#dust has it pretty rough in his au still

[mildarka]

I'm interested in ur reversed au, I saw ur concept art and I thought it was really cool, consider this a free yapping card to info dump about the au,

:]/-< ( < that's me sitting politely on your front porch)

YIPPEE I LOVE YAPPING :DDD

So basically the Stars + Cross (the traitorous traitor) found a way to “reset” everyone in the bad sanses to what they were like before the events of their own AUs. (Or before the story of their AU?? Like Killer and Dust are normal sans again and Horror is still how he was during the famine (so like pre-Horrortale comic but post neutral end ig??)). Nightmare on the other hand was physically separated from the apples that gave him power (the corruption is with the apples, not with lil Night) so he’s pretty much defenceless. He doesn’t remember the apple incident or anything past that.

Originally the plan was for Dream to take Nightmare in and care for him but Nightmare was very briefly left with the gang once he was reverted and he got enough information to know something was very wrong. He kinda watches the others start to revert as well before Dream whisks him away. He doesn’t spend a super long time with Dream - mostly because the weird monochrome guy with them feels so guilty every time he looks at Night - and runs once the vibes are bad enough.

He finds Killer eventually - now a pretty regular sans - and tries to make him remember when they met before or take his jacket back but Killer doesn’t have any idea what he’s talking about or who Dust and Horror are. Nightmare ends up living with Killer and his Papyrus and occasionally ends up visiting Horrortale and Dusttale to try the same thing with them.

There’s other stuff too about how the AUs work with the reverted gang and what being separated from his soul means for Nightmare but that’s less worked out lol :)

[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. 

*

[huexuri]

⊹ what are we? (fem!reader x gyu)

NSFW, MDNI!

warnings: fem!reader, college au, crying (not dacryphilia), slight body worshipping, size kink mentions, bsf!beomgyu

note: gyu looks so fucking good in the photos above i'm so wet (i'm menstruating.) and also i was gonna end this as fluff but why stop there when u can have so much more right

you finally arrive to your same old eyesore of a college building, drained and exhausted which was very painfully obvious by the way your eyebags were heavier than usual and the way you didn't even bother to make your hair like you usually did — just slapping on a claw clip like a hair tie and your hair is falling apart each step you take. your shirt is crumpled because you didn't bother to iron it, and your heavy ass bag is barely staying on your shoulder as you have to readjust it every 5 seconds.

you really didn't want to come today, but you don't have a choice. your legs hurt and your eyelids are uneven and you're sighing the entire way to your hostel. you being in horrible shape, swearing to yourself that if someone asked you if you were okay, you'd burst into tears and start having a breakdown in the middle of your lecture. and your best friend beomgyu noticed this, being the only one watching you as you walk through the hallways lazily.

finally settling all the mess that followed you this morning, you head to the bathroom to try to look presentable. putting your hair in an actual ponytail and curling your lashes while smothering on some of your lip balm, you finally collect yourself and head out, just to bump into another student, standing at the end of the hallway seemingly waiting for someone.

"oh my god- ugh! i'm really so sorry, today has just been a rough one, i'm so blur right now—" you mutter out frantically, accidentally knocking the little strawberry protein bar off their hand and onto the floor.

"girl!! it's okay, it's me! it's gyu, don't worry oh my gosh.." beomgyu giggled slightly at your anxiousness and picked up the protein bar. brushing the dust off of the plastic packaging, he hands it to you.

you take some time to regain yourself — you're about to cry because of how bad your day is starting, but realizing that it's beomgyu that you bumped into after seeing static, you finally let out a sigh of relief.

"oh.... um what's this gyu??" you take the protein bar from him. it's your favourite strawberry protein bar that you always stole from beomgyu because you didn't know where he got it.

"it's for you, i know how much you liked it so i bought a separate bar for you. you seemed really tired so i thought that it'd help a bit." your friend said casually, patting your shoulder as reassurance.

"i'm not tired!" you said frustratedly, "just... today's not going well, i—"

"i can see right through you, i know you're not okay. just eat it, and i'll see you in class. okay?" he pecks at your forehead so casually as if he does it on a daily basis. this was the first time he'd ever done that, and you can't lie, butterflies swarmed in your churning stomach.

beomgyu starts to walk away as you stare at him in disbelief for a good 5 seconds, before shouting a weak "stop!.." his way, and his head turns right at you.

running to him while stuffing the bar into your pocket of your sweatpants, you hug him so tightly, the warmth of his body and the plush of his hoodie feeling like silk on your skin.

when he bends down to return the hug, your head in the crook of his neck, you finally break down onto him, beads of salty tears staining his hoodie.

"i'm so sorry, i don't even know why i'm c-crying." you mutter, even more muffled when you speak into the cloth but he still understood you.

"hey, hey, shh.. it's gonna be okay. what about we hang out later, or like.. i bring you shopping, or... do you need water? what do you need? it'll be okay, please don't cr—"

"i need you.." you reply hastily, sniffling, and arms wrapped around him tighter than before.

"after the lesson, okay? okay pretty? don't cry, you're so strong." beomgyu replies, his big hands patting the small of your back. he always called you pretty as a supportive friendly "go girl!" way, but it felt so different when he reassured you, it felt so genuine. it made you feel prettier than he'd usually do. you felt like his pretty girl.

pulling apart from his embrace, you nod and sniffle, your nose and eyes red as he cups your face and wipes your tears away with his thumb, sweetly caressing your face.

the both of you finally calm down and you walk to class together. you don't know how to see him now, is he still your friend or are you both more than that? maybe he was just being affectionate because he's a supportive friend, but what kind of friend would—

snapping out of your thoughts as you both arrive to your seats, gyu being seated next to you. he admires you as you munch on the protein bar he gave you, even breaking off a piece for him.

your lecturer is talking but all you can think about is his arm around your chair, lightly fidgeting with the sleeve of your shirt. your head is rested comfortably on his shoulder and you're really trying your best to take notes. but it's hard when you both are so close like this, it's like another side of him has revealed to you the moment you started sobbing. you're not complaining. it feels great to have someone like him as a.... friend?

classes finally ended, and the both of you meet up again, planning to go to a shopping mall to cheer you up. you already did feel better after he hugged you, but beomgyu kept insisting he'd bring you out to eat all the bingsu you want, and that it'd be on him. how can you ever decline that?

the both of you had the best day at the shopping mall, and the both of you even took little polaroid photos together.

hopping in his car, preparing to return to the both of your designated hostels, there's the sound of the car engine revving and the both of you sigh after what seemed to be .. sort of a date.

but there was still an aching question that never faded from the back of your head that you'd ought to ask him since this morning.

"what are we?"

you hadn't realized you just said it out loud. when he replies you, you slightly shiver.

"wanna find out?" he replies to you as he started to drive.

"..."

there was a silence for a few minutes. it wasn't awkward, but rather as if he gave you time to ponder.

"can i kiss you?" you blurted out, breaking the silence.

beomgyu swerved and parked at a remote place. it was dark outside and the city lights are miles away.

"what are you waiting for?" beomgyu looked at you with expectancy in his glistening brown eyes.

looking around hesitantly, hoping that nobody would see you guys, beomgyu lifts your chin with his soft hands, waiting for an answer.

"i-i don't know," you muttered.

"then go on, kiss me, pretty girl." beomgyu smiled at you with reassurance.

you closed your eyes as he pulled you close. his cold lips met yours and one of your palm cups his cheek as the other grip on his fluffy hair. your noses touch and beomgyu sighs as he sinks into you, now torso on top of yours, the both of you decide to take it to the backseat.

not breaking the kiss in this entire 20 seconds as your tongues play fight with each other, your mouth taking his lips in, his teeth gliding onto your lips. you sloppily let go of the kiss as a string of saliva connects your lips with his. you're both catching breaths and panting slowly, gazing at each other with awe.

"what are we now?" you say, almost in a whisper.

"is this not enough to answer your question?" beomgyu says while wiping his mouth.

"i don't think so.." you coo, and a pretty grin replaces beomgyu's tireless expression.

running your fingers down his torso and trailing little kisses down his clothed pecs, getting closer and closer to his bud, you look up at him, eyeing him with consent and he nods.

you lift his shirt up to reveal his toned body that he always hid under his baggy shirts. you praise his body with your love and finally, you lay a tongue on his bud. hands on his chest as his shirt's folds rest on the top of your head. you draw little circles with your tongue around his bare nipple and he sighs at that, his back arching away from the car seat for a bit before laying on the car seat again, head thrown back after looking at the lovely sight from above.

you do the same to his other nipple, painting it wet with your spit before letting go and slowly making your way down to his waistband, getting dangerously close to his erection that grew the more you came closer.

beomgyu strokes your hair and tucks your face framing piece behind your ear, with hope that you'll quickly help his aching boner already..

tracing his v-line with your soft fingers and tugging at his waistband before gazing up at his pretty features, waiting for permission.

beomgyu eagerly nods his head, eyes glossy with plead.

"please, go on.." he whispers impatiently, his cock already seeming to want to burst out of his pants.

"okay, okay." you giggle softly and unzip his pants, pulling it and bunching it up towards you, only to be met with the sight of his throbbing cock, the only barrier between you and him being the thin polyester of his boxers.

he's bigger than you expected. it felt odd that you'd be thinking about your best friend's cock now that it's in front of you. once you struggle to pull down his boxers, immediately his cock springs out and slightly hits his own stomach. now, with much ease you continue to pull down his boxers and... well, you're not even sure if you can take him whole.

with a final knowing look at him, beomgyu gives you the green light as he adjusts his position to rest his back.

he gasps as you take him in your mouth, the feeling of your warmth enveloping his shaft is exhilarating to him.

"s-shit,... that feels so..." beomgyu murmured, his eyebrows in a slight frown. his eyes lustrous, looking at your pretty face as you sink down on him.

he loses himself in the pleasure,, moaning softly and thrusting upward into each stroke of your mouth. he gently fists at your hair — eyes fluttering shut as his mouth grows agape, whimpers escaping him now and then.

you on the other hand; you're hollowing your cheeks so you can take him as much as you can, despite his almost unnatural size and girth. the beads of precum that slide effortlessly down your throat each time you lower your head onto him and his slit taps the back of your throat.

"d-does it feel good?" you mumble, with him still in your mouth.

"fuck yes it does, i..." beomgyu's eyes roll backwards when you basically swallow his cock. "you're so good at this, h-how.. oh my— holy shit,"

you start to increase your pace at his words, bubbles of spit collecting at the back of your throat, coating the entirety of his quivering tip, slightly gagging on it.

"oh my fucking god."

beomgyu's whispers send you to heaven on earth. his pretty shaking voice is like candy for your ears. the sight of his sweaty hair falling in front of his eyes, his lips drying up because it'd been slightly parted for so long. finally licking his lips and bucking his hips up into you, you can feel his pelvis stutter, and you know he's going to squirt into your mouth, so you prepare — positioning yourself to sink onto him before he—

"fuck, cummin', a-aah—"

hot cum spurts down your throat and with ease, you take it all. his hips buck up to pump it all out of him and his grip on your hair loosens.

you finally let go of his cock along with the breath you'd been holding for god knows how long. stretching his boxers over his cock and then his pants, you crawl onto him with one final kiss so he'd taste himself off of you.

"today wasn't a bad day after all hm?" beomgyu smiled, his hand rubbing your upper back as if to release the tension from your previous position.

"not anymore, now that i can confirm that we're more than just best friends." you return the smile gently.

"yeah, we're best best friends!" beomgyu teased.

"gyu!! oh my god, you little rat..."

[solarmorrigan]

For the fanfic mash-up prompt list, what about 2. Historical and 73. Stranded due to inclement weather?

Me, a history minor, upon reading this prompt: I've never learned anything about any period in history ever in my life

But! After drawing a blank for a while, we've got some vaguely Great Depression-era Steddie

Fanfiction Trope Mashup: 1. Historical AU + 73. Stranded Due to Inclement Weather

cw: brief assumed infidelity (not actually, though)

-

The drifter is handsome, beneath the smudges of road dust he’s picked up from traveling; his long hair is tied back from his face, revealing a soft mouth, high cheekbones, and eyes you could get lost in. He’s carrying a guitar on his back and not much else. He isn’t dressed nearly warm enough for the weather as it is, and certainly not for the snow that the heavy clouds above are threatening.

Steve already knows he’s going to invite him in.

“I don’t give handouts,” Steve says, mostly for himself, so he can pretend he isn’t a soft touch.

“I’m not asking for a handout,” the drifter says. “I’m more than happy to work for a meal.”

Steve pauses, like he’s thinking. There isn’t much left to the Harrington farm these days; they really only have the house, the barn, and enough land to keep some livestock – mostly chickens. (Robin loves the chickens; when they eat one, she makes sure they thank it by name, which Steve personally thinks is weird, but whatever helps her part more easily with them, he guesses.) The chores don’t take long, usually, but with Robin gone for the week, visiting her mother a few towns over, there are still a few things that need doing.

“Guess I could use a hand,” Steve says, and the drifter smiles at him, bright and dimpled, and Steve can practically hear Robin tutting at him – such a sucker for a pretty face.

At least the imaginary Robin in his head is easier to dismiss.

The drifter—“Eddie,” he introduces himself with a firm, calloused handshake—stores his guitar in the kitchen and gets to work helping Steve around the farm (such as it is). He doesn’t seem to have much familiarity with farmwork specifically, but he’s a hard worker and a good listener, and he slots in right alongside Steve with surprising ease.

He’s a bit of a talker – a storyteller, more like, spinning all kinds of yarns about his travels, half of which Steve is sure can’t be true, but which have him hooked anyway. Eddie seems to like him that way: his attention so focused on Eddie that he almost forgets what he’s doing several times throughout the day.

The hours fly by; the wind gets stronger, and you can almost taste the snow on it. Steve gives the animals one last check, makes sure everything is ready to weather a storm should it come, and then he and Eddie hurry inside the house. Steve cooks while Eddie washes up, and they eat sitting at the kitchen table like Steve and Robin usually do; there’s no one to impress by sitting in the overwrought dining room that had always intimidated Steve as a kid.

Snow is falling thick and fast by the time they finish eating.

“I’m not enough of a bastard to send you back out in that,” Steve says, twitching the curtains aside to look at the way little drifts have already started to collect against the fenceposts. “You’re welcome to stay, if you want.”

“Well, I’m not enough of an idiot to turn you down,” Eddie replies, sending Steve a sly grin. “Anything you want me to do around the house to earn a bed for the night?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he nods towards the living room. “Keep me company by the fire for a while?”

It’s a bit of a gamble – if Steve’s read Eddie wrong, this could end very badly, but Steve doesn’t think he has. He’s always been good at gauging a person’s interest, and he’s certain he’d caught Eddie’s eyes wandering more than once when he thought Steve wasn’t paying attention.

Eddie spends a long moment regarding Steve. “I’ll do you one better,” he finally says, and reaches for his guitar.

Eddie’s voice is rough and low, not always in key, but sincere and achingly soulful. He plays like he was born with a guitar in his hands, pulling music from it a hundred times better than anything Steve’s ever heard on the radio. If he’d been distracted by Eddie before, he’s absolutely enraptured now. He doesn’t even realize he’s been steadily drifting closer to him on the sofa until their knees are brushing.

“It’s getting late,” Eddie says, glancing towards the clock on the mantle. “Am I going to bunk in the barn?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable in the house.”

“Sure.” Eddie’s grin is slow-spreading as he watches Steve. “It’s pretty cozy down here by the fireplace. Sofa’s nice.”

“I could make you up a bed on the sofa.” Steve nods. “Or – there’s plenty of room in my bed, upstairs. Much cozier up there.”

Eddie’s grin is positively wolfish now. “You’d have me in your marriage bed?” he teases, and Steve shakes his head.

“My wife and I don’t share a bed,” he says (this is largely true, except when they have unavoidable overnight visitors, or when it’s very cold).

“No?” Eddie asks.

“We have an understanding,” Steve replies.

“Do you, now?” Eddie still looks like he isn’t quite sure whether to laugh or to eat Steve alive, but Steve only nods.

“She doesn’t mind if I have the occasional man around, and in return, I don’t mind if she has the occasional lady,” he explains softly. “And we keep each other safe.”

At that, Eddie’s grin softens, becomes warm, almost fond. “And who’s keeping you safe now? Inviting a complete stranger up into your bed." He shakes his head, still trying to tease. “I could be anybody. I could be a murderer, for all you know.”

“You aren’t,” Steve answers with full conviction.

The sincerity seems to give Eddie pause. “What makes you so sure?” he asks, and now he seems almost serious.

“Your eyes,” Steve says readily. “They’re too kind for you to be any kind of bad person.”

Those eyes go wide with surprise. “Well,” Eddie says slowly, “you’re one of the few people who thinks that.”

“Well, maybe other people need to pay more attention,” Steve says. “But if I’m wrong, and you do kill me, at least the last thing I see will be something beautiful.”

And that seems to do it. Eddie leans forward and kisses Steve, his lips chapped and warm against Steve’s.

“You might be the killer here, actually,” Eddie murmurs when they pull apart. “You’re gonna knock me dead with those lines, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Steve likes that.

“Better come upstairs with me and give me something else to think about, then,” Steve says, and Eddie doesn’t need to be told again.

The snow continues through the night and into the next day. Steve and Eddie go out first thing to check the animals, to make sure everything is holding against the wind and the snow, and then head back to bed, where they spend the remainder of the day. It seems unkind to send Eddie away in this weather, after all.

In fact, it’s still so cold by the time Robin comes back from her visit that Steve hasn’t yet had the heart to send Eddie away. And if he and Robin talk it over, and if Eddie is still around by the time the warm spring weather comes, and if Eddie just stays and stays, the only thing people in town ever really wonder about is how the Harringtons found the money to hire a hand for their tiny piece of land.

[gabessquishytum]

Modern arranged marriage AU. (CW death threats)

Dream is a prince. Not the heir, but he's the prince of THE royal family, and with so many scandals tied to his name, he's got an ultimatum. Either he marries and settles down in privacy somewhere far, far away, or they send him far, far away on a "mission" to "help", and if he happens to die out there, well, the family can be publicly very sad about it.

Hob has joined the army as soon as he possibly could, while he was practically still a boy, due to being an orphan and wanting somewhere to fit in. He's been whisked from one modern war to another for years. He retired from the army at one point when his wife, also from the army, was expecting their second, but we all know what happened to Hob's family. Alone once more, he shamefully returned to the army.

When Hob finally earns a high enough rank and enough medals and rewards to retire for good (it's not like he ever LIKED the army), he earns himself one last medal, given to him by queen Night herself. Night sees a great opportunity in this still quite young (going on his 40's) retiring soldier. She asks him to marry her son and offers a large sum of money and a mansion as a competition. While Hob thinks it's fucked up, he's still a protector and hero at heart and accepts the offer just so the prince doesn't have to marry someone not as kind as him.

You know what? I'm making this omegaverse because I want to. Turns out they are true mates. They find out at the wedding ceremony - Dream goes crazy for Hob's scent (he's been a soldier for so long that he smells like gunpowder, sand, and protection) and Hob almost pops a boner at his own wedding ceremony when he smells Dream (old books, dust, softness). Dream has one last scandal when they pounce on each other in the car right after the ceremony and don't arrive to the reception, but then they are allowed to live in privacy happily ever after.

- 🚒

I do love a true mates story, and this is really absolutely adorable - I love the idea of older, slightly grizzled and world weary alpha!Hob stepping up to protect the younger omega prince.

When Dream was informed that he'd basically been sold off to some old war hero, he despaired - he was imagining some horrid old creep like Lord Burgess. So he's pleasantly surprised at the sight of Hob, who stands nervously in his old ceremonial uniform. He's got lovely brown sun-drenched skin, greying hair, and kindly eyes. Dream’s heart softens even before he catches Hob’s scent - that's when he goes a bit weak at the knees. Dream has had many lovers of all kinds (that's why he's being married off) but he's never felt such an urge building within his body. He might actually be in love, and he hasn't even made eye contact with the man yet.

During the ceremony they touch hands, and Dream has sneakily removed his gloves so that he gets to touch Hob skin-to-skin. He almost moans. Hob’s hands are big and warm and rough, and Dream actually has to hang on tight just in case his legs do actually give out. Hob winks at him cheekily, and squeezes his hand when they walk together back down the aisle.

They do pounce on each other in the car, but not before Dream feels the need to hurriedly come clean about all his shortcomings - how he's not a virgin, he's not sure if he wants children, he's prone to terrible mood swings - of course Hob just smiles and kisses him very softly. He wouldn't mind if Dream was the devil. They're true mates, and Hob is hardly perfect either. He just wants a chance to be happy.

The sex in the car is very good, as demonstrated by the way the vehicle rocks alarmingly back and forth while all the windows steam up. The video clips circulate for days, and honestly? The public are pretty damn thrilled to see Prince Dream and his dilf husband getting their fairytale ending <333

[whoopsyeahokay]

Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

(AN: this'll be a multiple-oneshots deal—out of order—with regular additions until it's complete.)

🛎️prompt - Wally Clark NSFW alphabet.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. grey!Wally Clark. cheating. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - A

A is for the addiction Wally develops for hot cherry kisses.

He grabs you by the wrist between classes, pulls you into the empty boy's locker room, and crowds you against a locker. Coaxes a thigh between your legs and fists a hand into your hair, angling your head perfectly before he descends.

Deep kisses shallow and then break as he moves to graze the tip of his nose along your neck.

"That's it, baby," He says, sandpaper-rough, nudging thick, hard muscle against your pussy. Tiny motions, barely perceptible, but so fucking good. "You like that, don't you?" Humid breath tickles the sensitive skin behind your ear, "Come on. Want you to wreck those pretty little panties for me."

And he slips a hand between your bodies, under the waistband of your low-rise jean skirt, and curls two fingers into you, coating them liberally before he slip-slides them up a fraction and begins rubbing your clit in slow, delirious circles.

You shudder against him, nails digging into his back over his t-shirt. God, his jeans are ruined, the wet stain spreading, and, shit, fuck, he hears you choke on a moan as your body stiffens in ecstasy.

He slams his mouth to yours just as you cry out, swallowing the rest of the sound before anyone can hear it. Wally gentles the kiss, parts with a smack, and rests his forehead against yours while you catch your breath.

"Such a good girl," He praises, combing your hair back with his clean hand, thumb smoothing across the arcs of your cheeks. Careful. Kind. A ruse because then he drops to his knees, slides his hands up your skirt, and yanks your panties down to your ankles.

You step out of them, a little lightheaded, a lot spent, not even bothering to complain when he shoves them in his pocket. Wally maneuvers you to the door with a hand on your ass and a bite to your shoulder, says he'll see you in class—that he has to change into his gym shorts because of the mess you made.

"Your fault," You remind him, and hell yeah it is, he already wants to do it again.

He takes care of himself under a lukewarm shower and, ten minutes later waltzes into History late, shit-eating grin wide, dismissing Ms. Fields' warnings with a loose salute. He slides into his seat at the back of the class where he revels in the looks the other students give him. That Janet bores into the side of his head.

Wally's mouth is still sticky—he was careful not to get it wet—the taste of your lip gloss syrupy-sweet whenever he presses his lips together. He can't get enough, wants more—needs more—the thought loud and all-consuming.

He answers Ms. Fields when she calls on him, reciting what he knows about the Dust Bowl, but as soon as Ms. Fields moves on, his eyes skate back to you. And Janet's right there, sitting next to him, watching him watch you. Outright. Shameless.

When you peek over your shoulder, he holds your gaze as he licks his lips with intention, the action layered with all the dirty fantasies he's had since walking into the room.

There's a fresh sheen of gloss on a smile that raises one corner of your mouth as you pick up what Wally's putting down.

Janet seethes in her seat.

🧿___________________________

note: to the delicious soul who sent me the prompt, i hope you enjoyed this fill 💙🩵🤍

also available on AO3!

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

[yeszzs]

MiloxRyan AU: Stockholm Syndrome

"There was also another change that Ryan didn't expect, and that was Milo's behavior becoming that of a baby koala."

[6.9k characters and 1.2k words... Narration is Ryan-biased]

Milo's place was filled with the sour stench of dried blood mixed with a strong odor of insect repellent. The walls were covered in peeling yellow paint, and dust gathered in every corner. Spider webs hung on the ceiling, and Ryan suspected that ants were starting to infest the space beneath the wooden floorboards.

In short, Milo's place was shit.

But to be fair, Ryan wasn't entirely convinced that this ramshackle dump was the guy's real place or if it was some cheap temporary flat he rented for a couple of bills and weed. After all, you can't exactly get caught holding the son of some wealthy bastard hostage, right?

Ryan sighed heavily, his face pressed into the worn sofa cushions as he fought to keep the rising bile in his throat at bay. The rough, itchy sensation of the cuffs chafing against his legs was a constant pain but he was too exhausted to do anything about it. He lay there listlessly, feeling the weight of his anxiety grow heavier. Trapped in this dilapidated, poor excuse of a house for months, his hopes of escaping seemed to dwindle with each passing day. He had clung to the thought that Milo might eventually release him, but the asshole's recent behavior had grown increasingly erratic and unpredictable.

Ever since Eris dumped Milo (Ryan overheard Milo muttering to himself once), Milo had apparently kidnapped him as a way to prove his worth to the crazy fucker.

However, the whole kidnapping thing has been going on for too long and Ryan's pretty sure that Eris isn't coming back. Milo seems delusional though, and is only getting worse every time he comes to visit Ryan. In fact, Ryan has been seeing his face around more often than not and it's become incredibly off-putting.

At first, Milo was only around to either beat the crap out of him or to feed him the little food he had left to spare. But as time passed, his living conditions upgraded. Ryan went from living in the shitty basement to living in the equally shitty living room. The windows were boarded up so he couldn't see anything from the outside, and he couldn't even reach the main door if he tried because of the metal cuffs tugging his ankles back.

In short, Ryan still felt like shit.

And yet, he didn't complain. At the very least, he wasn't getting any limbs sawed off, and his testicles were still perfectly intact. It was a good thing that Milo didn't hate him so much as to castrate him but the lonely thought brought little comfort to Ryan's turbulent mind.

He mentally sighed.

There was also another change that Ryan didn't expect, and that was Milo's behavior becoming that of a baby koala.

Speaking of koalas, Ryan let out a grunt as Milo shifted behind him, maneuvering him onto his back and pressing his face against Ryan's collarbone. Milo's arms encircled Ryan’s torso tightly, creating an uncomfortable embrace that left Ryan with a sense of fear and tension.

The unexpected closeness made Ryan's blood run cold, as he couldn’t shake the feeling that Milo might try and do something to harm him. Milo’s hug felt like a deliberate move, done to lower Ryan's guard and exploit his vulnerability.

"Stop moving," Milo said firmly, his hand closing around one of Ryan's wrists and positioning it gently on top of his thick, black hair. Ryan instinctively froze and began petting Milo's head.

Ryan had absolutely no idea how this strange transgression even occurred. He really had no idea! He was ripping his hair out on the inside and dreaming of slamming his thin face into the piss-colored walls because;

What! The! Fuck! Is he doing with his kidnapper?! Is he playing some sick game of house with this little shit now?! Has he truly gone insane? He really had no clue how this happened in the first place and when Milo began acting like a newborn infant.

...

Well.

Actually... Ryan may have an inkling.

A month ago or so, Milo had forgotten to chain Ryan back up after letting him bathe in the tub and Ryan–seeing the opportunity–took it and ran. He had practically ripped the door off its hinges and bolted out the house. Milo quickly noticed Ryan's escape and hurriedly chased after the man. After realizing that Milo had begun hunting him down–evidenced by the chain of distant curses behind him–he started to pray to the gods above that the maniac would either trip over a stick or get run over by a car.

They both ran several yards, with Ryan shouting for help and Milo in close pursuit. Eventually, they reached a busy road with speeding cars. Ryan managed to make it to the other side, but Milo wasn't so fortunate; he was struck by a black Volvo and knocked unconscious, his rib crushed in the collision.

Ryan was relieved to finally have Milo off his ass but for some odd reason, he felt incredibly guilty leaving his kidnapper–who had beat him on multiple occasions–out on the road to get run over again. It was incredibly ridiculous but Ryan figured that he may as well just drag Milo over to the concrete sidewalk to protect him from the other cars. But after doing so, his guilt still hadn't been appeased so he decided that he'd at least patch the guy up and be back on his merry way. You know, since he's such a nice guy!

But it was still incredibly ridiculous.

Of course, Milo had woken up before Ryan was finished bandaging his wounds and was rewarded with a punch to the face. That's what you get for helping people, huh.

Looking back on it now, that's probably when Milo had began to visit this grimy home more often. Ryan really should have just gone home, seriously! He should've left Milo to die on that road. It's what he deserved anyway.

But...

Milo rubbed his face into Ryan's shirt, almost affectionately. He took a deep whiff of Ryan's scent and let a contented hum slip from his lips at the feeling of Ryan's fingers gently combing through his hair. Ryan grimaced, wrinkling his nose in mild discomfort but still continued stroking Milo's head, afraid of angering his hot-headed companion.

Nowadays, for some reason, Milo had become accustomed to entangling himself in Ryan's embrace much to the latter's dismay. Sniffing his hair, watching him from afar, finding minor excuses to touch him, all that weird stuff.

Ryan was distressed.

What is fucking happening.

Ryan gave Milo a gentle pat on the back, subtly nudging him to get off. Milo glanced up at him with a look of irritation, his brows knitted and eyes sharp. Ryan exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and resignation in his voice. "Calm down, will you? I'm starving and just want to make something to eat." He then placed his hand back on Milo's head.

Milo looked as if he was deep in thought before murmuring something into Ryan's neck and begrudgingly standing up, stomping into the kitchen.

Ryan watched Milo's retreating back leave the living room and slowly raised a hand to his warm neck. He felt that his face had grown a little flush and decidedly buried himself back into the sofa cushions.

Living in this dump was still shit, Ryan swore.

But maybe it wasn't so bad.

[sunrayram]

You mentioned Angel Dust becoming friends (?) with Alastor in your AU, so what is their relationship like? Did being humbled by Husk soften Alastor's rough edges?

So Angel Dust and Alastor have a very ... interesting relationship. In the beginning, Alastor cannot stand Angel Dust. The flirting gets on his nerves, and he's already on a short fuse. In turn, Angel just thinks Alastor is an angry asshole, always two seconds away from snapping. He reminds Angel a lot of the guys he'd met in the mafia, honestly. So yeah, they really don't get along, until episode 4.

Husk doesn't call out Angel for being fake this time, because Angel just isn't his focus at this point. Instead, this episode opens with Alastor finally really snapping at Angel, genuinely scaring the other man after a sex joke goes to far. Shaken up, Angel gets called in by Valentino. The incident with Charlie and Val in the studio happens as it does in canon, and Angel returns to the hotel bruised and battered. Angel's looking for a sharp edge to self-destruct against, so when he runs into Alastor that night, he pushes against his boundaries again. Alastor flies off the handle. He threatens to kill Angel, to make it hurt, but Angel's so upset that he doesn't take any of Alastor's threats seriously. Or, well, he's taking them seriously, he just doesn't care.

But Alastor's biggest trigger right now is not being heard/people steamrolling over his wants, so Angel is fucking with him like nobody's business. The fight ramps up higher and higher until Husk comes down and pulls them apart. Husk tears into Alastor, and it makes him so upset that he almost destroys the parlor and rushes away to his room. Husk, having only seen Alastor looming over Angel and genuinely thinking that Alastor was going to maim him, tries to apologize to Angel for Alastor's behavior. But in that moment, having watched Husk pull Alastor back by the throat mere minutes before, Angel can't really respond.

Exhausted by this whole awful day, Angel goes to his room to pass out. He wakes up in the middle of the night (I hc Angel Dust has trauma-induced insomnia and it is a bitch) and goes to get a drink. There, he finds Alastor again. He's locked himself up in the kitchen (an area Alastor had firmly claimed as his own as soon as he came to the hotel) Angel sits against the locked door in silence for awhile, and then, hesitantly, he apologizes. He says that he didn't want to be the kind of person that pushed someone that far. He says that in the moment, he was just looking for a way to take control of the pain he was feeling. He felt like if he was the one causing the pain to himself, it wasn't that bad.

There's a moment of silence, and then the radio on the lounge table crackles to life. Alastor quietly says that he doesn't want to open the door. Angel gets up to leave, but Alastor clarifies that he didn't mean Angel should go. Alastor says that he knows what it feels like to have no control. He confesses that he can't remember the last time he had control over anything. Angel tells Alastor that he has control here. Unlike earlier, Angel was listening, and he wasn't going to open the door. The two of them spend the rest of the night there. Not really talking, not really performing, just ... existing. Angel eventually falls asleep, and Alastor leaves the meal he made laid out for Angel when he wakes up.

There's a companionship, after this. Both of them can be too much for the other sometimes, but they know when to stop now. If there was a phrase I'd use to describe their relationship after this point, well, the first one would be trauma-bond, but the second would be casual ride-or-die. Like, "This guys pretty cool, I guess you could call us acquaintances, I can tolerate him I suppose - touch him and I'll tear you apart limb from limb :)"

Also, just to clarify, neither of them are "better" bc of this. Angel still put on his heavy front, and Alastor still spends most days feeling like a ticking time bomb. But it's a first step that will lead to better things eventually. Hopefully.

[thatonegayship]

This probably feels weird to ask

But I love how you draw dipper in general and your art in particular! Is it possible you could do a little tutorial on how your process goes?

If you don’t want to, I understand completely. I felt really hesitant asking this lol. Anyways, love your art!!!

I'm not the *best* at talking technicality, and certainly not about drawing Dipper; I have three distinct styles when dealing with him, that being Billdip Dipper, Canon Dipper, and AU Dipper, all of whom have entirely different purposes both visually and narratively. This results in some pretty inconsistent representations:

That being said! I'm totally cool with going over my process with you! Layout, technique, brainstorming, all that.

Generally speaking, I like to start my digital work on paper. Nothing crazy, just a basic idea that captures the pose, expression, and clothing (these things are destined to change by the end).

Notice the cloud of dirt kicking up at his feet. Look how I position one arm out while the other pulls farther back, and his hair blows from his face. There's a clear emphasis on motion here, both in body language (feet turned against the force) and added attire (Pinetree cloak flowing back, dust cloud at his feet, etc.)

This design is destined to change, but for action scenes like this, it's good to begin with an expressive foundation, so that once we start chipping away at and remolding our concept, we're building off of a design that encapsulates the *scene* we're wanting to convey. That is, no matter how much we shave off, we still have a strong foundation to reference towards and lean into for inspiration.

The next step is transferring our rough sketch into a digital setting.

This is where I tinker with the lasso tool, maybe take reference photos of the exact pose I had in mind. Here, I'm just breaking down my original sketch on a tablet. I readjusted the feet's position, pulled that other arm in to his chest, and straightened his arm out for a more powerful pose.

The next step focuses on pushing the pose and correcting anatomy errors.

Alright, cool! Now he's not just bracing for action, he's *jumping* into it. The back arm's pulled in like a fist, his shoulder bunched up close to his ear. We see how his body's twisted at the torso, chest out, legs stretched, arm extended.

Notice too how I utilize my shapes to empower the pose. Front arm and leg, extended. Lots of straight lines. It *curves* because of muscle and fat, but outside of that, they're pointed in a distinct direction. Contrastly, his right side curves at the hip and follows subtly up to his chest. This helps emphasize his lean into whatever he's attacking, sort of like a bow.

Now we've added details! You'll notice I've changed a lot of my initial design from my rough-sketch to fit more into the style and personality of Dipper in this setting. Since he's, you know, a "Pinetree," I figured his clothing should reflect it. I'm still working in pencil at this point, blocking out the general shapes of what I want, but not really exploring my options.

The cloak follows a slight gust, his hair flows back, the mushrooms on his shoulder lean out from the action, but these are still only guidelines. Keep it loose! Explore things! Have fun with it!

Next step, Inking. Digital art is *very* forgiving, so I'm a lot less concerned about moving forward without a full idea of my vision. This is usually the step I'm most inspired at because it allows me to go back over my loose sketch and add those minute details that excited me so much. I do not recommend moving forward without full confidence in your initial sketch when using traditional art! YOU WILL CRY!

Clothes: changed. Pose: changed. Details: expanded on.

This is where a bit of knowledge in anatomy is really going to serve you well. Bridging the gap between sketch and ink has always been very difficult for me, and it's due in part to those uncertain, not-quite-right bits I have to build off of from my initial sketch.

It's good to keep your rough draft light and fluid so that they capture the emotion and general pose of your character, but it's also important to keep in mind how you'll have to balance *maintaining* that level of expression while incorporating more realistic aspects of their design.

Take for instance Dipper's left foot that went from being tucked up under his butt, to being in a more braced position- like he's about to land, or skirt to a halt. As a loose sketch, it captures the motion very well. However, incorporating muscle and kneecaps and detailed shoes brings out a lot of the visual flaws. Proportion and angle become a serious issue if you aren't entirely sure how a particular body part would flex/squish/shorten in a particular position. The more realistic you go, the more jarring your mistakes.

This is, of course, not me saying you're forbidden from drawing your characters with a leg under their butt with big, meaty thighs. It's *actually* me letting everyone know that I tried working with the pose, building on it looked weird, and I decided to take a different approach. You are 100% allowed to try something else if your initial plan doesn't work out.

This step is where we adapt and improve. Our digital rough sketch didn't really capture the full power of his motion. His cloak kinda billows out like "Yeah, I'm a cloak, I billow gayly." It's flat, hollow, uninspired. Here, you're looking at photo references of Pinetrees, both real and not-real. You're gonna have to make it look like needles and branches, while *also* being a flowy bit of clothing.

For this, keep in mind how *cloth* moves with a more exaggerated, majestic rough sketch to overlay atop our failure of a branch jacket. Die.

See how despite the spikey pine needles, his cloak follows a distinct pattern? Additionally, this coat works in 3-dimensions. There's an outside and an inside, and it curves like a dome around him. It floats behind him, curves in front of him, lifts up, dips down. Really, it's up to you, but always consider your work on the third plain.

ALSO! Very important: Keep an eye on your line weight! Seriously, this took a long time for me to get a firm grasp of. Not *shading* really, but put a bit more emphasis on those bent spaces with darker lines. See that bold line connecting his thigh to his glutes? And the one behind his knee? DEPTH!! IT ADDS DEPTH!!

And *here* is the final product! This is the shading section, arguably my favorite and least-favorite part about my drawing process. Working in black and white, you don't really have to worry about getting every little shadow on your character. Just shade what needs emphasizing; everything with a shadow gets an added layer of depth as well. This is the part that gives your work an additional POP.

Consider too that shading isn't just solid black, even if you're working in black and white. His arm and under his hood are pretty solid black, but the interior of his cloak is far more textured and light. We see where it's darkest at his sides, but leading out, it lightens into distinct markings that (in my opinion) are visually more appealing. Using this tool is ultimately up to you, though.

Okay, the end!

[vikugnavikugna]

A really rough sketch for the Worm/One Piece au I've been Ponderin' for a while now. Some random ideas for the main crew under the cut:

Let's start by making things clear: this is not for any kind of fanfic or anything of the sort. I have been known to write those when I was 14 and very into RWBY, but I still struggle to write anything too complex in english and I have since given up on the hobby anyway. I just like rotating Worm characters in my head and combining them with any other brainrot I am going through at any point of my life, y'know.

As for how the au actually works, I simply deleted all the characters from the One Piece universe from existance and then tried to apply every Worm character to the preexisting societal structures and dynamics of the Three Great Powers, whilst staying as close to the currently established canon and with making up as few new Devil Fruits as possible (currently on just 1, but I haven't gone through many side characters).

Now, as evidenced by the use of Haki and presence of Imp, this fanart portrays the crew at quite a later stage of their journey - I imagine the Underside Pirates (it is a butt joke, to be clear) started off somewhere in South Blue openly working for the mysterious Captain Coil, a man trying to make a name for himself before moving to the Grand Line. What the Underside Pirates didn't actually know is that they were slowly being set up for betrayal from the very start - Captain Coil is Thomas Calvert, a retired Marine, who works under a pseudonym solely so that he can build up the persona of Captain Coil as a threat to the World Government, fake arresting himself and gain the title of a Shichibukai (and with it, the entrance to the Holy Land Mary Geoise).

For the actual crew, let's go through them one by one:

Taylor D Hebert - newest recruit of the crew, starts off as quartermaster, before being promoted to the first mate and eventually captain further down the line. The user of Jou-Jou no Mi (shamefully, the only original Fruit I made up for this au so far - it possesses about the same capabilities as Taylor's powers do in canon). Not a lot to say here - take her Worm backstory, substitute being into heroes for being inspired to join the Marines and bosh, done. After the discovery of Haki I imagine she would start gathering bugs into shapes of objects and covering the entire swarm in armament Haki for some improvised weapons (she's doing that very thing and forming a katana in the art, coincidentally). Her attack name are references to english literature (I am polish so I cannot think of an example). Possibly gay for Rachel but, since Oda writes both romance and queer people weird, it's this very anime kind of crush where she acts normal 90% of the time, but then turns into a blushing mumbling idiot when Rachel is too close. Kind of like Kuroko from Railgun but with 100% less sexual assault, y'know.

Rachel Lindt - a dogfish fishman raised outside of Fishman Island, Rachel had a pretty tough life travelling the seas alone, always narrowly avoiding whichever slave hunting crew that confused her for a mermaid at any given moment. She has no fruit powers and minimal Fishman Karate skills due to never having a proper teacher. In combat she always relied mostly on various marine life companions she gathered throughout the years of travelling the sea - in many ways, her only family. Works as the crew's helmsman. Her attack names are hilariously simple and straightforward, often said after she delivers them, rather than during action (eg. she'll just calmly punch her opponent into the ground as they are mid screaming their attack name, dust herself off and calmly say 'Right Punch' before walking off). Mostly inspired by the fact, that it always annoyed me horribly how few female fishmen there were in the series. Completely unaware Taylor has a crush on her.

Alec Vasil - son of a Yonko and an ex-Celestial Dragon, Alec was one of the many children Nikos Vasil has produced with his various mistresses. There isn't much information about the Heartbreaker in Worm proper, but I imagine him as a Doflamingo kind of figure in this au - his connections and information about the Holy Land stops the Marines from ever attacking him directly and the powers of Ito Ito no Mi, whilst limited, let him marionette people around however he wishes to fulfill his various schemes. Alec himself is no Fruit user but, due to his mother being a Mink, can use Electro. Thanks to years of experimentation with the fighting style, he developed a technique which allows him a limited control over the electricity in his enemies' muscles, purposefully mimiquing the powers of his father - both to get his father's attention and to mock his abilities ('I can do everything you can and more without being a Celestial Dragon or a Fruit user' type deal). No one really knows what his job on the ship is supposed to be and, when asked, he just usually makes up whatever lie let's him laze off some more at any given moment (usually, 'Oh, yeah, I'm on permament Lookout duty, actually'). At first I thought his attack names should be in french, but nah, this dude is just screaming the most atrocious pun attack names known to mankind probably. Responsible for making up the crew's name.

Lisa Wilbourn - the crew's de facto unofficial captain in the early days, she also doubles as a navigator. A noble of a small kingdom in South Blue, her story plays out very similarly to the canon Lisa. At some point of it all she accidently gets her hands on Giro Giro no Mi and, when her family wants to exploit her mind reading abilities for business when she's still in mourning over her brother, she escapes her home island and gets scouted by Coil. I think that a lot of the time snipers are done real dirty in One Piece, so Lisa mainly uses long range weaponry (and later Observation Haki) during combat - she simply never puts any time into mastering Armament. Honestly not much to say here, I think she was one of the most obvious Devil Fruit fits in the entire crew. Out of every person in this drawing, I am the most disatissfied with her design and thus will probably do something about it shortly.

Brian Laborn - fills the role of a first mate, cook, quartermaster, doctor, canon master, shipwright and sometimes also a ship, if need be. My friend and I discussed whether to give him a Fruit power, as the only one that fits him - that being Yami Yami no Mi, which not only visually mimics Brian's power, but also makes the user literally suffer more in combat - is way too powerful for a small ass crew. So eventually I settled for just amking him the crew's boringman Haki user and martial artist. I mean, someone does need to fish out all these dumbasses from the ocean and Rachel isn't always around, I guess. A not zero chance he steals Yami Yami no Mi from Jack's crew later on or something of the like. He may use fullbody Armament at some point, purely because I think it gets REAL bad rep in One Piece and he would make it work, I bet. His attack names are all references to real life boxing history.

Aisha Laborn - there was much debate in my head whether Aisha should be the user of Memo Memo no Mi or Suke Suke no Mi - the latter eventually won out, because I believe Aisha going unnoticed by both foes and allies is more important than actually referencing the memory aspect of her powers. She got her hands on the Devil Fruit due to one of his mother's boyfriends, who was a pirate and robbed it off of someone on sea. Aisha ate the Fruit, angering her mother's boyfriend and, after being severly beaten up, managed to activate the Fruit's abilities to become invisible and call for Brian. The following sequence plays out similarly as in canon. Aisha would be on the ship from the very beginning, but Brian usually leaves her in some town when the Underside Pirates go on any kind of mission and it's not until later that she actually joins them as crew (or rather she sneaks onto their ship claiming to be their second permanent Lookout so many times that it just became easier letting her stay).

Ship - considering the crew's size, most likely a caravel. I'm firting with it being named Atlas, but are not sold on it. Jokingly referred to is as Shrugging Atlas in my head once. I think Atlas should be their second ship, something they gain after Taylor becomes a more prominent member of the crew, and they should start off with something else. No clue what tho.

[m34gs]

Saw AU ask time! From the planning stage, to setting up the traps, following through, and cleaning up, the work is both mentally and physically labour intensive. After the dust has settled, how do each individual dorms unwind and relax? How effective are these methods and does Yuu notice anything "off" with their friends?

Hey friend!!! Thank you so much for this ask. I am finally able to answer it, and I have been looking forward to it all week!!!!

Heartslaybul:

How they unwind and relax:

Immediately afterward, Riddle needs some tea. To him, that is the best way to relax. Later, as per Ace and Deuce's requests, the group goes on a little trip swimming (Ace told Riddle that water can be very soothing and relaxing, as a ploy to get him to agree to a beach trip One (1) Time, and Riddle took it to heart). They go to beaches in the summer, or to pools in the winter, and just have fun swimming lengths or goofing off. Of course, they invite Yuu along for the fun.

Does Yuu notice anything "off":

Ace and Deuce are far more quiet than normal at first, since they have such a hard time lying to Yuu. They really can't lie to save their lives. It's a little strange, but eventually they go back to their usual loud and playful selves.

Savanaclaw:

How they unwind and relax:

The night of is usually a trip to the casino to unwind. Within the next few days, they organize a Spelldrive Game; except they play "anything goes as long as it doesn't kill someone". Strategy and rough-housing are in full play here, and the strenuous exercise helps both to get away from stress of the murder, and to help the body create endorphins that help to make them feel happier and less fatigued. Also, there's something cathartic about playing a more brutal version of the game that gives a sense of freedom from rules and responsibilities. Yuu is invited to spectate, and the rules also extend that no gameplay can hurt Yuu or Grim.

Does Yuu notice anything "off":

If anything is going to be immediately noticeable; it's that Jack is a bit stiffer in his mannerisms than normal, but Yuu chalks it up to him feeling tired from work lately.

Octavinelle:

How they unwind and relax:

Azul relaxes...by immediately throwing himself into his work. Jade and Floyd are appalled but not surprised. They pretty much have to hog-tie him (kinky) in order to drag him away from his work to have a day off. They take him to some resort or other, so he can still feel like he's doing "research" and "networking", and then manage to trick him into doing things for fun. Gets him every time.

Does Yuu notice anything "off":

If this happened more often, Yuu might get more suspicious...but as we already established, it can take Azul months to do a trap. A vacation every few months is not that unusual. And Yuu is also in agreement that Azul works too hard and needs more time off.

Scarabia:

How they unwind and relax:

Kalim throws a party after the Saw trap is done. He throws a massive party and Jamil makes all the food for it. Kalim can't stand to be alone for the first while after a trap. He hates it. He can't get away from his own thoughts, can't stop trying to justify things and wrestle with any potential guilt. Jamil also needs to be kept busy, though not necessarily because he feels guilty. If he's allowed too much time to just think, he'll start panicking and spiralling over all the little details, stressing to try and remember if he did everything just right (he did) and if the police will find any clues to their identities (they don't) and if he will end up in jail (he won't). He relaxes a bit after some time has passed and the adrenaline has gone down.

Does Yuu notice anything "off":

It's hard to really notice anything "off", since their method to relax and unwind immediately after are so close to their usual daily roles. However, if Yuu pays close attention, they might notice Kalim is less smiley than usual and a bit more quick to jump into conversations and be the one talking; and Jamil is a bit more abrupt than usual when he speaks. But otherwise, they seem to be pretty normal and focused on having a good party.

Pomefiore:

How they unwind and relax:

Now, I know what people are probably thinking...but I don't think the answer is "a spa day". Not this time. Vil needs something different; something that absolutely does not feel reminiscent of his day-to-day, and something where he can forget what they just spent the last several days engaged in doing. Rook is a huntsman; he lives for the outdoors. And Epel is not going to be relaxed if he has to stay inside and do skin care. That is why I think they go on a hiking trip for a day; just a day, but it's still enough to help them all reset. It takes Vil away from the pressures of his job and makes him feel like he can fully relax without worrying about the public eye. Rook is very familiar with the wooded areas around their home, so he's leading the group and he eagerly points out any and every part of the forest that he loves. Epel is just happy he can touch some damn grass.

Does Yuu notice anything "off":

If anything is off, it's that Vil seems a bit more tense than usual. Though, Yuu supposes the purpose of this trip is to help ease stress so it makes sense he would seem stressed at first. Epel does have a hard time not being jumpy either at first, and that strikes Yuu as odd, but they wonder if maybe it's him picking up on Vil's own tense feelings subconsciously.

Ignihyde:

How they unwind and relax:

Idia chooses a "for fun" project to do with Ortho; something technical but fun, like building Ortho some new gear or upgrading some gear they already have. It's nothing they can't manage so it's rather stress-free, and it gives them down-time together to just hang out and be brothers. They invite Yuu and Grim over after to do a video-game marathon.

Does Yuu notice anything "off":

It's hard to notice things as "off" for Idia because this is pretty close to things he usually does. Ortho, however, seems to take a little longer to respond to things, as if he is choosing his answers really carefully. They wonder if it's some sort of program bug, but Idia doesn't seem concerned, so they don't spend too much time worrying over it.

Diasomnia:

How they unwind and relax:

Malleus wants to have tea with Yuu and Grim. He finds it really relaxing to be in their presence. Of course, the other three are invited to come as well, because Yuu wants to be polite and also genuinely enjoys their company. They bring snacks (that Lilia did NOT make) and Lilia talks the most, filling the silence with all sorts of stories of his travels and adventures from when he was younger.

Does Yuu notice anything "off":

Sebek cannot lie well. Therefore, he is far more quiet than usual. Even when Lilia is between stories, Sebek is not talking as much, though he does still talk a bit. Yuu is very concerned and asks if he is alright or if something is wrong. Lilia comes to the rescue, saying Sebek is alright he is just feeling a bit under the weather. (Sebek would like to point out they are *all* under the weather, as the weather is in the sky and they are on the ground. Silver agrees. Lilia is groaning as he has to explain himself. Yuu figures if Sebek was well enough to point that out, then he is probably ok.)

There you go! My thoughts on how the different dorms like to unwind after running a Saw Trap! Hope you enjoyed my answers!!!

[chrisbangsbf]

Chan/Felix

Mature | 755 words

Tags and Warnings: au, new vampire chan, domestic bfs, teething, dog toys, teasing about pet play

AO3 link

“I thought you hated those,” Felix teases, leaning against the door frame. He's grinning, hands in his pockets. The bastard. 

Right before he’d arrived home, Chris had been gnawing on a particularly squeaky toy, lounging on the couch. But as soon as he heard Felix's soft steps come down the hallway, he stuffed the toy between the couch cushions and pulled a throw blanket over him to try and mask some of the humiliation he felt. He'd greeted Felix with a smile– asked him about his day at work, offered to order him some dinner while he washed up. But as soon as he heard the bathroom door shut, he'd been right back to cautiously pinching the toy between his teeth to relieve the pressure in his gums.

He feels silly now, as he somehow managed to get distracted enough by the sensation that he didn't hear Felix approaching.

Although embarrassed, ears red and cheeks dusted pink, it helps relieve his nerves to see the absolute fondness spread across Felix’s face. 

Chris huffs and spits the toy out, holding it up to examine the array of teeth marks on it. “They actually help," he admits begrudgingly, sniffing at the toy and scrunching his nose. He should probably brush his teeth. Blood breath doesn't smell pleasant, even to him.

“Well, I'm glad they do," Felix walks over and runs his fingers back through Chris’ hair– it's dry and fried, but the conditioner he bought recently has been doing some serious work, "'cause it's actually pretty cute." Felix's fingers get stuck on a small knot, and Chris hums contentedly, leaning into the touch and letting his eyes flutter closed. Having Felix close to him is like a balm, soothing over his brain in such a comforting way.

“I do prefer the ones that don’t make noise, though." He gives the toy a squeeze. "These kinda make me feel like a dog.”

Felix grins and kisses the top of Chris’ head, scratching behind one of his ears. “You mean you don't wanna be my puppy? How sad."

Chris whines and cranes his head back, staring up into Felix's dark eyes. He still has makeup on, smudged from the day and still beautiful. "At least I'm not chewing on your fingers, right?" He pouts, tilting his head in a way that's certainly not doglike.

Felix can't help but to bend down and kiss him. Even has the audacity to chuckle into Chris' mouth. "Not like I'd complain if you were."

"I'll keep that in mind," Chris whispers, nipping at Felix's bottom lip with a soft chuckle. Felix swats him half heartedly as he pulls away.

He swings himself across the corner and picks something up in a little bag. "Speaking of, by the way–" Chris perks up, scooting over so Felix can join him on the couch. "–since you're basically teething–"

"–I'm not a toddler!"

"Since you're basically teething," Felix repeats, amusement in his voice as he places the bag on Chris' lap, "I figured something like this might work a little better."

Opening the bag, Chris' eyes go wide. It's another dog toy, but this one appears to be made out of... rope? Or something similar in material, at least.

"It's a fucking tug of war toy," Chris says, mildly exasperated but not at all upset. He's actually sort of ecstatic about it, especially now that he's really feeling how rough the texture is. He's almost starting to drool just thinking about how satisfying it'll feel against his itching gums.

"Bought it on the way home," Felix says, smiling happily. Always glad to be helpful, always trying to make Chris' life, or afterlife, better. "Try it," he encourages. And Chris certainly can't deny him.

Chris turns the toy in his hand and tentatively nips at the edge of it. His fangs poke into the material slightly, but at least this one can’t deflate (which is good, since he's popped at least three of the plastic ones in the past few weeks). After a few experimental chomps, he takes it between his cheek and teeth and chews, audibly moaning as the scratchy surface scrapes his gums. He can't even help it, it truly feels that good. A relief he hasn't had in days.

"I love it," Chris mumbles around the fabric, reaching out to pull Felix closer. Melting into his embrace.

Felix giggles, moving a hand up to scratch gently at Chris’ scalp again. He leans in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear, and whispers, “Good boy."

[ven-on-trial]

pairing: childe x gn!reader

warnings: MINORS DNI, oral (m!receiving), penetrative sex (gn!receiving), chair sex, biting, hair pulling, rough handling, reader on top, switch dynamic, singular brief mention of predator/prey, enemies to lovers but it’s complicated, modern assassin au, mentions of weaponry and scars, childe is referred to as ajax

word count: 1.2k

summary: after spending years locked in a tense purgatory of emotion with rival assassin tartaglia of the fatui harbinger division, something finally had to give.

i posted this almost a month ago and it was nuked from the tags so im making a final desperate attempt to repost it now that tags seem to be working consistently on my other blogs </3

Kissing a man who has been situated between your crosshairs tastes like blood. 

You think it should be worse, a putrid ichor that lingers and seeps into your tongue for an eternity. But instead it is bittersweet like a creamed coffee, with a tang of iron that feels downright addictive as you weave your fingertips through short ginger hair and pull. 

“Tartaglia,” you hum, grazing the backs of your fingers against his cheek as you lean in to steal his lips once more. “We’ve barely started and you’re so needy already. Am I wrong in assuming you’ve thought about this before?”

“Don’t call me that,” he says. He steps back, but not to escape; his hands remain outstretched towards you, beckoning you closer. “Not when we’re like this.”

Ajax is beautiful, sweat glistening like diamonds on his chest. The moonlight is kind to him, paints him tenderly and leaves him glowing just for you. Looking at him stills your heart for a moment, how he glances across at you with lidded eyes, bruised lips and a heaving ribcage. 

He looks completely and utterly taken already, which only serves to spur you on as you cross the room to meet him. 

You push his shoulders down until he’s dropping onto the chair behind him, a soft oof leaving him on impact. Wide eyes watch you step closer, as you kneel before him and place your hands on the plush of his thighs. With teasing touches, you edge your fingers further along his legs. Reflexively, he shudders.

“Ajax,” you purr, “what do you want from me?”

He parts his legs for you, revealing the straining bulge against tight fabric that pulsates as you reach for it. “Touch me.”

The length of his cock bobs as you pull it from his pants, only semi-hard but quickly firming under your hand. You press your lips to the tip gently, smugly observing the sharp intake of breath that draws his chest tighter, before taking him into your mouth. 

His hands find the back of your head, pressing you closer. Despite you initiating this entire ordeal, approaching Ajax like a hunter with prey in their sight, it feels instead as though you’re the one being devoured in this haze of passion. You can feel the way his cock twitches in your mouth, pushing against the back of your throat as you continue to coax him to release for you.

But before you can succeed, he’s gently pushing your head back, removing your lips from around him with a wet pop. 

All you get in explanation is a simple, “need you, please.”

Teeth sink into your collarbone, eliciting a gasp from you as Ajax pulls you towards him. You can feel him throb against your stomach as you sit on his thighs, as desperate for this as you are. 

"You'll regret this," he warns. His words are hollow, no more than a nicety as he chases frantic kisses along your jawline. 

You smile sweetly, letting his lips meet yours just once before you pull back. 

"I know."

Your name slips from his mouth with a whine as you lift up and settle onto his cock. He’s no bigger than you’ve taken before, but the feeling of him stretching you out numbs your mind in such a satisfying way. 

It's a deliberately agonizing process, purposefully slow so you can watch that blissed-out glaze in his eyes as he throws his head back. His cheeks are flushed scarlet, dark enough to drown out those pretty little freckles that dust his skin. He exhales, so very patient under the torture you must be inflicting. 

And then Ajax has had enough of your teasing. 

He grips your thighs harder, as if trying to pry flesh from bone, and holds you down so you can feel the full extent of him within you. As you adjust to the sudden fullness, he occupies himself by eagerly lathing his tongue along your neck. 

Most days, you spew vitriol at this man every chance you can get. But tonight, as his hips start to thrust and his fingers cut impossibly deeper into your skin, coaxing your body up and down to meet each movement, you serenade him with a glorious symphony. 

"Fuck,” he says, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“If it were that easy to kill you,” you huff, “I’d have fucked you years ago.”

He grins, eyes practically glowing as he reaches up to meet your lips, murmuring against them, “if only.”

Gone is the Ajax who seemed shellshocked by your boldness, replaced instead by a man taking full advantage of the situation you’ve put him in. He fucks into you like a man possessed, as though he’ll tear you both apart and recreate you together in a new, better image. Your hands clasp his shoulders, nails pressing crimson crescents against scarred skin. 

Briefly, you wonder if you could map out the marks you’ve made on him throughout the years. There’s a scar across his thigh, at least there must be. You know that dagger went deep enough to mar him. A few stray bullet scrapes litter his shoulders. Some larger, jagged cuts criss-cross down his thick arms. 

You’ve the imperfections to match, of course- a twin wound along your throats from the time you’d had knives against one another, the first time you looked into his eyes and wondered what it would be like to kiss that infuriating grin off his lips. 

Perhaps part of the reason you’ve been so drawn to him all this time is that you know what it’s like to have blood on your hands and that bittersweet taste on your tongue. There are rarely people around long enough in your line of work to feel that connection, to viscerally understand the inner workings of a similar mind. 

And now, as he cries your name like it’s a siren’s call, his lips find yours and you kiss him like your very life depends on it. You bring your hands up to his jaw, cup his cheeks tenderly and fuck him until he reaches a breaking point. 

The release of pressure, the cataclysmic wave that washes over him as he comes, brings you to your own peak as he rides out his orgasm beneath you. Though his thrusts turn lethargic, he remains steadfast until you’re clenching around him, tight enough to coax another desperate whine from his lips. 

In the heady rush of post-climax, Ajax rests his forehead against yours. 

It’s a gentle intimacy compared to everything else you had just done, compared to the cock softening inside you and the cum dripping down your thighs onto his lap. His grip on you finally falters, turns into lazy arms circling your waist to keep you close. 

“Was I right?” he whispers, wavering voice more vulnerable than the carnal acts you’ve just shared in. “Do you regret it?”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” you hum in thought, “but perhaps I can stay the night and give you my answer in the morning.”

Ajax laughs, bumping his nose against yours playfully. “I’d like that.”

“Okay then,” you say. “I will.”

[cvbullshit]

On the topic of my version of the Personality AU(not set name)

Here's how I would envision the roles of Classic's alters/personalities

Science: He's the embodiment of Sans's younger self, he was always there just never became a separate personality until Classic changed and stopped caring, he'd be considered the youngest personality even though he was technically the first personality

Swap: He would embody Classic's self conscious thoughts in a sense, he'd come from the idea Classic had about being more like Papyrus, since Papyrus is cooler and gets stuff done, Papyrus isn't lazy, Papyrus is admirable. Even if Sans tucks those thoughts away, they still came back when Swap happened.

Fell: He would embody Sans's frustration, anger, the want to be tougher for one reason or another. Sans probably holds back a lot of his anger and so that shows in Fell. All the things Sans holds back in saying? Fell says them. All the moments Sans is thought of as weak(even to himself)? Fell would prove everyone wrong.

Dust and Geno: I view them as sort of being twin-coded in this(rip my MassMurder heart). They are both formed from a need to not have so many resets, specifically genocide ones or ones that involve killing Papyrus at all. They're both willing to take drastic measures but both have a different level of calmness and reasoning, along with their personalities being different enough. They would've appeared at the same time, most likely from Sans's conflicting thoughts on how to handle the situation.

Horror: He would be considered the one who is willing to make sacrifices, pretty spiteful and rough he is. He may not be on the level as the twins but he is willing to make some risky decisions to ensure his and Papyrus's survival. He is pretty apathetic to most others apart from Papyrus. He is willing to do lots of things if deemed necessary. He will be a bit of a foodie in this, not always eating, but you'd be able to calm him down if you can get him some good food. Unlike normal Horror, he'd be starved of empathy, starved of social interaction, not physically starving.

Anxiety: He would be.. The embodiment of Sans's anxiety of course. I don't have much on him as what gave him anxiety in his original AU is unclear sort of, but from what I believe, in this he also hates not being in control, not of the body, just of his own choices.

Cross: He is definitely the protector, he is the need to actually do something, step in, possibly be a hero, he also heavily hates not being in control but it does extend to Sans's body and choices as well, he wants to be the front lead a lot, help a lot of people, be there for everyone even if he can't be there for himself. He would have trust issues in a way though, possibly being one of the ones who views some stuff as useless to even try to do but he tries to hide that behind his mini hero complex.

Killer: He would technically be considered the antagonist of the AU(or secondary(?) antagonist during genocide). He is the one who wants to see, feel, hear, taste something new compared to what they have. He wants to change something so there is no repeating, even if it means killing everyone. He has little to no apathy and is extremely spiteful. He's Sans's intrusive thoughts. He hates not being in control of the body, it makes him very frustrated. He doesn't do what he does out of care, he does it for his amusement, all just for whatever he felt like in that moment. He is Sans's selfishness. "I'm the only one here for cares for myself, does it matter what we do to others?"

[squipedmew]

Behold, the updated team OMEN lineup! (click for better quality)

I ended up revamping the designs pretty much completely because, if I'm being honest, I feel like the originals were too boring, especially for the world of RWBY, not to mention my character design skills have improved a lot since I first designed them.

I'm super happy with how all of these have turned out, and I think they're finally starting to look like a semi-cohesive unit (as much as these dysfunctional dorks can anyways)

individual designs/design notes under the cut!

Oscar's obviously undergone the most change in this AU, so it makes sense for his outfit to be the most radically different. However, I still wanted you to be able to tell this was still Oscar, if that makes any sense. As such, I wanted to incorporate some elements of his other outfits into this one.

I leaned WAY more into the steampunky vibes with this design, and I ended up using the shade of red that's on his Atlas jacket.

Since he tends to associate green with Ozpin (he barely had any green on his v4 design, and only started wearing it after he started coming to terms with the merge) I wanted to incorporate the autumn colors of his v4 design in. Lots of dark reds and browns, though with a much more muted color palate than before.

He's still got that pop of green w/ the patch on his leg tho

The goggles are to hide when the grimm starts to show in his eyes.

The gear pin is actually a gear he took from Long Memory as a memento!

The bag on the back of his belt is for carrying Dust rounds.

He tends to have most of his body covered, as to hide the scars he got from the grimm and his time with Salem

The whole team have their emblems slashed for symbolic reasons (and also b/c merc thought it looked cool.) his is on the back of his jacket!

Mercury is arguably the character who's design went through the biggest changes over the years. Truth be told, I had a lot of trouble designing him when I first started, considering his Vale outfit was so bland and didn't give me much to work off of. Thankfully, V8 picked up the slack and gave me a better idea of what to go for.

I designed him to invoke a sort of beat up vigilante kind of feel - someone who's roughing it most of the time, and doesn't really have the time to care about appearances.

His coat is SUPER torn up due to his fighting style, being incredibly close quarters. The rips on the bottom are unintentional, but I imagine that when they got to Vacuo, he just cut the sleeves off it himself.

I wanted to turn the saturation of his colors WAY UP, not only because it looks more interesting this way, but because it's also indicative of the headspace he's in by the time he gets this outfit, which is to say, a lot brighter.

I also wanted to make his face a LITTLE bit more distinct, so I gave him an eyebrow slit and a mole on his cheek, along with a lot of scars from all the fighting he’s done over the years. I imagine Neo helped him with the eyebrow.

The jacket actually has ice Dust woven on the inside, to keep him cool. Nevertheless, he loves to fling it off dramatically during battle, Edward Elric style.

Emerald gifted him the dog tag - it was one of the first pieces of jewelry she ever made.

His emblem is on the back of his coat - he wanted it to stand out from everyone else's, so he slashed it twice.

And on the other hand, Emerald's design is probably the one that's changed the least. I kinda struck gold with the mark 2 outfit, so I didn’t really feel the need to deviate all that much.

I wanted her design to be one that gives the impression of mobility - light, simple enough, with lots of arm and leg room to maneuver around (and yes I know the heels aren't practical for that, let me have this)

I changed the black color to have a hood on her top instead because I thought it fit the character better. Em is a thief after all - hoods are good for stealth.

The biggest change is, of course, the undercut. Out of everyone in the group, Emerald's the most accustomed to the heat, so she'd probably cut it a bit to keep her head a bit cooler.

All the bracelets and earings she's wearing are handmade, probably out of scrap metal she’s found while on the streets. I imagine that Emerald is pretty crafty, and likes making stuff like this in her spare time.

The red accents in her previous outfits were there to match with Cinder (who, noticeably never had any green accents in return) As such, this design lacks any red accents, as she's trying to move on from that toxic relationship.

Her pockets are actually pretty deep, and hold things like bandages and emergency mini smoke grenades.

Her emblem is also on the back of her jacket, matching Oscar's.

And finally, best girl Neo. TBH, I VASTLY prefer her Vale design to her Atlas ones (it's my fave in the whole show) so I drew more from that than the other one.

I was kinda trying to go for a magician's assistant vibe with this outfit, with the bowtie and gloves and all that.

Neo's not very experienced with the heat, being Atlesian, so she didn't really dress properly. As such, she ended up putting her hair in a ponytail.

A fun idea I got right away were slits in her sleeves and pants, but then I one-upped myself, and thought; what if they were lace?

The original design had way too much black and not enough brown, so I tried to incorporate more of that into this design, since, y'know - Neapolitan ice cream and all that.

She's changed the band of her hat to be a more reddish shade, in remembrance of Torchwick, and she's also swapped out the feather to match the rest of her outfit.

And yes, she swapped the sides of her hair each color was on to see if anyone would notice. (No one has said anything yet.)

Her emblem is a pin on the side of her hat. Neo didn't strike me as the type of character to wear an emblem, but I still wanted to incorporate it, so I figured something subtle like a pin would work.

[kiyothequotequeen]

Playing Dangerous (Smoker x Reader)

This is originally from my Wattpad but that's pretty dead so here we go! (more parts coming in the future)

(Modern au also Smokers name in this will be Smoker[first] White[middle] Chase[last])

I sit outside in my nightgown holding a rescue blanket in my lap as I stare to the side where my house still manages to stand. The light from my house has attracted almost anyone in the neighborhood with all of them talking about if everyone's safe and all that. I see firemen all around trying to put the fire out and around 4 or 5 police cars with one or two ambulances and a firetruck just sitting there while firefighters make sure there's no one left in my home. "Ma'am? Can you come with me please?" I look up, startled by the deep voice, and when I do my face is immediately dusted with a light blush that can't be seen in the lighting of the fire. I stand up slowly, letting go of the rescue blanket as I nod and begin to follow this police officer. I notice he has slicked back yet messy white hair and a harsh look on his face. His muscles are insanely visible through his shirt which makes me wonder if his precinct even allows that or if he just doesn't care. When he stops walking I almost bump into him since it was so sudden. I look over and realize he's brought me to a police car. He starts asking me questions related to the fire and after a few he asks if I started the fire. I stare at him a bit shocked he could even ask me something like that but I gain my composure quickly. "No, I would never do a thing like that." I look down at the ground and when I do, I realize I'm still in my night gown which is a little burnt on the hem but not too bad. It's a nightgown cut to my mid thigh with a deep v cut neck and thin straps holding it all together. I blush a little bit and look back up at the officer seeing him right stuff down like he's been doing this whole time. I bring my hand up to my face and begin to bite my nail.

"Are you okay?" My e/c iris' meet his hazel ones as i stop biting my nail and stare for a moment before answering. "Well, I'm a little shaken, but I'm fine, thanks for asking." I cross my arms shaking from the cold. "I wish I hadn't gotten rid of the rescue blanket though." I chuckle lightly as I continue to shake. He seems to be thinking for a moment before speaking. "I could go back and get it... though they've probably already taken it if you're not there anymore." He stares at me with his tough look and I swear for a second i saw him look me up and down. "Would you like to sit in my car?" He seemed fine with asking that, if anything, like he would've told me to get in anyway but he demeanor seemed nervous. I stand shaking for a moment before nodding my head quickly. "Yeah, that would be nice." 

When he opens the door he holds out his hand and I stare for a moment, confused, before taking it as he gently leads me to the door before letting go. In the few seconds our hands were touching, I could feel how course and rough his hands felt compared to my smaller ones. If my house weren't currently on fire I'd totally be hitting on this guy but it's kinda hard to focus on that when you can feel the heat from 3 houses away. I stare at my burning house again and this time the firefighters are finally spraying hoses at it. I shift my gaze a bit and see the police officer standing by the car next to my legs with his arm resting on the roof of the car as he also stares at my house. "What are your plans for shelter?" He turns his head towards me as I think. "Well I didn't really expect my house to burn down so I don't have a plan yet. Or a phone, dammit." I finally realize I left my phone in the house so now I have no way to call someone. 

"Here." I look up to see him handing me his phone ready to dial a number. "Thank you," I mumble out as I take the phone from his hand and think of who to call in this situation. Soon I start dialing a number and when I call I pray the other person is awake. I wait and wait and wait awkwardly as I wait for someone to answer the phone until on the last ring I hear someone pick up. "Um hi mom," I'm a little annoyed she took so long to answer but it's probably not her fault.

"Oh hi sweetie! I was just getting ready to go to bed. What's up?" I nod my head as she talks and feel a little bad I called her right as she was getting ready to sleep."

"I'm sorry mom, but I'm calling because my house like kind of burned down..." I look down at my hand on my lap as I speak.

"Oh my God! Are you okay? What happened?"

"Ye- Yes mom, I'm fine, I got out in time and so did Poseidon, I'm just not sure where he is..."

"I'm not worried about your cat honey. Do you need me to come get you?" For some reason I start to choke up as my eyes become glossy and I continue to stare down.

"Please come get me mom, I don't have anywhere to stay," I choke out as tears begin to fall down my face and I cover my face with the back of my hand.

"Okay sweetie I'm heading out the door right now, I'll be there soon!" I nod and hang up and hand the officer his phone back as I continue to look down and cry quietly. He takes his phone while staying quiet.

All I can think about after that phone call is how my home is really gone. I'd lived in that house for a few years and it was the first house I paid for all on my own. I raised and fostered cats in that house and I had my own which I don't even know where he is right now. Photos of cherished memories and all my furniture and all my decorations gone. I hope somethings still salvageable by the time I come back. I sit there and wipe my face as I stand up abruptly, startling the officer. I stare at him for a moment before looking down at his badge and then back up at his face. "My mom will be here to pick me up soon so I'm going to look for my cat before she gets here. Thank you for everything officer..." I cut myself off realizing I never learned his name so I wait for him to finish my sentence with it. "Officer Chase." I smile up at him before nodding and getting a nod back before walking off to God knows where. I just started calling for my cat hoping he'd come back to me eventually. "Poseidon..." I called out one last time before I stopped walking and just stood there. I began to tear up thinking I may not find my cat tonight or maybe even ever again. I turned around and saw a small light from far off. "Tch, they still haven't put out the fire..." I turned back around and when I did I covered my eyes by the bright car lights passing by before the car halted. Mom. She always had her brights on no matter how many times I told her to turn them off. 

She ran out of the car and up to me on the sidewalk and she grabbed my hands before I could even say anything. "Y/N are you okay? You sure you're not hurt?" She's always so worried about me and I grew up to appreciate her concern unlike when I was young. I nodded my head and took my hands out of hers and wrapped my arms around her, embracing her in a tight yet comforting hug. I let a few tears fall as I hugged her and she wrapped her arms around me just as quick. We stood there for a moment before a car honked behind my moms and we realized we should get in so we don't cause traffic in a neighborhood. We waved at the other car, apologizing before quickly getting in and driving off. 

"Thank you for picking me up mom," my voice was quiet, barely above a whisper as I started out the window. She placed one of her hands on mine and squeezed it lightly before speaking. "Anytime sweetheart. I'm so sorry this happened to you." 

"It's not your fault. I just wanna lay down and sleep." I sighed out and leaned my head on the window as she took her hand off of mine after giving it another squeeze and said 'I know' and turned the radio on. 

I continued to stare out the window almost dozing off while thinking about my house, my cat, and for some odd reason, the officer I met that day. I couldn't seem to shake him from my mind for too long. 

Officer Chase...

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OH MY GOD THIS SINGLE CHAPTER TOOK LIKE 2 MONTHS TO WRITE HELPPPPP. Anyways so glad it's done I hope you enjoy it cause I wanna make more chapters and if you guys interact with this story it would really help motivate me more to help write quicker so this doesn't take another 2 months 🥲 Anyways if y'all have any feedback or something you maybe wanna see happen in the story please feel free to let me know I'd love to write something y'all will read! :3