk of your time together naked, moaning each other’s name before you get back to your usual.

So after that you don’t shy away from reaching out to Harry as well. It becomes a regular thing, the two of you meeting up about two of three times a week. You fuck, hang out a bit and go your separate ways. Slowly, you start to forget about times when you stayed dressed up for more than ten minutes after meeting Harry.

You keep switching between your and his place, but sometimes meet somewhere in the middle. You’ve had sex in a restaurant bathroom, in his car in a parking garage and even in his cousin’s place in Brooklyn. That was a bit odd but still quite pleasing.

Tonight is going to be the first time you’re gonna be out with all your friends and Harry since the deal was made. No one knows about it and you intend to keep it that way.

Once you’re done at work you head home, texting Leticia, another friend from high school to meet you at your place to get ready together. She was Harry’s friend at first, what’s better, she openly hated you at first for some reason.

“You just had a punchable face at fifteen, you can’t blame me,” she used to tell you. It was actually Harry who made the two of you friends and you’ve been close ever since.

You get to your apartment almost at the same time. Leticia starts rambling about her asshole of a boss at the law firm where she works at as you open a bottle of wine to start the evening while you roam through your wardrobe for an outfit.

“Is Leo coming? I owe him a few bucks from last time,” Leticia wonders, digging into your dresser for a pair of tights she can borrow to pair with her leather skirt.

“I think he is, but he is going to be late. He is coming from Staten Island from his dad’s,” you muse, checking yourself out in the red dress you just tried on, not quite pleased with the look, so you quickly work down the zipper and look for something else.

“Um, whose is this?”

Turning around you see that Leticia is holding up a shirt Harry left at yours a few days ago. She is clearly confused about the men’s clothing between your stuff, because you are not one to steal them from the men you sleep with since you don’t really want anything from them to remind you of them.

“Oh, um, that’s… That’s Harry’s. He left it here a few days ago,” you shrug, not making a big deal out of it, but Leticia is nosier than that.

“And why is Harry leaving his clothes around your place?”

“Is that a crime?” you snort, trying to play it cool.

“No, but in what kind of situation did this shirt come off of Harry and end up in your dresser?”

You can’t think of a good answer that would stop her from interrogating you, and the way you’ve just gotten silent is telling her more than words could. She drops the shirt, eyes widening at you and it’s clear that she put two and two together.

“Oh my God! You’re sleeping with Harry!”

“No! I’m… I just—We…”

“You two are totally fucking! What the fuck!” she gasps in complete shock as you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Let me explain it, alright? W-We hooked up on the night when we went out to celebrate his big album deal.”

“When I couldn’t go, right?”

“Yeah. So we were both very drunk and it just happened. And I really thought it would ruin everything but we somehow ended up making a deal.”

“Jesus, you guys are acting out the Friends With Benefits movie? Who are you, Mila fucking Kunis?”

“It’s not like that!” you defend yourself quickly, but then you realize that it’s just like that so far. “Well, it kind of is, but the ending won’t be like that.”

“Do you really think you can just do it with absolutely no strings?” Leticia sighs, her hands coming to her hips as she stares back at you.

“It’s been going great, so I really think it’s doable. And if any of us decides they had enough, we’ll just call it quits.”

“Yeah, because it’s that easy,” she rolls her eyes. “One of you will catch feelings and someone is gonna end up crying, Y/N.”

“No, that’s not gonna happen,” you shake your head stubbornly. “He promised it won’t happen.”

“Feelings don’t give a shit about promises! I hope you really know what you’re doing, because I don’t want to have to choose between the two of you,” she grumbles before throwing Harry’s shirt back into the drawer, grabbing the tights she’s been looking for.

Leticia doesn’t hold a grudge for the news she just found out, but she surely has gotten you thinking. Is it really gonna end bad? Why can’t there be a scenario where it goes perfectly fine and no one gets hurt? Harry promised it’s gonna be alright and he has been proven right so far, so why are you having second guesses now?

Arriving at the bar the majority of your friend group is already there, including Harry. You sit across him in the small booth, just exchanging a quick smile before the first round arrives and the evening starts. You allow yourself to take a better look at him while he listens to Mitch’s story and you can’t say that you don’t find him hot. He is wearing a vintage, floral printed shirt, the first few buttons left undone, so you have a nice view of his chest and his necklace you’ve felt under your lips so many times before when you were kissing down his body. He keeps twisting and playing with his several rings and it makes you stare at his hands for a tad bit longer than you intended to. God, he looks so damn good, you really just want to fuck him here and now.

You keep changing who goes up to the bar to order and the third round is yours, so sliding out of the booth you go to the bar and wait for your turn. A young, handsome guy is making the drinks and you clearly catch his eyes.

“And what can I get for you, beautiful?” he smirks at you when it’s finally your turn.

“Two vodka sodas, a martini and three vodka cranberries,” you smile back at him with a hint of flirting in your tone.

It’s kind of second nature to you, a few charming smiles and winks have gotten a lot of free things for you in your life and you never miss a chance to use your advances.

“All that for one pretty girl?” he teases you.

“I would be all over the floor if I drank all of it,” you chuckle, pulling your card out of your wallet, tapping it on the terminal as he finishes up the drinks, kindly putting them on a tray so you can easily bring them over to the booth.

“Don’t worry, I would surely pick you up then,” he winks at you, placing the last drink to the tray before you thank him and head back.

As you take your previous seat you notice that Harry is watching you intently.

“What?” you mouth him over the conversation at the table.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, turning his gaze away, grabbing his drink and focusing back on everyone else.

You go up to the bar two more times, once to ask for some chips and once for some napkins after a drink has gotten spilt onto the table. Every time you exchange a few words with the bartender and you have to admit, he has a great sense of humor paired with his looks.

Sometime later in the evening you decide to switch to water, so you go up to the bar a fourth time, the bartender coming to you right away at this point. As you wait for him to grab you your drink you feel a hand on your lower back. Turning to the side you see Harry standing next to you.

“Hey, want to come to my place after this?” he asks, leaning closer to your ear. His hot breath hits your exposed skin on your neck and a shudder runs down your spine, especially with his hand still on the small of your back.

“You want a rerun of your first time?” you smirk back at him, referring to the drinks you both have had, though it’s definitely not as wild as that night was.

“No, but this dress is making it hard not to want to rip it off,” he bluntly tells you as you glance down at yourself. At last you decided to wear a black bodycon dress that surely shows every dip and curve of your body and apparently Harry has been enjoying the show.

The bartender arrives with your water, his eyes falling on Harry and you see that he is a little taken aback by his presence.

“Hey man, can you get me another one as well? I’ll pay for both,” Harry nods at him and there’s something foreign in his tone that you can’t really put your finger on. The bartender just nods back and goes to grab another water.

“What if I wasn’t in the mood?” you tease him, continuing the discussion where you left it a moment ago.

“Oh, please!” he chuckles smugly. “I saw you eyeing me from across the table, Y/N. I know you are definitely in the mood.”

He is right. So damn right. You’ve been crossing your legs under the table for a while now, feeling your arousal growing every time you saw him run his tongue over his lips or whenever his finger played with the lip of his glass, imagining him doing the same with your body.

Biting into your bottom lip you need to take a deep breath, but when Harry sees your teeth digging into your lip, he loses his patience.

“Or we can just do it now,” he growls lowly, grabbing your hand before he starts pulling you towards the restrooms. You don’t even have the chance to protest, not that you want to.

He is quick to pull you into an empty restroom, locking the door behind the two of you before his lips attack yours, pushing you against the door with vigor and hunger. His hands are already bunching your dress up around your waist and you moan his name when your hips meet and you feel his hard length through his jeans.

“We have to be quick, so no one notices we disappeared,” he pants as he helps you up to the counter, your back hitting the cold mirror behind you.

“Then shut up and just fuck me,” you challenge him and it makes him absolutely feral.

You don’t have time to enjoy it the way you usually do in bed, but the excitement of the situation alone has gotten you so wet that you’re already dripping when he pushes your panties to the side with one hand while his other works on his own pants.

“Fuck, already so wet for me, huh?” he breathes out, his lips brushing against yours before they kiss you fully.

“Just like how you’re rock hard for me,” you grin against his lips, a hand wandering down to his cock as you pull it out of his boxers, stroking it a few times before he pulls a condom out of his back pocket and wraps himself up. “Were you counting on this quickie, Styles?” you ask when you realize that he just had a condom ready on him.

“I knew for sure I’m gonna fuck you tonight, but wasn’t sure how long I’m gonna last,” he grins, capturing your lips again before he pushes himself inside you with no warning, making you both gasp.

“Fuck! Harry!” you moan as he starts moving rapidly, definitely not taking his time like he usually does. He is pounding into you without mercy, panting against your lips as his ring clad fingers are digging into the flesh of your thighs.

“You like that? Like it when I fuck you somewhere public?” he growls, making your legs curl around his hips.

Your hands move up his chest and neck, fingers tangling into his curls and you give them a tug, earning an animalistic grunt from him as he starts going even harder and faster. You’re rapidly getting closer to your orgasm.

“You close?” he pants and you nod. “Come on, cum all over my cock, Y/N.”

A few more thrusts and your walls tighten around his dick, squeezing him as you gasp, riding your high, your head falling backwards, meeting with the mirror behind you. Harry follows you a few pushes later, moaning your name repeatedly before his movements come to a halt and you both take a moment to catch your breath.

When he pulls out you both just quietly clean yourselves up, fixing your clothes and hair so you don’t entirely scream sex with your appearances.

“My offer to come to mine after still stands,” he smirks, running a hand through his hair before you head out.

“Tempting, but I have some work to do in the morning, so no,” you turn him down, stepping out to the dark hallway that leads back to the bar. Harry grabs your hand and pulls you back, his lips smashing against yours, surprising you with his move. He kisses you deeply, sucking on your bottom lip hard before he pulls back.

“What was that for?” you ask out of breath.

“If you’re not coming over, I needed something to have a good night,” he shrugs with a smug smirk before you return to the bar.

You catch the bartender’s look as you finally get your waters and Harry pays for them. You catch the two men eyeing each other for a moment before you and Harry return to the table and you forget about the whole thing.

A Sunday afternoon you’re lounging at Harry’s. You jumped at each other’s bones when you arrived, but now you’re chilling on his couch, watching a series you both wanted to start so you decided to give it a go together. Your leg is lying across Harry’s lap, his hands absentmindedly kneading your thighs. It feels nice, like a massage, especially after how sore he made you earlier, stretching you out more than he usually does with a new pose you tried out.

Your phone chimes next to you and tearing your gaze away from the TV you check to see who just sent you a text. It was one of your coworkers, Anthony, he sent you a raging text about how he still has no idea what to wear to the company party that’s gonna be next Saturday and you realize that you totally forgot about it.

“Shit!” you curse under your breath.

“What?” Harry asks, pausing the show.

“I have this stupid work party next weekend and I totally forgot about it,” you growl, checking your calendar quickly if you can squeeze in a quick shopping spree before Saturday or you’ll have to find something in your closet.

“Aren’t those things nice with a lot of free food and drinks?” Harry wonders.

“Yeah, but I don’t like it, because all my colleagues bring their partners and I’m usually the only single one and they keep trying to set me up with someone,” you roll your eyes even at the thought of having to suffer through another one of those awkward conversations about your love life. Like it’s any of their concern!

“I can go with you if that helps,” he offers and you give him a look over your phone. “What? I’m sure if you brought someone they wouldn’t bug you.”

“But we are not together,” you remind him narrowing your eyes at him.

“They don’t have to know that. It’s a win-win, Y/N. Your colleagues would stop nagging you and I can eat and drink for free,” he smirks, clearly pleased with his little plan.

“I mean… you’re not wrong,” you sigh.

“See? Then it’s settled,” he pats your legs, smirking widely at you, but you’re still not entirely convinced. “Come on, Y/N. It’s gonna be fun!”

“This is so cliché, Harry!” you groan, your head falling back against the arm of the couch. “Pretending to be a couple? Straight out of a damn movie.”

Harry lifts your legs up so he can get out from under them, placing them back to the cushion before he climbs over to you, half of his body pressing onto yours as he squints his eyes at you.

“We can fuck in the bathroom, if you want,” he bluntly offers and you just start laughing at his dirty mind and technique of convincing you. “What? There’s literally no better offer out there. Free food, free drinks and free sex. Really good sex, if I may add,” he points out and you smack his chest lightly.

“Didn’t know you were thinking about charging me for the sex,” you joke.

“Might as well do, baby. Especially if it’s the best you can get,” he smugly huffs and you’d retort something funny, but you get caught up on the name.

“Baby? Since when are you calling me baby?”

“Since we are gonna be a couple next week. Gotta rehearse, baby,” he repeats the nickname and a foreign feeling bubbles in the pit of your stomach. Why is this one little word making you feel things you haven’t before? “And you know what else we can rehearse?” he continues, oblivious to your inner dialogue.

You don’t get to answer upon feeling his hand slide between your legs, fingers gently pressing onto your clothed clit and though you can’t stop a moan from slipping through your lips, you still grab his wrist and pull him away.

“My legs are too sore, I wouldn’t enjoy another round of you pounding into me,” you tell him and you can see the proud glimmer in his eyes that he was the one who got you into this state, though he luckily doesn’t comment on it.

“It doesn’t have to be pounding, then,” he smirks and leaning down he kisses you, taking his time as his hand frees itself from your grip and slides under your shorts and panties, fingers meeting your already throbbing bud.

He repositions himself so one of his thighs are between your legs, his lips never leaving yours as his fingers start drawing circles on your clit, sending pleasure down your body in waves.

“Fuck,” you breathe out against his lips when two of his fingers tease your entrance before pushing all the way inside, curling them between your clenching, wet walls.

“No, we are not fucking right now,” he smirks, never missing a chance to joke around and you want to retort to his comment, but words get caught in your throat when his thumb starts playing with your clit, fingers sliding in and out of you in a steady rhythm.

“So, are we on for Saturday? It’s gonna be fun, hm?”

The little shit is using his fingers to convince you and he has the audacity to ask you questions when you are about to see stars. Sometimes you really do hate how big of a smug fucker Harry is, but it’s hard to feel hatred for him when he is about to make you cum again.

“I-I don’t… Harry!” you gasp when he abruptly pulls his fingers out of you, right when you were so close. “I was about to fucking cum!” you growl, raging eyes meeting his green irises.

“I know,” he chuckles. “Say that you’re in and I’ll make you cum.”

“You motherfu—“

You don’t get to finish, his lips smashing against yours as his fingers return, moving faster than before, quickly pushing you towards the edge again.

“Say it. Say it, Y/N,” he mumbles against your lips as your chest is heaving and you start buckling your hips to meet his movements.

“Fuck… Okay! I’m in, just please make me cum!” you whine, hands gripping his shoulders like your life depends on it.

“Good girl,” he smirks and finishes you off without any more teasing.

You cry out his name, fingers digging into his muscles as you push your thighs together, trapping his hand between them while he keeps fingering you oh so perfectly. He makes sure you ride out the last waves of your orgasm before he pulls his fingers out and without batting an eye, he just licks them and fixes your panties and shorts before returning to his previous position with your legs across his lap, starting the show like nothing really happened.

Saturday morning you’re able to quickly get your nails done and Leticia comes with you, the two of you having brunch together afterwards. You go to a new place near the nail salon and as the waiter arrives with your orders, you notice that he slides a napkin onto the table with a small smile.

Grabbing it you see a phone number scribbled onto it. Normally, you send back a smile and tug the napkin into your purse, but this time you just leave it on the table and decide to ignore it.

“What the hell is up with you?” Leticia asks and glancing up at her you see her gesturing towards the napkin. “You don’t seem too thrilled about the approach which is very unlike you.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I’m just… not interested,” you shrug, reaching for your fork.

“Not interested? The dude looks like the lovechild of Chris Hemsworth and Johnny Depp. He is exactly your type, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m just not seeking another hookup right now, that’s it.”

“Oh my God!” Leticia gasps and you give her a puzzled look.

“What?”

“You don’t want other men because of Harry!”

“What? That’s crazy,” you laugh, because she has clearly left her mind at the salon for even thinking that.

“Have you hooked up with anyone else than Harry since you’ve made your little deal?”

“I, uhh… Flirted with the bartender when we were out together.”

“Flirting doesn’t count, not even in relationships.”

“I don’t think many would agree with that, Tish,” you huff.

“Okay, but did you have any interest in fucking someone else?”

“I don’t get it why you are making a big deal out of it. Why would I seek anyone else if I’m perfectly pleased by him?”

“Honey, that’s like… how relationships work.”

“That’s not true,” you shake your head, though what would you know about relationships? Your first and only one was when you were seventeen and it lasted twenty-one pathetic days.

“Are you fucking with anyone else?” She asks, eyebrows raised at you as you shake your head no. “Are you fucking him?”

“Obviously,” you scoff.

“Do you spend time together that doesn’t include sex?”

You are almost quick to say no, but then you realize that would be a big ass lie. Every time he comes over to your place or you’re at his, it’s never just the sex. That’s always primary, but not everything you do. All the dinners, the movies and shows you’ve watched together, when you sit on your tiny balcony with a bottle of wine, talking and laughing like you always did before the deal, something always happens after the sex.

Your silence once again answers Leticia’s question. Reaching over the table she takes your hand in hers, giving it a soft squeeze.

“Girl, you are totally dating Harry.”

Leticia once again manages to put a flea in your ear about this whole Harry thing. You wish she didn’t say a thing, because now you can’t think of anything else than the fact that you really are doing all the things with Harry that people who are dating do.

You get so riled up that you almost cancel on the evening, but you’d hate to have to sit through the evening with your colleagues alone when you said you’d be bringing someone. That would make their usual nagging a hundred times worse. So instead, you suck it up and decide to ignore the issue just for the time being and you get ready.

You were able to find a new dress beforehand, the yellow dress is truly a sight to the sore eyes with the corset-like top and very subtle lace details here and there. It’s a little daring, but everyone goes all out for these parties usually and you definitely don’t want to be underdressed.

Harry texts you that he is in front of the building a little before seven, holding up the taxi he came with so you quickly grab everything you need and head out.

You’re the first one to see him through the glass entrance doors of your building, he is standing next to the car in a simple black suit and a soft yellow shirt underneath. It was actually your idea to match your outfits and he surely understood the assignment, especially seeing his also yellow nails.

Part of you is still hung up on what Leticia told you, but a bigger one is so excited to see him and also very into his look for the evening, that you push your doubts to the back of your mind and step out of the building with a shy smile on your lips as his eyes fall on you and you see his lips part.

“Wow! This dress is… wow!” he breathes out, his eyes raking your frame up and down shamelessly as you walk closer.

“Do you know any other words than wow?” you tease him, biting into your bottom lip.

“Yeah. How about: I would love to bend you over this taxi and take you here and now in this dress?”

Your face heats up immediately, slapping his arm, but then you leave your hand on his bicep and give it a squeeze as your answer: you’d definitely love that if it wasn’t kind of illegal to have sex out on a busy street.

The ignorance in you is so high that you don’t even mind how Harry keeps a hand on your thigh in the car, what’s more, you’re quite liking the warmth of his touch on you. His fingers are gently tapping against the music the driver is playing and he even hums a little along the songs.

“Hey, how is the album writing going?” you ask to break the silence a little.

“Great! They asked for fifteen songs until the end of August, so I have plenty of time, but I’m already done with six,” he beams, and you smile back at him proudly.

“That’s amazing. Can I hear any of them sometime?”

“I mean… if you buy the album?” he chuckles, making you roll your eyes at him. “I’ll see what I can do about that,” he then adds, giving your leg another squeeze before turning towards the window.

The party is just the same as it always is. A luxurious evening to celebrate the company’s success in the past six months, a way to give back to the employees and make them feel appreciated with all the free stuff. It’s nice, but you don’t feel like it’s necessary, people would be happier with a raise after all, than one night of free food and drinks.

Harry holds your hand as you walk in, the majority of the guests already present, music playing and there are several open buffet tables and bars in the gigantic ballroom that was decorated in a forest-like theme just for tonight.

“So you did not lie about bringing a date!” Anthony beams as soon as he sees you, his boyfriend, Pete following him right behind, both of them wearing matching burgundy suits.

“Have I lied to you about anything?” you chuckle awkwardly.

“Plenty of times,” he points out before turning towards Harry. “Hello handsome, I’m Anthony, Y/N’s favorite coworker, and this is my boyfriend, Pete.” They all shake hands, Harry smiling back at them warmly before his hand finds yours again, his fingers lacing together with yours in an instant.

“Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, I’m Harry.”

“Oh my! The accent!” Anthony gushes, clearly already a fan of Harry’s. “I was really afraid Y/N just said that she is bringing someone so we would get out of her hair this time.”

“I feel offended,” you give him a look, but he just shrugs it off, even though he is more right than he knows.

“Come on, let’s get you guys a drink, we are all sitting over there!”

Joining all your coworkers at the table, you get a head start on the food and drinks, not shying away from stacking everything you like onto your plate. Talking, mixing and mingling, Harry stays right next to you, charming everyone the two of you meet, earning you some approving looks from your colleagues that usually try to set you up with someone they know. This time, you’re left in peace the moment they see Harry with you, his hand always somewhere on you, holding your hand, the small of your back, your hips or waist or, your personal favorite, the back of your neck under your hair. His presence is uplifting already, but his tiny touches just warm you even more on the inside.

“I have to say, Y/N, you are absolutely glowing!” Dianne, one of the editors compliment you when the two of you are at the bar waiting for your drinks to be refilled. Harry stayed back at the table, deep in conversation with Pete about guitars, from what you could understand from their conversation.

“Oh, thank you!” you chuckle softly.

“This man is for sure treating you well. It’s so great to see you finally finding your person.”

She meant well with her comment, but it’s what brings everything you kept hidden in the back of your head out to the front. Tonight was supposed to be all pretending, making everyone believe something that’s not even there, but then why do you feel like it’s real? Like you fooled yourself with everyone else as well?

Your eyes fall back to Harry at the table, who is intently listening to something Pete is telling him and as if he had a sixth sense, his eyes snap at you, a smile stretching across his pretty face at an instant that makes you stomach dance again, heart beating oddly fast.

What is happening to you? This cannot be real, you can’t be having feelings, especially not for Harry. No, you do not allow that for yourself, emotions are off limits for you, because if you fall for someone that gives them the chance to leave you and break you and you’ve seen what it does to a woman. You got enough of the suffering through your mother and you vowed not to let it happen to you. And not even Harry Styles will change that. This is about sex and nothing else, no feelings are involved and that will not change. You won’t let it.

Excusing yourself from Dianne you quickly go back to the table, the refills long forgotten as you take your seat next to Harry. His hand instantly finds your leg as he looks at you with a sweet smile at first that turns into slight confusion.

“Thought you went for a refill?”

“Forget the drinks,” you shake your head, leaning closer to his ear. “You promised me bathroom sex.”

You feel the shift in him right away, how he bites into his bottom lip, his bright green irises darkening at your words, his hold on your leg tightening. His gaze flickers to your eyes and you want to devour him, you want him to take you here and there to prove you that this is all it’s about: sex.

Clearing his throat he mumbles a lame excuse as he pulls you from your chair, tugging you towards the restrooms, you try to keep up with his pace in your heels, but you also can’t wait for him to slam you against the door and fuck you quick and hard.

As soon as you’re locked away from the party in one of the bathrooms, your lips collide with his as he pushes you up against the door, a leg coming between your thighs and you can’t stop yourself from grinding on him.

“Fuck,” he rasps out, hands cupping your jaw as he angles your head just right while your hands are already traveling down his body to reach his pants, eager to get them undone as fast as possible.

However the sudden rush and desperation catches Harry’s eyes and he grabs your hands, stopping you mid-action.

“Hey, everything alright?” he asks, out of breath, concern filling his eyes.

“I just need you to fuck me,” you bluntly reply, but he doesn’t move.

“Okay, but why do you look so shaken up? Did something happen?”

“Harry, stop babying me! I said I’m fine, I just want you to fuck me!” you snap, losing your patience. Not sure if it’s with him or with yourself though.

“You’re obviously not fine! You are snapping at me for being decent and making sure you’re okay!” Harry steps away from you, the moment completely ruined as all physical contact ends with him, his eyes staring back at you in disbelief and you feel like a ticking bomb that’s about to explode.

“It’s not your concern if I’m okay or not. We have a deal, just go with that and leave the rest to me!”

“But above the deal we are friends too. I’m not gonna just… fuck you senseless when you’re obviously upset about something. You’re not in the right mindset.”

“Oh my God, stop being so fucking nice! Stop making these grand gestures and stop pretending like you give a fuck!” You raise your voice and it surely surprises him, but he is still more concerned than angry at your outburst.

“What do you mean pretending? I do care about you! Is that a fucking crime now?!”

“It is because it is for the wrong reasons!” you retort, feeling your throat closing up at the same time. Oh God, you hope you won’t start crying, that will make it even worse. “I think you are taking this pretending a little too far tonight. We are not a couple, this is not real, Harry,” you remind him.

He stares back at you for what feels like eternity and you wish you could read his mind, because you can’t read anything from his eyes, he just stands there like a statue and you feel panic crawling up your spine, slowly digging its claws into your flesh.

And then he finally breaks his silence.

“And would it be so bad if it was real?”

You can’t help a sob that emits from you, feeling like your guts are in a tight grip by his words. This is exactly what you didn’t want to happen.

“No, take that back!” you whine.

“I’m not taking it back! Y/N, what we’ve been doing these past weeks is exactly what a relationship is like and you didn’t seem to have a problem with it until a label was put on it. It doesn’t have to change anything!”

“But it is! And you know I don’t do this!”

“Don’t do what? Feelings? You don’t get to choose that!” he chuckles bitterly.

“I do! I fucking do! And I chose not to have them so… this is ending here, because you clearly caught feelings,” you pant in desperate need of getting out of the bathroom, but when you are about to open the door Harry’s hand snaps against it, keeping it closed. You rest your forehead against the cool surface of it, feeling Harry stand so close to you behind, his chest is touching your back.

“Don’t just walk away, we are in the middle of a conversation,” he growls, his voice filled with anger and warning.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” you whisper, shaking your head as you turn around and face him, your back pressing against the door.

“But I do,” he simply replies. “Why do you think you can just run away from feeling anything for the rest of your life? Why would it be so bad if you fell for someone, huh? I know you do have feelings, I know you well, Y/N. You’re not some cold hearted jerk, you are a caring and loving person, so why won’t you let yourself be happy?”

“I am happy the way I am, have you thought about that?”

“No, you’re not. I’ve known you half my life, I know that you want to be cared for, you want to be loved and cherished, yet you push away everyone who wants to give you that.”

“Because it’s not that easy, Harry!” you snap at him. “It’s never just the lovey-dovey shit! Feelings come with hurt and pain and heartbreaks and I don’t need that! I can’t handle that!”

“It’s not always the case! But if you never put yourself out there, you’ll never find the happiness you’re seeking!”

“Well, for me, it doesn’t worth it! I don’t want to fall for someone, plan my future with them and open up to them completely only for them to fall out of love with me one day and decide they don’t want anything to do with me! I don’t want to give anyone the chance to hurt me like that, because I’ve seen what it does to a person! I witnessed it all, Harry! I will not be a victim to that!”

You’re full on shouting, tears rolling down your cheeks at this point. You are letting everything out that’s been bottled up deep inside of you all this time. Nothing can make you believe in the fairytale that will never become your reality and you rather save the time and pain than experiment with it.

What really hurts is that now you are losing your friend. Your best friend. Because the way Harry is looking at you makes it obvious that you’ll never be like before the deal. The hurt, the shock, the panic and the anger, it all mixes in his wide-eyed gaze and it’s like a knife into your chest.

“You promised me, Harry,” you sob, voice now barely more than just a whisper. “You swore you wouldn’t catch feelings but you lied!”

“I didn’t lie,” he simply answers clenching his jaw. “I said I wouldn’t catch feelings for you, but truth is… I already had them. I was already in love with you, have been for a while. And you know what? I think you love me too, but you’re just too afraid to admit it. I know it because I can feel it. The way you touch me, look at me, the way you talk to me, it’s written all over you, but you choose to ignore it.”

“You don’t know shit,” you shake your head vigorously. “You think you know it, but you don’t.”

“Stop denying it, Y/N! You can’t just switch it off! Loving is not as horrendous as you think it is! Yes, it comes with pain too, but the good is always there to make you forget about it. You have to give it… you have to give yourself a chance!”

“I don’t have to do anything, Harry,” you sass back, pushing him away so you have the chance to sneak out of the room before he could stop you. But he doesn’t let it end that easily. Running after you he catches your wrist before you could get out of the hallway, pulling you back.

“Don’t just fucking walk away, Y/N! We need to talk about this!”

“No, we don’t. And I’m done with this. Done with… you.”

It hurts. The words rolling off of your tongue hurt, but you choose to ignore it once again as you shake his hand off of yourself, marching back to your table to grab your bag and leave.

“What do you mean you’re done with me? Don’t do this, Y/N! Let’s just fucking talk!”

Harry keeps trying to stop you, but you’re determined to leave. Your coworkers notice the little scene, but you don’t pay it any attention as you head out of the room, knowing well they’ll talk shit about you behind your back as soon as you’re out of the building.

“Y/N for fuck’s sake just stop already!” Harry snaps, grabbing your arm once again when you’re outside, pulling you back, but you’ve had enough.

“No! I’m not stopping, you need to stop! Stop trying to make yourself believe this is anything more than just the deal we made! It’s not and it will never be, because you don’t get to have the privilege of hurting me, nobody gets to do that!”

“Who said I want to hurt you?! That’s the last thing I would want to do! It’s not as cruel as you imagine it, Y/N. I know that your mum had a terrible love life when you were younger, but that’s not the only side to love! There are so much good about it, so much to fight for and endure with the bad sides, you can’t just throw all of it out the window because you decided love is just not for you!”

“I can and I will. Watch me!” you bite back, tearing your arm out of his hold as you step to the side of the pavement and wave a taxi down.

“Please don’t get into that car, Y/N, let’s talk!”

“We talked enough,” you huff as the car stops in front of you and you hop inside, but just as you are about to close the door Harry once again stops you.

“Y/N, I love you. Please don’t do this!” he begs, so much sorrow and pain radiating from his face and for a moment you fall weak. You almost reach out to him, because part of you hates seeing him like this, especially knowing that it’s because of you. You just want him to be happy, but you know it’s not gonna be with you. You can never give him what he wants and needs. He’ll be better off without you.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out before pulling the door closed and the car drives away. Turning around you see him stand on the pavement, completely broken and shaken, his hands tangling into his hair as he angrily kicks at the dirt before the car melts into the traffic and he falls out of your sight.

You did it for your and Harry’s sake. It had to be done and you are both better off this way. At least that’s what you’ve been trying to convince you to believe.

But why does it hurt so badly then?

Harry tried you calling a million times after you left him at the party, he even came after you and banged on your door for thirty minutes straight, begging you to let him in and just talk, but you didn’t even answer him. Just waited until he left before you curled up in the shower and cried for about an hour.

The calls and texts kept coming in the next few days, but after a while he gave up. He got nothing but silence from your side and one last, long ass text that you didn’t even read because you knew you’d just start crying again, he finally gave up.

You were left alone with all the pain and emptiness and you realized how big part of your life Harry played before. Somehow, everything reminded you of him and you couldn’t do anything without wishing he was with you.

You truly believed that time will heal you, that soon you’ll realize that you made the right decision, but days turned into weeks and nothing changed, you just learned to live with the pain. You stopped going out with your friends and not just because you were afraid of seeing Harry, but because you genuinely couldn’t get yourself to leave the house. Your evenings consisted of binge eating all the ice-cream you could find in your freezer and watching reruns of your favorite shows, but nothing could really take your mind off of Harry.

Day after day you cancelled on Leticia as well until she had enough of your hermit life. She got fed up watching you sink into your pit of sorrow and decided to take things into her own hands and not let you run away from her.

A Friday evening you’re doing what you’ve been doing for weeks now, lying on your couch in sweatpants, scrolling through Netflix when there’s a knock on your door. You wait, hoping whoever it is will think you’re not home and go away, but another obnoxious knock rips through the apartment and you growl.

“I know you’re in there bitch, open the fucking door!” Leticia shouts from outside and you curse the day you became friends with her. Maybe you would have been better off as enemies.

“I’m busy!” you call out, but make your way to the front door anyway, opening it to reveal her.

“Yeah, I can see that. Busy with being a bag of trash,” she comments on your appearance, walking inside without an invitation.

“Jeez, you really did wake up today and chose violence,” you mutter under your breath as you shut the door closed.

Leticia is quick to turn the TV off and open up the windows as you just stand there, not sure what she is doing here.

“When did you clean this place? And when was the last time you took a shower?” she asks, her nose scrunching when she takes a better look at you.

“Okay, did you come here to offend me? Because I don’t need that so please leave.”

“No, I’m here to beat some sense into you.”

“Good luck with that,” you scoff, taking your spot on the couch once again. You reach for the remote with the intention of turning the TV back on, but Leticia stands in front of the screen, blocking the device completely as she stares down at you with a disapproving look, arms folded on her chest.

“You’re acting like a child, Y/N. Avoiding everyone and being mad at the whole world, are you an emo teenager now or what?”

“I’m not mad at the whole world!”

“Okay, then you’re mad at just Harry, still, it’s a mistake.”

“I’m not mad at only Harry either,” you admit truthfully.

“Who else then?”

“Myself?” you mumble, eyes falling closed as you slide lower down on the couch.

“That makes the two of us, but why are you mad at yourself?” she asks, finally moving from her spot in front of the TV as she sits next to you on the couch, crossing her legs as she waits for your answer.

“Because…” you start with a sigh, opening your eyes, but you avoid looking at her, instead, you stare at the wall across you. “Because I can’t fucking stop thinking about him,” you admit and your lips start trembling instantly, just like every time you think about him. “I miss him so fucking badly, Tish! I miss our conversations, I miss his stupid jokes, I miss him raiding my fucking fridge and I miss…”

You bite your tongue, not wanting to admit the next thoughts loudly. Because you miss kissing him, you miss holding him and be held by him. You miss sex too, but you miss the tiny things even more, the way his lips feel against yours, how he smiles against them when you whimper his name and you miss the awkward little things the most. When he accidentally bumps his head against yours or when say random shit right before he pushes into you just to make you laugh, or when he leans in for a kiss but misses it and ends up kissing your nose or just the corner of your mouth. You miss everything about him and you hate him for that, but you hate yourself even more. It feels like your own conscious has betrayed you.

Shutting your eyes closed you let the tears roll down your cheeks as Leticia scoots closer and wraps her arms around you, cooing soothingly at you.

“It’s alright. It’s totally normal, Y/N.”

“It is not! Not for me at least!” you protest pulling back, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hands.

“Stop with the bullshit already!” she growls in annoyance. “You are not some kind of ice queen who is incapable of loving! You love me, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s different,” you roll your eyes.

“Not really. You love your other friends as well, right?” You nod. “And you love your mom,” she adds and you nod again. “Would you do anything for these people?”

“Of course.”

“Do you like spending time with them? Do you care about them in all kinds of ways?”

“Yes,” you sigh, fumbling with the hem of your shirt.

“Do you feel the same way about Harry? Do you care about him, would you do anything for him to make him happy?”

“Yes,” you whisper truthfully.

“Then don’t complicate it. You love him, no big deal! And he surely loves you back, because he told you, right?” You nod. “Then pull your head out of your ass and just let yourself be happy for once.”

“Why are you coming with this too? I was happy on my own too!”

“No, you were getting by,” she points it out. “You were doing good, but you weren’t… a whole. Harry gave you everything you missed, but for some fucked up reason you think it’s the end of the world to depend on someone else partially when it comes to your happiness. Which can be a smart thing, it’s important to be your own person and be independent, but sometimes we need some help from others. From people that love us and we love them back. It’s not a crime, Y/N.”

“No, but it’s gonna end up with me being heartbroken.”

“You already are,” she ruthlessly replies, bringing your attention to what you’ve been trying to ignore all this time. “Hate to break it to you, but this is what that feels like. So why not just go with it, you already felt the pain, now you could go for the good parts as well.”

“I don’t know if I can do it, Tish,” you breathe out, resting your head against the back of the couch. “Even if I did it, I know I would mess it up and hurt him or maybe he’ll do something stupid and hurt me and I don’t think I can handle that.”

“So what? It’s part of the deal. And besides, you’re already hurting each other, so you better get your shit together,” she scoffs, poking your side playfully.

It’s part of the deal. Are you ready to make a new deal? One that you’ve been avoiding your whole life? Are you ready to cut yourself open for someone else and just hope for the best?

Probably not. And probably you’ll never be. But your tactics didn’t succeed so far, you still ended up in pain so why not give it a chance? Even if it’s gonna be the hardest thing you’ve ever done?

“Do you think he hates me now?” you ask quietly, peeking at her scared of her answer.

“He is a bit mad at you for shutting him out, but he could never hate you. That man loves you so much, it’s almost disgusting,” she admits, making you chuckle. “Just… be honest with him and talk to him. You need it. You both need it.”

Harry’s fingers strum against the chords again, trying to get the tune right, but he fails again, a frustrated growl leaving his lips as he lets his head fall forwards. He’s been trying to finish the song for hours, but it still hasn’t come together the way he imagined and his patience is running short.

It’s been hard for him to focus on writing, with you on his mind all the time, everything seems like a hard task. He has written plenty of songs since the night at the party, but he could never use them for his job. One, because they are so fucking sad and depressive and they asked for upbeat hits from him, and two, because they are all so personal, he could never give them to someone else. He can’t let anyone else sing the lines he wrote to you, but you’ll probably never hear them.

Giving up on finishing the song today, he puts the guitar aside and calls it a day. Walking into the kitchen he opens the fridge and realizes that it’s completely empty aside from a bottle of ketchup and a single banana. He’s been such a mess lately, he forgot to go grocery shopping yesterday. Huffing to himself he grabs the banana and reaches for his phone to order something right when his doorbell rings. He is not expecting anyone, but Mitch has been popping in every few days to check in on him since everything that went down with you, so Harry is convinced it’s him again.

“Great timing, do you want Italian or Chinese?” he asks, walking up to the door, but as he swings it open he freezes when he sees you standing on the doormat. “Y/N…” he breathes out as if he was seeing a ghost.

“Hi! I-I hope I’m not bothering you o-or anything…” you ramble nervously.

“No! No, come on in!” He snaps out of his trance and steps aside, letting you walk inside. A feeling of nostalgia hits you right away as you think back at the last time you were here. Just a few days before the party, when everything was different.

“I’m sorry I came without asking, I just… I would say I was nearby, but that’s not true,” you chuckle anxiously as the two of you walk into the living room. You notice that his place is a little messier than usually, but it’s not nearly as bad as yours was before you did a deep cleaning yesterday after Leticia’s comments on it.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. What… What brought you here?”

“I, uhh… I’ve been thinking. A lot. And I have a few things I need to tell you.”

For a moment Harry’s stomach drops, because he thinks you came here to tell him off one more time for breaking your deal, for everything that happened at the party. He is already bracing himself to just let you lash out on him, but it never comes. And when you speak up again, he nearly faints.

“I love you.”

It’s a strong start, definitely a surprising one. Harry’s lips part and his eyes widen, his look almost comical, but you’re not laughing, not now. You have a lot to tell him and you can only hope he won’t throw you out after everything is said.

“I love you and I’m sorry it took me so long to stop ignoring it, but I promise you I’m done with that. And I’m sorry for everything I said to you that night, I was… mad and confused and I didn’t know how to deal with everything at once. I was delusional and ignorant and… a fool for thinking that I could just choose to never have feelings, especially for you,” you add with a tiny, nervous chuckle. “You were right. About everything. That I can’t live without ever putting myself out there and risking it. And I think deep down I knew that, but I was so afraid of getting hurt that I made myself believe I’m good on my own, but I’m not. Not entirely, to be precise. Because sometimes it is worth risking it and… and I realized that you are the person for me who is worth this risk.”

The tears are already blurring your vision, for the millionth time these past weeks, but it feels right now. Opening up to Harry and telling him all of this is hard, but with every spoken word you feel lighter and more relieved.

“I’m sorry if I made you think that I don’t love you, because I do. I really do. You are my best friend and these past weeks have been hell for me without you. I was so keen on avoiding a heart break that I ended up breaking my own heart,” you chuckle bitterly, the first tear running down your cheek.

Harry reaches out and wipes it away with his thumb and you involuntarily melt into his touch. You’ve been starved for it and now it feels like home. When you look up and your eyes meet his, you see that they are red too and it just makes you want to cry even more.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just thought that I was doing the right thing, but I was so far from that. So I’m really sorry and I understand if you don’t want to see me again for the way I acted. I was… a horrible friend and… an even worse girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah. Because you were right, we were more than just the deal and… if you choose not to throw me out after this, I would… I would love to give it a try with you. I want to be the girlfriend you deserve and though I’m sure I’ll mess it up a lot of times, I promise I’ll try my best, becau—“

He makes your rambling stop in the best way possible, lips smashing against yours as he cups your tear-soaked cheeks in his warm palms, pulling you close to him, your arms curling around his waist immediately.

Harry has kissed you several times before, but none of them compares to this. It’s messy and salty from both your tears, but you wouldn’t change a thing about it, the way his lips move against yours, tongues meeting, devouring each other, making up for the lost time and full of promises for the future. You hold onto his shirt at his back for dear life as he just keeps kissing you over and over again until you both run out of breath.

“So, does this mean you’re not throwing me out?” you joke, breaking the silence once you’ve pulled back.

“Fuck no,” he laughs, pecking your lips a few more times before his lips meet your forehead. “You are not leaving this place, ever. You’re trapped,” he adds to the joke and you break out in a relieved laughter.

“Wait, so I’m stuck with you now?” you whine playfully, but all you get is another kiss on the lips, hard and demanding.

“Yeah, forever, baby. You won’t get rid of me now, not after the speech you just gave me,” he smirks down at you, his arms coming to curl around your shoulders as he keeps you pressed against him tightly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you reply, your heart soaring as you hear those words again from him, this time, not even trying to dodge them in any way. In fact, you just want to hear him say it every minute over and over again for the rest of your life. “And I’m happy to be stuck with you,” you add with a shy smile as his grin widens at your words.

“Yeah? So we have a new deal then?” he teases, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Absolutely.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles au #harry styles imagine

2K notes · View notes