#and i don't wear the orange mask well

[bcbdrums]

.

[ghostbsuter]

"And? What did you decide on?" Duke asks, fork slipping from his mouth and chewing, focused on Danny.

The boy in question hums. "Oh yeah, I'm totally joining in on the nightlife."

The statement has all of them stopping in their tracks, blatantly staring at the still eating boy.

"This will be my emo arc, daylight vigilante turned dark."

Tim snorts, Jason gives a smirk, nudging the eldest sibling next to him from his frozen state.

"Ooooh," Steph leans forward. "Have you decided? Bat or Bird?"

"New name?" Cass jumps in on the questioning with a small smile, eyes crinkling.

"Will you be joining us tonight then, danyal?" His twin speaks up for the first time during dinner, eyes narrowed and calculating.

"Yes." Is the short reply, with the way damian's lips turn down and displeasure makes itself clear, the intention of giving such a short answer has been met.

"Danny," Bruce gains the attention, leaning forward with his fingers interlocked and brows furrowed with what must be worry.

"Are you sure? I don't want you to feel pressured into this just because everyone else is—"

"I'm more than sure, B!"

The man sighs. "And I won't be able to stop you?"

"Mhm." He gives a nod.

"Okay," his shoulders sag in defeat. "Do you have everything then—?"

"Yep!"

"Even—"

"B, I'm pretty sure I got everything, you can, if in your opinion I am missing something, give it to me later!"

Danny grins, pushing himself up from the table and rounding around towards the door.

"Besides! My whole get up will be a suprise!! So stay awake folks because I'm gonna blow ya all away."

As he leaves, Steph and Duke make sounds of anticipation, curiosity eating at all of them.

(They dont know whats gonna hit 'em.)

"I'm betting 50 bucks that he's gonna be a bat."

Alfred shakes his head at the newfound excitement.

—

What an exciting night.

There is still no sight of their newest, despite oracle's teasing, having apparently already been included in the suprise.

"Well well well," a sly, yet teasing voice makes itself into the open. Catwoman, in all her glory, walks up to the group of bats and birds.

"If it isn't the bat, what's with the gloomy face?"

Batman gives her a nod. "Cat."

Her eyes roam the group and she tilts her head. "Everyone seems to be here tonight." She comments.

"We're waiting," the man shares. "Our newest decided to be more secretive about his debut."

Catwoman gives him a smug smirk. "So I have heard," a chuckle. "I've come here to introduce you to someone, truthfully."

"Oh? Who is it?" Nightwing perks up, having finally decided to join in.

"Me."

Some yelp, whip their head around and away from the lady in black, gasps and cooing (particularly from steph) fill the roof and Danny joins them.

He wears black combat boots, they're heavy just from the look, but make no sound as he jumps around. The front of the boots look like cat paws, they're reaching up to his knees.

Then comes the baggy black pants, knees protected by poleyn and his belt acting as a cats tail. The hoodie he is wearing is also black, with fingerless gloves (only the middle finger is covered) and reaching up to his neck.

Instead of a domino mask, he wears a hood with cat ears and a dark face mask. Cass claps, knowing fully well he took inspiration from her own get up.

The whole outfit is detailed with orange spots, some parts brown and others grayish.

"Meet my new mentee, Calico."

Danny, Calico, waves.

[luveline]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

the tension between you and miguel rises to an all-time high —a ficlet featuring a grumpy miguel and a flirty, distracted spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. fem!reader, 1k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel has asked you multiple times to leave him alone while he's working. The strike force can't run itself (or so he claims —Margo and Lyla seem plenty capable, in your eyes) and he needs time and solitude to organise the protection of canon events, and—

"Blah, blah, blah," you say, dropping your voice to a soft, teasing melody as you skirt around his frankly audaciously jacked chest. 

"Don't blah, blah, blah me," Miguel says. You'd be intimidated if you weren't so happy to mess with him. "I'm not kidding around." 

Okay, maybe you are intimidated. That just makes messing with him more fun. 

The room he operates from, as you've so fondly monikered The Office, is in organised chaos, and much too dark. You drag a lone chair toward his control panel and set yourself down in front of all his screens and computers. 

"Ooh," you hum, reaching for an unlabelled switch with a purposeful slowness. 

Predictably, Miguel slams his hand over yours, yanking your chair back with an annoyed, "No." 

"Come on, Miguel. What harm could I possibly do?"

"You could–" 

"Topple the multiverse?" you suggest. "I've heard." 

"You could turn off every member of the Society's DMW. That's what that does. Potentially endangering each of their lives by stranding them in unfamiliar dimensions, and preventing them from correcting canon events." 

You feel bad for teasing him when you see the look on his face, anger and exhaustion and the slimmest allowance of defeat. It must be tough to lead the Spider-Society. Tougher to micromanage more than half of its members. 

Pulling your hand from under his, you cross your arms over your stomach and give him an apologetic frown. "Sorry, Miguel."

Evidence of his sweet spot for you lines his expression, softening his sharp jaw and the stoic set of his brow. It's gone as quick as it came, and his mask falls back into place. He turns away from you as though pretending you aren't there and scans one of his holographic screens, his face glowing with a yellow-orange haze. 

Miguel has to tolerate you, because you're a Spider-Girl. Though you've never called yourself that aloud, and you're not sure anyone else has, either, it's an undeniable truth. You were bitten by a radioactive spider that gave you super mutant abilities, though yours aren't as potent as others. You're not especially strong, you probably couldn't stop a bus with your bare hands, but you're smart. You haven't saved the world or anything, but you lost your Uncle Ben. You paid the toll. 

Every spider person has lost someone. Miguel seems to have lost more than that. 

"You know," you mumble, kicking the ground lightly to make your chair spin on its axle, "I've been thinking…" 

"That's never good." 

"Why do we wear our suits here?" you ask, spinning for a second time, the room moving past your eyes in flashes. "It seems performative." 

"Ah, I can answer that. Some of us work when we're here." 

You wrinkle your nose at his deadpan and kick the floor again, spinning so fast it makes you laugh. "What did you say? I can't hear you from your high horse– woah!" 

Miguel grabs the back of your chair, bringing you to a sudden and firm stop. You blink hoping it'll assuage the dizziness between your eyes, and when it doesn't work you keel forward, muttering, "Woah, I'm gonna die." 

"You won't die." 

"How do you know?" you ask. 

"You're under my watch, aren't you?" 

"I knew you liked me," you say. "Oh, I don't feel well." 

"You brought it on yourself." 

You catch your breath. When you feel okay enough to stand you almost trip, and Miguel doesn't bother pretending that he had any intention of stopping you from landing flat on your face. The you before the spider bite would've wiped out. This you giggles and holds Miguel's elbow for a second while you plant your feet. 

"Okay, boss-man," you ask, looking up at the unnaturally high screen he's investigating. "What are we doing today?" 

"I'm supervising a task force operation on Earth-31913. You're going home." 

"Miguel," you say, not sure if you want to flirt with him or piss him off. He looks incredibly pissed off already, so you choose flirtation. "Have I told you how handsome you look this evening?" 

He doesn't react. His hands don't so much as shift where they're akimbo on his hips. 

"You really have the most handsome eyes," you continue, weaving around his arm to stand in front of him. You have to crane your neck to see them. "Sulky. Do I really have to go home? I'd rather stay here with you." 

He looks down his nose at you. "Yeah?" he asks quietly, his voice rough as hewn stone.

"Yeah," you say, taking a small step back. 

"And do what?" 

You mirror his stance, hands on your hips. Your suit isn't form fitting like his, doesn't showcase nearly so much lean muscle, but you like it. You'd chosen a simple black ensemble to match the spider who bit you with a pinky purple heart over your stomach. Miguel had asked about it once, just once, when you'd first met and he had no idea how much of a problem for him you were going to become. 

Why there? 

Why do you think? you'd asked, giving him a sticky-sweet smile. 

Forget I asked. 

He lifts a hand to your chin, pinching it between two deft fingers. You're lucky he isn't wearing his gloves; his claws would pierce your jaw. 

"What do you want to do?" he asks, again so quietly. "If you stay?" 

"I could help with the task force." 

"That's what you want to do?" 

You flush with heat but refuse to let him know how you're feeling. Your heart bumps against your ribs, breath caught in your throat as he tilts your head up, as he leans down. 

"No," he says near your lips, "that's not it." 

"I could help you?" you offer. 

Something flashes in his eyes. You hesitate to call it lust. It reminds you of a cat with a mouse in it’s clutches, only his pupils are blown, black and inky and wide as dimes. 

"You want to help me?" he asks, his lips an inch, half of that from yours. 

You nod minutely. "Yes," you say under your breath. 

His hand moves to your cheek. He leans in closer and closer, until there's a hair's width of air between his mouth and yours, the tips of your noses bent together. His breath fans over your bottom lip and it's hot. You swear you can feel his heart as his chest presses to yours. He lingers there for an endless handful of seconds, silently egging you on.

You call his bluff and refuse to close the distance. 

Miguel pushes you away from him, far from cruel but certainly not sweet. "I have a tower of paperwork you can file," he says. 

"Here I thought you were finally going to bite my head off," you hum. "You're a sore loser, Miguel." 

"And you're my pest," he says, holding your gaze for a half-second too long. He turns away. "Lyla? Arrange the recounts from the last canon event for Spider-Girl's perusal, please." 

"So you've remembered I'm here?" Lyla asks wryly.

You don't mind the paperwork. You sign each one with a winky face and a pink gel pen heart, knowing Miguel will go over them all again, and knowing he'll grow angrier and angrier with each heart.

He'll kiss you and mean it one day. You just have to play the waiting game.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

[enviedear]

my modern!jace hcs and thoughts…

request ⊹ jacaerys masterlist

౨ৎ ┄───────╮ got a bit carried away with what was supposed to be hcs... but i can't help it! modern!jace scratches an itch somewhere in my brain—especially lawyer/law student!jace. don't question the family dynamics too much for this au. i don't have the brain capacity to rearrange and fix that mess <3

╰───────┄ ౨ৎ

twenty-two and a recent graduate. he majored in law with a minor in public policy. his younger brother, lucerys, makes frequent comments about how boring it all must be, but jacaerys velaryon loves it. he’s following the family line, after all.

he took office at one of his mother’s law firms, a by-product of having a family in the affairs of state. however, the firm is actually headed by his mother’s aunt, rhaenys. his mother, rhaenyra is in the middle of an election, running opposite otto hightower—a man jacaerys is lax to admit kinship to.

on paper he’s an associate, in practice, he’s whatever his family and their board need him to be. he likes it that way—being dependable.

he has such a large family, even disregarding those somewhat estranged. if you asked him to directly place everyone to their respective titles he couldn’t, so he settles for the ease of endless uncles, aunts, and cousins.

his schedule is usually packed—so when he is free, he likes to spend his time well. his best friend, cregan, gets him out of the house most the time. an easy task since the stark family owns numerous ski resorts. a perfect respite from his life of public service, at least that’s what cregan says.

jace absolutely hates the media, not necessarily social media though. his instagram stories are frequently full of reposts or camera roll dumps, his twitter constantly active but he mourns public likes. he loves to engage with factitious headlines about himself and his family, to his mother’s chagrin. he’s blocked on all social media by the estranged hightower news, headed by his mother’s old friend turned step-mother, alicent. a topic the family attempts to gloss over when in public.

has a laundry list of fashion houses at his disposal. he went viral once for “mogging” in armani at his grandfather’s funeral. he drunkenly admitted after the service that he figured viserys would have deemed it a rather lovely suit, despite the occasion. mostly, he shares his uncle laenor’s love for couture, a man who is firm in belief that a bit of pageantry never hurt anyone. almost exclusively wears canali for everyday wear, a luxury his paychecks find no issue with fulfilling.

listens to every single book he 'reads'. his airpods are constantly in his ears but he rarely opts for music. he listens to the greats on repeat, or at least that's what he calls them—near constant loops of orwell and machiavelli. he has a guilty pleasure for brandon sanderson novels though.

jacaerys is embarrassed to have a chauffeur for any and all events with his family, but he does an excellent job at hiding it. he’s is chronically good at masking any signs of disdain. his family would tell you he’s perfectly agreeable— his brothers, lucerys and joffrey, know him better, can spot his muddled ill temper through anything. he can hold his tongue most of the time, far better than the rest of his family, but he’s known to have his moments.

on his own, he drives a aston martin valour. wrapped olive green with burnt orange accents. it was pricey, a fact his uncle corlys never ceases to remind him of, but he loves it. gave it a name and everything—vermax.

the only cousins he talks to regularly are the twins, baela and rhaena. they flock together during board meetings, three ideal images of the pristine image their family attempts to portray. he and baela are most like minded, so much so that the rest of the board jokes they’re reading each others minds.

on the opposite end of the spectrum, alicent’s children— aegon, aemond, and helena, are of much different minds. the eldest of the them is prepped to take over his grandfather’s media empire. a complete disaster waiting to happen given aegon’s incessant and very public bad behavior. jace figures the young man more of a puppet if anything. the second born is somehow an even worse case, behavior less public but far more… sadistic. aemond is known in well to do social circles for his vitriol, mouth constantly fixed to land a cutting blow.

the youngest, helena, is actually quite sweet albeit heavily reclusive. she’s the founder of several successful ventures, thrust into the spotlight at a young age. these days the most the public get from her is a monthly blog update—refined and well crafted—detailing a mix of what she learned that month and a few run-on sentences about insects. but she always finds time for him at their disjointed family events, no matter the animosity in the room. she’s one of his favorite people to talk to. jace swears that somehow, she always knows just what to say.

on sunday’s he winds up at one of his uncle daemon’s golf courses. am agreement he took up after the death of viserys. his uncle is lonely without his brother, and he’s never had to tell jace that for him to know it. jace is rather shit at the sport, but he’s found that as long as daemon has a drink in his hand, nothing will be commented on. sometimes luke will tag along just to gloat, his younger brother has always been at golf.

every christmas he takes his siblings on a hunt. just like their dad, harwin, used to. it’s gotten to be a big deal after so many years. his mother often reminds him, jokingly, that he is the reason their home has become the holiday stomping grounds. he’s replied back many times that at least that saves them from the hightower’s grounds, and their brutish security detail. headed by one criston cole, he’s has never gotten a good feel for the man—or the men under his command.

jace can’t fall asleep without some form of auditory stimulation. he blames laenor, always gifting a young jace pirated lullaby cd’s… for some reason. nowadays, he’s usually a listening to a history podcast before bed. never picky on the topic or timeframe, he could listen to the tales of the past forever.

additionally—jacaerys loves linguistics. if you looked through his search history you’d find the following searches: why do we feel different when speaking in a different language? / are there languages with no numbers? / what happened to the transatlantic accent? / “where did the word ‘cocktail’ come from?

he has successfully created and maintained a masked dj persona after a drunken dare in ibiza from rhaena. he’s booked a handful of gigs, all without his name attached to it. rhaena keeps it a secret, at the promise she gets to accompany him at her own whim.

jace has only ever publicly has had one relationship. he dated cregan’s half-sister for a few years, sara. sure he had to deal with his best friends griping for a few years, but he really did love the girl. they broke up due to their schedules, moreso, his schedule. he promised baela he won’t make the same mistake in his next relationship.

he never has trouble finding people to fawn over him, but he does have a horrible issue with committing. not that he wants to play the field or hurt hearts, but he truly believes no one will ever give him the grace he needs to feel secure in the relationship. he feels like he already has too much baggage, carrying his own and his family’s. at this point, he’d rather have a few hookups as opposed to being let down—jacaerys hates that the most about himself, above all else.

that’s why he so confused as of late. unable to seem get his mind off of someone—something completely unaccustomed to him. you’re fresh at the firm, relegated to coffee runs and still straight to the book but god—jace thinks you're perfect.

he didn't even fully grasp his fixation on you until asking himself why on earth he keeps volunteering you to sit in on his client meetings. he almost shutters everytime he remembers the stupid excuse he forced out after you dared to ask him why—"i just write so slow, and i don't want to miss anything." a lie. jacaerys could tune out a client for an entire session and still win a case, but he determined early he'd rather bask in yout presence instead. however diluted he must keep his feelings...

[clovdgyu]

#rafayel x m!reader #smut #rafayel, my baby i love you

#breeding kink, creampie, blood play, serial killer rafayel, bondage, blindfolds, overstimulation, dubcon, mentions of blood, serial killer rafayel (cause why not?), tonguefucking, spitroasting, choking, belly bulge, lying rafayel, marking, mentions of rape, mentions of fag and faggot use of derogatory words #babysitting a house? should be easy, but it all turned into the worst case scenario when you found yourself cornered by the masked serial killer

house-sitting will be easy, they said. it will be fun, they said. but this wasn't even fun to begin with. sure, it seems like an easy job to do but it was boring as hell so you decided to invite some friends...except they were all busy. finding yourself in a 'lonely' predicament, you grabbed the remote and decided to maybe watch some tv, instead.

"this just in, a masked serial killer is on the loose, knocking doors on random people's houses before killing them. the masked killer escaped from prison and the cops are tracking the guy currently, wanting to 'catch the murderer as soon as possible," the broadcaster said as she looked sternly at the camera, indirectly telling the viewers to be careful.

you let out a stifled laugh and pointed at the tv as if judging it. "who would be so fucking stupid to open their doors to a random stranger?" you stated and switched channels, deciding to watch some documentary to keep yourself entertained. getting hungry, you decided that you needed some pizza to fill your stomach.

the documentary you just watched was boring you out to hell, it was just talking about nature and how it was wonderful. you never even dared to go out and explore so why--

*knock knock*

your eyes turned to look at the door then back at your growling, smiling to yourself. "well, that was fast," you thought to yourself as you grabbed your wallet and headed towards the door with a small skip. you hummed a small tune as you looked through your wallet for the exact amount (and a tip for being so fast) so the pizza delivery guy didn't have to bother giving you change.

another knock was heard before you shouted a 'coming'. you stopped right at the door and held onto the doorknob, hearing your own tummy rumble. without hesitation, you opened the door while you were still rummaging through your wallet and sighed, seeping air through your gritted teeth, realizing you can't give the man a tip. "ah, jeez. i'm sorry, man but it seems i'm a little short on money..."

your voice trailed off as you looked up from your wallet and saw an unfamiliar man standing in front of you. you tilted your head and scratched your neck. the man was wearing an orange jumpsuit...and what seemed like a mask? "what the hell? who are...?"

this just in, a masked serial killer is on the loose, knocking doors on random people's houses before killing them. as you looked at the man in front of you, all the blood in your body was drained out of you, hands trembling as you 'subtly' grabbed the door knob and tried to close the door...but you were already doomed. "fuck! help me! oh my god, please!" you screamed.

your voice echoed throughout the whole house as you ran towards your kitchen to grab a knife for self defense. you looked back, pointing the knife in front of you as you took in large breaths. "shit, i should've thought of that news before opening the door."

you took cautious steps as you gulped, not wanting to alert the serial killer who was inside your house. you made a run to your bedroom and locked yourself there, deciding to call 911. but when you were just about, a knife was pointed towards your neck. is this really how i am going to die? "p-please don't kill me. i'll do anything, please! i won't even tell anyone. i-i will help you escape."

"alright. you're in for a ride, bitch."

----------

"mmph!" a muffle grunt originated from your lips as the masked man drove his dick deeper into your throat, his purple tousled hair hiding his perfectly irresistible eyes as he looked down at your state, tear-filled eyes and red cheeks, saliva dripping down from your lips as you deepthroated the man.

he groaned, akin to a pleasurable one as he gripped onto your (h/c) locks, biting his lip as he thrusted into your mouth. at first, it was slow thrusts but gradually increased in speed. "you're not gonna making me fucking cum with a sloppy blowjob, bitch."

you looked up at the male and glared at him, your mouth fully stuffed with his cock. a deep chuckle was heard from the male before he thrusted his entire length inside your mouth, making your eyes twitch as you held onto his thighs.

the other male threw his head back as he buried your nose into his trimmed pubes then looked down at you, he could see how much you were struggling but he could care less. this was for his own benefit anyway, not yours. "goddamn, you took it like a champ, huh?"

he removed his cock from your mouth and stares as you coughed out, holding onto your chest as you glared at the other male. "i told you to take it easy, cunt! i'm no expert in sucking dicks."

the male tilted his head and scoffed. "really? you strike me as one though. little sissy boy who loves to get his ass filled with semen, loves to swallow a man's cum. you probably climax as they finish inside your ass, don't you?" he teased as slapped your cheek with his saliva-coated dick.

"i'm not fucking gay! get that inside your fucking brain," you stated, his brows, now, furrowed before he lifts you up and looks dead straight into your eyes, scaring you. "wh-what?"

he smirked. "you're forgetting who is actually capable of killing who here, aren't you? you're getting so damn feisty over a joke," he stated before pulling out a razor blade from his vest then traced a curved line on your cheek,making you squirm.

seeing the crimson red liquid drip out of your cheek, he let out a manical chuckle before lapping on your blood. "you're so fucking tasty, so delicious for me. you're making me so fucking hard again, bitch. strip yourself, get on the bed, and on your knees."

although hesitant, you did as he instructed and gulped. "wh-what are you planning to do? are you really gonna kill me?" you asked him, but you received no response from the other male except the sound of his footsteps drawing nearer.

you waited for what was gonna happen next, only to be surprised when you felt something wet lick on your hole. "ah! what the hell are you doing! get away from there!" you shouted, looking back at him before you suddenly felt his tongue delve deep inside you. "oh my god! stop—ah—it! you motherfucker! ugh, mmh."

despite your protests, it was clear as day that you were getting turned on just by judging the raging erection you donned as the man ate you out like a five-star course meal. "mm, fuck. so tasty," he mumbled to himself before plunging his tongue deeper into your hole.

"ng—ah~! w-wait! stop, oh my—fuck!" you cursed out, burying your head down on the pillow to muffle the sinful sounds that exited your mouth, indirectly shoving your ass onto the purple-haired male's face who just chuckled deeply while you gripped onto the sheets beneath you tightly, knuckles turning white.

you didn't know exactly why, but his tongue in your ass was making you feel so good. it was indescribable, the feeling of his wet, slimy tongue sliding in you and fucking your ass made you feel so incredible. "such a delectable ass," he muttered as took a hold of your cheeks and buried his face further into your ass to get his tongue more access.

why did it feel like his tongue was so long? it was fucking you so deep that you could feel your climax approaching. no, wait, you weren't gonna get off solely on someone eating you out, were you? you weren't even gay to begin with...but how was it that you were feeling ecstatic just by him fucking his tongue into your ass.

eyes rolled back and toes curled, you tried to hold back your moans by stifling your mouth using the pillow underneath you. the male behind you didn't mind though, he was so busy eating out your ass that he could care less about you hiding your moans.

and as if it wasn't enough, he tapped a finger on your hole making you flinch as you looked behind you with a confused state. "what the hell are you gonna do, bastard?" you asked him as he stopped eating you out and stared into your eyes then smirked before he inserted it inside you while his tongue was inside you.

a grunt left your lips as you reached back and tried to push his head away from you. "oh god. stop, you fucking bastard! get--ah--away from me, cunt! oh god, oh fuck! i-it feels so fucking weird," you cursed out as you gripped onto his purple locks and buried your face down on your pillow to stifle your moans. "y-you have to stop, b-bastard!" you whined out, akin to a moan.

the other male just enjoyed how you tried to hide your pleasured sounds as he tonguefucked and fingered your ass all at the same time. he licked a stripe onto your ass before delving his tongue back inside your ass, making you moan as you went putty in his hold. fuck, this is the best ass i've ever eaten.

you could feel that the other male was looking for a certain spot inside you as he fingered your ass. "oh my god! g-get your finger out of my ass, you prick! listen to me you fucking--AH!" you let out a pitched moan as the other male pressed onto a certain spot inside your ass that made you feel good. "what the fuck was that? that felt so weir--no, don't! shit, fuck, stop pressing onto it you goddamn killer! stop, fuckfuckfuck, i'm cumming!"

with a particular loud moan you threw your head back and spurts of cum emitted from your cock as you quivered on your bed, eyes rolled to the back of your head as you gripped onto your sheets. "hngh, ah! fuuuck~" you moaned out, still quivering as you came onto your sheets.

the other male smirked before he removed his tongue and finger out of you, making you clench on nothing as you huffed out. thinking he was already done, you tried to close your eyes but the other male had other plans as he pulled your hair and lifted your face to face him. "don't faint on me, slut. i still haven't cum yet."

your tear-filled eyes just looked at him, all strength inside you lost before you looked away at him. you tried to push him away but now that you got a closer look of his face, he just looked so ethereal. how is a handsome male like him a well-known serial killer when he could've used it for a good use?

but that didn't tether your reason as you went back to pushing him away. "aw, do you like this kind of kinky shit? d'ya like it when there's a little bit of force put into action? want me to rape your fucking ass until it takes the shape of my cock? huh, bitch?"

"n-no, get away from me, f-fag!" you shouted, the other male smiling maniacally before he neared his lips onto your ears.

he chuckled deeply, "you know what's coming next, right? i'm gonna fuck your little, tight ass and make it mine for the taking, gonna mark my territory. c'mon, say 'rafayel, i want you to pound my ass and to use your cock to make a mess out of me'. say it, say it!" he demanded, eyes growing bigger to intimidate you.

he's named rafayel, huh? you thought and you shook your head as you tried to push him away, but you stopped when a knife was suddenly pointed towards your neck. "i thought you weren't gonna k-kill me? wh-where's the deal, bitch? didn't you have fun already?"

rafayel threw his head back to laugh quite boisterously before pressing the knife deeper into your neck. "fun? i barely had my own 'fun' since you're being a pressy bitch! i've noticed how you've been annoying me quite a lot so maybe killing you--"

"wait, wait! o-okay, i'll say it," you told him, tears dripping from your eyes once again as you closed your eyes hard in contemplation, sniffing before opening your eyes again and looked into his eyes. "i want you to pound my ass and to use your cock to make a mess out of me."

"ah tut tut, you forgot my name, slut. you can't be forgetting that, that's the most important part. i want you to say that again, but this time while presenting yourself to me, spread your ass cheeks and show me that slutty hole," he told you. with your life on the line you nodded.

you watched as rafayel moved away from you to watch you, but he must've guessed that you escaping slipped from his mind since the moment he removed his hold on you, you made a run towards the door. unfortunately for you, the purple-haired male was fast enough to catch you, trapping you in his arms with your left cheek pressed against the hard wood. "where d'ya think you're going, bitch?"

"please, please. just let me go. i-i don't want this, i'll do anything but this," you pleaded, tears dripping from your eyes as you clasped your hands together. the nervousness and fear in your veins was enough to make you a sobbing mess, hiccuping word after word.

rafayel raised a brow before he chuckled deeply then smirked, scoffing. "i think you're prepped enough, doll. now hold still," he said, heeding no attention to your pleas. confused, you gulped and continued to sob quietly. the male behind you took a hold of your arms and held them tightly behind your back.

you were about to protest and ask what he was doing, but was shocked when the man suddenly tapped his erect cock on your hole. "you fucking bastard! get that thing away from my ass, that won't ever fit inside me! let me go, please," you pleaded yet again as more tears left your eyes.

"i was able to make you cum, now this should be mutual if you want to call this a good deal. and the only way to make this a good deal is for you to make me cum, and i can only cum if you let me fuck this tight ass," he stated, using his free hand to slap your ass before squeezing it.

knowing there was no way out, you calmed yourself down and looked at him in your peripheral view. "at least wear a condom, bastard," you stated through gritted teeth but only received an 'i did' before he aligned the tip of his cock onto your entrance.

he snickered, "i won't make any promises, but what i do know is that i'll probably be fucking this tight ass until the sun rises," he stated before he eased himself into you, his nose scrunching at how incredibly tight you were. "shit, doll. you're gonna snap my dick off with how tight you are. relax, it'll feel good that way."

an open-mouthed gasp exited from your mouth as you scratched your arm using your nails. "agh! i-it hurts! get it out of me, prick!" you shouted at him but only received a lick to your neck. unknowingly, you let out a breathy moan as you tried to relax your body. "r-rafayel, pull it out."

and as if a switch has been turned on inside the mentioned male's body, he thrusted his whole length inside you, managing to hit your prostate dead-on. you both moaned in unison at how incredibly good the two of you felt. although it was a painful stretch, you couldn't deny the fact that his dick made you feel good. "calling out my name like that, slut. my weakness," he said.

the hand that was holding your arms together was gone before his muscular arms was inserted under your pits, he then hooked his arms over your shoulders and pushed himself even deeper inside you, making you see stars. the loud moan that exited your lips wasn't left unnoticed by the other male. "mhm, what's this? is my cock making you feel so good, bitch?"

you looked at him through your lidded eyes, breathing deeply as your body felt like jelly because of his cock. "f-fuck you. i'm n-not feeling good 'cause of your dick, cunt!" you shouted at him, but seeing you resist your own pleasure and how you kept up that facade turned him on even more. now all he wants was to see you fucked dumb until you can't think of anything but his huge burly cock.

"haha, fuck! you're gonna be the death of me, doll," he whispered to your ear before he began to slowly fuck your hole. "i may be cruel, but at least i know how to start a good fuck. slow and steady to get them used to it, the reason those prison bitches moan my name every night."

his words fell on deaf ears as you gulped, trying to keep your mind in the right state of mind. you couldn't lie but admit that this gentle motion was making you feel good, that it got your stomach in a twist. you could feel your climax coming back again. "gh..! mmh, stop that. you're always hitting me there."

rafayel raised brow before he stopped then continued, rubbing his cock on a certain part inside of your ass. the way his heavy cock pressed onto your prostate made you moan as you writhed against his arms, your hands now on his biceps.. "quit denying it, cunt. i know i'm making you feel so good."

"no way! agh, stop! s-stop, oh fu--shit! stop, i'm gonna fucking cum, noo!" you shouted as you threw your head back. when you did, rafayel turned your head to look at him then planted his lips onto yours. that action alone made you cum yet again as you scratched the purple-haired male's biceps with a moan, muffled by his lips against yours.

the other male removed his lips from your as he used his right hand to force you to look at him. "see? i've already made you cum twice, and untouched at that. why are you still denying the fact that i really am making you feel so good?" he stated, looking straight into your eyes. "you're literally like a bitch in heat."

hearing no words from you, he continued to fuck your ass languidly with same speed. you whined, "ra...st.."

the male smirked, before nearing his ears towards your lips to hear you even more clearly. "what is it, whore? i can't hear you because of how loud i'm fucking your ass."

"rafayel, faster. please, i can't hold this anymore," you pleaded to him, now fully succumbing to the pleasure as you stared right at him through your half-lidded eyes. the taller male huffed before he pulled his cock out until it was only the tip before slamming it back inside your hole, making you scream in pleasure.

rafayel took that as an opportunity to initiate a kiss, plunging his long tongue inside your mouth, exploring your wet cavern. you closed your eyes, moans swallowed by the other male's who continued to thrust his hips at a normal pace. he pulled your face closer towards him as he fucks you hard.

he loved the sound of your ass slapping against his thighs, bouncing hard that it jiggles. the other male removed his lips from yours before he pulled his cock out of you then carried you towards your bed, making you gasp. with a grunt, you landed on the soft mattress before rafayel got on top of you, caging you in between his arms, looking down at you.

"you're so fucking delicious, i probably won't be able to stop," he stated as he grabbed his cock and lined it with your hole. he grabbed your legs by the pit and placed it on his shoulders, practically bending you in two as he leaned towards you. "we won't stop until i've had my own fill."

you nodded at him, about to say something when he suddenly plunged his whole cock inside you again. you accidentally bit your tongue as you gripped your sheets, shaking out of pleasure as you came on both your stomachs. "c-cumming~! oh my god. i'm cumming again."

a crazed chuckle exited rafayel's lips before he attacked your neck with hickeys. he began to thrust so deep inside you that even when you just came, overstimulating you. "damn, no one can really beat sluts who cum easily. such a huge turn-on," he muttered before he increased his pace and fucked you deeply.

your hands made its way towards the other male's broad back as you scratched them out of pleasure, making the male groan as he buried his face to your neck, pressing kisses and placing hickeys. "w-wait, not too fast. i just came," you stated, albeit weakly as you moved your hands towards his hair, tilting your neck to give him more access.

he paid no mind to whatever you just said and focused only on his own pleasure. "goddamit, such a tight little fucking ass. you're gonna make me bust a huge load, bitch. d'ya want that? want me to bust a load inside of you? want me to fill you up with my seeds?" he stated as he removed his face from your neck to look at you.

"wh-what? but you said you wore a condom, you bastard!" you shouted and began to push him off of you, trying to push him away as you gritted your teeth in anger. "pull out, motherfucker! don't you fucking dare cum inside me!"

he only snickered as he continued to fuck your ass, now even faster as he chased his own high. you writhed in pleasure as the strength that was once in you vanished, now gripping onto the sheets as you threw your head back in pleasure. "what? you scared i'll get you pregnant, whore? i mean, i could try. i'm gonna cum inside your ass until you get pregnant with my babies."

you whined beneath him, wanting to complain but the pleasure was overwhelming you and was clouding your sense of reason. your mind was now solely focused on his cock that was driving deeper inside you, hitting your prostate with every thrust.

rafayel then pulled back, now kneeling as he brushed his hair back, giving you a perfect view of his well-built physique. "look at that? i can see my cock inside you," he pointed out as he pressed on the obvious bulge on your stomach which made you whine as you gripped the sheets tighter. "guess making you pregnant wouldn't be so much of a problem now, huh? when i'm already buried so deep inside you."

all he received was a mewl from you before he continued to thrust his hips into you, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his own high, nose scrunched up in concentration as he held your waist tightly, too tight that it might bruise the day after.

"w-wait..too fast...! slow down, ah~" you managed to utter out in between your breathy moans but he paid you no mind as he focused on getting himself off. "this is—ah—weird, this feels weird! oh—ah, fuck! rafayel, i'm about to cum! w-wait, ngh!" you stated, reaching towards the other male's v-line to try and get him to slow down but all he did was use both his hands to hold onto your wrists, oulling you closer to him with each thrust.

rafayel grunted as he threw his head back, fucking you even deeper and faster, so inhuman that you couldn't help but moan partocularly loud. "that's right, bitch. let the whole neighbohood know who's making you feel so good," he said before holding both your wrists in one hand while he used the other one to press on your neck, choking you.

gargled gasps and moans left your lips as you looked at the other male who was biting his lip, a smirk etched on his face as he pressed harder. you threw your head back, tongue rolled out of your lips as you let yourself succumb to the pleasure. "you're such—ah—a goddamn masochist, arencha? getting off on me choking you, hm?"

you shook your head but it was already obvious that your kind was muddled with the overwhelming pleasure you were receiving from how deep he plowed your ass with his thick cock. "sho..shoo goodd," you muttered out. rafayel removed his hands from your neck before he held onto your waist once again, using you like a fleshlight as he fucked himself deeper.

he grunted, "good fucking shit! i'm about to cum too, slut. i'm gonna fucking cum inside you. want me to? beg for it, beg for it, you whore!" rafayel shouted as his thrust grew even faster, your body practically bouncing as he did.

"c-cum! i want your cum inside me, rafayel! please make me pregnant with your babies!" you shouted out as you held onto his forceps. no more words were exchanged as the other male chased his own, breathy moans leaving his lips as he did. "fuck, i'm cumming!"

with a loud moan, your toes curled in pleasure, eyes rolled back as you came. but it was so unusual, as if you peed yourself. wait, you squirted? how was that possible? rafayel didn't know the explanation but the sight alone and how you clenched on his cock tightly was enough to release his load inside your hole. "cumming, i'm cumming inside your, bitch. fuckfuckfuck!"

spurts of cum was released inside you and you could feel how warm it was. you loved the feeling of his warm cum inside you, how his load was too much that some spilled out of your ass. you were just about to close your eyes when rafayel tapped your cheeks lightly. "huh?"

"don't think that it's over after just one round, slut. we're far from being done."

the next day, rafayel woke up to an empty bed. "ah hir, that was the best fuck i've eve had in a while," he muttered to himself as he got up from the bed to get his things. it was already 4 in the morning when he decided to rest. maybe it was the best decision to not have killed you, but where were you?

finally back in his jumpsuit, he exited the door and was surprised when a gun was pointed to him. "get down, hands up! we finally have you now, prisoner 0306," the cop in front of him shouted, several other cops filling in the whole area.

rafayel's blue-pink eyes roamed to look for you, finally spotting you in a corner with your head down, a phone in hand. the male scoffed as he complied to the cops, swearing to himself that he will be back. one cop grabbed a handcuff and used it to bind his hands together, rafayel chuckling deeply as he looked at you with those same maniacal eyes. "don't think this is over yet, slut. when i get back, you're fucking dead meat."

a female cop, who was beside you, noticed how you trembled in fear. she smiled at you assuringly and patted your back. "don't worry, honey. he won't ever escape anymore. you'll be fine. now we'll be on our way."

you nodded, sighing once you heard your front door click, indicating that they were finally gone. it was a whole night of torture (pleasure) but he was finally gone and you don't have to suffer anymore.

you slowly moved towards the couch and opened the tv to watch something to ease your nerves, but what showed you made you even more tense. "breaking news, the police car that had the infamous fugitive, prisoner 0305, seemed to have been hijacked. the cops inside have been injured and—"

the tv's voice was cut off when you heard the door burst open, making you tear up as you looked back slowly. and as you expected, there he was, blood painted his whole face as he looked at you with crazed eyes. he entered your abode and locked it, making you gulp as you slowly retreated. "p-please don't hurt me."

"going through all that trouble? i suppose i can commend you for that but it really hurt me, sweetie," he stated, before lunging towards you, grabbing the chloroform-filled hanky inside his pocket and placed it on your nose. you struggled against him but the chemical made you feel weak and numb as you closed your eyes, fainting. "now, you'll be with me forever, bitch."

he carried you bridal style before using the taxi he got (he killed the driver first, obviously) and placed you on the passenger seat. he entered the driver's seat and locked the doors before driving off to an isolated part in town.

[thollandneedy]

Masked- Peter Parker

A/N: Since y'all enjoyed so much the Ned's sister prompt... (last halloween themed fic btw)

Summary: Peter hooks up with someone on a Halloween party, but he didn't know that it was Ned's sister

Warnings: Language, teasing, mentions of alcohol, sexual content (p in v; fem!receiving, and praise kink)

Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here

Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻

The sound of classic Halloween songs blared from the speakers scattered around Ned's house, while the wind blew the orange leaves into his yard. The boy in the Zorro costume cursed to himself every time he saw the leaves falling, as it would be another chore to do the next morning, since his parents were out of the house. With hurried steps, he ran to the door to open it for the guests of his not-so-secret party (since his younger sister had told the whole school that there would be a party at her house on the thirty-first).

Unlike Ned, Y/n was considered popular in Midtown because of her charisma and, above all, her beauty. Like her brother, she had inherited good genes and had a mental capacity to envy. The girl was only a year younger than Ned, and yet he made a point of treating her like a child. After many fights and discussions to find a theme that met his sister's “aesthetic pinterest” requirements, Ned agreed to have a masquerade costume party where everyone had to wear personalized masks for their characters to “encourage creativity” in his words.

Although it wasn't much talked about, everyone knew that Ned and his family were well-off, and that consequently their house was big enough to easily house more than 100 people without them all bumping into each other. Ned looks back one more time before opening the door, already leaving a jar of sweets at the entrance for the guests to pick up as soon as they arrive at the house. The dark-haired man opens the door, only to find Peter standing there, while other cars are already parking so as not to have any problems, but late in the day with a lack of space on the street.

“What's up, man?” Ned smiles when he finds his best friend, Peter Parker, dressed as the Phantom of the Opera. “I liked the costume, but I thought you'd come as Zorro with me.”

Peter wasn't one to talk about liking musicals, but one of the few ones he really admired was “The Phantom of the Opera”, which became one of his secret passions after his aunt took him to see it on Broadway a few years ago. Parker didn't have his face completely hidden as it should have been, but it was what he had for that day, and he was going to use that to his advantage rather than spend more time making an artwork that would probably look terrible.

“That one was on sale.” The student says quietly, then laughs and enters the house as soon as the door closes behind him.

The house was decorated with mainly purple and blue neon lights, while the windows bore handprints smeared with fake blood. On some walls you could see some mystical beings pasted on, while some projected ghosts were flying over the kitchen ceiling. Cobwebs were used on furniture, themed food was displayed on the kitchen worktop, and the rest of the decoration was based on cushions, candles and decorative utensils.

“Let me think about who did all the decorating.” Peter looks around, admiring Ned's sister's creativity.

“Don't even tell me about it.” Ned rolls his eyes. “I told Y/n to keep it simple, but you know how she is about parties. It always has to be her way, or she'll freak out.” Ned comments, taking a seat among the decorative pumpkin cushions in the living room.

The sound of the doorbell ringing catches the boys' attention, while Leeds spares no effort to call out his sister's name so that she can welcome the guests. The girl doesn't answer, causing her older brother to curse to himself and shout once more:

“Y/N. COME DOWN HERE AND WELCOME THE GUESTS ALREADY.”

“I'M FINISHING MY HAIR, YOU SELFISH PRICK. I DON'T HURRY YOU WHEN YOU'RE TAKING TOO LONG TO GET READY TO GO OUT WITH BETTY” The girl shouts, opening the door to her room and then slamming it shut.

“Son of a bitch.” Ned puts one of his hands to his face, getting up from the sofa to greet his sister's guests, while Peter reacts with a low laugh. “Make yourself at home, Pete. My sister will be down soon, and you talk to her.”

(...)

The sound of the conversations seemed to overpower the loud music, and apparently Y/n's idea was working. The girl had the masks in mind so that there would be no differentiation between groups of friends, allowing everyone to express themselves as they saw fit, and to be able to talk to people outside their group of friends without feeling threatened. Y/n was sitting at the kitchen table, her two hands resting on the side of her body as she chatted with some friends. Her white dress hugged her hips, while her loose hair only enhanced her beauty.

From afar, it was possible to see the house full. Some were in the living room playing “Just Dance”, while others were in the kitchen drinking and some in the games room using the pool table for their drinks bets. Fortunately, it wasn't as rowdy as university parties, but Ned was certainly a lot more worried about someone using his motel room. The student was sitting in the living room, watching his colleagues from the robotics class sweating in their costumes as they danced to 'Timber', and doing extremely badly. Peter, on the other hand, was chatting to some girls in his class.

Peter Parker never stopped being a nerd, but he also never stopped being extremely attractive. Many girls liked Peter, while the boys didn't know whether to try to befriend Parker in order to benefit from the girls, or just swear at him so that he would lose their confidence.

“I didn't know you were in a couple.” One of the girls dressed as Doroty commented to the brunette.

“I'm not.” Peter commented, grimacing and looking around in search of a twin of his costume.

“That girl is wearing the Christine Daaé costume,” another girl pointed out, causing the brunette to turn quickly to face her.

She was beautiful, delicate and her eyes were mesmerizing. Her legs were exposed, while her feet wore low heels in the same pearly color as her dress. The girl also had little sparkly star-shaped clips in her curly babylined hair. Her mask was white with lace around it, making her eyes stand out even more

It was sexy, tempting, intriguing.

“Do you know who it is? Her mask doesn't let me identify who it is.” The brunette commented, still watching the girl who was laughing at other people's conversations with her apparent friends.

“Go and ask.” The other girl dressed as Glinda comments, watching as Peter says goodbye and heads in the direction of his character's romantic partner.

Peter approaches with slow steps, adjusting his mask and cape, trying not to look strange as he approaches her, but before he can say anything, the girl calls out to him with a smile on her face, waving one of her hands at him.

“Hi, Peter.” The girl calls out.

“Hi.” He replies awkwardly. “I like your costume.” He points to the white dress, along with the corset that makes her breasts look higher.

“And I like yours.” She replied, realizing that he hadn't recognized her.

Y/n was no different from her classmates, and the other girls in the other classes. Y/n would never tell her brother about the little crush she had on her brother's best friend, but she always watched from afar. Taking advantage of the fact that she was wearing a mask, she thought she could use this to her advantage. Because if he didn't recognize her, maybe she could try something more like the way she daydreamed when she had her imaginary scenarios before bed. She was his best friend's sister, and if he knew that, he would never try anything.

“Are you friends with Ned's sister?” The girl asked, getting off the workbench and approaching the brunette, who came closer to her ear so she could speak.

“I know her, but I don't talk to her that much. Whenever I come here to study with Ned or play video games, she's doing something. Or at school in the drama club, or book club, or at the mall with her friends, or even sleeping in her four-poster. Anyway, it's very difficult for us to meet other than at school.” The boy says loudly into the girl's ear, who agrees with a smile on her face as she feels him close to her.

“Have you and Ned been friends for a long time?” The girl stands on her tiptoes to comment in the costume designer's ear.

“We have been for quite a while, actually. Since they were 12, and you? Are you friends with his sister?” Peter asks, leaving Y/n against the wall at his question.

She didn't want to lie to Peter, because if he found out about this little lie, he might look at her with different eyes. The girl just nodded, turning quickly to the side, where some drinks were positioned on the counter decorated with cobwebs and toy spiders. The girl faced the table, picked up a red cup, and looked at Peter as if to ask if he wanted a drink. Peter doesn't usually drink, but he would, just to be able to keep up with the mysterious girl.

“What do you recommend?” He moves closer, standing with his shoulders side by side with hers.

“What do you like?” The girl asks, opening the clear bottle of vodka.

“Girls dressed as Christine Daaé.” He tucks a piece of Y/n's loose hair behind her ear, causing the girl to let out a low laugh and nod. “And you?”

Y/n stares at him, making a point of penetrating him with her eyes, as if he could be restrained alive by intention alone. The younger girl approaches, raising her head to answer him as he narrows his gaze:

“Boys with attitude… and tequila sunrise” Y/n comments, drawing a silly laugh from Peter.

At that moment, not even the people passing by could make the tension disappear from the air, and only those who could feel the heat of desire take over their bodies were attracted. Peter wasn't the type to do things quickly, as he liked to pay attention to detail, but it was a party and not a play for him to declare himself. The girl looked at the table with several bottles on it, stared at them for a few seconds, and then turned her gaze to Peter once more, waiting for him to do something other than talk. Fortunately, the brunette slid one of his fingers down the younger girl's exposed arm, reaching her free hand and saying:

“Do you want to go somewhere else?”

(...)

The music and side conversations were no longer loud, and there was a certain peace wherever they were going. Y/n had her hands intertwined with Peter's, guiding him into a room that was being used as an office. It was large, with dark wooden shelves and a glass table in the center behind a large window that mirrored the moonlight. Y/n and Ned's parents were realtors in New York, but the bad part was that they also owned an agency, which meant that every month they had to travel out of state to resolve or improve an issue in the company.

Y/n closed the white door behind her, allowing Peter to step away from her and look at the books on the shelves, and some paintings too. Y/n was easily charmed by Peter's knowledge, as he was good at everything he did and knew a bit about everything. The brunette gently touched the base of the books, pulling them out to read their titles. The girl didn't hurry, she just followed him, putting her hands on his shoulders and kissing his neck without pulling him away, but Peter wasn't there to look at books.

The boy turned to the clean, innocent image that Y/n was passing by, putting his hands on her waist and finally pressing his lips to hers. The kiss began slowly, increasing in intensity as their tongues caught fire and their hands roamed their bodies. Parker moaned softly against the younger girl's lips, holding onto her waist tighter and tighter, waiting for the slightest sign that he could lose himself completely in the mysterious girl's body. Y/n, for his part, ran his nails down the buttons of his white shirt, slowly unbuttoning them.

And that was the last straw

“Can I touch you?” Peter asked breathlessly.

“Please.” Y/n asked in a low grunt, causing the boy to hold her in his lap, placing her on the glass table.

Peter put his weight on Y/n, lifting the rest of the dress that fell down her legs, to finally reach her smooth thighs. The girl tilted her head back, as if asking him to go deeper. Peter could feel his pants getting tighter and tighter, while his fingers seemed to search for a treasure in the middle of Y/n's legs, leaving him completely kneeling for her. He quickly removed his mask, throwing it on the floor and enjoying the wet core that was already waiting for him. Peter held Y/n's thighs tightly, pulling her closer to his mouth, which couldn't seem to take the pleasure. His tongue slid between her clitoris and her entrance, painting her orgasm in an explosion of guarded feelings. The girl held tightly to Parker's hair, which was now messy.

“Fuck, you taste amazing,” Peter said against her wet pussy.

“Keep going, please.” The girl pleaded desperately, having her request granted as soon as she felt the student's tongue enter her pussy. “That's fucking it!”

Peter stood up, noticing that Y/n's legs already seemed to be shaking. In a moment of anguish and desire, he held her from behind, allowing her to taste him. They both moaned in satisfaction, allowing the younger girl to touch Peter's penis, which marked his pants. Y/n bent down, trying to unbutton Peter's pants, quickly unzipping them and placing the black fabric on the floor. When the girl tried to put her feet on the carpet and kneel down, Peter stopped her with a kiss and denied her with his head, saying:

“I want you.” He said with swollen lips. “Do you want me?”

Y/n doesn't respond, but his body does. His hair stood on end, and his legs spread wider so that he could fit in. Quickly taking off his underpants and throwing them to a forgotten side of the room, Peter pumped his penis a few times, and you could see the glow that his tip exuded from his over-excitement. The brunette kept his hands strong, biting his lip to control the loud moans that begged to come out. Y/n just watched, putting her hands behind her corset to untie her belly, which was compressed by the garment. They both stared at each other for a moment, appreciating their bodies from top to bottom, exuding their desire through their sin-subdued gazes.

“Shit. The condom is in my wallet pocket that was left in the car.” Peter remembers, cursing under his breath for having forgotten the fact.

“I take birth control. It's fine.” She says, knowing that Peter would be trustworthy enough to use the privilege of using a contraceptive.

“Really?” Parker questions her to make sure of what she was saying.

“Yes.” She shakes her head energetically.

Peter moves closer to Y/n, already feeling that his legs would collapse just from her touch. Y/n bites her lower lip at the image of the boy entering her sensitive spot, absorbing all of her thickness to the point where the girl in the white dress puts her own hand over her mouth to cover the loud moan that escapes her pink lips. Peter holds her by the waist, while the girl's body is practically leaning over the table, giving the brunette room to reach the bottom of the woman's pussy. They can both feel their sweaty skins coming into contact, and the sound of them slapping together as the movement increases.

“Peter.” The girl moans.

“Do you like it? Tell me how you like it.” The brunette asked, furrowing his brows as he moaned lowly, waiting for an answer.

“I've wanted you for so long. You have no idea.” Y/n moans louder, feeling the tip of Peter's penis hit her G-spot.

“We should have done this before then, princess. You fit me so well.” He grunts, increasing his speed and feeling his legs tremble with each thrust.

“You wouldn't notice me.” She comments impatiently and slyly.

“It's impossible for me not to notice someone like you, angel.” He stretches his hand out to one of the woman's breasts, making her place one of her hands on top of his, indirectly asking him to squeeze them. “I'm going to come like this, princess.”

“Me too. Please don't stop.”

Y/n moved her hips, searching for more pleasure, following the movements of the older man who, in a few seconds, hugged her tightly, putting his member in much deeper than before, ejaculating his hot liquid at the same time as his partner dug her pink nails into his shirt, screaming into his shoulder with her legs wrapped around his hips. Their legs tremble and their mouths return to a calm, wet kiss, catching their breath and slowly pulling their faces apart until their eyes penetrate each other once more, even interpreted in such a dirty way that it could be considered a crime.

“Are you all right?” Peter asks, running one of his hands through Y/n's messy hair.

“Yeah, and you?“ Y/n asks.”Shit, my friends must be looking for me.”

“Sure, mine too.” Peter agrees, slowly withdrawing his member from Y/n's vagina, and looking for the rest of her clothes while the girl re-ties her corset. “I still don't know your name.” Peter comments.

“And would it be important to know?” Y/n smiles softly, watching him only in the moonlight.

“Not really.” Peter comments, finishing putting on his pants, which were lying on the floor. “I wasn't surprised you chose Phantom of the Opera, by the way.” Peter commented, pointing with his chin at the girl's outfit that had come down from the table.

“And why not?” Y/n fixes her hair, tilting her head to one side as soon as Peter asks.

“Because I was the one who left the flowers in your dressing room after you finished your performance, Y/n. By the way, great idea to reuse the costume. You look hot in it.” Peter buttons up his white blouse.

Y/n stops for a second, realizing that she wasn't as cunning as she thought she was. The girl opens her mouth to try to say something, but realizes it was all a game. Peter walks over to her, finishing buttoning his last button. The brunette bends down to pick up his mask and then puts it on, still watching Y/n's perplexed face.

“Why didn't you tell me you knew who I was?”

“Isn't that what masks were for?” Peter gives a sideways smile, kissing the top of Y/n's head gently.

The boy turns around, opening the door and leaving the room.

“ Motherfucker” Y/n curses him, smiling at his incredulity.

[literaila]

house rules (roommate au)

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary:

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

so immediately you slam the door. 

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

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

oh, fuck. 

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

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

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

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

"and you're less than dressed." 

"i thought you stood me up." 

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

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

"i didn't cancel. i'm here." 

"you're late." 

"so i've heard..." he drawls. 

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

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

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

"are you going to apologize for being late?" 

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

"really?" 

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

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

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

you slam the door against his foot again. 

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

something in his voice already implies that it will. 

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

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

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

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

"ten minutes. maybe twenty." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you attempt a fake smile. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"um... sort of." 

"sort of?" 

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

gojo hums. "why'd he move out?" 

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

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

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

"okay, good, 'cause that's hideous." 

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

"did you change rooms?" 

"what?" 

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

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

gojo snorts. 

"what?" 

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

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

"you're not going to look around?" 

"it looks like the pictures." 

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

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

"not that i know of..." 

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

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

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

"yes." 

"can i see?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"can't you?" he asks, challenging. 

"no." 

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

and somehow you doubt that. 

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

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

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

"yes." 

"such as?" 

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

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

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

"okay." 

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

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

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

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

"these are not negotiable." 

he only continues to smile at you. 

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

"fine. you still want to live here?" 

"mmhmm." 

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

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

*

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

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

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

but satoru gojo is hard. 

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

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

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

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

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

and honestly, gojo's just asking for it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you ate my ice cream?" you repeat. 

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

"i might kill you." 

"i thought we banned homicide from the apartment." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you blink. 

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

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

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

you laugh. 

"clearly you've never been." 

"i'm still expecting ice cream." 

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

"like you've never skipped a class." 

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

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

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

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

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

"i seriously doubt that." 

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

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

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

"nor ever will," you grind out.

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh, wait. it does. 

you frown at him. 

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

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

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

"do you own this bar?" 

"what? no." 

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

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

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

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

"nanami," you cut in, "hey." 

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

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

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

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

"because i didn't realize." 

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

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

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

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

"he promised me alcohol." 

she nods knowingly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru laughs, not questioning this, and walks away. 

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

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

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

how long had that taken? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"are you ready to go home?" 

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

you don't, for whatever reason. 

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

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

"oh, really?" 

"learned when i was a kid and everything." 

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

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

like he's an actual toddler.

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

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

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

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

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

he smiles at you. you roll your eyes. 

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

but were you really expecting it to? 

*

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

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

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

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

you try not to laugh. 

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

"sorry?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"did you lose some pigment in your hair?" 

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

"from what?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo looks like he might start crying.

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

"don't you have a room?" you ask. 

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

"no." 

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

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

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

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

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

"clearly." 

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

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

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

"a book." 

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

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

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

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

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

seriously, his presence is impending doom itself. 

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

"i crave my fist on your face." 

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

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

"probably?" 

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

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

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

you groan and he laughs at you.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you're cleaning air?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"nanamin," he interrupts. "go." 

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

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

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

you raise your brows but do as he says. 

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

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

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

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

"satoru, she's just watching--" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

from suguru :p : 

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

can you please kick him awake? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"telepathy. now get up." 

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

"suguru said you'd say that." 

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

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

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

"why are you so mean to me?" 

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

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

"i'll sue back for mental damages." 

he laughs, and wiggles from your grasp. 

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

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

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

"yup." 

"he's a terrible friend." 

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

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

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

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

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

"what class is it?" 

"theoretical physics." 

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

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

"i can imagine." 

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

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

"no, suguru just thinks i'm lazy." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"really?" 

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

he grins. "cruel." 

"and i'll record it." 

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...and?" 

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

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

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

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

"how did you even find the library?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you're a part of a study group?" 

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

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

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

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

"nope, again." 

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

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

"do i seem worried to you?" 

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

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

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

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

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

you squint. "did you actually?" 

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

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

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

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

"flip night." 

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

"it wasn't that bad." 

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

gojo smiles. "consider yourself lucky." 

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

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

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

you laugh that thought away as soon as it comes.

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

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

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

"why not?" 

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

"do it in the morning." 

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

"then don't study." 

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

he grins. "i get it from you." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...going home?" 

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"no." 

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

"i told you, that's not mine." 

"so you gave it away?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"yes." 

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

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

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

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

"well, it was true then." 

you roll your eyes. 

"i wasn't going to say that anyway." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"whatever will i do now?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"getting turned on by my pain?" 

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...are you sure?" 

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

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

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

"what?" 

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

your brow furrows. "about what?" 

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

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

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

"no, and i don't dance." 

gojo rolls his eyes. "everyone dances." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you left me--" 

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

"you'll get me that anyway." 

"i'll let you pick it this time." 

"that's usually expected, you know?" 

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

"i don't know that, actually." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

it's probably just the alcohol, though. 

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it sounds like something else to you.

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

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

"'cause you deserve it." 

he laughs and leans in, so you follow him. 

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

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

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

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

"really?" 

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

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

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

"you okay?" 

"i think i might be a little drunk." 

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

"you're a lightweight." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i don't look at you a lot." 

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

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

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

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

"what?" 

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

"i'm not?" 

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

"why not?" 

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

gojo's brow furrows. "how?" 

your brows furrow. "how what?" 

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

"you'd have to ask him." 

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

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

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

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

"hey," gojo says, interrupting that feeling. 

"what?" 

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

"i'm not?" 

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

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

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

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

"they do?" 

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

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

how long has it been now? 

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

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

*

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

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

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

he just smiles easily, ruffling your hair.  

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

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

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

*

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

and so maybe you hang out with him sometimes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

"to the store." 

"it's eleven." 

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

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

"i need stuff." 

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

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

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

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

"you can't leave right now." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i can do whatever i want." 

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

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

"when i realized how weak you are." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you are ruining my mood." 

"oh, good." 

you scowl. "move. right now." 

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

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

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

he snorts. 

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

"what is that?" 

you frown. "what?" 

"what's wrong with your face?" 

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

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

"don't talk to me. ever again." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

"gojo?" 

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

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

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

"where were you?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru only smiled a little bit at your question.

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

you'd frowned. "what?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i'm busy, gojo." 

"no, you're not." 

"i am doing homework." 

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

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

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

he sighs again. "canceled." 

"why?" 

"my dad had a meeting or something." 

"oh." 

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

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

he shakes his head. 

"do you want me to make you something?" 

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

"not intentionally." 

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

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

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

"that's not what i asked." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

this shouldn't be happening. 

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

he should not be this close. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"there's at least five." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it wasn't fair like this. 

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

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

like you're doing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"gojo, i'm really--" 

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

"what?" 

"that's not my name." 

you frown. "yes it is?" 

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

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

"when you were drunk." 

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

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

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

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

"you're sorry?" 

"i didn't mean to." 

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

"it was an accident?" 

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

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

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

"...okay." 

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

you stare at him. 

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

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

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

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

"why not?" 

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

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

"wasn't it obvious?" 

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

you shake your head. 

"c'mon, just a little." 

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

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

"don't tell me what to do." 

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

you kinda want to hit him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"when?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"you flirt with everything." 

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

"who said anything about making out?" 

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

*

[jpitha]

The Oxygen Breathers: With one hand tied behind my back!

The human sat on the bench in the common area for at least one of their hours before the children worked up the courage to approach.

"You're a human right?" One of the children - an Innari - said as they approached the human. They were taller than the human, and seemed to have barely any bones. They moved and undulated like an octopus that was used to being out of the water.

The human's helmet flashed an cartoon icon of its face and smiled - without their teeth - broadly. "That's right! My name is Harold, but everyone calls me Harry. What's your name?"

"I'm Opian, this is Downward Draft, and standing in the back is Vizxxian." They gestured with their tentacle-like appendage. It had manipulators on the end which could be seen a little like fingers. Good for fine detail work.

Harry put up his gauntleted hand and spread his fingers. A wave. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. What can I help with?"

"Downward Draft says humans are the strongest of the Coalition peoples. Is that true?"

Harry sat up slightly. His icon continued to speak while he did. "Well, I don't rightly know if that's true, Downward Draft. I haven't met everyone. Of the ones I did meet, I have a hunch I might be stronger, but you also have to remember, we come from a heavier world than most of the other Coalition species. Earth's gravitational pull is half again what it is here on this station. There were gasps and noises of surprises from the kids. "That's so heavy!" Downward Draft rustled their feathers they caught the light and sparkled. "This station is already heavy for us; our homeworld's gravity is even less. I bet I couldn't' even walk on your planet!"

Harry's icon nodded. "You might be right, Downward Draft. But, gravity aside, it's nice here. I like the colors you use to decorate, and I like your plants. Everything back home is just different shades of green."

Vizxxian was working themselves up for something. Harry peered over Opian's head. "How about you? Do you have a question?"

Viz's eye slits squeezed shut and they blurted out "My parent says you're all a bunch of 'rock throwers' and that we should have never let you into the Coalition. They say that outside of your suits and ships, you're not so tough."

Downward Draft nudged Viz. "Don't be mean Viz! Harry is a guest here. You know how to treat guests."

Harry chuckled. "It's all right Downward Draft. We learn things from our parents. Part of growing up is trying to figure out what is true and what isn't. Now, I'm not mad, but you know that 'rock throwers' is a slur, and not a nice thing to say, right?"

Viz's ears wiggled in assent. "Yes, but that's the word father used. I know it's a bad word though."

Harry nodded. "Context is important though. I could say 'I picked up this rock and threw it' and that's not a slur, but if I said 'those rock throwers always go back on their deals' that is a slur. It's all right though, I'm not angry." Harry's helmet cleared. The kids looked across as his face became visible for the first time. Opian's eyes dilated in surprise. "So your dad thinks that we're not so tough outside of our suits? How about we place a little wager? I'll get out of my suit, and if any of you can touch my arm, I'll buy you a snack."

Opian shrinked back. Downward Draft raised their feathered arms in a gesture of dismissial. "You can't breath the atmostphere here! You'll die!"

Harry put up a hand. "It'll be all right. I'll wear a breathing mask, and the pressure and atmosphere difference won't hurt me for the time I'll be out of the suit."

"Oh we couldn't-"

"I'll do it!" Opian and Downward Draft turned in shock to Viz. They had stood to their full height, just a little taller than Harry and bent their legs just a little. "I can touch your arm."

Harry grinned. "Good. Let's see." Harry stood up, and touched the pad on his suit's arm. There was orange light that illuminated his face and he frowned and pressed more buttons on his suit. After a moment, it turned green, and lines appeared all over the suit. Joints. With a hiss of pressure and a whine of servos, his suit unfolded like a flower, and Harry stepped out.

He was much shorter than the kids. Just two meters tall if that. On the top of his head was a dark fur that was closely cropped, and he had fur all over the lower part of his face that was the same color. Under the outer, armored suit he wore a tight body suit that connected to the outer suit with thin wires. Harry reached down and unplugged them and they slid up into the suit he was wearing and disappeared. Opian was impressed. Their suits seemed to be far more advanced than ones of Innari make.

"There." Harry's voice was much lower than his translator made it sound. Maybe it was the difference in breathing gas? It was also a little muffled by his mask. "Okay Viz. Whenever you're ready."

Opian and Draft stood back and watched. Viz stood stock still and seemed like they were trying to decide what to do. Suddenly, Viz howled and ran towards Harry. Their long legs consumed the distance between them relentlessly. At the last half meter, Viz spun and in one fluid motion bend down and lashed out with one of their legs. Opian gasped. He was attacking Harry! That's a lethal kick if it connects.

Before Opian could react any further, Harry... wasn't were he was before. He was standing a meter to the side, and Viz was flying backwards into the bench. Viz jumped up, and roared again. This was a roar of frustration as well as a battle cry, and charged Harry. Once again, Harry stood there watching, and as Viz turned to kick him, he wasn't were Viz expected, and they went skittering across the smooth floor.

Harry stood with his hands on his hips. His eyes flicked to Opian and Draft. "Remember, strength isn't everything. Know your opponent. Know how they attack, watch for signs, paying attention and then you can move out of the way and dodge." Harry was grinning and put his hand out and curled his fingers towards himself. "Come on, Opian, Downward Draft, you try too!"

Downward Draft bent low and leapt towards Harry, using their legs to absorb as much potential energy as possible, releasing it as they sprung towards him with arms outstretched. Quicker than Opian could follow, Harry ducked underneath the Avar, and Draft sailed harmlessly overhead.

Harry, looked at Opian and raised one of the small lines of hair above his eyes. "What about you, Opian? Give it a try?"

"No, thank you Harry. I concede. There's no way I could touch you."

Harry's nodded. "That's all right. Mayb-"

Harry looked over and Downward Draft was standing mere centimeters away, with his arm out, and the barest edge of one of his iridescent feathers brushed against Harry's arm.

"Got you." Draft whispered.

Harry tipped his head back and laughed. The kids all took a step back in fear. "No, no, it's all right. that's a fair touch. You win, Downward Draft. I'll buy you snacks. Just let me get back into my suit. My skin is starting to itch."

It only took a moment for Harry's suit to climb onto him and fit around him as he stood there. "I have to say Downward Draft, you can move quietly."

They ruffled their feathers in pride. "Thank you Harry. On my world, moving without noise is a prized skill."

Harry darkened his helmet and his icon re-appeared. "Harry?"

He turned, "Yes, Viz?"

"You don't have to darken your helmet. We don't think you're scary anymore."

Harry's helmet cleared. He smiled without showing his teeth. "I'm glad to hear that Vizxxian. I'm glad to hear that."

[themongrelcatcamehome-blog]

welcome to the party. try the punch.

Synopsys: A new type of trafficking begins to take place in Zaun. Commander Caitlyn Kiramman plans to attend the party where the trade agreement will be celebrated. But something – or someone – wasn’t part of her plans.

tags: smut, thigh riding, strap, switch and i don't know how this works it's my very first fanfic.

Caitlyn had read the full report. She found out that Baroness Velveteen's party would take place that night. She quickly came up with a plan and decided it would be a two-person mission.  

She called Officer Maddie, who wasn’t her brightest soldier, but she was the most passionate, and that would suffice.  

The plan was to enter the party wearing masks and accessories that would cover any very obvious features. Maddie’s orange hair and freckles were well known to the criminals of Zaun. And Caitlyn’s black-blue hair would attract attention from some.  

With the plan more or less complete and Maddie on standby, Caitlyn dressed in a way she normally wouldn’t.  

Many months earlier, she had traveled to the Bilgewater. The idea was to negotiate military weapons with the local police. At the time, Caitlyn was determined to live a little more outside of the police force, so she frequented some bars and tried the famous Bilgewater rum. In one of those bars, she saw a woman dressed in a way she would never forget. It was that kind of impact Caitlyn wanted to create at the Zaunite party. Seducing the right baroness would be the shortest path to achieving the mission’s objective: to arrest the person responsible for illegal alcohol trafficking and crack down on any facilitators of international trafficking of drugs.

Caitlyn told Maddie that they wouldn’t be going together and that they wouldn’t speak during the party. Her clear instruction to the young soldier was: if my tracker stops sending a signal to your receiver or if I stop moving for more than ten minutes, call in your troops and search for me.  

Maddie was aware and ready for the mission.  

Caitlyn took a long bath, washed her hair, and moisturized her skin as best as she could. She brushed her hair back and braided it into a long fishtail braid.  

The mask she chose was one that mimicked a mythical artifact called Lyandre. It looked like something out of a play: white with green and red details.  

For her outfit, Caitlyn decided to wear a red dress with a traditional Ionian cut: it cinched at the waist, had buttons all the way up to the neck, and reached halfway down her thighs. She chose not to wear any stockings. Her holster was across her chest, and her two smaller pistols were equipped.  

For shoes, she wore short and extravagant boots. The perfect excuse to wear footwear suitable for running, if necessary.  

The lingerie Caitlyn chose was a simple but elegant black lace set.

Caitlyn was ready.  

Upon arriving at the party—slightly late, which was part of the disguise— the commander already smelled like Zaun. She had stopped by a bar beforehand and sat on some old sofas to drink two beers. She took the opportunity to inform Maddie that, from that moment on, her location would need to be monitored. Maddie was already at the party.

At the entrance, she was greeted by a woman dressed in feathers. Her entire face was covered in very bright stones. She asked Caitlyn: "Guest of someone?"  

Caitlyn was prepared. She responded, "Don't insult me. Move."

Immediately, the woman moved to the left and nodded to Caitlyn.  

Inside, there were people from all corners of Runeterra. Yordles, Vastaya, humanoids... Most using shimmer. That alone would have been enough to arrest quite a few people, but the Piltover police had bigger concerns than the recreational use of a cheap drug.  

Caitlyn ordered a drink at the bar, and the bartender said, "The special tab is upstairs. Here, we only serve the usual."  

Caitlyn thanked him with a nod. Her outfit was working. She looked like she was from Ionia.  

Upon reaching the stairs to the mezzanine, a Vastaya guard asked, "Guest of someone?"  

And Caitlyn needed a more convincing answer this time. She was quick.  

"When the star of the party arrives, tell her she's my guest."

The young man twitched his ears, widened his eyes, and handed Caitlyn a card for consumption in the second booth of the mezzanine.  

Vi was in the seventh booth. Dressed in a simple yet elegant suit, her role at the party was to ensure that Madame Babette wouldn’t be disturbed by anything.  

The party was a celebration of the success of the Bilgewater rum brought by Velveteen, her business partner. Vi didn’t care about any moral implications. She was only interested in payment and having fun.  

Since Velveteen hadn’t yet arrived, Vi was acting like a regular guest: drinking, smoking a few cigarettes, and flirting with half the women in the mezzanine.  

One of them, very young and wearing a mask that covered her entire head, asked Vi if there was any drink she would suggest, something lighter. Vi called over the humanoid waitress and ordered a drink for the young woman. The waitress didn’t seem happy but nodded and brought the drink. It was a mimosa made with a citrus fruit from Bandlecity. The woman took the drink from the tray and took a sip.  

“Very tasty, really different!”  

The waitress shot a piercing look at Vi and said, "She should try the punch," as she left, in a bad mood.

The young woman asked:  

- What was that about?  

- You know, we have a history.  

- A history that involves punches or the wine punch?

Vi straightened up and scratched the back of her neck with her right hand. As she did, the opening of her suit at chest level widened, revealing that Vi wasn’t wearing anything under her suit.  

The woman blushed beneath her mask, her face heating up with every second she stared at Vi’s chest, and Vi said:  

- Want to find out?

Before any more words could be exchanged between them, Vi heard a noise coming from booth 7.  

There was no time to say goodbye to the young woman. Vi ran toward the entrance, only to realize it was just a Yordle popping a champagne bottle.  

When she returned to the mezzanine corridor, the woman she had been flirting with had vanished.  

Caitlyn had stiffened at the noise but soon relaxed. Her booth was enormous, featuring a half-moon-shaped velvet sofa that was extremely comfortable. Everything was impeccably clean. In the center  was a table with a built-in fridge and various types of drinks. The booth was enclosed, like a mini private lounge, and the curtains could be moved with a button next to the sofa. It felt strange to be in a closed space inside a nightclub, but Caitlyn understood that the patrons here valued privacy for committing their crimes—and other things.

Caitlyn left the mezzanine door open because the heat was getting almost uncomfortable, and she had already undone two buttons on her dress. The same waitress moved between the booths and approached Caitlyn.

“Madame, would you like something from our tobacco selection?”

The woman held out three containers: one with a glimmering substance in a golden pipe, another with a bluish herb, and the third was a pack of cigarettes. Caitlyn declined all three and requested a glass of ice.

The waitress shrugged and went to fetch the order. Just past the door of the booth, she stopped to chat with someone. Caitlyn ignored it until she heard a familiar voice.

“Are you sure she’s foreign?” Vi asked.

“Of course. She speaks differently, denied all the stash and asked for ice. Who in their right mind drinks ice from Zaun?”

Caitlyn grew anxious at the conversation, unfsure if this would catch Vi’s attention or if her cover was on the verge of being blown. She continued sitting, sipping Bilgewater rum, and watching the party below.

Before she could dwell further on the implications of the conversation, a loud noise erupted directly beneath her booth.

It was applause. Velveteen had arrived.

Caitlyn prepared to go down and complete the second part of her mission: to find a way to get close to the baroness in a friendly manner. Caitlyn knew of her preferences for foreigners, so she intended to use her disguise to her advantage. She spotted Velveteen heading toward the mezzanine entrance, but before she could continue observing the baroness, she felt her feet leave the ground, a sudden movement towards her back and her entire body moving toward the velvet couch.

“You think you’re clever, Cupcake?”

Vi was holding Caitlyn by the neck, having taken her down with a single move. She patted Caitlyn’s torso, searching for weapons, and removed her pistols, stuffing them into the fridge. Caitlyn grunted, struggling to free herself from Vi’s chokehold, but before she could think of screaming, the DJ started his set.

Vi loosened her grip slightly—just enough for Caitlyn to speak without coughing. Caitlyn raised her hands in surrender and said, “I don’t want anything to do with you or your psycho sister. I’m here for Velveteen.”

“I know. But Velveteen is a guest of my employer, and well, Cupcake, that’s not going to happen.”

“If you don’t stop calling me Cupcake, we’re going to have a problem.”

“Oh, really, commander? And what exactly can you do from there?”

Vi tightened her chokehold again, crossing her legs over Caitlyn’s thighs. “I could easily kill you now, and they’d only know when I wanted them to.”

“Violet, Violet… If you haven’t moved on, we can talk.”

Despite the difficulty in speaking, Caitlyn couldn’t miss the chance to tease her ex-lover.

“Come on, Violet. Admit you’ve missed me.”

Vi released the chokehold and yanked off Caitlyn’s mask. Looking at the commander, she saw that Caitlyn was smiling and mocking the situation. Caitlyn adjusted herself as best she could in Vi’s lap, taking the chance to massage her own neck, sore from the chokehold.

“I should have just taken you down, but one day I’ll learn.”

Vi let go of Caitlyn completely. She retrieved the pistols from the fridge, removed the ammunition, and threw them out the door. The empty pistols went into the trash, leaving Caitlyn defenseless.

Vi opened a beer from the minibar, leaned back comfortably on the sofa, and began to drink.

“If you want to act like my guest, at least sit properly.” said Cait.

Vi sat with her legs spread, beer in her right hand and her left resting on her knee.

“I’m thinking, Cait.”

“About what?”

“You weren’t supposed to be here. I didn’t plan on seeing you today.”

“I don’t think about you enough to keep you out of my plans, but it’s nice to know you’re alive, Violet.”

“And they say you have no sense of humor…”

The waitress stopped in front of the mezzanine and asked if she could come in. Vi stood, took the glass of ice from the tray, and said, “Thanks.” The waitress had no time to react.

Watching Vi standing, Caitlyn noticed that Vi was well dressed, but something about her outfit caught her attention. Vi had her back turned as she briefly interacted with the waitress, and Caitlyn saw two straps crossed across the back of Vi's waist. Her muscular butt was showing in the silhouette of her pants.

“Did you come to work or to have fun?”

“They’re the same to me. Work can be fun, but you know nothing about that.”

Vi turned toward Caitlyn, she was sweating from the brief fight, her pants weren't tight, but Cait knew what Vi was wearing.

Caitlyn tried to shake off the thoughts running through her mind. She needed to stay focused on the mission.

Vi set the beer on the table and leaned toward Caitlyn.

“Cupcake, I’m closing the door.”

Caitlyn tried to stand quickly but wobbled to the side, grabbing the edge of the sofa. The chokehold and drink had affected her body, and she was still recovering from the dizziness. She sat back down on the sofa and undid another button of her dress.

Standing, Vi approached Caitlyn and placed her cold hand on the commander’s forehead. Caitlyn felt a chill run through her whole body, unsure if it was from the cold or…

“Come on, Cait. I didn’t even squeeze that hard. It was almost like foreplay…”

“Shut up, Violet. You caught me off guard, that’s all. Is already passing.”

And it was true. Caitlyn was hot for a different reason now.

“Cupcake, I’m on the clock. And as much as you love my company, I need to work.”

Vi adjusted her pants, pulling the waistband up to her bellybutton. As she did, her strap became visible against her pants. Caitlyn gulped. Vi adjusted the lapel of her suit jacket and said, “When my shift ends, I’ll decide if I’ll come back here.”

Caitlyn didn’t give Vi a chance to react. When Vi leaned down to press the door button, Caitlyn grabbed her arm and twisted her into a perfect arm lock. Vi let out a loud grunt.

“Your shift just started, Violet.”

Caitlyn remained seated almost comfortably on the couch. As she tried to sit Vi between her legs on the floor, the sofa seemed to expand a little. Vi's hair smelled of smoke, alcohol, and shampoo. She was wearing a light fragrance, probably some kind of body lotion. Her sweat blended perfectly with all the scents, and Caitlyn felt she might get dizzy again.

She continued pressing her back against the backrest, tightening the arm lock without realizing.

“Damn it! Are you trying to break my arm?!”

Caitlyn released the hold. Vi immediately began massaging her shoulder and part of her back. As she did it, her scent grew stronger and Caitlyn caught a glimpse of a small part of her back. Caitlyn was kneeling behind Vi to apply more force to the hold she had been using. As she saw Vi’s back muscles tense under the suit, she sat with her legs around Vi’s hips. She held Vi’s right arm close to her own chest and whispered in her ear,“Did you miss me, Violet?”

Vi felt a shiver run through her entire body, stopping at her neck. She touched Caitlyn’s hand with her free hand.

“Oh, Cait. You don’t want to do this.”

Caitlyn didn't let Vi finish her sentence. She pressed her face into Vi's neck, kissing and biting her ear. Vi squirmed a bit but made no sound. Caitlyn started kissing the other side of her neck and bit Vi's ear harder. As she kissed her neck, Caitlyn held Vi's chin with one hand and slid the other across her chest. Vi's suit was damp with sweat, which only turned Caitlyn on even more. As she nibbled, she felt Vi's nipple harden under her touch, and Vi finally let out a moan. Caitlyn released Vi's chin and moved her hand to her neck.

"Not so tough now, are you?"

Caitlyn put her hand on Vi's neck, a gentle but firm grip. Vi took a deep breath. With her free hand, Caitlyn unbuttoned the suit and slid her hand down to her stomach, it was firm and had a perfect six-pack. Vi started moving her hips, trying to reach Caitlyn’s hand.

"Take off your pants," Caitlyn ordered.

Vi unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down to her knees. She was wearing black boxer-style underwear. The shape of her strap was visible, and her toned abs glistened with sweat.

Caitlyn continued watching over Vi’s shoulders. Now with both hands, she slid them over her chest, stomach, and the waistband of her underwear. Vi moaned, trying to guide Caitlyn's right hand toward her inner thigh. Caitlyn then began running her hands down Vi's thighs. Her nails moved lightly, sending chills over Vi's skin. She dug her nail into her right thigh, scratching her smooth skin a little. Vi's thigh turned slightly red, and Caitlyn caressed it for a while longer.

"Cait, please...", moaned Vi.

Caitlyn slipped her right hand into Vi's underwear, gently tugging it down to reveal the strap. Then she nudged the strap slightly aside to reach Vi's wetness.

“Is that all for me, Violet?”

Vi moaned a “Yes” without even realizing she was speaking. But Caitlyn didn't stay too long there. 

Caitlyn ran two fingers over Vi's entrance and brought them to her mouth. Vi licked the commander’s fingers, gently biting the tips. Caitlyn brushed the same fingers over Vi's nipples, causing her to shiver as if a wave of electricity was coursing through her body. Vi squirmed, her hips moving rhythmically. Her thick, muscular thigh was becoming increasingly tense. Caitlyn ran her fingers again on Vi’s clit in a gentle circular motion, sliding her fingers down to the entrance and gathering some of Vi's wetness. She then proceeded to put the same two fingers in Vi’s mouth again, prompting Vi to suck them. As the pink-haired started suckling her fingers, Caitlyn started rubbing her pussy on Vi’s back. As her breathing rhythm increased, she tapped Vi’s mouth and grabbed her left breast with a firm grip. 

Caitlyn rose from her position and moved in front of Vi. She pushed Vi onto the couch, telling her to keep watching.

Caitlyn unbuttoned the rest of her dress and slipped off her shoes. Vi was almost completely undressed. She tried to reach out and pull Caitlyn toward her, but Caitlyn dodged her grasp.

Caitlyn knelt in front of Vi. Vi sat back on the sofa, gently touching Caitlyn's face and pulling her closer. They shared an urgent, sloppy kiss and Caitlyn let out a moan as she tasted Vi’s cum on her mouth. She realized she was salivating, and a bit of it dripped onto Vi's abdomen.

“Don't waste it there,” Vi murmured.

Caitlyn began licking and kissing Vi's abdomen, moving up to her chest, lingering on her hardened nipples as she teased them with her tongue. Circular motions, up and down, biting and kissing them.  Vi closed her eyes, moaning softly, her hands caressing Caitlyn's shoulders as she opened Cait's bra and messed her braid.

Caitlyn felt Vi's strap pressing against her breasts, trying to keep herself composed. She resumed licking along Vi's stomach, hesitating at her inner thigh before trailing her tongue over Vi’s legs. Rising up, she held Vi’s chin, teasing her, bringing her face close to her cunt, as if to spark her desire even more. Vi tried to kiss it, but Caitlyn held back.

Caitlyn pulled her own underwear aside and lowered herself onto Vi's thigh.

“Violet, I'm so…”

Vi secretly enjoyed hearing Caitlyn say her full name. Something about her accent made everything even more thrilling, and the commanding tone just made Vi want her more.

As Caitlyn rode Vi's thigh, Vi held her back with her left hand and used her right hand to grip Caitlyn’s ass, pressing her body down closer against her thigh. Caitlyn’s entire body moved rhythmically. By now, her hair was loose, and she tried to tuck it behind her ear as she moved. 

"Leave it. You look so beautiful."

And Caitlyn kissed Vi like her mouth was the last thing she’d ever experience. She kissed, moaned, and panted against Vi’s lips, biting them each time Vi squeezed her harder. Vi lifted her leg slightly, pressing even more against the commander's cunt. She started kissing and sucking Caitlyn's breasts. Caitlyn threw her head back and moaned Vi’s name. Vi started moving her thigh, her muscles rubbing against the commander's pussy. Noticing Caitlyn’s movements speeding up, Vi knew her climax was near. So, she intentionally eased up on the pressure, and Caitlyn turned to her with a mix of frustration and longing.

"Don’t stop!"

"Look at me." Said Vi, as she pressed her thigh harder this time, steady and slow, adjusting Caitlyn’s panties aside a bit more. Her thigh was so wet that Caitlyn slid even more easily. The friction against Caitlyn’s clit and Vi’s thigh muscles along with the steady rhythm was driving them wild. Caitlyn braced both hands on Vi’s shoulders, sliding a few more times before settling onto her strap.

Vi leaned back on her elbows to watch Caitlyn ride. Their bodies were hot, almost igniting from the heat between them. Caitlyn held her panties to the side, her other hand resting on Vi’s thigh as she leaned back. Cait had to wipe her hand on her own thigh, since Vi's thigh was slippery. The way she moved, her hips rocking forward and back, even lightly brushing against Vi’s sensitive spot left Vi barely able to contain herself… But she had plans for later.

Vi took over holding Caitlyn’s nearly-torn panties, flexing her own hips to thrust deeper. Caitlyn leaned forward, her hands on Vi's abs and breasts. Her mind swirled as she moved faster, her climax drawing near. Vi was mesmerized, watching Caitlyn’s hips, her body moving forward. She couldn’t take her eyes off her pussy. Caitlyn’s head fell back as she started to climax on Vi’s strap, moving so fast that Vi had to hold the strap in place. Caitlyn’s body tensed, arching forward as she moaned, locking eyes with Vi. When her body relaxed, she collapsed onto Vi’s chest.

"Stay inside me a little longer."

Vi kissed Caitlyn’s head, inhaling her scent, fighting the urge to jerk herself off on Caitlyn's body. As Caitlyn’s heartbeat slowed, she gently pulled the strap out and adjusted her underwear. Vi chuckled, giving Caitlyn’s ass one last squeeze.

Caitlyn moved to the center of the room, searching for water and ended up taking a swig from Vi’s beer.

Vi finished removing her pants and as she was about to unstrap herself, Caitlyn pulled the straps, tightening them against Vi's skin. When Cait saw the muscles in Vi's hip bulging from the pressure of the straps, she loosened them slightly so Vi could feel the bite she was about to give. Vi tried to hold steady, but her balance was starting to falter. When she finished unstrapping Vi, Caitlyn stood up to kiss her. Their bodies stayed close, Caitlyn feeling each muscle in Vi’s back, running her hands over her arms, whispering compliments as they held each other tightly. As Cait touched Vi's ass, she felt the pink-haired leaning towards her as she rubbed her cunt on Cait.

Cait then proceeds to kiss Vi's neck, mouth, breasts, circling her tongue on her nipples and going back to her mouth.

As they kissed, Caitlyn pulled Vi's hair and whisper in her ear:

I want you to cum in my mouth.

Vi felt her vision blur, seeing colorful flashes even with her eyes closed. A growing wave of nervousness surged up her temples. She felt her face flush and couldn’t help but let out a subtle hiss. Something shifted inside and she was so horny that even a gentle movement on her sensitive spot could trigger an orgasm. She exasperated and tried to control herself. 

Vi tried to lay on the couch, but Cait grabbed her waist and said with a smirk:

"I want you to stand up," Caitlyn commanded, running her fingers teasingly along Vi’s folds but skipping her clit, just enough to ignite her. Vi's legs began to falter, trembling under Caitlyn’s touch.

Vi pulled Caitlyn’s hair, locking eyes with her. "Stop torturing me. And don’t waste a drop."

Caitlyn laughed; she was so wet. She slid her fingers along Vi's folds again, then brought them to her mouth biting her cheeks gently as Vi tasted herself.

Caitlyn hastily tied her hair up, kissed and sucked Vi’s nipples, then worked her way down to her abs, licking and kissing along her toned stomach before kneeling in front of her.

Vi couldn't control her reactions, shivers coursing through her body, her legs still shaky. She tried to steady herself against the couch, but it was too low. Caitlyn noticed and pushed her back against the wall, adjusting her hair as she looked up at Vi with an eager, heated gaze.

Vi placed one hand on her stomach and the other on Caitlyn's face. Seeing Piltover's most stuck-up commander on her knees was driving her wild. When Vi tried to pull Caitlyn’s face closer to her pussy, Caitlyn playfully bit her hand. Then, without further delay, Caitlyn’s mouth finally met Vi’s clit, drawing a deep moan from her. Caitlyn alternated between licking and sucking as Vi pushed her head closer to go deeper. Caitlyn resisted the urge to smile, not wanting to break the rhythm.

She spreaded Vi’s folds gently with her fingers and buried her mouth on Vi's clit once more. She felt Vi's body tense against the wall and knew it wasn’t fair that the wall got to feel all of Vi’s spasms. Pulling her slightly forward, Caitlyn placed a hand on Vi’s ass, feeling her muscles contract as Vi thrust her hips forward. Her other hand rested on Vi's thigh.

Knowing she wouldn’t last much longer, Vi spread her legs a bit wider, gripping Caitlyn’s hair and guiding her head firmly against her clit, each movement faster. As her orgasm approached, she relaxed her muscles, letting Caitlyn feel the wetness, drawing out the last seconds of her buildup. Glancing down, she saw Caitlyn’s eyes: they were wide open and focused on Vi’s gaze. Caitlyn pulled her head back briefly, a proud smirk tugging at her lips, a line of cum coming off Vi's pussy. She remained looking at Vi’s eyes. The fluid now on her lips only. Cait’s lips were gleaming. She licked it away, swallowed, and resumed. Moments later, Vi’s body tensed, her back pressing into the wall as she gasped, "Oh my god… Cait…"

Vi pushed Cait's head deeper, trying to enjoy every second of it. She felt when Caitlyn opened her mouth and moved her jaw a little bit lower and started tasting her warm, freshly released cum.

Caitlyn couldn’t contain her pride, thrilled to have made Vi come so intensely. Her chin was drenched, and she took in every drop of Vi’s release.

Standing, she kissed Vi deeply. Vi, still catching her breath, ran her hands over Caitlyn’s back as she kissed her back.

"We could stay here all night," Vi murmured.

"I’d stay here as long as you’d have me, Violet."

They both knew it was different between them, that no other woman could compare to what they shared. But they were also aware of the differences and baggage that stood in their way.

"We can stay a while longer. Then you can punch me, and life will go back to normal, Cupcake."

As Caitlyn relished the softness of Vi’s embrace, an urgent knock on her door interrupted them.

"Who is it?" Caitlyn asked.

"Commander Kiramman? Reinforcements are here!”

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Costume Meta 7x01

Aaaaaaannnnd we're back!!

OMG I cannot tell you how good it feels to be back writing costume meta - I have missed it so very much and this first episode has given me lots and lots to talk about so lets crack on with it shall we!

Where to start?! Firstly - Its amazing to have Alayna Bell-Price back in the driving seat and she is a genius because she knows the characters better than anyone and I have to say from my perspective there is a pretty clear difference between this episodes costumes and the ones from season 6 - not that s6's costumes were bad, just that you could see the shift of having a designer who didn't know the characters to the same level. I’m going to go in order of character appearance in a non uniform capacity for this one I think so we’re going to jump around from character to character a bit. There is no Maddie or Hen this week, as we don't see them out of uniform, but every one else is accounted for and I've included Norman and Lola as they've got a multi episode arc and their costumes are interesting and playing into a colour theme!

putting it below the cut as its a long post and I on't want to overtake everyones dashes! Enjoy!

We start off with Athena in this pale pink high neck ribbed sweater with large bell sleeves. I've spoken a fair amount about pale pink over the last couple of seasons of costume metas and how, in clothes its representative of childish and immature behaviours or thoughts. That holds true here - the pale pink is playing into Athena's childhood - when she developed her fear of cruise ships - its creating a connection between her childhood experiences and the woman sitting in Franks office.

We get a flashback that shows her in yellow and orange - the yellow for communication and the orange for transformation. A literal moment where we see Athena transform from the innocence of youth to her developing anxiety and fear around cruise ships. Its really clever visual storytelling connecting adult with child and shows us her fear is genuine and founded in something that she may not have been able to articualte fully as a child, but she can as an adult, even if she doesn't actually articulate it to Bobby.

Our next non uniform costume is Chimney. The lighting is really low in this scene, so it's kind of hard to be 100% sure of the colouring, but he seems to be wearing either a dark navy or black button up shirt under a dark green and black bomber jacket. The use of really dark green in combination with black, Back is a colour that can be about hiding ones vulnerabilities - concealment and masking, but it is also a colour associated with magic (generally dark magic) as well as pessimism. The green is growth and renewal, and the hope for a better future. to use them in combination i this way is playing on Chimneys insecurites and fears, his desire to keep the 'magic' alive in his relationship with Maddie, but it also speaks to his growth, that he goes home and talks to her about it (even if he does come up with an insane plan to 'date forever').

Eddie in the locker room - aside from being shirtless for much of it and pulling some epically good faces - was a super interesting costume choice. Especially the use of his watch! first though - Denim shirt time! We don't actually see Eddie in a denim shirt all that often and we've seen him in the super washed out one far more than dark denim shirts. I've been laughing a little bit at a few people (on twitter mostly) claiming its the same shirt he was wearing at the hospital during and after Bucks coma and it being a play on bringing Buck back to life. While I like the theory, its actually a very different shirt - the one in the hospital was black with a grey wash out and was made of velveteen - so different colour and fabric.

This shirt, is however one we have actually seen Eddie wear before and its far more telling than if it were the hospital shirt. You need to bear in mind that this scene is about Buck and Eddies respective girlfriends (or lack there of) and the fact that Christopher has a girlfriend now as well. This shirt is the same shirt Edie was wearing when he (re)introduced Ana to Chris in 4x08 (breaking point my beloved! the gift that keeps on giving!) and this puts a conversation about Marisol and things going well with her into the same category as Ana - suggesting she is ultimately destined for the same fate as Ana. the other thing that plays into this narrative is the use of the watch.

Eddie does not put the Christopher watch on until after he has found out that Buck has broken up with Natalia - so during the entire conversation about their respective girlfriends, he is only holding the Christopher watch, rather than wearing it.

In the picture below from 4x08 you can see that Eddie is wearing his black 'work' watch rather than the brown strapped 'Christopher' watch. Remember that the first time we see the Christopher watch is when he goes for his first date with Ana in Jinx, so he already has this watch and in theory should be wearing it in this scene. The fact he isn't is pretty telling and I'll go into that a bit more later when we get to Chris's (and Eddies) date scene.

Then we have Buck in his outfit of many colours! The white trainers, continue to play into my theory of Buck wearing them when he is in key points on his journey to discover his self - her it is about showing his growth - that he ended the relationship with Natalia - this is a massive thing when we saw how long it took for him to end things with Taylor - The man who clings is growing and getting out before it drags him down!

The jacket is similar in style to many of the ones we've seen him wearing in season 5 and 6, but this one is much brighter and more colourful. I know I go on about white meaning bad things for Buck, but that isn't relevant here - the white bad things happen to Buck theory is much more about t-shirts, jumpers and shirts rather than jackets - its an under-layer rather than a top layer that = danger. So i'm not thinking of its relevance here for this scene. What I am going to say is that this (according to my spreadsheet!) is the first time we've seen Buck in a white jacket of any description. To me, it's playing into the idea of purity and rebirth which is what white is often associated with. This plays into the comment Eddie makes welcoming Buck back to 'the land of the living' but also implies that Buck is starting a new chapter and making a fresh start - the check patterning suggests it might not all be plain sailing though.

The check pattern is an interesting one, obviously check pattern theory comes into play here, but whether its only in relation to the reveal that he split with Natalia, or if its also foreshadowing Buck getting himself into danger/trouble down the line, remains to be seen.

I'm going to quote myself again because I did predict that this scene may be about his relationship with Natalia when we got the stills dropped - the costume department never let us down!

The only thing I can do is scream into the void about check theory because check does't bode well for people - they always end up in the middle of the drama (see my check theory posts linked on my pinned post for more) and while they come out the other side (99% of the time) Buck in check for that scene in 6x18 pretty much doomed his relationship with Natalia (its specific to her and not C&K's baby as Buck wasn't wearing it when he delivered it!) and as that shirt in the still is very un Buck like, has not only yellow ochre in it, but also its a white base (and we all know buck in white is a bad sign!!) and its check patterned - my theory is that this scene is connected to Natalia in some way - either Buck is not being true to him self in more than one way - that things are going to/have come to a head for their relationship (my kingdom for a reverse of Buck to Eddie about Ana in 5x03!!!) and lead to a pretty big change in some way (fingers crossed for Buck to end it and then finally break down and deal with his trauma!!!) Some other things about that shirt - the colour combination - the green blue and yellow ochre are giving me call backs to coma Buck (another reason I think it might be connected to Bucks unresolved trauma around his death and Eddies absense in his dream)

In the quote above, I was also referring to the blue and white check pattern shirt he was wearing when he and Natalia got together, but there was also the fact that in the balcony scene at the end of 6x18, we also saw her in one of Bucks white shirts. I wrote in my 6x18 meta about how those two things combined didn't bode well for that relationship going forward, and thats what leaves me unsure about the check pattern on this white jacket being purely about something that has already happened. If I put my Buddie goggles on, I would perhaps suggest that the troubled times ahead may be more connected to Buck and Eddies relationship, and this would fit in with a couple of the things Oliver and Ryan have said. The thing with check theory though, is that generally speaking if it's on one of the mains, they come out the other side of the dram/trauma stronger than before. So if it is connected to Buck and Eddies relationship, then we can expect it to be in an even stronger position on the other side of whatever goes down (and at this point you can't strengthen their relationship any further and keep them as just friends imo!)

Chimneys forever dating proposal to Maddie, connects with his outfit when he's talking to Hen - it's the same jeans and black shirt, so the meanings of black, can be continued on into this scene - the idea of magic and hiding his vulnerabilities. The addition of the jacket with this brickwork pattern in its weave is a fun choice, it's playing into the idea of building something, but also plays into the idea that Chimney has his walls up - again fitting in with the black meaning of hiding his vulnerabilities - because instead of expressing his fears to Maddie ad then them talking it thorough, he comes up with his insane forever dating concept. the fact that much of this scene is a contrasting parallel with the scene from season 1 when he is pretending to be someone else entirely for Tatiana all ties in perfectly with this costume. The fact that he reverts to wearing blue (ran out of picture spaces so I couldn't include one) later on - when he's realised his plan isn't realistic, talks to Maddie and they end up back on the same page is really good to see - the blue being a signature Chimney colour and is indicative of him being true to himself.

Bobbys blue suit and blue check patterned shirt. The brightness of the blue is a really important choice - it's the only time we see him this brightly coloured on the cruise until he ends up in the bright red at the end. This is important because this is the moment when he's still all excited and hopeful for his honeymoon cruise - everything is good in Bobby's world at this moment in time - the check pattern is telling us that it's not going to stay that way for long. From her on out we see the colours of Bobby's costumes slowly beginning to dull and take on a washed out tone, but here in this moment all is good.

Athena's bright yellow dress is all about making her stand out - communicating with the audience, she is the brightest person in the room (in more ways than one!!). The thing with yellow, apart from the communication aspect, is that it can also be a symbol of anxiety and fear, so this dress plays rather nicely into the theme of Athenas fear of being on that ship.

The colour does have other good traits too - its fresh and bright and is a colour of happiness in its more jewel like tones and I think we can see all of these meanings in these scenes - Athena might be anxious about being on the ship, but she is also happy and enjoying herself with Bobby in that moment.

Lola and Norman. Lola is the one we need to focus on in her very bright very check patterned Victoria Beckham dress. Obviously the check pattern plays into check pattern theory, but the red also acts like a neon sign to the audience - highlighting that Lola is in danger - the ga won't pick up on check theory, although they might connect the dots about the fact this check patterning looks very like a cage - foreshadowing her being held captive later on, but also as a nod to the fact she was incarcerated previously.

The red is also a nod towards romance and love - playing into the rekindling of their relationship and romance in the aftermath of the freeway 'see me Norman' incident.

Ok so Christophers date night and by extension Eddies date night! This is where this meta is goingto get a bit messy and I'm goingto jump around a bit becasue I need to talk about the way colour theory is at play in all the scenes in Christophers bedroom, so we're going to talk about Christophers bedroom as one big thing rather than the two separate scenes that it actually is. They are extensions of one another and build on so much of the groundwork we've already seen in previous seasons.

Chris in plaid check yellow and red check plays perfectly into check pattern theory - it’s a signifier that something is about to go down with him - namely that the fact he’s dating multiple girls at the same time. 

He’s also wearing a white shirt which is not a colour we see on him all that often - in fact, the only times we’ve seen him in a completely white shirt is with his suit in 5x01 when suit shopping and again in 6x08 for his school dance. He did wear a white vest when dressed as wolverine for halloween  So as you can see its not a common colour for him, but the times have seen him wear it as a solid colour have been connected to school/girls and dating (i’m including the suit shopping in this because Ana was there and it was kind of a Eddie and Ana date of sorts - in that it was suppose to be for this Christening - meet the family - date type thing).

The most interesting thing is the plaid hooded shirt though. It was such an interesting choice to go with for a couple of reasons. the colour way is especially loud - we tend to see Chris wearing greens and blues and greys, with the odd other colour thrown in occasionally. So red and yellow are not common colours for him to be wearing.

On the red front we see him in it a couple of times - the adapted skateboarding scene and the scene in 4x10 when he joins Eddie and Ana on the sofa - getting in the way of their date night. We do also see him wear red in Christmas related episodes (so I don’t tend to count them in the same way as the Christmas colour theming will nearly always override any other colour theming intention - the use of stripes or check or other patterning is more important in those episodes!). 

On the yellow front things are even more clear cut - the Tsunami arc, the aftermath of him falling off the skateboard, Mays graduation party and 5x03’s Eddie Ana break up! These (apart from the tsunami shirt) were all bright almost neon yellow.

This new plaid shirt is more into the yellow ochre part of the yellow spectrum, therefore tying much more to the tsunami arc, which is actually really fitting if you think about it in a little more detail - its a connection, not only to Buck, but also to loss and grief. Eddie might have been using his secret weapon (Chris) to get Buck out of his moping (read mourning) over not being able to go back to work, but Christopher is also still grieving the loss of his mother at that point as well, so its not just about cheering Buck up, its also about giving Chris a chance to do something fun and distract him from his own grief. That is why the use of yellow then ties in so nicely with its use on Chris now.

The other thing that really grabbed my attention about this shirt though is the fact that the two times we’ve seen Buck have a conversation with Chris in his bedroom, he has sat in the same spot and has been wearing one of those two colours - post shooting in maroon and this episode in the yellow ochre - if you watch those two scenes side by side, you see that they’ve used almost identical camera angles as well to film Buck.

I've spoken a lot about the use of maroon as a colour connected to parenthood - especially fatherhood , which is how its intended to be read on Buck - connecting to Eddie and his being shot, pushing Buck into a parental role in Eddies absence.

That alone is a pretty loud reference to Christophers connection and relationship to Buck, but then we have the yellow ochre of it all.

I feel a little bit insane about how close my prediction was on what the Buck Christopher scene was going to be about - this is from the meta I wrote when t he stills dropped;

Whatever this scene transpires being about, based on what we've seen with Buck wearing yellow ochre, we can assume its going to continue to play into this idea of Buck not being fully truthful with people and fitting into the role he thinks people want him to pay rather than being true to himself. I do want to add to this theory by looking at Christophers shirt as well. The grey/ yellow combination is a bit reminiscent of Breaking point (the episode that really is the gift that keeps on giving) because we get Chris in grey and Eddie in tan - that is yellowish toned whilst not actually being yellow There isn't a good screenshot of them together, but the placing of Chris and Buck in the new one has echoes of Eddie and Chris in that scene (one that is interestingly enough playing into the idea of changing family dynamics, but also the moment before and the one that happens afterwards at Bucks loft, directly placing Buck into a parental role (as an aside the idea of Buck being a miracle worker plays into the theme of Eddie looking for magic, just saying!))

Indirectly this scene was about Buck not being true to himself with people and fitting into whatever role he thinks people want him to fit into, only this wasn't an active situation - this was a scene where Buck could draw on his experience of having done that in the past to help Christopher - the line from Eddie 'you didn't end up being like you' is such a call to this and actually shows how valuable Bucks own experiences and learnings are in helping Chris (we've all been joking about Eddie choosing Buck to help him with this Chris's issue, but in actual fact he was the perfect person for the job - not just because of his being a 'reformed player', but also because of his relationship with death and the death of a loved one where you are reliant on others for their memories of a person rather than having your own)

The thing with the Yellow ochre (this meta here that i've already quoted from above is the place to go if you'd like more detail on its use on Buck more widely) isn't just its about it's connection to Buck, his place in Christopher's life and more loosely to the will of it all, (the fact that Buck and Eddie are both wearing the same colour ways as in the hospital bed will reveal scene and are both on the same sides of the screen in both scenes is a stroke of genius and is meant to connect these two scenes together) its also its connection to Shannon.

The first time we meet Shannon, she sits on Christophers bed in more or less the same position as we see Buck and Eddie sit, and looks at where Christopher has been positioned in all these conversations, and she is wearing a burnt orange top thats pretty close to the dark yellow ochre we see Buck wearing. Shannon wears a lot of yellow - as in it there are only a couple of times we don't see her wearing something yellow or with yellow in it and those are key scenes (which I will talk about later on).

Shannons appearance in Christophers room to read the letter she wrote him had her in this black top with a floral patterning on it. She was also wearing green trousers (which can be seen in the still below but aren't actually seen during the scene.

I actually really loved the green trousers and black top as a choice because the top is very Shannon - it sits perfectly with the floral patterns we saw her wearing when she was still alive. The green trousers are a bit of a departure for her, but I think its very intentional for two reasons .

The first is that they are very much in the Eddie trousers wheelhouse, especially in combination with black - he wears green khaki trousers a lot. The inference being that the black and green combination is an echo of Eddie.

The second ties to Christopher. Green is also a colour we've seen on Christopher a lot, it's probably the colour we see him in most. It's being used as a reflection of the fact he is growing and transitioning from child to teenager. But having it here in this scene - on Shannon connects a Christopher growing up without his mom.

Both of these combined really connect into Shannon in this scene, tying the three of them together and on Eddies efforts to keep her alive for Christopher - the underlying implication that his growth into who he is so far is as much to do with Shannon as it is to do with Eddie.

Her necklaces were not identical to the ones we saw her in in season 2, but that's most likely because they don't have them any longer, so they've replicated them as best as they can. The other little nod that I enjoyed is the brown bracelets on her right wrist - the same place Eddie wears his brown strapped Christopher watch!

But the top they have her in plays into a couple of other things - the prominent yellow flowers make an obvious connection to Buck from the previous scene, but they also tie into the 'I want a divorce' scene from 2x17 where she is wearing a dark blue dress with bright yellow ochre flowers all over it. the dress is not especially close to the top in the wider sense - blue dress with white squares v black top with florals in a variety of colours, but the yellow flowers are the prominent aspect of both items of clothing and play into the yellow theme connected to Shannon and then to Buck.

This is espeically relevant when you remember that Eddie is in a black suit in that scene and he's wearing black when he gives the letter to Christopher.

The black for this sequence of scenes is such a poignant choice - its Eddie mourning all over again, not for his loss, but for Christophers loss. I did find it telling that again in this scene, we have the absence of the Christopher watch. Eddie has very rarely not been wearing a watch in his scenes, so the times when we don't see him wearing one are very telling.

For me, in this sequence of scenes, it's about the fact that they are not about Eddies relationship with Christopher, but about Shannons relationship with Christopher. The watch is much more about Eddie and Christopher, so to have it absent from this story arc makes total sense and is symbolic of Eddie being a good father

Then we have Christophers grey shirt - I said when we first got the stills from that scene, how it was likely to be connected to complex family relationships - a la when we’ve seen Buck wearing his grey shirt. And what do you know - the scene was about complex family dynamics/ relationships.

It wasn’t perhaps in the manner I was expecting, but that series of scenes played with the full scope of Chris’s complex family relationships - from the relationship he has with Buck -not only as Christophers friend, but also as more or less Eddies co-parent (the way Eddie asked for Bucks help screamed co-parent rather than friend imo - that whole burnt out car scene was two co-parents discussing their child!) to the relationship he has with his dad - which is a pretty great relationship, but it is a complex one.

The relationship he has with his mom - or the fact he feels he doesn’t have a relationship with her despite Eddies best efforts, because as he grows up she feels further and further away. 

Eddies 'date' night with Marisol. Again I ran out of pictures (30 is not enough!) so you're going to have to use your imagination or go back and rewatch the scene for yourselves, but trust me when I say that Eddie is wearing the same shirt he was wearing for this date night as he was in 4x10 - when Christopher interrupts because he can't sleep!

It's also a similar tee to the one Eddie wears when he has his breakdown and trashes his room (that one was more green when this one is much browner). Its slouchy and has cut and stretched raw edges at the sleeves and on the pocket - in the same way his breakdown shirt did. there is an element of being in familiar surroundings and being comfortable at home, but stretched out raw edges and Eddie generally tend to mean not so great things.

Of course there is the element of his parenting skills being tested by Christophers having more than one girlfriend, but if that where the only reason, then it would've made more sense to have him in that shirt when he's listening in to Chris talking to Buck, rather than when he's on a date with a new girlfriend.

This is especially true as the screen time for that tee has more connection with Marisol than it does with Chris. Combined with the fact that once again, like in the locker room scene, he is not wearing his Christopher watch in this scene and that speaks volumes.

If we are to read the scene as being about Christopher soley, he should be wearing his watch because that watch is a physical embodiment of the importance of Christopher in Eddies life - that he puts Christopher first in all things.

Got to say I was a bit shocked to see Marisol in his bright magenta silk spaghetti strap top when you consider the costumes we saw her in last season - mostly dressed down, t-shirts, jumpers and dungarees so this is a complete 180 for her character.

There are a few interesting things connected to her outfit, firstly it low key ties into Natalia - we saw Natalia in a red version of this top for her first proper onscreen date with Buck (when they go to the badge and ladder joint) so there is an interesting low key parallel to draw there. There is also the fact that her bracelet is a chain one - much like we've seen on all of Buck and Eddies previous girlfriends - although those have been necklaces, so I'm undecided if this chain bracelet is paying into the same trope as those.

Then there is the pink of it all.

You see Eddie and Pink on his girlfriends doesn't bode well for Marisol.

Both Shannon and Ana wore pink. Ana wore it a lot - there are two examples below, but generally speaking its her most commonly worn colour - including on her first date with Eddie in Jinx.

The first example below is from the first time we see her in the Diaz house. the shades are different, but the fact that the first time we see both characters in the Diaz house they're both wearing pink, speaks volumes.

The other key use of Pink is when Shannon is at the beach with Eddie and Christopher and she tells Eddie she's pregnant - Eddie takes it as the sign he has been looking for - the chance to effectively start over with their marriage, but this is the beginning of the end for their relationship, even if she hadn't died a short while later. She is wearing pale pink in that scene and it's the only time we see her wear the colour in the show.

The fact we can also contrast the use of pink with when Buck wears it is telling in its own right - we see the relationship between Buck and Eddie strengthening when Buck wears pink - May's graduation party, the tsunami, the Hildy coffee machine - all moments (big and small) that show the development of various aspects of their relationship and its ability to endure.

Essentially all this use of pink on the women he has had previous relationships with, doesn't bode well for Marisol and the longevity of her relationship with Eddie. How quickly it will end I can't say, just that it will end.

I spoke earlier in this post about colour theming for the episode and this is where I talk about it!

Pink - and in particular the very bright pinks we saw scattered across the episode. Marisol above wearing it, isn't just about connecting her to Ana in costume terms (especially as at this point that costume is a departure of her costumes from s6) it also connects her to the other characters we see wearing bright pink in this episode - Lola and Norman.

At this point in time I'm not sure if we're going to see it play out as a theme across the season, but its use in this episode was very loud on characters that are going to be around for more than 1 episode. It suggests that there is some underlying theme that connects them (by this I don't mean that they're gonna meet and hang out I mean that personality traits are going to be similar)

Magenta and bright pink in colour theory means a few different things, and like with all colours, has positive and negative traits. Generally speaking its a loud and brash colour thats designed to stand out and draw attention to it's wearer.

Things that are considered positive traits for this shade of pink are; intensity, acceptance, kindness and it's supportive and uplifting nature. It's connected to naive love (as in lust rather than the passionate and enduring love of red) can also be considered a nurturing colour.

Negative traits are; intensity, volatility, arrogant and impatient, irritability and irritating and frustration. it is also said to be a stress inducing colour and is said to be overly emotional.

Theres a clear and fairly loud connection between Lola and Norman getting into danger - Lola is in magenta trousers when she is kidnaped. Norman also has bright magenta flowers on his shirt at this point as well. My guess at this point is that we're supposed to lean into the stress inducing element, and also the irritating nature of the colour (On Athenas part at the very least!) and we'll see if those are the themes that play out for Marisol as well down the line.

Norman is in bright pink when he's lying and claiming she's unwell from being outside or too long. We also see that he is wearing pink in the ditsy print shirt later on (again I ran out of picture spaces!)

Athena's black top in this scene is much like the use of Chimney in black in his scenes. It's all about power and authority but it's also about her hiding her vulnerabilities. The other thing it does is creates a huge contrast with Bobby and all of the other passengers - she is the only one in black in the scene and it contrasts her with the underlying white of Bobbys shirt - juxtaposing them and visually putting them at odd with one another.

Like I said above about him becoming increasingly pale - here we see Bobby in a sea-foam green shirt - its the palest and washed out colour we've seen him in on this cruise (grey pyjama shirt not being included as its blink and you miss it and a pyjama tee!!!). Sea-foam green doesn't really play into the traditional meanings of green - there is still the element of renewal about it (the sea washes the sand etc)but its mostly a self-conscious and uncertain colour - both things that perfectly sum up how Bobby is feeling in this moment.

The other fun thing about this outfit is the palm tree shorts the patterns Bobby has worn in relation to this cruise, up to this point (and that includes the shirts from season 6) have all been tropical themed but on his shirts, the fact that they've now slipped down onto his shorts is a visual representation of him becoming increasingly dissatisfied with the way his honeymoon is going - that the tropical vacation vibes are slipping away.

Athenas red and white shirt, in my opinion is showing her cross purposes - its the duality of investigating and being on a cruise in a shirt. The bright red ties into the red and blue first responder colour way the show uses (for obvious reasons) while the white and the palm fronds, the lei flowers and the watery theming of the pattern fit into the troipical cruise they're on.

Bobbys red shirt contrasts with the lavender that we see on Athena - its not a colour we see on Bobby all that often and that makes its use all the more important. Especially considering the entire cruise thus far we've seen him in blues and greens - especially pale closer to pastel tones.

This red is bright snd bold and unlike his usual choices. Red is a colour of cross meaning - there is obviously the connection with love and the heart, which is absolutely at play her - his love for Athena is spurring him on and is part of what is pushing him in to investigator Bobby mode - and its representation of love is what is going to be the key player in the up coming episodes on the ship - when he is looking for Athena during the evacuation etc. But the other meaning of red is war, courage and anger and that is very much present here in this episode, and will (i'm assuming) be later on in 7x02 and 3.

The other thing I think its worth pointing out at this point (which is pure conjecture on my part at this moment in time but that I think will become relevant in the next two episodes rather than this one) is the foreshadowed parallel with Buck in season 5 when he broke down Eddies door. The bright red we saw him wearing then was an uncommon colour for him, in the same way it is for Bobby here. It's paralleling the way Buck was prepared to go into battle for Eddie, with the way Bobby is prepared to do so for Athena - going to war for your closest person, your loved one and doing what you need to do to save them.

Putting Athena in lavender the moment she gets to go into cop mode was a choice that had me giggling! Lavender is a colour of relaxation and order so for her to start wearing it the moment she gets to start being a cop again - speaks volumes for her state of being - it shows that her fear of being on the cruise ship and of being alone with bobby, has been overridden by her need to do her job and start investigating things. Its the perfect colour for this moment and for the impeding trouble brewing on the ship - Athena will bring order to things as order has been restored to her inner world.

Hopefully you've enjoyed this little canter through the costumes of 7x01 we're back in business and I can't wait to read your comments in the tags and comments 🥰

Tagging for those who've asked to be tagged - drop me a comment on this post if you'd like to be added to the list for the next meta 😎

@theladyyavilee @mistmarauder @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mandzuking17 @spotsandsocks @loveyou2thecore @wanderingwomanwondering @oneawkwardcookie @leothil @copyninjabuckley @nathleigh @shammers86 @crazyfangirlallert @missmagooglie @inandoutoffocus @katyobsesses @radiation-run @gayandbifiremenofmine @lemotmo @bi-moonlight @satvojihusana @crazyaboutotps @princesschez75 @mongreloer @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @sherlocking-out-loud

[allieslittlewritings]

Spencer Reid x daughter!reader

Costume Shopping

Word Count: ~800

Summary: The Reids go costume shopping for Halloween

Warnings: None except for Halloween stuff, a fake bloody arm, and bad writing <3

It was Spencer's first day off since October started and there was one specific thing he had planned.

He knocked on your bedroom door, only opening it when you told him he could come in.

"Are you almost ready to go?" He asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You finished putting your second earring in your ear. "Yeah, I just have to grab my phone."

Spencer waited for you quietly, looking around your room a little bit. A few Halloween decorations could be seen.

Orange fairy lights instead of your normal warm white ones, the Halloween-themed bedsheets he got you when you were little.

He thought you would stop using them when you go older, but you could never bring yourself to break tradition.

Your usual pencil case had been traded for one with a pattern of ghosts and pumpkins. A candle, with the scent of pumpkin spice, stood on your desk. It hadn't been lit yet.

A warm smile rested on Spencer's face. You inherited multiple things from him, your love of Halloween was easily one of his favorites.

The clean smell of air-conditioning and a hint of plastic filled your nose when you entered the costume store.

You looked over at your dad, you could practically feel the excitement radiating off of him.

He grabbed a basket and you both started lookng through the vast array of costumes the store had to offer.

Despite being well into high school, It was your first year going to an actual high school Halloween party rather than a familial get-together. Spencer noticed your more picky way of looking at things.

"You know, you really shouldn't pick what you want to wear based on what the other kids will think," He reminded you.

Spencer reached for an over-sized pair of glasses and put them on. "Statistics actually show that younger people are starting to like silly costumes more every year."

You bit back a laugh at his glasses before frowning slightly. "Really?"

Spencer removed the glasses and pouted. "I don't know, maybe. There's no statistic for that."

You jokingly rolled your eyes and followed your dad as he continued walking at an almost obnoxiously fast pace. He only stopped when he saw a plastic bloody arm and curiously picked it up.

"I'm serious though, if you let your friends influence your choices in costume too much, it could subconsciously permeate to other decisions, too," he said, still holding the fake arm and gesturing with it.

"I know," You said dejectedly.

"So, any idea what you're gonna be?" He asked, trying to lighten the mood a little. He never liked seeing you be affected by peer pressure, even if it was only slightly.

You sighed and scanned the isles around you before grinning and briskly walking over to a shelf.

Spencer put the fake arm back and followed you with an ounce of confusion before stopping in front of you.

A look of confusion crossed his face. "Gru, from Despicable Me? Sweetheart-"

"What? The new movie just came out like two and a half months ago, it's relevant!" You argued, "And it's funny."

Spencer chuckled but nodded his head. "That's fair. Just not what I thought you'd pick."

You grabbed the costume and put in the basket Spencer was carrying.

"Okay, so you're Gru. And I'm..." He trailed off, looking around the store with pursed lips.

"Did Penelope give you any criteria?"

"Just that it had to be unique, but also not too unique. She said she'd stab me with a pencil if I showed up as a dracula or a character from old literature."

"Ghostface isn't exactly unique, is it?" You asked rhetorically, seeing a white Ghostface mask.

Spencer shook his head. "No."

"You'd be a cool Ghostface though, 'cause you're tall," you observed.

"I don't want to get stabbed with a pencil."

The two of you continued looking.

"Ooh, you know what? You would make a good Jack Skellington."

Spencer frowned slightly, "How so?"

You tilted your head and looked at him closely, "You look like him."

"What? No, I don't."

"Yes you do," you insisted, quickly walking further.

With an exaggerated gasp you stopped at a costume and looked at your dad.

"Snoopy is perfect for you."

"I'm not going to wear an inflatable costume." Spencer took the Snoopy costume from you and put it back.

"What? Why not?"

"How would I eat the Halloween snacks Garcia makes?" He asked.

You thought for a second. "Oh, yeah. Fair enough."

"Okay, final offer," you looked at him but continued walking backwards, "Beetlejuice."

Spencer nervously looked at you, worried you would bump into something. "Is that really unique, though?"

You shrugged. "It would fit well with you and I think it would appease aunt Penelope."

Your dad thought it over for a minute before agreeing.

He picked out a wig close enough to what he needed and a black and white striped suit. You reminded him to grab black and white face paint, too.

"The suit's too clean, you'll need to make it look more dirty and worn," you observed.

"Good point. I'm sure we can do that," Spencer said.

You made your way to the queue and waited for your turn to pay.

Spencer looked over at you, staring at the candy and smallar items in the queue with intrigue.

He knew you'd outgrow some of your family Halloween traditions eventually, but he hoped costume shopping would never be one of them.

[respectthepetty]

I have random thoughts about colors in episode six of Peaceful Property, so I'm writing them out without any real order or reasoning.

Home is a Red Rascal. Peach is a Cyan Cutie.

But Peach tends to be more of a Blue Boy.

(And that "More Than Friends, Less Than Lovers" shirt is gay)

Home has consistently been wearing more blue in his outfits.

And in episode five, he wore purple (which is a mixture of blue and red) while Pangpang wore blue to support her brother in the Peach-focused episode.

Peach, in his darkest moment, wore a very dark blue shirt.

Home is a Red Rascal.

Peach is a Cyan Cutie with a tendency to lean more into his Blue Boyness.

And they are color-coded boys . . . in love.

During Peach's darkest moment, his color turned darker, and now during Home's darkest moment, he also has turned dark.

And when he hit Home, he was also darker.

Panppang is a Pink Person and Kan tends to be a Brown Beauty (but can be considered neutral, but even her bag this episode was brown as well as her shirt).

So why did Kan pick the red drink (with the yellow straw) and give Home the green one (with the blue straw)? Girl was playing color games, that's why! She knew Home's secret. She keeps his color. She knows he hit Peach. She gives him some of Peach's color, and offers him the advice of confessing. She is giving him in out but still holding onto him. Sidenote: The drinks were too sweet because Kan has proven multiple times that she has a sweet tooth, and her ghost better involve a candy maker.

Home wears Peach's color again when he has a nightmare and calls Peach to calm him down. But he is also wearing yellow (the car?!). Sidenote: The blue whale last week in the tub now the polar bear mask. This is a BL and the polca people know it.

Yet Peach isn't in his normal green or blue color. He is a burnt orange, possibly brown. What's important is Peach is handling something red. Home has been seeing a bloody Peach up until this moment, so this substance could be another allusion to Home's fears, but I think it's important that Peach is messing with the red rather than it being blood on him. The color of his outfit being almost the dullest beginning of red mixed with the red substance makes me think something is starting to develop, like feelings for a Red Rascal.

The next day, they are back in their colors, but brighter than they have been recently (but Peach has yellow on too!).

And Kan is in blue. She agrees to play along with this schtick for the Cyan Cutie's sake.

And Pangpang is adorable in her pink (and purple).

The final dish comes, and it's a red strawberry dessert about forgiveness. *stares directly into the camera* Are you picking up what I'm dropping off?

I was worried that Kan was in love with Home when I saw the BTS images when the show was filming. She is wearing red as she plays along. She also questions Peach about the car accident in front of Home in the kitchen. Therefore, unlike Home who keeps wearing blue (because he is in love with Peach!), I don't think Kan is in love with Home.

The red drink, the red dessert of forgiveness, the red suit. They were all warnings that Kan knew, and even when she shot the confetti at the end, the colors were blue, red, and purple (with white too). It's Peach and Home. She sank my ship.

But Home caught a pink taxi (of love) to get to Peach after Suradech was ordered by his uncle not to leave the driveway.

Because Home started that adventure brightly in his color (and his Muhammad Ali shirt) ready to confess *wink*, but his uncle got in the way, and now the "Cok Long" sign is no longer lit!

Once again, Peach's colors get dark because this is a horrible moment (and he hasn't worn his glasses for the majority of this episode).

He leaves behind the blue burner and the purple uniforms (so he is leaving behind the ghost business AND cooking).

And even though Pangpang supports her brother in blue, there is a little red hiding underneath her shirt over her heart (she is the ultimate shipper).

So I'm excited to see Home sulk next week in BLUE and yellow (the car?) because even his house is darker without Peach and Pangpang in his life.

It looks like he is wearing a shirt with red "DUDES" text on it (because only the gays wear this shirt) on the outing next week, but the shirt is blue.

And even though there is no hint of Kan in the preview, Pangpang is back in her pink while Peach is wearing the same shirt we were introduced to him in the very beginning. However, the green around the shirt's collar is darker, there are stains on it, and he is wearing glasses again.

Since we know ForceBook are showing up as the (gay?) ghosts, it's even better that they are wearing red, simply because I think this will help Home start his forgiveness tour.

Because Home and Peach are color-coded boys . . . in love.

So when will Peach wear red?

[melbatron5000]

Two Crowleys

A while ago, the wonderful mind of @noneorother posted this meta about the puppets in the magic shop.

The observation that there appear to be two Crowleys in the shot of the puppet arrangement had me absolutely scratching my head and thinking they must be mistaken somehow.

(pic from @noneorother)

But then I got my hands on some of the Amazon X-ray extras, and discovered these little gems from the album covers in Maggie's record shop:

Now, going back to our color-coding for a moment, we may not know what all the colors in Good Omens mean, and we may not have all the colors down. But we do know a few, and we know that color-coding in Good Omens does exist, and that it matters.

Auburn and vavoom yellow are Crowley's colors. They are the colors of his hair and eyes. Black and scarlet red are the colors he wears. So those four colors are Crowley-coded colors. Okay.

Thus, these two record albums from Maggie's shop are Crowley-colored. Now, notice something important? Well, two things. The first -- Raga Koboj has TWO little sharp-clawed critters peering out at us from behind blinds. I daresay they are meant to be little cartoon demons, yes? And CT Bazz: Dank Balaclava features a face in a red ski mask. People usually wear ski masks if A. it's cold as tits outside, or B. if they're trying to hide their identity. So both albums feature Crowley colors AND images of hiding -- plus one features an image of twinsies.

The other important thing takes us back to color-coding. What other color do we see here besides our well-known Crowley colors? On Raga Koboj, the auburn and vavoom yellow blend into each other -- creating orange between them. And Dank Balaclava features a cigarette being lit -- with a little flair of orange fire.

(Edit to add: The name of that first album is Raga Koboj, which is a style of Indian music. A very famous tale in India is of the Warrior Goddess Kahli fighting demons who kept replicating themselves. Every time a drop of blood would hit the ground, a new demon would spring up. She went on a rampage trying to destroy them all, and her husband had to throw himself in her path to stop her. Hmm . . .)

This leads me to believe two things: Yes, TWO Crowleys. One Crowley in hiding, the other a twin. And that orange is Crowley's secret color.

Where else do we see orange?

Yep, the pillars in Aziraphale's shop. Which we also know is painted Crowley Auburn on the outside and Vavoom Yellow on the inside. With accents of this nice saffron orange on the pillars.

Want more proof? Okay.

Several people have noted that Aziraphale and Crowley keep to each other's right and left, respectively. Aziraphale on the right, Crowley on the left. In season 1, whenever they are on the opposite sides of each other, something's up. Not wrong, necessarily, but not in proper order. As in the image-swap/body-swap. Several people have also noted that Crowley is on Aziraphale's right far more frequently in season 2. And look here:

Aziraphale looks instinctively to his left when Crowley approaches -- only this Crowley, the twin, is not approaching on Aziraphale's left. This happens in more than one scene.

And when Aziraphale introduces Crowley to Nina in the coffee shop in episode one, he says, "This is, um, Crowley." As if he's quickly deciding how to name this individual who looks like his demon but approached on his right. Aziraphale "ums" and hesitates a lot this season, but he's also lying a lot. Hesitation and "um" is one of his tells.

I believe Aziraphale knows this isn't Crowley 1.0. But he acts and talks to this Crowley as if it's Crowley 1.0, so I don't think it's an imposter or someone pretending to be Crowley who isn't. I think Crowley's split himself in two. Am I sure about that? No. But it's where I'm leaning at this moment.

But Crowley 1.0 isn't missing entirely. Look here:

Aziraphale is looking over his left shoulder for his demon, and Crowley's right there, where he should be.

So yeah, TWO Crowleys.

Now where the heck is Crowley while his twin is out walking around on Aziraphale's right side? I really don't know what he might be up to, but I think he's in contact. Reachable, at least.

Let's look at this one again. Who's this?

No, not the guy in the foreground. The guy in the back. No, not the dude wearing tartan, the other guy. The guy in front of the ORANGE pillar, the guy on Crowley-twin's LEFT shoulder.

Is that Crowley 1.0? Or at least, a way for Crowley to be in touch while he's off doing whatever the heck he's doing? I think it is.

Would you like some more proof?

Okay. How about another record album from Maggie's shop?

Back to color-coding again. That baby-blue/red combo seems to indicate Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship together. The baby-blue is the color of Aziraphale's shirt, while the red is one that Crowley wears, mostly around his neck, although it also appears elsewhere in his costuming.

Au Revoir, Fingers! Crowley's just a head now. But a head has ears and eyes, so Aziraphale can communicate with it. As I suspect he tries to here, before Jim interrupts:

But wait. Back to Au Revoir Fingers for a moment. Red Eye Smile?

And red eyes? Fuck me.

A very few people have pointed out that there are lots of dual red taillights in multiple shots, frequently framed rather carefully. I had dismissed it, as I usually do when something turns out to be freaking important.

Someone's watching. I think it might be Crowley 1.0.

Then there's that bit where he's driving back to Whickber street, after coming back from Hell, and he first zooms around a bus with red taillights and says, "There's only room for one of us in this lane and it's not you," then he changes a pair of red stop lights to green and says "Don't you even think about it. There, that's better." Is he arguing with himself?? Telling the Other Crowley that it's his turn right now, not his? Of course I can't find a GIF or picture of that right now, but you know what I mean, right? Neil had to cut a bunch of material out of the finished show to fit Amazon's time limit requirements. That scene would seem to be an easy cut to make -- unless the scene matters to the overall plot too much to cut.

I also suspect that Crowley might be talking to himself in the book shop at the end of season 2. You know, when he turns Aziraphale's chair around to face the right way, but when Maggie and Nina come in it's facing the center of the room again? I suspect Crowley 1.0 and 2.0 had a chat. I do not know about what. Just sharing information?

I also wonder if Crowley 2.0 might have his own POV scenes -- thus confusing the already complicated POV situation even more. The white head statue sure gets several shots where it's in center frame, as if it is the POV character in that scene.

That's what I got, my fellow brain rotters. There's my evidence.

In conclusion: Two Crowleys. Yeah, I think so. Now, for the big question:

WHY???

What is Crowley doing that there needs to be two of him? And is it just twinsies, or is that someone else pretending to be Crowley and I'm wrong? Aziraphale definitely seems to know that's NOT his original Crowley, but tells the demon important information without hesitation, so I'm still suspecting Crowley twinned himself. But what if I'm wrong? Who is it then? And why are they pretending to be Crowley? And why does Aziraphale seem to know it's not Crowley, but still talk to him like it is?

I have no answers.

Thanks for crackpotting and going nuts with me, yet again. I hope this keeps you up at night like it's done me.

[nerdgal27]

Story Behind the Painting

Mikey and Me

Summary:

(Part 3), (It Happened Again Part 2), and (Don't Want to Talk).

Wether best friend, family, or in this story's case both. There are times when one would do anything to keep the darkness to protect the light and innocent.

Tags: Depression, Substance Abuse, and Flashbacks.

Mikey and Me

I am not much of a morning person. Would much rather roll in these sheets and hide from the sunshine. Maybe sleep Sunday away. Yeah that sounds wonderful. If a foot wasn’t digging into my back, dammit Mikey. 

Roll from one dead side to the other. Block myself from the brownstone windows. Warm by the sunrise. Breathe in the fresh cool air float, the familiar smell of turtles. Slide my hand out from under the covers. Cold hand in search of warmth. One pinky touches large fingers. The large fingers intertwine mine, drowning my hand in his large palm. Open my eyes, golden yellow rays beam behind me. Between thin lace curtains casts  the bedroom in sunshine and floral shadows. White dust floats in the dry air. 

A mutant turtle sleeps before me. Snug under a mess of covers. Brush the top cover from his head. Unveil, and cascade his green skin in the warm glow. How his soft splash of freckles  mottle his skin. No mask on, nor needed for now. 

From how much he wears his orange mask. I wonder how soft his skin is. In this light, the floral shadows. The most beautiful morning I ever woke up to. One hand drowning in Mikey’s warm hold. Slip a free hand from under the cozy covers. Feel the massive bed head hair under my head. Careful and slow not to wake him. Stroke his sweet face, indulge in curiosity. Soft, delicate, and angelic.Who would ever think someone who eats chewed up gum off of the subway, would feel like this. Caress his cheek, his temple where the mask hides. Enjoy this. 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” 

Past Mikey whispers in my memory from last night. 

The lone turtle then. At my staircase, his fingers fumble each other as his puppy dog eyes ask the same question. His sleeping self now. Fumble fingers, quiet and holding mine now. How can I say no? But eventually questions will need to face reality. 

Can’t stay in this bed forever reality says. I’d say stay in this bed and watch Mikey sleep forever. Oh well. Innocent tight grip on my palm. Deep sleep breathing warms my smile. Lean in so quiet. Can’t resist it, I press my lips on his dear forehead. Watch his cheeks curve a smile even in deep slumber. 

Don’t ever stop being you Mikey. 

Alright. Up I get, much as I don’t want to. Leave the turtle snug in my bed. That is tucked in a brick corner. Don’t have to worry about him rolling off. 

Search through the maze on the bedroom floor. Uniforms from work, socks with no mates. I can relate to them. 

Ah ha! Bright orange fabric burns in the sun. Pull it out from the pile of clothes. A bright orange hoodie. The color that gives me a craving for apricots. Old stains litter the color. Over stretched collar, and sleeves worn by time. A bright white kitten cartoon on the front. Now in the color of creme from the sun. Take the old thing in my hands. Put it on top of the tank top. Gotta grab the collar, take a big whiff. Hmmm, home. Been so long. 

Step into a mix match pair of fuzzy orange and pink socks. To fight against the cold wood floor. Too early to be cold. Leave heaven in the bedroom. Out I go to reality. A small brownstone apartment. Creaky wooden floors, and old paint chips cabinets. Matches my selection of found used furniture. 

“Is everything okay Mikey?” 

My past memory self asks. 

Think back to all of it as I begin the day of making coffee. 

Mikey and I in the kitchen then over a cup of coffee and orange soda. Last thing I needed is a caffeinated Michelangelo at 1 am. 

“You know we can talk about anything.”

Memories dance on in my mind, as I dump the sweet bliss of coffee grinds in the filter. 

Think about everything last night. The dim kitchen lights that I haven’t fixed yet. My best friend for a turtle at the island counter. Bathed in that golden glow. Take a seat next to him. How those heavy eyes look away, deep down in the open soda can. A rare sight for someone who smiles in their sleep. My pinky brushes his. Let those large turtle fingers wrap around my small human hand. Palms rough from 15 years of battle after battle. On quiet nights light these. His thumb strokes my hand ever so gentle. 

“Can we talk about it in the morning? I want to be with you, like old times.” 

The reality me would have told him no and sort this out. Tomorrow is an early work shift. Yet, in the warm light. Bright green complexion is sheet white. His wrists clench quiet shivers his quiet hold. Matches the quiver of his small smile. Think back to his fading faith glimmering in the night. 

Lean in, same as always Mikey dips his head. Lean forward, his forehead meets my lips in the middle. Ease his quiet shivers snuggle into my shoulder for a starved embrace. 

Whisper to him, “Our times will never be old, Mikey, we can talk whenever you're ready.”

Old times. I miss them too. But this is life now. Have an apartment, a job. It’s not the greatest, the boss needs to take a chill vacation. Either way it keeps my apartment lights on. I’m happy about it. 

An old apartment in the warm sun. Create light for my dingy kitchen. Give my hanging plants some needed sunshine. Gonna have to ask Donnie when I can transfer these new herbs to my herb garden. A metal shelf in the living area, about half full of my collection. Hey, if there’s a way I can cut grocery costs in half, I’ll do it. 

Phone vibrates beside the coffee tin. Turn the phone over to see the screen. Speak of the devil. 

9:30 March 28, Donnie: Hey, Sweetheart. 

Just like old times. His nickname for me. 

Me: Mornin to U too Dee, those hangin planters r really workin.” 

Bubbles float on a white and purple screen. Set it on the counter. Press the hot water button to brew the coffee. Let the smooth aroma of rich coffee take me back to when I was little. When this smart turtle used to put coffee in my toddler mug. 

9:35 

Donnie: What’d I tell you, I’m a genius, they shouldn’t be ready to move for another couple weeks.

Me: Thanks genius

Bubbles float on the purple screen again. Boy must be busy working on something. Like that has never happened. Swear, if he didn’t have four brothers to keep him busy. Donnie would turn into a science crazy hermit. The kind that requires warning labels. Least some of us are still home. 

Take a look around my apartment. Squishy in size. Living room has enough size for one couch, one apple box coffee table, and a TV on my black shelf. Empty and quiet. 

9:40 

Donnie: Is Mike with you?

Run back to the kitchen. Fill my mug before the coffee machine drowns itself. 

Me: Yea he is asleep. Did something happen? 

Donnie: No 

Head over to my breakfast nook. Set the hot mug down on the bistro table. 

Me: Dee

Donnie: Nothing happened

Wow that text came fast. Nothing stops the brainiac’s work. Not even me. Not for a while anyway. 

Donnie: He misses you, that’s all, this is a big change

Oh, I see. 

Me: It’s a big change 4 me, when R U going to help me build those plant shelves U told me about?? 

Bubbles float. Hold the mug close in my hands. Inhale the memory of Donnie’s smell. His warmth then. 

Donnie: Soon, Sweetheart, I promise, it will be like old times. 

Bubbles float under Donnie’s message on my phone. A picture pops up. In a slender olive green palm. In a cool computer screen light is a rubik's cube. 

After all these years. He has that old thing. Hope he never throws it away. 

Donnie: I love you Sweetheart. 

Take one strong sip of coffee. Send Donnie one more text. I set the phone back into its place in my pocket. Relax in my chair, look out the large bay windows. Close my eyes to songs of pigeon wings fluttering by. The Mighty River of a city rushes. Feel the warm sunshine wake me. The streets are full of people below. Look back to my kitchen before me. No stove making smoke signals. Not a single orange skewered by a Sai. Nor the clashes and bangs of a family. Yet they say they are ninjas. An old kitchen. Quiet, clean, and bright in the sun. This is my life now. 

Warmth touches my back. No need to turn. Two freckle hands slither out between my arms. Wrap around my midsection. A soft cheek melts into my shoulder. Old life nuzzles me. 

“I’m starving.” 

“Morning starving.” I smirk on his freckle cheek. 

Squish the coffee sloshing inside me, he retorts. “Hey that’s my thing.” 

Take a sip of coffee, “And now it’s mine.” 

Set of arms recoils around me. Leave my shoulder cold. He opens the fridge. 

“No bacon for you then.” His shell faces me. 

Wait a bit for him to dig through. Swish the coffee in the mug.

 I answer his mutter, “And no bacon for anyone.” 

A turtle steps back. Hand clutch onto his plastron chest. Take heavy breaths, he gasps. “You, no bacon? Are you loco homie?!” 

“I know, I’m shocked too, it's been a couple weeks since my last pay cheque.” I answer.

And who knows when my next one will come in. 

“You’re Boss still giving you a hard time?” Mikey closes the fridge. 

An armful of something. Nothing stops him and his empty stomach. 

Get up for the second cup. I pause, stare down at the endless black liquid in the pink coffee mug. See my tired self ripple in the black reflection. 

I answer, “Not anymore, he switches the schedule pretty much to whatever he wants, I’m on casual for now, till something else pops up.” 

“New York, what a place.” 

“Work, what a concept.” 

He holds up my few selection of eggs. I answer his silent question. 

“No, those are normal, they won’t explode powder this time.”

Mikey raises an orange eyeridge, “last time you told me that, I had glitter in my shell for 4 weeks straight.” 

Chuckle at the old memory years ago. To prove him wrong I crack them on the pan for him. 

Murmur in the calm quiet. “See, no ninja smoke, nor glitter.” 

Soft shift of Mikey’s feet squeaks the old hardwood. He snorts, “Or ghost pepper powder ninja smoke bombs.” 

“That was one time.” I snicker. 

“My face still burns.”

“That was for the rubber spiders in my bed, you goon,” I giggle, “I can’t go to bed without checking the covers, because of you.” 

Toaster wires twang. Shake the proof of my old glitter prank out of his shell. 

Mikey chuckles, “Worth it.” 

One more person is here besides me. Another to make noise. Bring more light into the apartment. Hear their feet scuff on wood. Have someone help me clean. It’s nice. 

“Mike?” 

No answer. Place the dry dishes back in their cupboard. 

Dry the next, I ask, “Is everything going okay home- I mean the lair?” 

Freckle hands take the dry plate from me. He turns away. 

“Same as usual.” 

Awe come on buddy, there’s more than that. Toss the towel in the pile of laundry yet to be done. 

Wait for him to turn. Sometimes a look is needed for Mike to talk. This time Mikey doesn’t look. Nose points to the old pink mat. 

“The guys pick on you again? Did Donnie explode anything?” I ask on. 

Nothing. Turtle frame leans on the counter behind him. If only he smiles, the way he always does. Then the sunshine wouldn’t be the only thing that shines. 

Leave the sink. His three finger turtle hands lay dormant. Take his hands. Even now with great effort. Human hand can only hold his fingers. 

“Can we hang out today?” He asks my hand. 

Human thumb strokes the back of his hand. I murmur, “I would love that Mikey, but you have to remember it’s daylight now, and your brothers know where you are.” 

No need to ask who. Answer his quiet question.

“They know you’re safe with me, no one is coming unless you want them to.” 

Please let me see his eyes. Let his hand squeeze mine. Mikey whispers under his breath. “Just want to be with you.” 

Maybe that’s what is needed. No need to rush things. Nor chase anything away. The same way as it always has been. Hand in hand. Close our eyes. Lean forwards our foreheads touch. Warm each other, lean on each other. The apartment is quiet, and I am not alone. 

“Have any of those spiders left?” 

Life my gaze to him. We pull back. 

“No but I have these,” His hands pull out a handful of water balloons. 

Pull on a pair of jeans. Turtle follows me over to a window in the bedroom. A wonderful view of the next door apartment wall. The morning sun fades above the city buildings. 

“You know, Mike, this place does have a fire escape.” 

Lead him to the destination outside the bedroom window. On one window faces the main streets. Another faces the alley. In Between the black metal bars of the staircase. The two of us smirk. 

Mikey gives me his baby blue eyes. Narrow in an evil grin. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”  

“Always.” 

Open the window. Ladies first, his hands boost me to climb out. Wait for him, take his hand to pull him out. The turtle doesn't let go. Does he want to hold hands to climb the stairs?

He reads my mind. “We don’t need to climb that.” 

Of course we don’t. Throw me on his shell. Bind my arms around him in a death grip. Ignore his chuckle. One hop after a flip, and a hoist. Up on the roof. Wooden water tower, ducting systems. The only thing that is missing. Is them. I miss this. 

After endless hours of throwing water balloons at the innocent people down below. Watch them scream, shout, and laugh in cold water. Some may or may not have glitter and glue. No wonder so many become villains. 

Look over the edge down to a busy sidewalk. Wet sidewalk dried by the midday sun. Where dozens of people murmur. 

Tie off the balloon I ask, “This is the last one right?” 

Mikey’s hand waits for me to hand the balloon to him. Quiet, He mutters, “Yep.” 

His smile is here. Looking at me. This is the first time seeing him in daylight. Freckles burn in the light. A gentle breeze sways the clothes lines all around us. Sways his orange mask tails. A flame in the sun. Is it his smile? 

Reach the balloon to him. He ushers my wrist as well. Watch the balloon fall to its next victim. Neither one of us watches who the balloon hits. A turtle and human sit mid daylight together on a roof ledge. 

“Tessie?”

Hand holds human wrist. Run a hand over fair skin. Over old memories. Ones forgotten. Some are not. 

Stroke his thumb over dark bruises. Both of our freckle faces meet each other. Read each other’s silence. 

Slip my hand away, “I’m okay, it’s old.” 

A free green hand. Comb the long strands back. 

Soft words feather darkness, “You told me you were going to be okay, we made a promise didn’t we?”

A quiet nod. 

He takes both of my hands in his.

 Mikey asks, “Are you safe? Does anyone follow?” 

Pull the orange hoodie sleeve over the bruise. I chuckle, “Nope, just coffee machines falling apart on me.” 

Silence. Skin and shell shifts Mikey closer. Drown me in his shadow. Sinks my eyes further to my own hands. Draw along the old cracks that scarred this old building. 

A gentle push, he whispers, “Are you sure, that’s what happened? We don’t keep secrets, remember.” 

Stroke his hands, I murmur, “Mikey? What’s going on buddy?” 

He shrinks back. “Just want to know if you are okay.” 

Reach for him again, “Not just that, I know you why came over,” lift his chin to see me, burn the sun in my eyes, “did you think I wouldn’t miss you at all? We made a promise.” 

Nothing. Revert his focus. This is not the turtle I know. Please don’t change who he is. He slips away. No hop down the fire escape. He climbs down. Leave the fun. Hide from whatever sunlight there may be. 

Old memories mimic new. For as long as I can remember. I follow Mikey. Shell to me, saunter down the empty stairs. Back inside, the window curtains waltz in the slow air. Crawl back inside the bedroom. No turtle in the bed. Wander out to the kitchen. No turtle in the fridge. Out in the cold quiet living. Brown cold brick. One lone poster decorates the house. Green curtains drawn. Cover the room in floral shadows. One single blanket. Pink, fluffy, and covered in cartoon cats. All wrapped around a green ball of shell. 

No need to say words. Yells, whispers or anything. Not unless we break what we have. I’ve already caused enough damage before. Know what lingers in this apartment. A dark bitter blackness. 

Not now. Mikey is here. Curled alone in a ball in a dark corner of the couch. Only one person is allowed to do so in this apartment. Or deserves to be left like this.

 In pink and orange socks, given to me on Christmas from this special turtle. I climb down the platform steps. Weave around the coffee table. The shelf garden gives the room a fresh green smell. Controversial to the dark bitterness that darkens the room. Take a seat next to the fuzzy pink and green shell bundle. 

Whisper. “Mikey…” 

Silence. Fluffy white clouds roll over the golden sun. Hide away all the warmth of the morning before. Drape us in a cool gray shadow. 

“I know…what happened.” The fluffy bundle mumbles. 

Shade claps into black. Words shatter thin glass nerves. Fingers tingle, vibrate. Feet fizzle numb. 

“H-how…I-I…no nothing happened”- 

“I know everything, something did happen” Softness bitters a sharp growl. 

Uncurl himself from his tight ball. Cold ice shrinks me to look away. No, they swore they wouldn’t say a word. For his sake I never want him to know. He wasn’t there for any of it. How could he know? 

A free open apartment space all around us. Could get up and run from this if needed.Yet I am frozen where I sit. So close to his ice cold freeze. 

Memories of a storm roars. 

“That my boss is a jerk,” I smirk old news, “Most bosses are like that Mike”- 

“Stop hiding Tessie”- 

Heart leaps from the couch. Heels spin to run. Hands snatch mine. 

“Wait, wait, hold a sec.” Grip pulls me back. 

Heart thumps out all words in my throat a short scream. Run, scream all thoughts. Hide, shivers all joints. My turtle best friend. His gentle palm softens around my wrist. Yet this cold shiver. Clam all limbs to run forever. 

“…. P-please…” A child who died so long ago whispers, “L-let me go.” 

The child who found the other dead. His hand hugs mine, squeezes his plea. 

“I’m sorry sissy,” stops the pull, freezes the cold distance of what feels like miles apart.

Couch hinges creak behind. A shadow drapes over me. So many have curled me into a ball. Ready for what’s to come. This one, so many times before when I was small. 

Soft words reach nerves, “You’re alright,” 

Green freckle arms, Mikey’s arms slide around me. Drown out the cold in his warmth, he whispers, “breathe with me.” 

Wait for nerves to shiver, to breathe. His warmth turns me to his chest, to his racing heart to listen to mine. 

“It’s okay,” Michel whispers, “you’re safe.” 

Silence. Why am I like this? Why can’t I just be normal? Every training spar, loud bangs, every click of the coffee machine. It’s always like this.

“I found it all in the garbage this morning.” 

Oh no, that was supposed to be gone before he’s awake. The bottles, the evidence, all of it. How could I forget that? How can I be so stupid? Of course he knows it all. No one was supposed to know. Especially Mikey. 

The turtle pulls me from his warmth. Enough for his palms to lift cheeks up to his sweet blue gaze. Those big round eyes. Burns bright in the midday sun almost as radiant as his permanent smile. All tucked away in the shadow. Nothing can shade away the sweetness in his gaze. 

“I don’t have any more if you’re wondering.” I mumble. 

“Good,” His cheek nuzzles my forehead, “We never keep secrets.”

Think back to when that rule was made so long ago. Nudge his cheek in a nod. 

He asks, “Why did you leave us?” 

Both of us sink back down on the couch.

 I explain, “it was time, I couldn’t stay refuge forever.” 

“But you weren’t, you’re not a refuge,” Mikey sinks his eye level to mine, “did the guys ever tell you that?” 

“Mikey, they’ve been looking for my family since day one.” Curl into those old thoughts. Close them away in these hands before me.  

Fold himself on the couch. Follow him. Lay side by side. One head on the other's thigh. 

Chin on my thigh digs, “I never looked.” 

“No,” I slide the pink blanket back over his shell, “You didn’t.” 

Green fingers fiddle with the elastic band of my socks. “We promised no matter what you and I will stay together, what made you want to leave?” 

Snuggle under the blanket and his soft skin. I answer. “For this, we are above service in broad daylight, it’s what we’ve dreamed of, another kitchen to blow up, we just spent a whole morning pulling pranks on other people other than the guys, said we would visit each other all the time…why haven’t you, Donnie, or Leo, or Raphie? I tried to call you.” 

Darkness clouds baby blues. Drops to the colorful butterflies on the blanket. Hand on my shoulder slides away. Hold onto the little butterflies. Should’ve known. 

“You weren’t ready to let go, that’s why you won’t return my texts” Green muzzle hides. I take his limp arm, hold it so soft “We were never siblings to begin with, you found me, remember.” 

Tears well, soak orange mask, he shivers. “But you were mine, you were ours, so tiny in my arms. I knew you were mine. For once I had someone who thinks my pranks are cool, can speak Donnie, can out punch Raph, and talk sense into Leo when he goes leader serious,” 

“You were small too Mikey,” I add in, holding his hand, “we’re only a few years apart, from different lives.” 

More tears fall with his words and clench teeth, “And that life threw you out to the street, they left you to die. How can someone be so cruel? They didn’t know you.” 

Both human hand and turtle hand lock together. 

Smile at the thought. 

“You never left me, none of you did, you saved me my friend, you didn’t know me then either. Raphael and the others were right to look for my family. To find a solution to give me a normal life,” lost in a fog of water, heat burns all. Swim through the water, find my orange clad turtle, “Mikey, you were the one that gave me that normal life, let me make a normal life up here for all of us.” 

Crystal clear blue eyes ripple in the waves. Green complexion red as mine. Our muscles are as weak as each other. Both of us sit up from our ball. 

His round innocence. Sweet, angelic as his soft face. He trembles under water. “S-So…you didn’t leave…B-because you hated us, or something we did? T-thought you were done with your old brother.” 

Hands travel up from his arm. Freckle skin soaks in the sun and tears yet to fall. In this cold looney living room. Sunshine seeps between the curtain shadows. Shine more golden light inside. 

“Mikey, there will never be a time where I hate you, this is the next stage of life to come, would never leave you for good. Want you all of us to be a part of it. Nothing has changed, what has changed is where we are.” 

Cheeks curve in a smile. A hand on his cheek. He takes the back of my hand. Hold it still for him to snuggle into my palm. Two green hands, hold both my cheeks. Warm thumbs rub the hot tears aside. Same way he always has since day one. 

I chuckle, “there were so many times, so many pranks I’ve wanted to punch the daylights out of and have, you were always there for me, my best friend, and a brother I’ve always wanted to have.” 

A wet tongue licks a cow lick on my already messed up hair. Send gross shivers down my spine. To run to the closest thing to a shower and drown in. 

The orange turtle doesn’t let me go. Mikey chuckles, “Least I have you.” 

“Always.” 

Lean forward and our foreheads meet. Lean on each other. Arms join as well. Wrap each other in a tight embrace. Leave each other's foreheads to our cheeks, dig out noses into each other's shoulders. What may seem so unusual to the real world. Perhaps ugly or wrong. Maybe my life may have been different without him. I don’t care what my life would have been. This is my life now. 

Michelangelo the freckled turtle in orange. Surround me in his warmth and love. His own sunshine. 

No matter where life takes us. Where we may be. Whenever there is a street that needs to be terrorized by pranks. Or to text and call a bunch of brothers to build a garden shelf on walls. When the time comes when we grow older and wiser. Maybe families of our own. Or just us still on and on. There will always be, 

Mikey and me.

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

A forbidden love.

König x Fem reader.

A colonel arrives at your house to live with you and your husband's family, you weren't expecting to fall for the man who imprisoned him.

«You and I. We'll see each other again mein Engel, you will see me but not as a soldier, you will not even recognize me and you will be a new woman, a different person»

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Warning: image is not mine, spelling and grammatical errors, it is not so long and I admit it's not so good.

You met your husband a few years ago, your parents were the kind of people who believe in marriage alliances, at a very young age you forgot about any possibility to find someone else and fall in love like normal people do.

When you married you went to live with your new husband and his family, to be more precise, his mother, an arrogant woman, it was a silent battle between you and her, your parents died and their business passed to your husband, you never asked what he was into, until one night during his business trips, he didn't come back.

You saw his face on tv, wearing an orange suit, he was in prison, money, drugs and weapons traffic plus some other dark things.

They found your husband thanks to a private military group, he was in a hotel room unconscious because of all the drugs in his system, all his security staff died.

Thanks to that, now you will receive the visit of one of those soldiers, you will share your house with him, your mother in law told you he was an enemy, you needed to be at your husband's side, you wouldn't be allowed to talk to him or be in the same room as him.

- He's here, look at my Y/N, you're not allowed to talk to him, do you understand?

- Yes.

You muttered, As soon as your mother in law opened the door, a giant black shadow filled the doorframe. He's tall, wearing black clothes and combat boots, blue eyes, that's the only thing you can see of his face, he hides himself under a black mask. His voice is actually very kind and calmed.

- Good morning ladies, I'm König, i will try not to bother you.

You were going to say something but then you remembered what you promised, so you simply nodded and stayed closing the door while your mother in law showed him his provisional room.

During dinner you and your mother in law were gossiping, you still weren't understanding what he was doing there.

- So... König will stay... For how long?

- Don't call him by his name! (She yelled at you, a few minutes of uncomfortable silence later she continued speaking) ...Until they can find something else to blame your poor husband or until he finds if we're involved in his business.

He did what he promised, you rarely see him and today is one of those few times. You were carrying some boxes full of clothes and stuff you're not planning to use anymore, they're heavy and some help would be great but no, you can't.

König sees you and goes to offer his help which clearly you ignore it.

- Excuse me, Can I help you? I have to check those boxes anyways.

No response.

- You can say no, miss.

You continue your way to the car, putting the boxes in the backseat and go back inside the house. The same afternoon, while you're in the garden reading, you see him again. He approaches you, and offers you a cigarette, you neglect with your head, you think that will be enough and he will leave you but he starts to talk.

- I usually am the one who applies the treatment silence, I understand if you hate me.

- I don't hate you.

You muttered, your voice is almost a whisper, thank god König has a good ear.

- Can I take a seat?

He points at the empty space at your side, you agree.

- you say you don't hate me, but your attitude says something else.

- My husband's mother... She almost puts a gun in my head, I'm not allowed to talk to you, but I don't hate you.

- Well, she's not here right now, feel free to talk, I'm here doing my job but that doesn't mean I'm YOUR enemy, just your husband's enemy.

You laugh at his joke, for the first time in years you laugh, and for König is beautiful, the most beautiful sound. How can someone like you have a husband like that man he captured.

- Are you married, König?

- I was, then she left me.

- I'm sorry, at least she let you go, my husband keeps me here and now he is in prison while I have to live under his mother's eye.

- Why are you married to that man?

- My parents. It was an alliance between them and him, he now is in charge of my parents business, I don't owe nothing of this.

You talked for hours, discovering all the chemistry between you and him, the secret conversations turned into something essential in your day by day with him, but secrets cannot be hidden forever.

Your mother in law told you, she noticed the way you blush when he's around, the small smiles you send him, she will not allow it, you will not abandon her son.

- The only thing I expect from you is to be loyal!

-But I am!

- You are a friend of our enemy! How can you talk to him knowing well he was the one who... Sent your husband to that prison! When I see him I would like to put a bullet in his skull!

You've been loyal, you don't want problems so the wall between you and him goes back, until one day when you go to the room where könig spends almost his entire time, you're curious about his investigations.

Papers, pictures, files, you started to think about how stupid it was to go and spy on him until one of the files with your name catches your attention.

Talk about your and your husband's family, marriage and then... A small text about another woman, apparently your husband has another wife and children. You felt betrayed, you had a big discussion with your mother in law, she tried to justify her son but nothing worked, finally there was a reason to leave, to not be loyal anymore.

- I refuse to be in this marriage any longer! I will not stay here to support a husband who never loved me and never showed me the minimum affection!

- YOU DON'T HAVE WHERE TO GO Y/N! YOU'RE NOTHING! LESS THAN NOTHING WITHOUT MY SON!

König heard the discussion, he wanted to hold you, tell you how important you are, show you how sweet and amazing you are, but he can't interfere and mix his work and his feelings.

The same night he was in his room finishing some paperwork when you knocked on his door wearing a nightgown, puffy eyes, plump lips and red cheeks, you quickly jumped on his arms hiding your face in the crook of his neck, at first he hesitated but quickly forgot the rules, fuck the job, fuck everybody else, it's just you and him, he quit his mask and you saw him, the scars, his lips, his jaw. He was gentle, he treated you softly but at the same time showed you how does it feel to be desired by someone.

For the first time in life you felt love, passion, desire, you became addicted to him, his perfume, his lips, his eyes on you, his hands and arms around you at every opportunity you had, both fell in this passional frenzy and the fear of losing him grew inside you, because, eventually he would leave and you wouldn't see him again.

- What's wrong, Meine Liebe?

- You will leave and what will happen to me?

König doesn't say anything, he just hugs you tightly, he loves you, of course he does but... He thinks you deserve better, a better life that he probably can't give you, at least that's his way to think since his ex-wife abandoned him with that excuse «I deserve a life that you can't give me» .

You've been thinking about a way to help König, you want your freedom, leave your husband, you don't want money, you simply want to leave him and live your own life, you were cleaning your closet when a small hidden door is behind one of your drawers, there's a bunch of documents and passwords, you read them quickly and indeed was information that could sentence to years of prison not only your husband but his mother too.

It worked, König found a way to help you, his testimony and reports about what he saw during those weeks with you were enough to get witness protection programs for you, you would go to live in a new country with a new identity, a chance to start again. For him there wasn't a better way to demonstrate how much he loved you.

You were in the airport with him, waiting for your flight, it was a bitter goodbye, you were sniffing, sobbing and crying, why does he not understand your life wouldn't be complete without him?.

- Will I ever see you again?

- Oh Mein süßes Mädchen (my sweet girl) you deserve a better life, a better man and a better love.

He was holding you, caressing your hair, you were crying and pleading him to stay with you.

- I don't want no one else but you, why don't you understand that? We can keep this in secret!

«Flight 150 with destiny to...»

- Es tut mir Leid (sorry) it is time to go, mein Engel.

- I love you König, I really do.

You look up at him, his blue eyes seem tired and sad, you understand the fact that he can't risk his credibility and his job, but you can't understand why he can't accept you want to stay at his side, it could be a secret, there's no need to tell someone about it. After a long hug you decide to part, you were walking to the entrance of the tunnel where your flight awaits when he called your name.

- Y/N, wait!

You were expecting he reconsidered your situation, he approached you and hugged you again pressing his forehead against yours, whispering.

- You and I. We'll see each other again mein Engel, you will see me but not as a soldier, you will not even recognize me and you will be a new woman, a different person. Ich liebe dich, y/n.

Months passed by and you, indeed, became a new person, there's a new woman inside you, but you still think about him, in the middle of the night when there's nobody at your side to hug you, when you need the warmth and the touch of someone, you think about him every time you observe the blue grey skies at rainy days, you wonder if he still remember you, if he's okay.

König still thinks about you, he keeps an eye on you not only because it's his job it's because he also cares about you, he knows you opened a small flower shop, your new address, you're single, you're not dating no one, he knows for you it's okay in the day because you're busy but the problem it's at night, the lights of your bedroom are on until the first hours of the morning, you sit in front of the window for hours observing the sky, he knows that feeling, the emptiness inside you it is the same he experimented too.

It's a torture for him to see you like that and is also a pain in his chest to be far from you, incapable to kiss you, hug you, taste you, love you. He never felt so weak and powerless, he needed you.

He took the closest flight to your new country, he doesn't care anymore if people know he's going to see you, he just wants you back.

You were closing your store when you heard a voice, the voice you could recognize anywhere.

- Excuse me, I would like to buy flowers for the woman I love.

You turned to look at the person behind you, there he is, that brown soft hair, his blue eyes, the prominent and straight nose, the scars on his face, his jaw, the neck that one day was your safe place.

He's nervously smiling at you, his eyes scream how much he begs you to forgive him.

Your eyes are full of tears while you smile, both are in front of each other, after months living in pure torture, both are finally there, he was right, you both would see each other again.

[katescorner]

but imagine popstar!hinata who debuts in a boy band, and his group finds success immediately. his rise to fame is fast but definitely well-deserved. he quickly becomes a fan favorite (some people were just meant for the stage!).

it's mid-day and popstar!hinata is craving protein, so he sneaks out wearing a beanie to cover his orange hair and a black mask for his nose and mouth. realistically, a fan could spot him a mile away, but he just needed a corndog or sausage or maybe a meat bun—something quick before people get on his trail.

popstar!hinata who always underestimates his popularity and only makes it down a couple blocks before he's mobbed. but he's fast, and he's able to break free from the crowd of fans and reporters and who knows who else. he's abandoned the mask now, and his beanie is shoved into his pocket haphazardly as he sprints down the avenue.

you're working a part-time job at some dinky little place. your shift has been unbearably slow, and you're convinced you won't survive it. you glance at the clock. your lunch break starts soon, and you hope no one comes in the next five minutes.

popstar!hinata bursts through the door just as you're about to punch out for lunch and immediately dives under a table to hide. eyes blown wide with surprise, you're about to ask him if he needs help when he shakes his head and quietly points at the door. you watch as a mob runs past the store. some are holding cameras, others banners, but everyone's shouting one name—shoyo.

popstar!hinata who feels extremely bad as you say fuck all and close up shop early (your manager only agreeing because he gets an autograph out of it) and promises to buy you lunch as a thank you for this. and it definitely doesn't hurt that he finds you super cute.

"if you take me out for lunch, am i going to make the front page next morning?"

"you mean when."

"no, i mean if."

"you don't believe i'll come back to treat you for lunch?"

popstar!hinata who's amused by you and decides to save his number to your phone (even though his publicist might kill him if anything happens) to show you he's not lying. he makes sure to take a selfie right then and there for his contact photo, and he names himself 'shoyo🍊🧡' (he debated putting the heart for two minutes; you pretended not to notice). similarly, he saves your contact with similar emojis (again you pretend not to notice the heart emoji).

"pick up when i call. i'm going to be looking forward to lunch."

"we'll see."

spoiler alert: his publicist lost her mind when she saw the two of you make headlines the morning after your lunch (date).