#did it look cooler in my head? also yes.

[bagskate]

Antimony is a chemical element; it has symbol Sb (from Latin stibium) and atomic number 51. A lustrous grey metal or metalloid, it is found in nature mainly as the sulfide mineral stibnite (Sb2S3). Antimony compounds have been known since ancient times and were powdered for use as medicine and cosmetics, often known by the Arabic name kohl.

Elemental Haiku, Mary Soon Lee

part of @simmyfrobby's nhl periodic table poems series

"yankees stadium hosts its first outdoor hockey game, rangers vs devils 2014", dave sandford / p.k. subban, 2011 heritage classic, jeff vinnick / from the hector leblanc collection / photo unsourced, most likely by jay capers

[augustinewrites]

“babe. baaaabe. babe!”

“what, satoru?” you ask sharply, looking up from your laptop to where your boyfriend has spread himself across your couch, his legs in shoko’s lap. 

he lifts his shades to look at you. “was i your first crush?”

“yes,” you answer quickly.

you immediately return to the report you’re writing, missing the face shoko makes before she says, “that’s not true.” 

“ieiri,” you whisper harshly, but it’s too late. your boyfriend’s already jumped off the couch to lean his palms against your desk. 

“what? i wasn’t your first?!”

“you were,” you insist, glaring at your friend. “shoko is clearly misremembering things.”

“am i though?”

“you know what, it’s fine,” gojo sighs, slipping his shades back on and rolling the sleeve of his t-shirt up so he can flex. “obviously i’m way cooler than whatever lame schmuck high school you was crushing on.”

behind him, shoko’s scoff is the final nail in your coffin. “nanami is way cooler than you ever were.”

you slap your forehead, bracing yourself for gojo’s inevitable overreaction. 

but he doesn’t get the chance, interrupted by a light knock against your doorframe from, you guessed it, nanami kento.

“yaga said you wanted to see me?”

cue overreaction.

“you had a crush on— on him?” 

nanami swats gojo’s finger away from his cheek. 

“oh my god,” your boyfriend breathes, currently experiencing a quarterlife crisis. “you liked this emo nemo?”

nanami ignores him, sending you a questioning look. “he doesn’t know?”

“what is it now?” satoru asks, slumping back into the couch. “did you guys go on a date or something?” 

your lack of answer is enough for him to let his head fall back rather dramatically. 

“can you blame her?” shoko asks. “he was sexy back then. in an edgy, mysterious kind of way. meanwhile, you were like…if a string bean made love to a cauliflower.” 

even gojo doesn’t have a witty retort prepared for that. 

you decide to clear this up once and for all. “it wasn’t just about looks. you were busy after— after riko. you didn’t have time for a relationship or…for me. you wanted to get stronger and i didn’t want to get in your way.”

“you wouldn’t have been—”

“i would have.” you shrug. because you know him, and you know what he was like. “and that’s okay because we were still kids, satoru. and it was only one date! no need to get so torn up about it!”

_____

“what is this?” you ask later that night, when you find satoru hauling a huge box into your apartment.

“it’s a bowflex!” gojo explains proudly, patting the unopened box. “shoko said that i was built like a string bean, so i’m gonna buff up like nanami! and when megumi moves out next year, i’m gonna turn his room into a gym.”

you lean in the doorway, amused. nanami also has a home gym. “is that why you’re also wearing a suit and tie instead of your usual uniform?”

he does a show spin, letting you take it all in. you don’t even want to know how much it must have cost. “do you like it?” 

“you do look very handsome.” 

“i know,” he winks, cocky as ever. “now watch this.”

he brushes a few strands of hair over his eyes, lowering his voice a few octaves as he says, “taxes. office work. satoru, i respect you so much!”

you walk up to him, brushing the hair back to press a kiss to his forehead. “nanami would never say that last thing, but i do like the effort.” 

he loops his arms around your waist, returning the kiss and murmuring against your skin, “did it turn you on though? maybe i should get an office job—”

“satoru,” you whine, resting your forehead against his chest. “it was just a short-lived crush. and it was forever ago! i’m pretty sure you’ve had crushes that weren’t me.”

“nope,” he hums, resting his chin atop your head. “all i’ve ever wanted is you. all i’ve ever needed…is you.” 

[shotmrmiller]

need simon to be retired and living in the middle of nowhere with a car-fixing hobby, and you're pulling into his 'shop' because you were road-tripping across the country and now some funky noises are happening underneath the hood.

you tentatively walk towards the open garage, only to spot him under some run-down vehicle that has more rust than sun-faded paint, deflated tires, and a license plate that's also got rust gnawing at the edges, the numbers on it barely discernable.

you rap your knuckles gently on the weathered car, and the wheels of the creeper he's on squeak in protest under him as he rolls out to look at you, filthy gloves smearing the dust on his brow instead of wiping it away.

"err, hi. uh, i was pointed this way by some lovely folk that work in that diner down the way, and they said that you could take a look at my car."

he rises smoothly, even though his joints pop as he does, dark eyes squinting against the sun. he towers over you with broad shoulders and thick arms. a tough-as-teak country man.

you start when he speaks, deep voice echoing off of dusty walls. "they said tha', did they?" he lifts the hem of his grease-stained wife beater to wipe at the beads of sweat on his forehead, and your gaze involuntarily wanders to the thick trail of coarse, dark hair under his navel.

"what's wrong with it?"

if you knew that, you wouldn't be here, blatantly ogling him in some decrepit workshop located in a sleepy corner of the countryside. "i don't know. it's making some scary popping noises and figured that it needed to be looked at, asap."

your grimace is involuntary when he extends an oil-streaked gloved hand. you really hope he's not expecting you to-

"keys."

right. you wordlessly hand them over and walk a few steps behind him as he heads toward the front of your car. "did ya get it looked at before your trip?"

you want to snap at him, that obviously you did. you may not be some car wizard, however, you can do the bare minimum for it but he's your only hope for getting the hell out of here, so you press your tongue against the back of your teeth for a moment before answering.

"yes. i did prepare for it. got new tires, an oil change, and anything else it may have needed."

he hums at your answer, a low sound in the back of his throat, and curls his fingers under the hood and begins to feel for the release. your mind is in the gutter as your eyes linger on his sun-kissed skin, watching the tendons on his inked forearm ripple with each movement.

your mind is snapped back to reality when he mutters, "i hope ya don't think i'm doin' this for free."

"wouldn't dream of it. you don't seem the charitable type."

the latch yields under his fingertips, and the hood springs open. "i'd say i'm pretty charitable, considerin' i'm even helpin' ya with this."

your eyebrows furrow, corners of your lips pulling downward. "what, were you closed or something?"

he gives you a small smirk while his hand searches for the prop rod inside the engine bay. "do i look like a business, sweetheart?"

embarrassment burns your cheeks, and your mouth gapes unprettily as you turn around to truly take in the place. past the grease-smeared floors, there's rust blooming on the only workbench in the garage, a single red toolbox resting on the ground. there's a car jack tossed in a corner, a vibrant blue cooler by the door, and a few firearms on pegboard shelves. it looks like a simple garage. a personal one.

"oh my god," you stammer, "i'm so sorry, i just- the townsfolk, they led me to believe that you're a mechanic." how bloody mortifying.

he ducks his head under the hood, bending at the waist to lean over the engine, eyes swiftly scanning the machinery. "it's a hobby. i fix my own vehicles... and now yours, i reckon."

eventually, he turns the car on and listens to the engine roar to life before it begins to pop, standing over the open hood with thinned lips and furrowed brows.

he tells you that he can fix it, it'll just take a bit for the part to get here, obviously, so he recommends staying at a rented cabin in town for a few days— maybe even a week— and he'll give you a ride over.

he gets you there in no time, unsurprising because he drove the motorcycle far too fast— illegal, really. he helps you off the bike, your clammy hand in his much bigger, roughened one.

you rip off his helmet, pushing it into his barrel chest. "please never drive me around that fast again." he gives you a couple of pats to the shoulder, chuckling under his breath.

"unless you're plannin' on walkin' to get your car back, i can't promise tha'."

grrrreat.

(the issue was the serpentine belt, it was slightly frayed but the man kept you around for 2.5 weeks under the excuse of something taking too long, or the car being under worse condition. maybe he charges you a kidney for fixing it, and since you can't obviously pay that ridiculous amt of money, he tells you to go on a date with him. gross. or maybe he's a sane man and he just sends you on your way in 2 days time. idk. installs a gps in your car? keepin' tabs on ya cuz he plans on passing by wherever you live by complete coincidence.)

[wonderjanga]

Revival

(I posted this on accident when I meant to put it in drafts, anyone who saw that, you didn’t)

Anyways , so Billy casually revives Mary and Freddy whenever they die in their marvel forms. (For this AU, let’s say they’re still super durable, but they’re less durable than Marvel) Like for example:

*Mary and Marvel are fighting a super strong monster. It swings one of its claws at the two, hitting the both of them. It gives Billy a scratch but Mary just dies.*

Marvel: *forgets about the monster immediately* “Oh my gods…” *looks down at her looking properly disturbed and uses tip of boot to move Mary onto her back to see if she’s really, really dead.* “That’s… a nasty one.” *Bends down and fixes her face and wounds up with magic.* He’s revived them before but seeing them die never ceases to scare him. What if he can’t save them the next time?

Mary: *alive but unconscious*

Marvel: *picks her up and zips off to the Rock of Eternity* “Okay, Mary… I’m just gonna…” *Puts her down on the floor and runs around the rock finding blankets upon blankets and a singular pillow. Puts them all on her and puts the pillow under her head.*

Mary: *wakes up slightly and tries to sit up* “Billy, what happened?”

Marvel: “You uh… got knocked out.” *Pushes her back down so she can lay back down* He hasn’t told either of them that nine times out of ten, whenever they get knocked out, they die. It causes a major argument when they find out. “Just go back to sleep, Mary. I’ll take care of the monster.” If anyone saw this, they would truly think he’s her dad.

Mary: “The monster’s still out there?” *already on the verge of going back to sleep*

Marvel: “Not for long.” *tucks her in extra tight and pats her head before flying back to Fawcett*

or

*JL are fighting some aliens. These aliens are actually a little harder than normal. Some of their weapons burned Billy such as the ray-guns. (Which looked awesome) After closer inspection, the ray-guns had some type of magic signature. (Is it bad he finds that even cooler?) Freddy’s also there. The ray-guns affect him more than Billy. He dies when the aliens use a particularly big gun when Billy’s too distracted to help him. He doesn’t even realize Freddy died (again) until all the fighting is over and he’s looking for him.*

Marvel: *Flying around, looking around for Freddy* “Junior! Junior, where’d you go?” *Sees Freddy just laying there and flies down, touching down on the ground* “Junio…” *trails off when he sees Freddy’s dead and walks over to the corpse*

Superman: *flies down and lands next to Marvel* “Cap, Hal’s asking if you want to go for drinks. Do I tell him you’re not going—” *covers mouth when he sees Freddy.*

Marvel: *kneels down in front of Freddy.* How long had he been like this? Could Billy even save him now? He’s so charred… *feels impending dread and nausea creeping up*

Superman: “I- Marvel- I’m so sorry…”

Marvel: *spiraling as he stares at Junior*

Batman: *appears from the shadows* “I know what it’s like to lose a child, Marvel.” *puts hand on Billy’s shoulder* “If you ever need to talk to someone…”

Marvel: *shrugs hand off and starts to try and heal Freddy* “I’m fine.” *keeps muttering that he’s fine and the whole situation is fine as he continues to heal Freddy.*

Batman and Superman: *staring at Marvel in pity*

Superman: “…Marvel?” *Walks up behind Billy* “Marvel. He’s not fine.”

Freddy: *healed, alive but unconscious*

Marvel: “Yes, he is.” *Picks Freddy up* “He’s perfectly fine. I uh- I gotta go.”

Superman: “Cap, wait!”

Marvel: *Zooms off the rock. Ended up doing the same thing he did with the blankets before with Mary to Freddy.*

The league are gobsmacked when they see Freddy talking to Billy as if they hadn’t heard from Supes and Bats that he died. Billy also found a few grey hairs when he detransformed.

[soobnny]

dating him | han jisung

❝ you found my heart broken and you helped me make it whole again ❞

chan | lee know | changbin | hyunjin | HAN | felix | seungmin | jeongin

i think you’re a second love type situation for han jisung

the one where he thought he’d never recover from his first heartbreak

but then here u come

i think han’s the type of person to feel everything

if he’s in love, he’s in LOVE

and if he’s hurt, it would just be overwhelming pain

so imagine how he was when he got his first heartbreak

he’d lose a little bit of his spark

maybe keep to himself even more than he used to

u come to his life in the form of a friend first

and han has unknowingly planted a seed that’s grown and grown and grown

with every interaction

with every laugh you’ve brought back

with every moment he was coming out of his shell again

until it’s fully bloomed into a love that’s very very real and very very present

han jisung would also love so beautifully

he knows what it’s like to be hurt, and he doesn’t ever want u to feel that same pain

he rly makes efforts

he is FULL of efforts

and he makes u laugh ☹️☹️☹️☹️

he communicates

and when the boys finally meet u, they’re very grateful but also

????!!!! why do u they know ur favorite color

and ur go-to order at the cafe

and the hoodie u like to steal from jisung the most

well turns out, han loves talking about u to his friends

they just know everything about u before even meeting u

he’d get rly shy about it but never embarrassed

he’d tell the whole world about u if he could

what else can i tell u

han jisung is just someone where nothing sounds crazy to him

so i think all ur dates with him would be so fun and adventurous lowk

amusement parks !!!!!

ice skating and roller blading

both of u would fall on ur ass

but you’d also laugh so much and somehow that makes up for everything

you’d be holding hands and skating with each other and looking at each other with lovesick smiles

I FEEL SICK!!!!!!!!

he’s always trying to impress u too

he tries to imitate figure skaters

kids don’t try this at home

ofc he fails miserably

obvious blushes when you’d tell him he was cute for trying

or when you’d praise him

anyways when i said he’s always trying to impress u i mean ALWAYS

he treats the relationship like he’s still pining after you

being the standard fr

he never lets go of the love

sometimes he’d still get shy to ask u out

somehow he doesn’t believe u actually said yes to him

he thinks he’s the luckiest boy

anyways, aside from adventurous dates, he equally values his inside time and quieter dates

he’s thankful u understand his shifts in his energy

on days u stay inside, you’d probably watch horror movies

look…. he suggests it….

it looked cool in his head to be all protective

you’d hold onto his arm when the jumpscares come

but

womp womp

he ends up being more afraid than u

and now HE’S holding ur arm

yeah it looked way cooler in his head

you’d play silly little board games together

or maybe charades

he’s so easily amused by sexual innuendos

he’s just a man guys

anyways

there are two things he loves to steal from u the most

aside from ur kisses

and it’s (1) ur perfume and (2) ur lip balm

u’d catch him putting on ur perfume just bc he wants to be surrounded by ur scent

it’s very comforting

one time, he was sick and the boys were taking care of him

and when u finally had time to take over and care for ur bf

u just …. smell ur perfume

“did you put on my perfume?”

“i missed you ☹️☹️☹️☹️”

DOWN BADDDDD

he’s so pouty and so cute

let’s suffocate him with the pillow

KIDDINGGGGGG KIDDING

and then ur lip balm

sometimes he steals the actual thing

sometimes he kisses you so he can have it on his lips too

han jisung is also the type to avail every possible couple coupon

and he’s always begging the cashiers to let u prove u’re a couple

it’s so he has an excuse to kiss you

so

months into dating him also means a thousand love letters

he loves writing u love letters

and u know sooner that he also writes songs

on ur anniversary, he reveals a song he’s written for you

and when he proposes, he tells u about every single one he’d ever written about you and for you

wish that were me 😂😂😂😂😂

TAKE CARE OF HIM

note. credits to user @.luvknow for the layout of this post! let me know what you think! please discuss these with me i’m crazy

[syxilla]

Ken sato x !reporter reader

oh, how he wishes you saw him as a man and not a boy.

cw for everything below: age difference (its used for the plot), suggestive (depending on who you ask)

thinking about kenji trying to impress reader in his games. the reader who is older, more mature and composed than him. who always comments on his arrogance in their articles or interviews. honestly, you were his harshest critic! it was your nickname amongst your co-workers as well. everyone knew you held hatred for him, and so did he. you frequently commented on his age and how it isn't smart to put so much faith into such a young and ignorant man and call him a living legend. "he isn't mature enough!" you always stated.

he hated that. his age doesn't make him better or worse than anyone else; he was just better because he was ken sato. but that didn't stop him from trying to act older, at least around you. because it was for you.

he's still so desperate to impress you. he'd do cooler moves in games, smile at the camera more in interviews, and, even though it seemed impossible, he became more prideful. but he couldn't help it! feeling your intense gaze on him as he walked onto the field or got into a stance, it was invigorating.

he especially got a rise out of seeing you roll your eyes, slumping back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other once you realized there was nothing for you to comment on his performance. it was perfect. so perfect that it would (sometimes, if he was lucky) get a small, ever so slight, smile from your lips. even better if he saw you nod your head in approval. so after one of (arguably) his best perfomances yet, one he spent weeks practicing just for his pretty little critic, he walks up to you, ready to soak in all the praise he believed he deserved.

"so... how was that y/n?" he teased, slamming himself into your personal space. it's his favorite place! if you thought it belonged to you, it was also his. "leave me alone, sato." you grumble, not wanting to admit your defeat to him. "it was good, wasn't it? right? righttt?" you push him away and begin walking away, eyes looking straight forward to avoid his gaze.

"oh c'mon, am i really that bad you can't even compliment me?" he pouted playfully, poking your oh so soft cheek, giving it a slight pinch. "fine, sato! you're a good player. you impressed me today, enough for me to even say im... proud of you." if you were to sneeze each time kenji's heart began to race, it'd look like you're having a seizure because of how fast it was.

"then why dont you show me how proud you are of me," this made you halt, snapping your head towards him. "how?" you asked, eyes focused on his lips that quirked up into a grin. "take me out to dinner. tommorow night. let me pick, and i'll consider the debt you owe me paid off." he smiled, taking a step back, allowing you to breathe again. when did you stop? "i'm not indebted to you anyway?" you retort, pushing him back even more to feel like you had the upper hand here. "yes, you are! all the times you've doubted my abilities! am i not worthy of getting an apology? a gift?" he said dramatically, placing his hand on his chest.

you sputter nothing in disbelief, until something clocks inside of your little brain. "are you asking me on a date, sato?" you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, a shit eating grin on your face. he leans down to your level, which is when you register how much taller he was than you, and tilts his head to the side. "and if i am?" kenji's voice goes quieter. "you're not my type." you mock, mimicking his tone. "i like them older." to this, he laughs. "you like grandpa's y/n? you like them near their deathbed?" he joked, trying (and failing) to hide his laughter. "yeah, atleast they're gentlemen, unlike you."

"i may not be the most gentlemanly person on earth, but i am a gentle man in everything else."

oh! oh. now you were entering dangerous territory. not for him, for you. it was so clear what he was setting up as a trap, and yet, despite all the warning signs there was, opened your plump little lips and asked with the purest face ever (even though your thoughts were the complete opposite) "how can i know if youre lying or not?"

and kenji, oh the annoying ken sato who you would never admit admired, not even on your deathbed, stepped closer to you, leaned down near your ear, and said in the loudest voice, loud enough so that you cant mishear him, and quiet enough that no one else can, says

"why dont i show you?"

if your composure was a ship, it would be near the ocean floor, the reason for sinkage; ken sato. right when your last functioning braincell is able to deliver a quip before total failure, someone calls kenji over. "you have a interview remember?" it yelled. "coming!" he smiled sweetly, kissing your cheek ever so softly.

the immature baseball player might not be as immature as you thought...

(thanks for the support on the last one, so i thought i'd write another one because im desperate for this man, like he's desperate for the reader, lowk. also i didnt fully proofread itmso sorry if skme names r missing colors and whatnot)

[coff33andb00ks]

Rule Breaker - Pt 8

pairing:max Verstappen x single mom!reader x logan sargeant {masterlist}{prev} {next} warnings: cursing, minimally proofread, smut (minors DNI) Summary: you can start a family who will always show you love, you don't have to be sorry for doing it on your own word count: 7.5k auth.note: smut gods have returned to me all hail spotify: i made a playlist taglist: to be added to this or my other taglists, use this form

"Ahh." The sigh was accompanied by a happy grin as he leaned back, his eyes closed against the sun.

Y/n snorted on a laugh. "Living the life, huh, doodle bug?" she teased, watching him tuck his arms behind his head.

"Uh huh." Kevin wrinkled his nose when she reached to rub more sunscreen on his face. "When Mister Logan gets here can we go in the water?"

"Of course, you know he promised to take you in." She personally didn't venture far past where the waves broke. At least Kevin was content to play in the sand until Logan came down, which should be soon.

"He's not afraid of the water," Kevin said, sitting up so she could apply sunscreen to his ears and neck.

"Nope, he's not," she murmured, squeezing the cream onto his hand so he could rub it into his arms. "Mama's not afraid, either. I'm just afraid of what's in the water."

Kevin giggled, flopping back on the blanket like a starfish. "Just fishes, mama!"

"Ugh, and jellyfish and seaweed and crabs and—" She shuddered dramatically, smoothing his sun shirt and helping herself to a drink from the cooler before settling back in her beach chair, content to sit under the umbrella and watch the waves.

They'd arrived in North Carolina late the night before. Kevin had invited Logan to the family beach trip and she'd been surprised when he'd said he would love to go, having assumed he wanted to spend the summer break with his own family. And then she'd worried that it was too soon to introduce him to her parents, that it was pushing things into the serious category. And then—

"Jesus christ, y/n, take the boy and have fun."

Ellie's words rang in her mind and she gave her head a little shake. She didn't know why she'd worried. Her family seemed to like him. Her dad and uncle had invited him to go fishing with them after talking to him for five minutes, and they'd taken him down to their favorite shop to get him the gear.

She wondered what they'd say when they found out she was also dating the grote maat Mister Max that Kevin kept talking about.

"Y/n!"

Turning, she saw her mom coming along the boardwalk from the cottage. She half stood, then groaned when she noticed the phone she was carrying. "I'm on vacation," she whined even though her mom couldn't hear her. Next to her, Kevin giggled.

"Might be Aunt Ellie?" he asked, staying on the blanket as she snorted and crossed the sand to meet her mom at the bottom of the steps down the dune.

"Someone named Max keeps calling you," her mom said, handing over the phone.

Frowning, she took the phone and squinted at it in the sunlight. "I should call him back—"

"Go on, I'll sit with Kevin. Your dad just texted me, they're on the way back now." Her mom patted her shoulder and headed across the sand.

Worried that something might be wrong, she jogged up the steps and to the cottage, breathing a sigh as soon as she was inside and could see the screen properly. Seven missed calls, two voicemails. Her heart thudded as she saw his most recent text – Call me please – and she did so immediately, pacing on the screened in porch of the second level.

"What's wrong?" she blurted as soon as the call connected.

Max let out a breath. "Wrong?"

"You've called me seven times."

"Yes. I need directions."

She held her breath and pressed her lips together. It had only been two days and it was so nice to hear his voice, but she couldn't focus on that right now. "Directions."

"Well, an address would be better."

"Do I look like Google maps?" she huffed.

Max laughed. "Didn't you listen to my voicemails or read the texts?"

Muttering a curse, she pulled the phone from her ear and went to her texts.

I need to meet with Logan and don't have his number.

I'm in the States, coming your way. It's important. Call me?

Y/n, where's the beach place? All I know is OBX and I need an address.

"You're coming here?!" she yelped, pressing the phone to her ear again.

"Yes…"

"What's going on? Why do you need to talk to Logan?" she asked.

"I'll explain everything when I get there."

"Is it bad?" She couldn't help but worry.

"No, I promise it's not bad. It's about next year."

Her heart dropped at the thought of next year, because she knew Logan didn't have a seat. But Max said it wasn't bad? Her heart lifted, lodging in her throat. "Do you know something?"

He groaned. "I just landed in… Currituck?"

"Oh my god," she gasped. "You're really here?"

"I'm really here." And she could hear the gentle smile in his voice.

"I'll text you the address." She rubbed a hand over her face. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I'm sorry, schatje."

Just like that, he was forgiven. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Can't wait," he murmured.

Ending the call, she texted him the cottage's address, torn between giddiness and anxiety. Kevin would be so happy. She was so happy. Logan would be—

Logan.

Calling him, she waited for Max's acknowledgment of her text, unable to keep the smile from her face as the thumbs up emoji appeared.

"Hey babe, we're like two minutes away," Logan greeted. He sounded so relaxed and happy it made her heart want to sing.

"Clingy!" her uncle's voice rang out in the background.

Rolling her eyes, she couldn't help but laugh. "I just talked to Max."

"Yeah? He good?"

"Um… He's on his way here."

There was a beat of silence, though she could hear her father and uncle yapping in the background. "Wait, really?" Logan asked. "Why?"

"He said he has to meet with you. He—" She pulled the phone away to glance at the text from Max. "He'll be here in about forty-five minutes. All he said is it's about next year."

"Nothing's happened, has it?" he asked softly.

"He said it isn't bad," she promised, hearing his breath of relief.

"I— Shit, we're here, see you in a sec."

She laughed and ended the call, hearing the slamming of truck doors. After glancing out at the beach to see her mom and Kevin chasing the waves across the sand, she made her way to the back of the cottage and down to the ground level, squealing softly when Logan wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the bottom step.

"You look so hot," he murmured before giving her a kiss.

"It's like ninety degrees out, of course—"

"You know what I mean," he groaned, kissing her again as he set her down on the cement.

"Gross," her dad muttered.

Wrinkling her nose, she ignored her father and smiled up at Logan. "Did you get your gear?"

"Yeah, I'll show you later? Gonna change and hit the water with Kev before Max shows up," he murmured. There was worry in his eyes, though, and she squeezed his hand before going back up the stairs and inside to the bedroom they shared, grabbing a hair tie to fix her messy bun. Logan reached around her to put his wallet on the dresser and she saw the hair tie around his wrist, where he'd put it the week before. Every time she saw it she felt the need to hug him and settled for patting his arm for now, smiling when he dropped a kiss to her shoulder.

"He promised it isn't bad," she reminded him as he pulled a pair of board shorts from his suitcase.

"I know, but…" He sighed.

"Babe," she murmured, waiting for him to look at her. "We're on vacation, remember? No stress."

"No stress," he agreed with a nod. "You coming down to the beach?"

She nodded, picking up her phone and setting a timer so she could be on the lookout for Max. "Can't miss Kev's first dip of the summer."

"Your dad pointed out a miniature golf place on the way back," he said as they headed out. "I was thinking we could go one day while we're here? Seems like something Kev would enjoy."

"He'd love that. And maybe hit one of the go-kart tracks?"

Logan's face lit. "They've got karting?"

"Calm down, it's regular people karting," she laughed.

Thanking the driver again, Max shouldered his backpack and glanced warily at the house, trying to decipher where the entrance was. It was built on stilts, two trucks parked beneath the house, two SUVs parked to the side. About to pull out his phone to call y/n, he heard a door slam and looked up, smiling at the sight of her in a bikini leaning over the railing of the porch above.

"You really flew here to see Logan?" she called down and he had to laugh.

Because it sounded so ridiculous, him flying all the way to America to talk to Logan. A conversation that could easily have been done over the phone. Or FaceTime. And yet…

He'd wanted to see them. All three of them.

She was walking to the end of the porch and he finally saw the stairs going up. Even though he was exhausted from the flight and the wait for the second flight and the drive down to her family's vacation home he moved quickly, surprised at how happy he was to see her again even though it had only been a few days.

"Hey," she murmured when they met at the halfway point of the stairs.

"Schatje," he sighed, dropping his suitcase as she wrapped her arms around him. Sunkissed skin was warm beneath his hands and he sighed, breathing in cocoa butter and watermelon. He wished the kiss could have lasted longer and relished every second of it, still awed at each physical touch from her after so many weeks of stolen hugs and lingering kisses.

"Logan's in the water with Kevin," she told him as she led him upstairs and into the house. "You can change in our room – you can't go on the beach in jeans."

He scoffed at that, following her down the hallway and into a bedroom while she told him the cottage had six bedrooms, four bathrooms, a ground level apartment that they only used for storage and laundry, and the upper level was where the living, dining, and kitchen were, along with another bedroom suite and a sun deck.

"Your family owns it?" he asked, setting his backpack down as he glanced around, seeing evidence that she and Logan had spent time in the room. Seeing her nod, he looked around again. "It's quite expensive, isn't it?"

"I don't know the details, my grandparents bought it back in the 1980s… My mom said a few years ago it was assessed at around two million. Why?"

"I didn't know you were rich," he teased.

Her jaw dropped. "We're not!"

"It's not a bad thing, schatje."

"I'm not rich. Neither are my parents. They both work, and they rent this out year-round to pay the taxes and the upkeep and…" She narrowed her eyes and huffed out a breath. "I'm not gonna defend my family against a man who owns his own jet."

Laughing, he reached to unbuckle his belt, hesitating only briefly.

She cleared her throat. "Come on upstairs and I'll introduce you once you've changed? Then we can hit the beach?"

He nodded, waiting until she'd left and closed the door before taking off his jeans. They hadn't been intimate, yet, and he had decided he wasn't going to ask her about it or even mention it. Their relationship was far from traditional, far from anything he'd ever experienced. They'd agreed to keep things as private and almost secretive as possible because he was still worried she could lose her job, and though he wanted to be open about it, to casually mention on a stream or in a conversation – can't make it, going to dinner with y/n – he found he didn't mind holding it close. The only people that knew were Logan, y/n, and himself. And Kevin, because even before he'd admitted to himself that he wanted to be more than just friends with her the boy had pointedly said—

"You like mama."

If only Kevin knew the half of it.

After changing he made his way upstairs, hearing y/n's voice along with others. The stairwell led into a large open living area and he paused, enjoying the familial scene of y/n stirring something in a pot while a woman who looked like a slightly older version of her sat on a stool at the counter, writing something down. Another woman was sitting next to her, pointing out things in a grocery store sales paper.

The top stair creaked, and all three women turned to look at Max.

"Oh hello," the woman writing gave him a warm smile as she set the pen down and slid off the stool. "You must be Max."

"Yeah, that's me," he greeted, glancing at y/n.

Y/n put the lid on the pot and walked over and made the introductions. Max couldn't help but notice she'd put an oversized shirt on over her bikini and so he kept his expression neutral, understanding without her telling him that her family was unaware they were more than just friends.

"We're so happy to have you, Kevin won't shut up about you," y/n's mother said with a grin. "Y/n said you came all this way to talk to Logan?"

"Yes… I won't intrude for long," he began.

"Oh no honey you're not intruding at all. You'll have to stay a few days." She patted his shoulder. "We've got plenty of room."

Max got the feeling that if he tried to decline he'd be ignored so he merely smiled and nodded, thanking her even though she was already walking away, telling y/n's aunt that they would go to the store after she made the bed for him. Glancing to y/n, he rolled his eyes when she merely shrugged.

"Better get you to the beach before she has you staying here the whole summer break," she muttered, leading him through the living area to the open sliding glass door that led out onto a sunny deck. "Mom, we're going to the beach so he can see Logan and Kevin."

"Alright – send me a text if there's anything he can't or won't eat," her mother called after them. "We're gonna get some groceries."

"I'll introduce you to my dad and uncle later, they went down to the pier," y/n assured him, closing the door.

Glancing in the direction she pointed, Max could just make out the pier and nodded, following her down another set of stairs and past an outdoor shower. She pointed out the covered porch on the lower level, mentioning a hot tub then led him along the boardwalk over the dune.

"It's not St. Tropez or the Bahamas," she said as they stood at the top of the steps, both watching Logan lift Kevin above the cresting waves at the shoreline. "But it's…"

Max nodded, lightly brushing her fingers with his. "It's special to you, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she said softly. "It is."

"Then it's beautiful," he said, watching a small wave crash over Kevin, smiling when he heard the boy's delighted squeals.

"Oh, Max," she sighed. He barely caught it before the wind took it away, but he knew he would hold onto the glimmer in her eye for the rest of his life.

"Mister Max!" Kevin shrieked.

He was dripping wet and half covered in sand by the time Max got to him but he scooped him up regardless, grinning as the boy hugged his neck tightly. "I missed you too, kleine maat," he promised. "You're having fun, hm?"

Kevin nodded vigorously, water spraying from his curly hair. "We took the plane and Mister Logan got us ice cream and Mama slept while Mister Logan drived us! And Nana cooked us hot dogs at midnight! And I'm goin' fishin' with Papa and Uncle Mike and Mister Logan!"

"I can't wait to see how many fish you catch." Max hugged him back, nodding when Kevin asked if they could build a sandcastle one day.

"I gotta pee," Kevin announced.

"I told him to go in the water," Logan said with a chuckle, shaking water from his hair.

"Ew." Kevin sounded disgusted and Max grinned, handing him over to his mother.

"C'mon, let's get to the bathroom," she sighed, settling him on her hip before sharing a look with Logan and Max.

"We'll get the stuff, babe," Logan promised.

Max watched her walk back towards the cottage, waiting until they disappeared from his view before turning to Logan. The smile had faded from his face and he sighed. "It's not bad, mate."

"You flew halfway around the world without warning, Max, what am I supposed to think?" Logan sighed harshly. "Did you hear something? I already know Carlos has my spot—"

"It's not about him," he assured, walking with him to the beach chairs and umbrella, wordlessly helping him shake the sand from the towels and stuff them into the bag. "It's Checo."

Logan jerked his head up, brow furrowing as he grabbed the shirt from the back of one of the chairs. "Checo?"

"You can't tell—"

The other man nodded. "A soul, I know."

"His contract renewal is being canceled. It might already be, I haven't checked in with Christian since I landed." He'd been too focused on getting here. On seeing them. Max watched him pull the shirt over his head, smiling faintly at the Red Bull emblem now over his chest.

"Really? I thought…" Logan combed his fingers through his hair.

Shrugging, he watched droplets of seawater trickle down Logan's neck and unconsciously licked his lips. "His performance is lacking. Resting on his laurels, Christian said."

"So who's gonna replace him?" Logan reached to lower the umbrella and Max belatedly pulled a chair over to fold it.

"I don't know. They're thinking Daniel. It's not a hundred percent guaranteed."

"You came out all this way just to tell me this?" Logan looked confused.

"No, I came to tell you that—" Max finally got the chair folded and let it drop onto the sand. "I know Daniel will take the seat. It might not be fully decided, but Christian wants him, I want him, and I know he'll gladly come back to the team."

Logan nodded, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "I'm happy for him. He was great in Red Bull."

"Yeah—"

"What's this gotta do with me?"

And Max knew it had to happen. That he had to do everything in his power, short of threatening to tear up his own contract, to make what he was about to say come true. "I talked to Christian last night. He's got a good relationship with Laurent, and… Well, I told him you deserve Daniel's spot."

The umbrella fell over. "You what?"

"I told him—"

"Do you really think that?" Logan asked softly.

Max rubbed the back of his neck, finally nodding. "Well, yeah. You just need a good team, mate."

Logan smiled. Above the sound of the wind and the waves Max heard his breath stutter and swallowed hard. "I really appreciate it, Max. I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he assured him. "I'll message Christian, tell him you're interested. That's all I can do."

"That's more than most people would do for me." Smiling, Logan reached out and Max was being hugged. He faltered at first, not expecting the touch, but quickly recovered, returning the embrace. Logan chuckled, apologizing for being wet.

Max shook his head, finding he didn't mind that the hug lasted longer than it really should have. "It's fine."

"Are you staying?" The question came as they walked back to the cottage.

"Her mum didn't even ask, she just told me I have to stay a few days." Max opened his mouth to apologize for barging in on their time together, but Logan's next words stopped him.

"That's good, mate, we love having you around."

He mulled that over while he followed Logan to the ground level apartment, glancing around at the accumulation of years of family beach time. Floaties, chairs, umbrellas, beach toys. Bins were labeled and stacked in an attempt at organization but it was a bit messy, like a family should be. Handing over the towels when Logan led him into the laundry room, he cleared his throat. "Do you?"

"Huh?"

"Love having me around," he mumbled.

"Well, yeah." Logan gave him a grin, tossing the towels into the washer and peeling off his shirt. "It's like… I don't know, probably sounds weird."

"We're both dating the same woman, mate, can't get weirder than that."

Logan's laugh made the chill, damp room seem warm and bright. "True. But it's like… It feels complete when you're with us. You know what I mean?"

He did but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"I love being with her. And Kev. They…" Logan paused, pulling a clean towel from the basket on top of the dryer. "They mean the world to me."

Max nodded. He knew that feeling very well. "Then—"

"And you just…" He shrugged, and Max looked away when he reached to take off his wet shorts. "You balance us out, you know?"

"I know," he whispered, waiting until he heard the lid of the washer clang shut before looking back at him, wondering why he was almost disappointed to see the towel wrapped around his hips. "I know what you mean, mate."

"It's weird, huh?"

"Yeah," he murmured. "But I kind of like it."

The words echoed back to him in Logan's voice and his breath caught as their eyes met. Logan looked surprised too and they both stared at one another. Max knew he should say something – anything – but he couldn't think of a thing to say. At least, nothing that would change the subject.

"I need you to get that seat next season. For you. For y/n. For Kevin. For us."

"Us," Logan repeated.

Was this how she felt when Logan looked into her eyes? Breathless and a little shaky and body thrumming with anticipation? Or was she used to it now? Did Logan feel it, too? Or had he gone completely insane in the past three months? He nodded. "Us. Th-the four of us. Or the two of us – I mean. Fuck, I know what I mean. You're not stupid, you know what I mean too."

"I know." Barely a whisper. "I just didn't know you felt it, too."

Too. "How long?" he asked softly.

Logan swallowed. "I dunno. Since you started talking to me more. Maybe Montreal, when I could tell you didn't care I wanted to hang out with you and Kev."

He wanted to ask why he hadn't said anything. But he already knew because he hadn't said anything for the same reasons. Logan was bad at talking about his feelings, and Max wasn't much better. Especially feelings like this, that he knew would be ridiculed by some people around them. "It's not… Weird?"

A smile that crinkled his eyes and Max barely heard the words. "Yeah, but I kind of like it."

Her family liked Max. She'd known they would, known his wit and laidback attitude would charm them, not to mention the way he doted on Kevin. Her mother did give her a look when Kevin slipped and called Max Daddy again, but she was able to avoid that possibly awkward conversation by putting away groceries then taking Kevin to the beach to build a sandcastle with Max, then putting him down for a nap and taking a shower and then it was time to start dinner and she slipped away to enjoy a couple drinks up on the sun deck with guys. Her dad talked about fishing and when he mentioned doing one of the deep-sea fishing tours Max voiced an interest. The next thing she knew she was trailing behind the four men back inside, bewildered as they crowded around her uncle's laptop to pull up the website and book a boat at the end of the week.

"As long as you don't mind me staying longer than a couple days," Max said.

"Naw, of course not." This from Uncle Mike. "You're a good kid."

She knew she was grinning like a fool, and it only widened when Max glanced up to smile at her.

"Yeah he's alright," Logan said, grinning and throwing an arm around Max's shoulders and squeezing.

Oh. She lifted an eyebrow at that and saw Max's cheeks turn pink before he ducked his head again, and decided that was another delayed conversation. Finishing her drink, she hummed softly as she carried the bottle to the sink to rinse it before tossing it into the recycling bin and checking the marinara sauce. "I'm gonna go check on Kev," she told her mom, who nodded.

As if summoned, Kevin came shuffling up the stairs, dragging his blanket and stuffed Snoopy along with him. His hair was a wild mess of curls and his cheeks were pink from being in the sun earlier, and when he saw that Max was still there he grinned, ignoring her completely in favor of Max and Logan. She felt her heart turn to mush as the two men spoke gently to him, asking about his nap and if he'd gone potty, was he hungry for dinner, all while Max fixed his blanket and Logan shifted him so he was tucked between them on the couch.

Her mom hummed softly, giving her a smile.

Her aunt was less reserved. "So nice of your boyfriend's boyfriend to join us," she said softly.

"Carol!" her mom squawked, slapping her with a dishtowel.

"Oh like you weren't thinking it," Carol huffed, rolling her eyes. "Mike, the salad."

"Yep, I'm coming – here, finish this reservation for us," Mike said, pushing the laptop to Max. "Use this card."

Y/n pretended not to notice that Max used his own card. Shooed from the kitchen, she joined him and Kevin on the couch when Logan insisted on helping fix the salad. "Deep-sea fishing, huh?"

"I'm not a fisher, but I think it'll be fun, yeah?" He left the laptop open on the confirmation screen, leaning to set it on the coffee table.

"What's dipsy fishing?" Kevin asked.

Max laughed softly, smoothing his unruly curls as he explained. When Kevin said he wanted to go, Max was gentle but firm that he wasn't quite big enough just yet.

When he promised to take him as soon as he was big enough, y/n knew nothing and no one in the world would stop him. Because Max kept his promises.

"Okay," Kevin murmured, giving him a hug before sliding down, saying he was going to pee.

Max leaned back with a soft sigh. "I spoke to Logan."

"Will you tell me?" she asked.

"You'll find out soon enough, but…" He sighed again, and she listened in surprise and fascination as he told her about Checo, about Daniel, about him pushing Christian to suggest Logan for Daniel's vacancy.

"Oh Max," she whispered, touching his arm briefly. She couldn't hug him – aunt Carol might have teased about Max being Logan's boyfriend, but she knew her hugging him would raise questions she wasn't sure she knew the answer to just yet. So she squeezed his arm, knew by the way he nodded that he understood. If he were anyone else she would question his motives, maybe even accuse him of trying to help Logan as a way to impress her, but she knew Max well enough to know he wouldn't stand up for Logan if he didn't believe in him as a driver.

"Don't cry, schatje," he whispered, lightly patting her thigh.

"I won't," she mumbled despite feeling the sting in her eyes.

"Go check on Kevin," he suggested.

She nodded, getting to her feet and heading to the bathroom, knowing it was his way of making sure no one noticed her tears if and when they fell. Her son was just finishing up and she fixed his shorts, dabbing a little of her mom's aloe vera onto his pink cheeks. It pulled her mind off her emotions and she washed her hands, feeling relatively normal when she began setting the table.

Dinner was leisurely and filled with chatter and laughter, Kevin telling his grandparents about the race tracks he'd been to, though his stories revolved around the animals he'd seen as opposed to the actual races. Max and Logan took turns asking her parents questions about themselves and when they both set their forks down to listen to her father talk about growing up on a farm she knew they'd won him over. And when Max insisted he and Logan take care of the dishes she was certain her mom and aunt fell in love a little bit.

After dinner her parents went for a walk on the beach and her aunt and uncle went to a local bar. Kevin was content to watch a movie, still obviously tired from spending most of the day on the beach, and Logan stretched out on the couch with him. She could tell that the jet lag was getting to Max so she went down to move his suitcase and backpack into the bedroom across from the one she and Logan were sharing. He followed her a few moments later, and she looked over her shoulder to see him leaning in the doorway as she turned on the lamp.

"Are you going to tuck me in, too?" he asked with a smile.

She rolled her eyes, smiling as she crossed to him. "Don't you think you're a little too old to be tucked in?"

He scoffed softly, stepping into the room and winding his arm around her waist. "Will you stay with me a bit?"

"Of course."

She sat on the bed, getting comfortable and leaning against the pillows while he undressed to his boxer briefs and pulled on a clean t-shirt. He filled her in on how Jimmy and Sassy were doing then went into the ensuite with his toiletry bag, returning after a couple minutes and practically collapsing onto the bed next to her. She reached to smooth her hand over his head. "Still can't believe you flew fourteen hours for something that could have been a phone call."

Max smiled, idly tracing her knee with one finger, shifting so his head rested in her lap. "It could have been, but…"

She stayed silent, continuing to run her fingers through his short hair. Simply enjoying the quiet moment alone with him. Usually they were strained, a time limit set in place because a million things were waiting to be done. Feeling him relax, she unfolded her legs, smiling when he turned so he could look up at her.

Oh how she adored his eyes. How they could change from crystal clear to the deep of the ocean that was so close to them. She had been so foolish, thinking them just a normal blue, when they held all the shades and hues of the skies and seas that she loved. And the more she looked into them the more she saw the emotions.

They shone with vulnerability right now.

"I've grown used to you being close by," he whispered. "Is it too soon to say that?"

"No, I don't think so," she murmured. "I don't want to think about having to follow a specific timeline in a relationship."

"Figure it out as we go, right?" His smile chased the fear from his eyes.

"Are we figuring it out?" she asked softly, though she thought she knew the answer.

"I think we already did."

There was a soft knock on the door and she sighed at the interruption.

"Yeah?" Max called softly.

The door opened and Logan leaned in, a half-sleep Kevin on his shoulder. "Someone wants to say goodnight."

Y/n began to slide to the edge of the bed as Max sat up. "I'll ta—"

"I've got him, babe, it's okay." Logan brought Kevin over, motioning for her to sit back as he passed Kevin to Max.

Max hummed, and she immediately relaxed. He exchanged goodnights with Kevin and she felt her heart filling with warmth as the boy hugged him tightly, whispering love you before shuffling over to her.

"Goodnight sweetheart," she whispered, hugging him close and peppering his face with kisses. "Love you so much."

"G'night mama, love you." Kevin kissed her cheek then crawled over to Logan.

All she could feel was peace in that moment and she leaned back against the pillows, watching the way Logan held her son. Gently. Protectively.

Lovingly.

He leaned down, giving her a gentle kiss. "I'm gonna go to bed, too. Your dad wants to leave early."

"I'll be in in a little while," she whispered.

"No rush," he promised with a quick smile.

She turned onto her side while he and Max exchanged goodnights, noticing the way Logan hesitated as if he wanted a little something more. She also noticed that Max gave another, softer, goodnight right before Logan turned to leave, and met his gaze when he settled next to her again as the door clicked shut.

"What?" he murmured.

"My boyfriend's boyfriend."

His cheeks turned pink. "I'm not… He's… It's not that."

"I don't know, you did fly halfway around the world to see him," she teased, giggling when he threw his arm over her waist and dragged her close.

"Careful, schatje, you're starting to sound jealous," he murmured against her lips.

"Of my boyfriends dating each other? Never." She felt his arm tighten around her and didn't mind when he pulled her closer.

"Not dating," he breathed.

"Flirting?" She shifted even closer, moaning softly as his leg slid between hers.

The muscles in his thigh twitched and he hummed, his kiss deepening briefly. "Maybe… Is… Is that okay?"

"Figuring it out," she reminded him.

"Figuring it out," he echoed before kissing her again. His hand came up, cradling her jaw as their bodies moved, and she didn't want it to stop, didn't want either of them to pull away. To her relief he didn't. His fingers tangled gently in her hair, his other hand trailing down her side.

She moved, thighs falling open so he could press closer while her hands slipped beneath the hem of his t-shirt, the feel of his skin beneath her fingers exhilarating and comforting as she traced the planes of his back. "Max," she breathed, one hand cupping the back of his head. This was the time when one of them pulled back and she parted her lips to beg him not to.

Then he whispered her name like it was a prayer. A plea.

Nodding, she leaned up for another kiss, body arching into his touch. His fingertips ignited a flame in her skin and she gasped against his lips, sitting up with him, reluctantly breaking the kiss so he could ease her tank top over her head. Eyes locked with his, she carefully pushed his t-shirt up. There was a brief pause once his shirt joined hers on the floor then he was kissing her again.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he mumbled after guiding her down and leaning back to stare at her.

Flushed with desire under his heated gaze, she licked her lips, shivering as his hand swept up her arm. His fingers danced over her collarbone then moved lower and she arched again, nipples hardening before he stroked the curve of her breast. His soft moan was pure sex and she brought her hands up to his neck, eager for his kiss.

He lowered his mouth to her breast instead. Kissing, licking, suckling gently until whines began to claw up her throat. He released her nipple and immediately turned to give the other the same treatment, his fingers lightly pinching and rolling the stiff peak to keep her squirming.

"Max," she gasped, an aching hunger forming deep inside her.

His lips were over hers in an instant, his hands moving to rest lightly at her hips, steadying her. His kiss was almost frenzied, his grip tightening each time she wriggled impatiently, and when her fingers dragged down to the waistband of his boxer briefs he let out a guttural moan. "I was planning to take my time," he mumbled, thumbs lightly stroking her hips before hooking in the band of her shorts.

"We can do that next time."

He groaned, nipping at her bottom lip. Then he was leaning back again, dragging her shorts and panties down, and she watched his tongue dart over his lips while he looked her over. "You really are beautiful, schatje," he whispered, palms brushing up her legs, fingers dancing lightly along her thighs. Her lips parted to speak but all that came out was a gasping moan when he cupped her. He stroked and teased, eyes wild and dark, until she could feel his fingers were slick, until she was trembling, and then—

"Max," she whined, hips pushing upwards and head falling back as his fingers rubbed small circles against her clit. She clutched at his sides, his forearms, and finally gripped the sheets, fingers twisting in the soft cotton while his fingers continued the delicious torment. So caught up in the pleasure, it didn't register that he was moving until he guided one leg over his shoulder. His breath was pure fire, his tongue molten lava replacing his fingers.

She forced her head upright, breath catching in her throat when she was met with his intense gaze. He rubbed and squeezed her thigh, moaning occasionally, his tongue dancing rapidly over her clit. Her last shred of self-control reminded her she couldn't be loud and she clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her sharp squeal. Her other hand dropped, curling tightly in his hair, and she was rewarded with a low growl from him, his hands splaying on her thighs as his tongue danced faster.

Her eyes widened and she nodded, holding her hand tightly over her mouth as her entire body burned, feeling weak with need. She moaned raggedly against her palm, heart racing in her chest. Pulling away her hand long enough to gasp out a new plea. "Don't stop…"

She felt him smirk and barely turned her head to stifle her sharp squeal with the pillow. Already close, she let her hips rock slowly, trying to focus on all the sensations and not just his tongue. His fingers digging into her thighs. The muscles of his back flexing beneath her foot. The scruff of his beard scraping her sensitive flesh. His breath pouring over her like a steaming waterfall. She squealed again then snatched in a breath and held it, back arching off the bed as she came, the pleasure so intense she could only let out a shaky, whining gasp.

He hummed, his tongue easing slightly, dragging out the delight, and when her body shuddered he slowed, his moan vibrating through her as he gently licked her clean. With a breathless chuckle he pressed kisses to her trembling thighs then crawled up, hands tender on her cheeks.

Y/n murmured his name, cupping his wrists and relishing the moment of tenderness as he stayed over her, the heat of his body calming her shivers. Tasting herself on his lips and tongue, she groaned softly, tongue darting out for a deeper taste while her hands slowly traveled down.

"I don't have a condom," he groaned, dropping his forehead to her shoulder.

She did but they were across the hall, and she knew that if she made that mad dash one of her family members would suddenly appear and ask her what the hell she was doing. Her mind scrambled, fingers frozen just above his boxer briefs then she licked her lips. "I'm on the pill, and you can pull out?"

Max released a questioning hum. "Are you sure?"

"I want – I need you," she breathed.

With a groan he lifted his head, eyes searching hers for a moment before he shifted, hands reaching to help her push his boxer briefs down. His soft hiss as her hand wrapped around his cock was more erotic than any other sound she could imagine in that moment and she hummed encouragingly, exploring the length and girth with her fingers. Until his hand covered hers and he moaned harshly against her lip, "I won't make it inside you if you keep doing that."

A giggle bubbled up her throat, dying on a whine as he settled more firmly between her thighs. His hand trembled slightly over hers then grabbed at her thigh, their breathless gasps mingling as she guided him along her slit. She wanted to draw it out until they were both begging but her desire won out and she moved her hand to his hip, nails digging into his skin as he pressed into her.

"Fuck," she moaned, hips rolling up to meet him.

His eyes were more intense than ever before and she felt the shudder ripple through his body while he kept still for several long seconds. "Y/n…"

It was a delicate mix of longing and need. She returned it with an eager nod, grabbing his shoulders to hold onto him as the slowness and gentleness melted away.

Frantic. Pure lust with dashes of tenderness. Each time her lips parted to make a sound his claimed them, muffling and swallowing each noise. The heat consumed her, and he was there, grounding her with his firm hold, his thrusts steady and unfaltering.

"So good," she gasped, lifting her leg higher against his waist.

"I know, I know," he moaned as he hooked his arm beneath her leg, angling her hips slightly.

The scant change sent the tip of his cock directly over her spot and she threw back her head, nails raking down his back and eliciting a sharp hiss from him. "Yes…"

"Right there, schatje?" he whispered, nuzzling her neck before dragging his lips over her jaw, smearing the sweat beading on her skin.

"Yes," she whined again, turning her head for his kiss. He tasted of sweat and sex and heaven and she whimpered against his tongue as ecstasy grew within her again. She could feel his thrusts falter and clenched around him, teeth sinking gently into his bottom lip. "Gonna come," she gasped, a harsh moan escaping when he suddenly released her leg, his hands fisting in the pillow on either side of her head. He pushed deeper than before, panting against her lips and she screamed into his kiss as the orgasm crashed through her. Her legs wrapped tight around him, pulling him deeper, and as she began to come down from the high he suddenly pulled out, leaving her gasping and missing the fullness. Looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as he sat back, she shivered, watching his hand wrap around his length, squeezing and stroking wildly.

"Where do you want it?" he asked in a breathless moan.

Her mind was blank, barely able to remember her own name, but when he released a strained groan she finally found the words. "Stomach," she managed to whisper.

He shifted, hand working fast and urgent and she stared in a haze of awe and longing at the way the muscles of his arm rippled and strained as he released a deep groan that made her tremble. The heat of his release splashed across her stomach in thick bursts.

Panting, she reached for him as soon as the last drops splattered over her hip, leaning up to meet his lips in a breathless kiss. He nearly collapsed over her and she could feel the thrumming of his heart against her breast. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, body craving the heat of his, and held onto him until he moved to slump next to her.

Chuckling, still breathless, his skin flushed and sweaty. He pulled her into his arms, lips bumping her forehead before he leaned away long enough to grab his discarded shirt. "Okay?" he whispered, using the shirt to wipe the cum from her skin.

Y/n hummed, still trembling with the aftershocks as he balled up the shirt and dropped it to the floor. Curling close, she nestled her head in the curve of his shoulder. "Yeah," she murmured. "Better than okay."

Max let out a soft hum. "Better?"

She nodded, her hand sliding to rest over his heart. "Perfect."

please like/comment/reblog <3 fill out the form to be added to the taglist, and my inbox is always open if you want to yap about any of my writings <3

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[ivysprophecy]

slim pickins

warnings; bad date? mentions of sex, cursing underage drinking and yes i meant for it to be written poorly i was trying to keep the humor of the album in the writing

masterlist | p. 2

no pressure tags; @murdockcastleslut @kimoralov3 @arkofblake

word count; 1911

summary; youre tired of not finding a decent guy who will treat you right and lay you right. at least not one you've known since you were kids. however you just cant help yourself. besides its slim pickins out here you take what you can get.

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

i wanna make one thing clear, when i say there are no good guys left i do not wanna hear about you and your boyfriend of three years that can cook and loves your mom.

thats exactly what im talking about maddie!!! i dont give two fucks that he took you to barnes and noble and bought you every book you wanted.

they are all taken. its plain and simple.

which is why even with a full roster, im stuck taking fucking zander, yes with a z, to my friends' kegger.

i mean yea hes cute. hes tall, built but not that gross kind of muscly. but if were being real i shouldve known better when he was joking about being a male stripper when hes a ginger.

and i can tell kie is judging me, rightfully so. her side eye is lethal. when i introduced him to everyone she asked him about his greta van fleet tee and he said he didn't even know it was a band.

needless to say pope had to drag her away.

after that incident i decided it was best if we tried to talk away from the rest of the group. boy was i wrong.

"so what do you like to drink? ill go grab us something," i offer trying to start the conversation, also avoiding the usual problem with taking a drink from men.

"im good with whatever"

i like to think im not a violent person, but im about to be.

"does a beer sound okay?" i ask him grabbing a twisted tea for me from the cooler.

"sure thing." god why is he acting like such a bitch? i should ask him if he's on his period.

i hand him the can, our fingers brush and its my final clue for the night that i am definitely not going home with him. no spark at all. hes done just about everything else to piss me off.

he did the thing where he licks his lips exaggeratingly looking me up and down, making a point to make sure i saw.

he walks so slow for being 6'3.

and finally he tried to mansplain my career to me. i'd had just enough when he opens his mouth again

"ew, you like twisted tea? who likes sweet tea?" his face contorted in disgust, it was about to contort from my fist breaking his goddamn nose if he keeps talking to me like this.

"we literally live in the south dude." my face could not make it any clearer i am so done with this guy.

"still, sweet tea is disgusting. im not kissing anyone that drinks that nasty shit."

"who said i wanted to kiss your nasty fucking mou-" i was interrupted by the sound of a very familiar giggle behind me as his arm wrapped around my shoulder, the smell of his deodorant and sea salt that cover his skin start to put you at ease.

jj was always there when you needed him, sometimes even when you didnt but right now you couldn't be more grateful. "im glad you found those mama i got em just for you. remembered theyre your favorite. right?"

and you wanna know the best part? zander is shaking already pissed off that jj is at my side. territorial i guess.

"you mind?" he asks him nodding his head at me like im not even there.

jj cant help but laugh at him "yea bud i do mind. she's hanging out with me tonight. have fun with your ipa dick." and with that he steers us off to where the rest of the pogues are.

but not before i can look over my shoulder and give the ginger an innocent smile and a shrug as if i had no control over the situation, when really id pick jj over anyone else.

"you owe me a big fat kiss mama," jj whispers in my ear walking us over to where our friends are standing, drinks in their hands laughing and chatting up a storm.

"in your dreams honey."

"every night all night," he quips back before i shove him off me.

now before you give me shit, jj and i have had our fair share of fun, but unfortunately im starting to look for something more serious.

watching john b and sarah be disgusting together is getting to my head. popes got something going on with cleo and im starting to recognize the pattern. and before i know it everyone will be in love if i don't start making an effort in that department.

random casual hook ups aren't doing it anymore, especially considering they aren't even that good.

unless theyre with jj.

but hes not an option, theres too much drama. too much history. too much too much too much. im not what he needs and i know for a fact he doesn't want me in that sense.

is that a bit dramatic? probably.

i mean hes a great lay, he's hilarious, he's got that blue collar kind of muscle, and he genuinely cares about me.

so of course im not going to date him, why would i?

what do you mean make good decisions? id rather do things in the most difficult way possible!

"y/n youve gotta stop giving those guys a chance, im starting to feel bad for you."

"you try finding a decent guy in a ten mile radius." i glare at him, obviously not wanting to joke about this right now.

he sticks his hand out in front of me, "fine i will. let me see your phone."

curious to see what he will do i hand it too him unlocked, he swipes and taps for a few moments, smiling down at the phone before handing it back to you.

when you look back down at the screen all you see is your instagram open with his stupid fucking smiley face on the screen.

he took a picture of himself and posted to my story. written on the screen in bubble letters in my favorite colored heart 'my favorite guy <3'

"i think he's your best bet." that same smile facing back at me now, cockier than ever. so smug i wanna kiss it off his face

i cant help but roll my eyes. "jj im serious! at this rate im going to die alone. every decent guy is taken or unavailable. all i want is someone funny, kind, and attractive is that too much to ask for?"

"im right in front of you mama you dont gotta look far."

"jj we both know we're not the serious kind of relationship im talking about."

"you can think what you want too but ill be here waiting for that kiss you owe me."

"i think all that tequila youve been sipping has gone to your head maybank."

he stands in front of me, taking his signature red cap off his head and putting it on mine smiling down at me, "what do they say in those books you read? you wear the hat you ride the cowboy?"

"this no ten gallon hat and you are no cowboy."

we laugh at each other, its always been easier to do that then actually talk about our feelings. so i put his hat back on his head, backwards the way he i likes it.

"cmon y/n/n, have a few more drinks, relax and hang out and ill make you feel all better later yea? its what im best at, you know."

"its gonna take more than a few more teas to convince me jj"

"what about that thing you like that i do with my tongue, huh mama? doesnt that sound pretty good right now? i think it does."

"i give you one fucking compliment and it goes straight to your head."

"technically its about my head so that makes perfect sense," he hands me another can with that stupid signature smirk of his and his stupid sexy hat backwards. i hate to admit it's working on me.

just like it does every other time.

i squint my eyes at him taking the can, rolling the idea around in my head. "fuck it. its not like anyone else is offering," i take a big sip of my drink.

jj pumps his fist in the air like a victorious idiot giving a few woots and hollars before picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder despite my wishes.

"jb!!" he shouts turning around to face him, "we're headed out!"

john b looks at the two of us shaking his head at how im kicking my feet to wiggle out of jjs oddly strong grip. "make sure you change the sheets when youre done!"

oh my god he did not just say that. "fuck both of you!"

jj just laughs carrying you back to the chateau like a kid who's excited to use a brand new birthday present.

"what happened to letting me have a few more drinks before we left??"

"youre just too irresistable mama, gotta have you now,' he gives my ass a light slap for good measure causing me to roll my eyes for the 600th time tonight.

"are you gonna put me down now?"

he pretends to look like hes thinking about it, "i guess. only so i can watch you walk away," he does as he says helping me get my feet on the ground.

"youre a pervert."

"no im flirtatious, and you love it, you know it makes you blush i see it. now go on and give me a lil walk yea?"

oh im gonna kill him...

oh wait! im gonna kill him!

"okay... fine. but no touching until we get home," i smile walking away exactly like he asked, but i know behind me he is a puddle of mud. standing still, about to start begging me to let him.

he finally catches up after a few seconds "mama please- cmon thats not fair. you look too good in those shorts you know i cant wait that long. just wanna feel you."

i cant help but giggle at his words, its honestly adorable how mopey he gets. like i just kicked his puppy or something.

"hands of jj i mean it... not until that door shuts behind us."

it didn't really matter that i can see the chateau or that ill be there in literally a minute.

its actually painful for jj to not be able to touch me as he pleases.

i turn around to face him with a cheeky smile. "you want me maybank?"

and of course he nods so hard it looks like his head is going to fall right off.

"come and get me," running towards the house, i can see the moment when his reflexes kick in, his boots thudding against the ground as he gains on me.

just before i can make it to the poarch jj wraps his arms around me, lifting me a few inches off the ground and spinning me around in a fit of laughter.

"okay! okay okay okay you win- you got me."

"oh ive got you mama, and im havin you for the rest of the fucking night," he presses a kiss to my neck hauling me inside, the screen door slamming shut after us.

am i gonna regret this tomorrow? most likely.

but what can i say? its slim pickins in this part of town.

[cottonlemonade]

Jealous At Training Camp [part 2]

synopsis: the team finds out that Kuroo asked you on a date (same day)

part 1

“Come in!“, Kuroo called when he heard someone knock at the door. He was currently standing in front of the mirror, trying to decide which shirt to wear.

Lev’s lanky shape appeared and he joined Kenma on one of the makeshift beds. The setter took a rare gaming break (his console had to charge) and instead flipped through a random manga one of his teammates had left next to their bed. In short, he was being of absolutely no help even though Kuroo had summoned him to help choose an outfit. Lev frowned at his captain, “Where are you off to so late?“

“Going to a movie.“, Kuroo answered evasively. He noticed the gray-haired menace visibly deflating.

“With Sawamura-san and Bokuto-san?“, he asked, a definite pout in his voice, adding with a mumble, “I wanted to practice my spikes a bit more.”

“No.“, Kuroo smiled at him in the reflection of the mirror, holding up a graphic T with a science pun printed across the chest, “Actually, I am meeting y/n-san.“

“What did I just hear?“

Inuoka popped his head through the door, throwing the older boy a knowing grin.

Kuroo groaned inwardly. He really wasn‘t feeling like getting everyone involved until he knew there was something to get them involved in. But he also knew Inuoka was unlikely to let it go.

“Maybe you should go with something a bit cooler.“, the fellow middle blocker suggested, letting himself drop down next to Kenma on the bed, “Like a button down.”

Kuroo gave him a look. “You’re right. Let me check - oh wait, I left my classy attire in my other sports bag.”, he said sarcastically. Inuoka raised his hands in defeat (although the captain did exchange the graphic T for a plain black one).

“Which movie will you guys see?“, Lev asked.

“Who is this?“, Tora, who had walked past the now completely open door, swerved to be part of the conversation.

“Kuroo-san has a date.“, Inuoka informed in an affectionate tone a mother might use when she sent her son off to his first day of preschool.

“Oooooooh.“ The newcomer leaned in the doorframe, crossing his arms, looking over the chosen outfit approvingly. “And who is the lucky lady?“

Before Kuroo could stop him, Lev answered “Y/n-san.“ putting lots of emphasis on each syllable.

Tora raised a surprised brow. “Our manager?! I didn’t even know you were into her!“

“Then you were the only one. As per usual.”, Kenma muttered, scanning the manga panels with little interest.

“Who’s Kuroo-san into?“ Fukunaga, called over by the commotion coming from the Nekoma bedroom, joined Tora in the doorway.

“Do you all really have nothing better to do?“, Kuroo asked exasperatedly, fixing his hair (as much as possible).

“No.“, Tora and Inuoka replied in unison.

“Okay, listen. Yes, I have a date. Yes, it is with our manager. Yes, I am nervous. Now, can we please drop it? I have to leave in like five minutes.“

Silence.

“So will you bring flowers?“

“GET OUT!“

For that one person who asked for a part 2 xD

✨ @hotvinimon ✨

[luveline]

Omg please kbd uncle Eddie:’)

dad!steve x mom!reader, 1k

“Hi, Uncle Eddie.” 

Eddie rubs his hands together, holds them out in front of himself, and summons the prodigal child forward. “Bethany. Quick, give me a hug.” 

Bethie walks into his waiting arms, her giggle infectious as she says, “That’s not my name.” 

“Bethie,” Eddie says with a sigh. “You know my full name is Edward. Full names are nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“It’s Bethie.” 

She pushes the hair off of his shoulders. He smiles at her and her little hands. If someone told him ten years ago he’d be carrying Steve ‘King of Hawkins High’ Harrington’s babygirl around like a treasure he’d laugh in their face, but he loves Beth. She’s hands down his favourite Harrington, and he’s allowed to have favourites as an uncle, though the other clingers are cool too. Beth is Eddie’s favourite because she’s an underdog, and because she’s so clearly infatuated with him. They’re best friends. 

He gives her a pat between the shoulders and slips down into a seat in front of the TV. There’s no signs of the other babies nor their parents; Eddie always lets himself in when he’s coming around and he doesn’t expect wait service, but a hello would be nice. “Where’s mom and dad?” he asks, setting Beth down into the seat beside him. He zeroes in on a plate of pretzels and snags a few for snacking. “You’re downstairs by yourself?” 

“No! They’re in the kitchen.” 

“Really? What about Ave and Dove, then?” he asks through chewing. 

“Dove is napping and Ave, um, went somewhere.” 

He raises his brows. “Dad took her somewhere?” He imagines Beth would tell him Avery’s run away with similar nonchalance. 

“To Grandma’s. They’re going to watch a play.” 

“Oh,” Eddie springs up off of the couch. “Stay here, sweetheart, I’ll just go make sure they know I’m here.” 

Eddie is scared to open the door. Why is it closed? He supposed parents are deprived of one another but he doesn’t wanna see you kissing. Then again, if he does see you kissing, Steve will die of embarrassment. That’s worth it. 

“Hello!” he shouts, throwing open the door. 

He makes you both jump hard, Steve’s head thwacking a cabinet and your hand thrown to your chest. You almost fall on your ass where you’re kneeling by Steve’s leg. His pant leg is pushed up to the knee, and you have a tweezers in hand —Eddie frowns abruptly. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks. 

“Steve has a tick, you fiend. When did you get here?” 

Steve groans. “The door was locked,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. 

“Not well. Just stuck my credit card in there and wham. You guys should slide the chain in if you’re gonna leave poor Bethie all by her lonesome, don’t you think?” 

“Eddie, the door was locked,” Steve says. “You’re the only weirdo in Hawkins willing to break in. Plus, I still have that baseball bat in the garage.” 

“Sure. Come on, sweetheart, get off the floor. Let Eddie have a stab at it.” 

You laugh and pull Steve’s pants down over his shin. “It’s fine, I already got it. He might get Lyme’s now because you scared the fuck out of me–”

“Language.” 

“–but I heated it up and I think I got it.” You look up with a smile. Steve pauses his pained head rubbing to beam at you lovingly. 

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. Or he’ll turn into a zombie, and that would make him cooler. Win win. So, dinner?” Eddie asks. “Should I go get something?” 

“Nah, I made ravioli, you rude idiot. Where’s Beth?” 

“I told her to stay put in case you were making out.” 

Steve helps you up from your kneeling to dust you off. “Thanks for saving my life,” he sighs tiredly, kissing your cheek. 

Eddie rolls his eyes and turns away. Steve should love and appreciate you, you’re awesome, but he’s also a loser and Eddie’s entitled to thinking such disparaging thoughts about his friend from time to time. 

You and Steve made a kid as cool as Beth, so Steve can’t be too bad of a loser.

“Uncle Eddie?” 

“Yes, my lovely sweetpea angel?” Eddie asks. 

She stares at him, adorable in all her chubby-cheeked, sugary-eyed sweetness with her hands held up for another hug. Eddie leans down, says, “Daw, I can’t say no to you,” as she giggles into his hair. He strokes the top of her shoulder with his thumb. “So what’s happening? How did that painting go with mommy, did you put it in the contest?” 

Steve nudges you forward with a hand on your shoulder. “He’d make a good dad, right?” 

“For sure,” you say, “not as good as you, though.” 

“Oh, you’re flirting with me, that’s cool… Are you free Friday night?” 

“Probably gonna be pulling ticks off of some other guy's leg.” 

“Oh, that’s fine, I was busy anyways.” 

Beth giggles as Eddie tips her backward, a mixture of nerves and excitement that kids experience so much more than adults. 

“I always expected him to just end up with a kid. Like, one night stand style,” Steve says. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that. At least then he doesn’t get stuck marrying somebody he doesn’t love.” 

Steve glares at you as you laugh, dragging you into his arms to smush kisses into your cheek. “Don’t even joke about that.” 

“Sorry, honey. I hope Eddie gets as lucky as me someday.” 

Beth begs to be put down through giggles. “I don’t know,” Steve says, resting his cheek on your temple to watch her laugh, “I don’t think Eddie has luck, just sheer force of will.” 

“He’d totally get a baby in a basket on his doorstep.” 

Steve mulls it over. “God, he totally would.” 

[honeybunhottie]

Oo headcanons for Chris or Josh crushing bad on Alt!reader? maybe like a gothic or metalhead style?

feel like both would be absolutely geeked about some scary looking women!!!

- 🦐

Omg I love this idea! Sorry in advance if this is totally off, I'm not super knowledgeable about the styles or culture but I tried my best! Please keep sending requests!!

Chris and Josh with an Alt! Reader

We’ll do this before the events of the game because I feel like they’d have too much going on otherwise.

Chris

This man LOVES alt baddies and I can say this for a fact

My source? I’ve never known a nerdy man who didn’t like an alt baddie

He and Josh are jokesters through and through. And also lowkey pervs

I can just imagine one day Josh is teasing him about never getting any

And then here walks by you, dressed head to toe in an outfit that’d probably make his mother scream

And he can’t take his eyes off of you.

Immediately his friends catch onto his (frankly, not subtle stare) and start teasing him

Eventually they have some pity and tell him your name at least.

This man makes it his mission to have an interaction with you

Spends at least a month stalking observing you in the hallways

What outfits you wear, what your friends wear, your fav eyeliner brand, how much you hate your lab partner, your plans after school, all of it

One time you bumped into each other and dropped your notebook

Papers flying everywhere and all

He helps you collect them all, and when your fingertips brush his hand feels like it’s evaporated. He didn’t know it was possible for appendages to feel like sparkling water, but here it was happening

When you say a simple “Thanks, Chris” he swears his heart stops

He kicks himself for the gaping stare he gave in response as he stuttered out something unintelligible. Like it seriously keeps him awake at night 

He knows he’s bordering on the weird line of things, but there’s literally no chance you guys would cross paths otherwise (in his mind at least)

Because little does he know, the was also a fact about alt baddies

I’ve never met one who didn’t VICERALLY NEED a nerdy man

Yep, you have noticed this blond nerd always around

Yes, you did think he was cute

And yes, your friends absolutely do notice

Eventually, they get tired of your mutual pining because it’s more than obvious that neither of you has enough balls to ask each other out. 

They set up a plan with the other squad to set you up, because everyone is tired of these two dorks fumbling around each other

They decide to pull the “make group plans but nobody shows up” card for the new movie coming out

Chris is chilling in the hallway on his phone,anxiously glancing at the door every other minute because why the hell aren’t they here yet?

He freaks out when he sees you walk in, dressed even cooler than usual, all by your lonesome. 

You seem lost, looking for something before checking your phone. You sport a flustered look afterwards.

At the same time, Chris feels his phone buzz with a text too

‘Have fun man!’

‘Good luck!!’

‘Take ‘em to the bone zone buddy!’

He rolls his eyes at the last one before realizing what they’re referring to

He looks up from his phone only to get jumpscared by you standing right next to him

“Looks like we’ve been set up”

He immediately starts apologizing before you put a finger to his lips to shush him’

“I’m kinda looking forward to this”

Lord help him

He’s still singing Josh’s praises years later though, so something worked out right!

Josh

I loveeeee Josh

And nothing about this man screams subtle to me

Will he immediately tell you to your face how hot he thinks you are?

Probably not

Will he find every opportunity to hang out and find things in common with you?

Yes, 100%

This man is around every corner, every turn with that bewitching stare and stupid laugh

I feel like he would love your alt style. I mean he’s super into horror movies and the darker side of things, I feel like he’d enjoy someone different.

Flirty jokes galore, he loves making them, he’s kinda weird like that

He loves it if you match his energy too

He’s always asking about what music you’re into, have you seen that new movie? There’s this new haunted house coming soon.

He loves quality time, and he wants to become friends before he makes a move or anything.

Once you guys are FRIENDS, then he starts making moves

This man is playing chess while we are playing checkers

I have a feeling that it’s not too noticeable at first

Lots of jokes still

Lots of “jk jk, unless…”

Nahhhh

Unless…

He’s always getting you the new album for your fav band, or buying you cool stuff when he gets dragged to the mall with his sisters.

Is a firm believer that it’ll happen if it happens

And is very content to just ride along with you.

Overall, 10/10 we love them both

[halfwayhearted]

jobe bellingham fic where they are ex’s and reunite at like a get together or something idk you can choose that part, but maybe its like awkward and is perchance a hopeful ending! did any of that make sense. Lmk.

Over The Moon — Jobe Bellingham.

Pairing: Jobe Bellingham x Fem!Reader

Summary: You knew there was a high chance of seeing your ex. You just didn’t expect him to strike up a conversation that would lead to something you never thought would happen.

Word Count: 690+

Disclaimer/s — Nothing, I don’t think!

A/N: It’s barely awkward… anyways, I actually need him baad.

‘Nervous’ was one word to describe how you felt.

Your friend’s birthday party was something you had been looking forward to for weeks. It’s just… well, seeing your ex. You knew your friend and he were friends. Just not this close. Not that it mattered! You weren’t here for him. You weren’t.

So, knock it off, would you? Okay, that’s beautiful.

Walking in, you greeted everyone, set your gift down, and made your way towards the cooler with the intention of grabbing a drink for yourself. That is, until you hear someone clear their throat from behind you. Oh, well, what the hell?

Furrowing your eyebrows, you lifted your head, instantly stiffening at the sight of him.

Jobe rubbed the back of his neck nervously when he asked, “Hey… can you, uh, get me a water?”

Without saying a word, you do as requested, grabbing what you came for along with his water. Standing up straighter, you held out your hand expectantly, and he took the water from your grasp, your fingers brushing against one another.

Oh! How great.

“Are you having fun?" The question left his lips before he could stop himself, making you hold in a laugh. Of course he’d make conversation.

“Yeah… I think,” you answered, “How about you?”

Seeing the smile threatening to break out on your face, he felt himself relax. “You hesitated.”

Averting your gaze, you shrugged, “Did I?”

It was so very awkward, obviously, as expected. How did two exes casually talk to each other after ending on mutual terms just five months ago?

It didn’t stop him from trying to continue, though!

“How’ve you been?” Jobe asked, his voice soft. He still used the same tone he always had when you were together, and it quite literally made you sick to your stomach. “How’s schooling?”

“Well, I’ve been good. It’s also been… good,” you cringed. “It’s stressful, but I’m managing. How’s football? Your brother? Oh! How’s your mom?”

“What, no ‘how am I’?” He teased, his smirk prominent, evidently showcasing his dimple.

A frown spread across your lips, “Hey! You—”

“I’m kidding! I’m just kidding. They’re fine, good even. My mom’s…” The boy trailed off, unsure if he should continue what he was going to say.

Spit it out, please. “Your mom’s what, Jobe?”

“She’s been missing you, your days out and all.”

You believed him. You missed her, too. Always. However, you couldn’t help but notice one thing that made your heart soar: the fact that he was so clearly flushed by that admission alone.

“What’s that in your voice?” You retorted, the frown on your face replaced by a shit-eating grin.

What! “What’s what in my voice?”

You narrowed your eyes, “Your mom misses me?”

“Yes! My mom misses you.” But he knew exactly what you were talking about, and there was absolutely no way he could deny your suspicions. Doing so would mean blatantly lying to your face.

And Jobe couldn’t bring himself to do that ever.

“I’ll text her,” a small pause, “Set a date up, hm?”

He meets your eyes, looking into you with such intensity that it made you want to look away.

Despite everything that had transpired between you, it was all in the past. And with the way he was gazing at you and the way you were gazing back at him, you couldn’t help but ask, “Would you want to come with us? Like… like old times.”

Now, it was his turn to smile. “Like old times?”

“Yeah. Yes, like old times. It’s been a while, no?”

“Huh, I suppose I can make room for you in my schedule, I’ll have to let you know. How’s that?”

A loud laugh left your lips at that, “Oh, whatever!”

Shortly after, he joined in, dipping his head and poking his tongue against the corner of his lips while answering your question with a quiet, “Yeah, that sounds good. Just—call or text me.”

“Okay,” you countered, unable to fight the blush that appeared on your face. Looking away, you took a deep breath and took a sip of your drink.

This could be the… restart of something good.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @pedrilcvr ! ౨ৎ

[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. 

*

[disneyprincemuke]

the favourite driver * ls2

it's never fun feeling like an outsider, so you'd sworn that nobody would ever feel the way you did all those years ago

pairings: logan sargeant x platonic!femdriver

notes: hi i know i took forever to write this but uh what r u gonna do? ik u love me B)

| "wanna hang out?" | driver's parade | american burgers | american football | the thanksgiving incident | another williams adoptee | beating the heat | you’re embarrassing me | santa baby | the favourite driver | the situationship | it's nice to have a friend |

"remember!" toto calls out to you walking away. "back by half past three for his nap!"

you wave your arm in the air, hoisting little jack wolff on her hip. you look down at him. "wanna make a new friend, jack?"

the young boy nods excitedly, giggling and throwing his head back. "is it your new friend?"

"yeah! his name's logan!" you squeal, jumping up the stairs of the williams racing home. you put jack down to the floor and let him grab your hand, pushing the door open. "he's super cool! cooler than georgie, i reckon!"

his eyes light up at the thought. uncle george has always been cool in the eyes of little jack wolff – simply because he had made an effort to make sure that he thought of him that way. though susie argues that you are jack's favourite race car driver, always wearing the team shirt you gave him to sleep every other night.

you spot logan on the couch, scrolling away on his phone. "hey, i want you to meet someone!"

logan looks up at you first, eyes widening and lips stretching into a sweet smile. then he notices the smaller hand wrapped in yours. he tilts his head at the young boy hiding shyly behind your legs. "hey, buddy."

"this is little toto – jack!" you beam, stepping aside to present jack to logan. "i like babysitting him when he's in the paddocks, so i brought him here with me!"

"hi," jack says timidly, one hand on your thigh. "i'm jack."

"hey," logan hums, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "i'm logan."

"hi," he says again, slightly softer this time before settling to hide behind your legs again. he bundles up the material of your sweatpants in his hands and avoids logan's curious eyes.

logan looks up at you. you shrug. "he's a little shy," you whisper. you move to the side again and put jack by your side on the tiny blue couch. "i thought you were excited to meet my new friend?"

"i got shy," he giggles. he turns to logan with a smile. "are you also a race car driver? like uncle george?"

you poke jack's shoulder. "he's cooler than uncle george. logan's not a stinky boy man."

jack giggles. "you're not stinky?"

you spend the afternoon by the william's racing home with logan and jack, the four-year-old eventually opening up to play a game of football with him. to which, logan almost started debating with an actual kid about how he knows it as soccer.

but he dropped it, not wanting to confuse such a young child about the difference.

by the time three-thirty rolls around, jack is hugging logan's neck, cheek mushed into his shoulder with logan's arms under his body. "thanks for carrying him back for me," you whisper with a giggle. "he's getting very big and heavy."

logan grins. "he's very cute. i can see why you like him a lot."

"he's already sleeping," toto says slightly amused, hands on his hips by the doors that lead into the mercedes home. "i'm impressed."

"we played soccer," logan grins, leaning forward to transfer the sleeping kid into his father's arms.

"football," you correct logan with a pat on his shoulder. you grin at him. "i'll see you later at the driver's briefing, mate."

logan bids you goodbye, walking the other way as he readjusts his williams hoodie. toto grins at you, turning on his heel while you pull the door open. "i'm glad jack made a new friend. one more babysitter for me, yes?"

you shrug. "isn't it up to jack to decide if he likes being with logan?"

jack lifts his head, eyes half open with drool pooling at the corner of his mouth. "logan's my favourite driver."

toto gasps as jack drops his cheek on his shoulder again. "you converted him to a williams supporter!"

"no way! i'm supposed to be his favourite race car driver!"

@cashtons-wife @darleneslane

[talktonytome]

11 please!

11. how you pause when you talk, when you’re trying not to laugh (also on ao3)

Tommy’s walking over to grab another beer from the cooler, when Evan comes sauntering up to him with an absolute shit-eating grin on his face. He smiles and shakes his head, ready for whatever his soon-to-be husband has for him. He wasn’t kidding back when he told Hen and Karen that he was just trying to keep up. 

“So,” Evan chirps, rocking on the balls of his feet. “ I have it on good authority you like me- like, like me, even,” he smirks. 

Tommy raises an eyebrow, looking over Evan’s shoulder, to where Chim is suddenly pretending to look busy. “Hm, wonder where you got that from,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Surely, you didn’t gather that from months of us dating, moving in together, getting engaged or anything.”

Evan laughs, like he does every time Tommy makes a dumb little quip and it makes his heart do a little flip every time. “I dunno,” Evan pouts, shrugging his shoulders and sighing exaggeratedly. “A guy sits here, unkissed for long enough and he starts to wonder.”

Tommy brings him in by waist with one hand and uses the other to tilt his chin up. “Oh, well we can’t have that, now can we?” He says, even though it’s been forty minutes tops since they made out a little in Evan’s jeep, before joining Bobby and Athena’s barbecue. “They revoke my hot firefighter pilot boyfriend license for that sort of thing, you know?” 

“Exactly,” Evan nods solemnly. “I’m glad you you understand the gravity of the situation.” His serious expression lasts all of two seconds before he breaks into a cheeky grin- the one where his tongue darts out from between his teeth when he’s smug or trying not to laugh, one of the many expressions Tommy loves. 

“Brat,” Tommy mutters, voice entirely too fond to sound anything close to chastising. He thumbs Evan’s bottom lip, before leaning in and kissing him for it. They’re both smiling into the kiss, and even if it weren’t sunny outside, that would be enough to warm him from the inside out. 

Evan’s still grinning when they break apart, because he got what he wanted and he knows it. Tommy suspects he also knows by now, that there’s practically nothing he will deny him. 

“Alright, what lies and slander did Chimney feed you?” Tommy asks, leaning in for another quick kiss.

“Hmm, not sure I should say,” Evan pretends to think. “It’s confidential information.” 

Tommy snorts. “Oh yes, because Howie’s famous for keeping secrets, the epitome of confidentiality, really."

They both burst out laughing at that. 

“Ok, ok, he might have said something about you drunkenly waxing poetic about me last karaoke night.” Evan smiles a little in disbelief. God, he’s adorable.

“That… sounds about right,” Tommy shrugs. “I stand by it.” 

“Oh yeah? So you think it’s cute that I tilt my head when I flirt with you?” He proceeds to demonstrate just that. “And that you just can’t tell me no when I do that?” He bats his eyes for the full effect.

“Oh, I’ve created a monster,” Tommy groans. Then, because two can play at that game, “you know, I had an interesting conversation with Eddie myself, the other day. 

It’s Evan’s turn to sweat a little, his eyes grow a little wide and there’s a flush growing on his cheeks. “Y-yeah? What about?” 

“He said he picked you up from Hen’s after you two got into the tequila bottle…”

“Ha, yeah good times,” he laughs nervously. 

“Mhm,” is all Tommy says. He likes watching him squirm a little. Then, he pulls him in, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling his cheek, mouth hovering right by his ear. 

“I wish I could put a baby in you, too, sweetheart,” he punctuates with a kiss to Evan’s cheek. 

He cackles when Evan gasps, going red in the face. "Wow, betrayed by my own best friend?" He pulls away from Tommy, to scan for Eddie across the yard. 

“When I catch you, Edmundo!” 

[highvern]

Teach Me

or the first time we hooked up it was so disappointing I thought about faking my own death so you’d leave me alone

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Pairing: Lee Dokyeom (Seokmin) x fem!reader

Genre: smut, humor, college au

Warnings: kind of virgin shaming, first time, OC knows she’s wrong but no one’s perfect, descriptions of bad sex, mentions of death (in a joking way), frat!svt, chemistry

Length: ~2.3k

Note: there used to be a time i had to memorize the entire greek alphabet bc i was a sorority girl so im drawing on my roots for inspo lol

Also virginity is a construct! don’t let people make you feel bad about it!

read more here

Friday Night Approx. 11:37PM, undisclosed bed room, SBT fraternity

Dokyeom is great. He’s funny, always does his share of your lab assignments, and when you go to parties at his frat he gives you the good shit out of the fridge instead of whatever concoction his brothers whipped up in the communal cooler for everyone else to drink. The fact that he’s easy on the eyes doesn’t hurt either.

That’s why the last ten minutes have surmounted into what has to be the most disappointing hookup of your life.

His fumbling hands and clumsy movements would be endearing if he wasn’t drooling on your neck in a way that is less than attractive. When his hand slides down the front of your jeans he’s at least receptive to the gentle corrections and cooed suggestions you provide. Is it mindblowing? No. Will he get you off? Probably not. But he’s enthusiastic so you’ll let it go for now.

“Can I, like,” he starts, leaning back to sit up right above you, face bright red, “take your pants off?”

“Ugh, yeah. Sure.” 

It’s a weird escalation given you still have your shirt on but to each their own.

The heat of his muscular chest against the back of your thighs is pleasant enough but doesn’t make up for the way he dives straight in, immediately sucking and licking vigorously. Jolting nerves force you to curl in onto yourself at the discomfort, thankfully unlatching his lips from your abused clit. Twisting a fist in his hair, you pull him up and away from your crotch, distracting him with hot kisses and nips across his throat. He doesn’t seem to mind the change, teeth clenching as your opposite hand tickles down his front to his waistband. Stuffing your hand into his boxer, Dokyeom releases a noise somewhere between a whine and groan. Hot and heavy in your palm, his tip leaks obscenely when you give him a tug.

“Shiiiiit,” he whimpers against your mouth. 

Well, at least one of you is having a good time.

In a flurry of motion, his pants are down just enough to get his cock out, allowing him to roll a condom on before pushing inside you slowly. The stretch isn’t painful but it’s less than comfortable as he starts to rock his hips. With an awkward rhythm he’s providing you little friction and thus no pleasure. You try tilting your hips to change the angle. It helps some, letting his pelvis grind gently against your clit but still no dice. Your fatal mistake is wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper.

When you clench around him as he hits deeper, Dokyeom’s hips buck a little too enthusiastically, head falling back and belting long low groan. All you can do is gape as he finishes, leaving you in the dust.

-

Sunday Afternoon Approx 2:40 PM, coffee shop near campus

“He did what?”

“Don’t make me repeat it.” You grimace.

“Like, no warm up at all? Just straight P in V?”

“I mean he kissed me but other than that, not really, no.”

The look on Seungkwan’s face is that of a child realizing Santa isn’t real.

“And you’re sure it was Dokyeom? Like the Lee Dokyeom, your lab partner, my fraternity brother Lee Dokyeom?”

“I didn’t ask for his ID but yeah I’m pretty sure it was him.”

“What did he say after?”

The look you give tells him exactly what Dokyeom asked you after he finished.

“No!” Seungkwan gasps.

“Yes.” 

You’ve abandoned your diluted iced coffee, pushing it to the middle of the table. There’s a gentle thud as your forehead meets the cool vinyl surface.

“What are you gonna do about your lab Tuesday?”

“Pray I get hit by a bus.” You grumble, not moving an inch.

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I! It’s that or drop the class.”

“It’s too late for you to drop.”

“Death it is.”

You can feel the eye roll Seungkwan responds with.

“Have you two talked at all since then?”

“He has, I haven’t.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s texted but I haven’t responded.”

“Let me see!”

Prying your head away from the table, your phone is unlocked and snatched away by your best friend. He reads the messages with mild horror.

[SATURDAY 1:07 AM]

Lee Sock-mint: hope you got home okay :)

[SATURDAY 1:08 AM]

Lee Sock-mint: I had a lot of fun btw

[SATURDAY 2:07 PM]

Lee Sock-mint: you left your jacket at the party but i snagged it, i can give it back tuesday

[TODAY 9:14 AM] 

Lee Sock-mint: wanna meet at the library tonight to go over this weeks lab?

“Oh sweetie…”

“I know!”

“Well, you fucked in this bed so now you have to lie in it.”

“You always know just what to say.”

“It’s a gift.” He shrugs.

“And it was Jihoon’s bed actually.”

“I take it back. You probably will die before Tuesday.”

You end up texting Dokyeom but only to tell him you’re already busy and you’ll see him on Tuesday. You feel bad for blowing him off but the disappointment from your tumble in the sheets still echoes in your head.

-

Tuesday Afternoon Approx 3:00 PM, Chem 326 Laboratory 

When Tuesday comes, Dokyeom is suspiciously absent from class and you have to work on the lab with Soonyoung instead.

“Heard you’re ghosting my bro.” 

It’s a statement, not a question and the look on Soonyoung’s usually cheerful face scares you a bit.

“Where’d you hear that?”

“You know, just hearing things.”

“I heard you cried Friday night about how much you love Eunha but she won’t give you the time of day.” You shrug your shoulders. “So maybe we’re both just hearing things.” 

“Well I heard you popped his cherry and ditched him right after!”

“I did what?”  You whisper yell, grabbing Soonyoung’s arm as your eyes go impossibly wide.

A few of the groups close to your table have turned around in curiosity but Soonyoung’s prone to random bouts of shouting so they’re interest fades quickly.

He has the decency to look ashamed of his outburst. You two are actually friends when it boils down to it but guy code has him siding with his best friend on this one.

“He said you basically ran out the door.”

“You know that’s not the part I’m questioning.”

“Wait, you didn’t know?” Soonyoung is shocked.

“No!” You shoot. “Do you think I’d deflower him at a gross frat party if I did?”

“Idiot.” He curses. “Sorry, not you. Well also you, but him mostly.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t he tell me that?”

“Probably because he’s a junior and has barely even seen a girl naked?” He looks at you like you have two heads. “It’s a pride thing.”

“Yeah well his pride made him cum in two seconds.”

“Probably the two best seconds of his life.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Can you just, I don’t know, like, talk to him? He thinks you hate him.”

“I don’t hate him.”

“Tell him that, not me.”

-

After class is dismissed, you trudge across campus to your dorm replaying the conversation over and over. You’re both mortified and pissed. How could you not tell you?

You open your messages to send him a long overdue text.

[TODAY 4:27 PM] 

You: sorry I’ve been MIA :( wanna get dinner?

It’s cowardly but you’ve done worse.

[TODAY 4:48 PM] 

Lee Sock-mint: sorry, busy

Like hell he is. Dokyeom brags every Tuesday that your lab is the only thing on his schedule, unlike your four morning lectures in addition to your shared class that packs your day.

[TODAY 4:49 PM] 

You: we really need to talk

When your message goes unopened and unanswered for hours, you call in reinforcements.

“Are you home?”

“Well hello to you too.” Soonyoung greets sarcastically.

“Hi.” You deadpan rubbing your eyes, patience wearing thin. “Are you home?”

“Yes, what do you want?”

“Is he home?”

Silence.

“Come on Hosh, is he home?”

“Yeah but he hasn’t been out of his room all day.”

“I’m coming over.”

“What?”

“I need to talk to him!”

More silence.

“Fine but whatever the hell is going on, leave me out of it.”

“You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

-

Tuesday Night Approx. 9:34PM, Soonyoung and Seokmin’s shared apartment

To say Dokyeom is shocked to find you gently knocking at his bedroom door on a Tuesday night, expression bashful and eyes filled to the brim with apologies, is an understatement. He knew Friday night didn’t give you the best impression but what could he do when the pretty girl from his chem lab he’s had a fat crush on all year let’s him fuck her after another one of his frat’s parties? 

The entire night you flirted with him, pressing your ass into his crotch as the shitty trap music Chan insisted on playing buzzed on; wrapping your arms around his neck, letting your fingers comb through the short strands of hair at the back of his head. Then all of a sudden your kissing and next thing he knows you’re pulling him up the stairs and into the first empty bedroom you can find. It was a whirlwind.

“Hi,” you whisper, a little afraid he’s gonna slam the door in your face.

“Hi,” he whispers back, still in disbelief that you’re in front of him.

“Can we talk? Please?”

He doesn’t answer but steps aside to open his door wide enough for you to walk past him. Taking a seat on the corner of his bed like you usually do when you study at his apartment, your eyes look everywhere except him.

“I, ugh,” clearing your throat, you start again. “I’m sorry about Friday.”

Dokyeom doesn’t know what to say so he remains silent, firmly planted by his door.

“Soonyoung told me about how you hadn’t, and I just,” You’re rambling from the guilt coursing through your veins. “I’m really really sorry.”

When your words register, Dokyeom finds himself simmering somewhere between anger and annoyance.

“You feel bad because I was a virgin?” He scoffs. “I don’t need you to pity me.””

“I don’t!” You insist. “I just, if i knew it was your first time I wouldn’t hav–”

“Wouldn’t have what?” He ventures.

“Done it in some gross frat house.” You mutter. 

“So you regret it?”

You think hard about your next words. Dokyeom is both your friend and your lab partner for the next two months. The latter is far less important to you now than it was this morning before Soonyoung spilled the beans.

“No.” Your voice is firm, “Okay, well maybe the fact that Jihoon is gonna kill us for doing it in his bed but no, I don’t regret it.”

“But you didn’t like it?”

“I liked…some of it.” You stutter.

“Oh.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Which parts?”

“Huh?”

“Which parts did you like?” Dokyeom rolls his eyes.

“Um, well, you’re a good kisser!” You assure.

“Is that all?”

“When you went down on me it was okay.” You wince.

“So basically everything besides kissing was bad.” 

“No!” You lie but he’s pinned you in place with a glare. “You, uh, you have a lot of potential!”

It’s Dokyeom’s turn to wince. He shuffles across the room to sit next to you on the bed, leaving a sizable distance between your bodies.

“When Soonyoung told you I was a virgin, did he tell you I had never done any of that before?”

Now that’s shocking. Shocking because you’ve seen girls flirting with him before. At parties, in class, at the library coffee shop; hell even a few dudes approached him. Dokyeom is liked by pretty much everyone on campus, including your own friends who have tried to get you to introduce them.

“No, he didn’t really go into specifics.”

“Oh.”

The atmosphere is already awkward so what’s one more question?

“So how much have you done?” 

“Well, after Friday…” Dokyeom trails off.

“Before Friday.” You clarify. 

“Well I’ve made out obviously. And, I mean, a girl went down on me freshman year.”

“That’s it?”

“Did you come here to make fun of me?” Defensiveness rolls off him in waves.

“No, it’s just…surprising is all.”

When you look over at him you can see the question on the tip of his tongue. 

“I’m just shocked you don’t have girls lining up because you’re like hot and nice and yeah.” You trail off, blush burning the tips of your ears.

“You think I’m hot?”

“Well I didn’t let you in my pants because I thought you were ugly!”

You both let out snorts of laughter.

“I’m sorry.” he apologizes.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I was just really excited to finally have a shot with you and I ended up looking like a complete loser.”

“Hey! That’s not fair,” you smirk. “I thought you were a loser before we hooked up.” 

Dokyeom grabs for the pillow behind him, gently tossing it at you as a bark of laughter leaves his mouth.

“How ‘bout we just agree to move on?” 

He does his best to suppress a crestfallen frown from bloom on his lips. Dokyeom tries to look at the positives of ignoring the fact that he’s seen you half naked, felt your mouth on his, how you feel spread on his fingers, spread on his cock; even if just for a short moment. As much as it would suck to never experience those things again, at least you’ll still be his friend. It also means you’ll forget that he’s a two pump chump. Bright side.

“Yeah.” He agrees, resolving himself. “Sounds good.”

After a beat of silence, you open your mouth again.

“You know, you’re the first virgin I’ve ever been with.”

“I thought we just agreed to forget about it?”

“No, we agreed to move on from being weird about it.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, since I took your virginity, I feel I have a… responsibility.”

“Responsibility?” 

The sly smile twisting the corner of your mouth has Dokyeom choking on his own tongue. As you turn to face him fully, his breath catches in his throat.

“Yeah, what kind of friend would I be if I just let you be bad at sex and did nothing about it?”

Dokyeom can feel his pants tighten at your implication.

“Ugh, not a good one?”

“Exactly! I would be a bad friend if I didn't help you and I don’t want to be a bad friend.”

As you speak, you shift until you’re kneeling between his spread legs, maintain eye contact the entire time.

“Yeah that would be… bad.” His brain is working at half capacity due to your hands pushing up his thighs towards his zipper.

“So,” you blink slowly, smile shy with a subtle tilt of your head, “you’ll let me help you?”

Dokyeom feels himself nodding in agreement.

“Then let’s get started.”