#from reading random runs before school starts again…. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nezuscribe · 7 months ago

Text

𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

part two of after all this time

summary: you try to make sense of everything after that night with gojo satoru, the slytherin prince, but as much as you try to run away from it, it seems to follow you more. but he has to hate you for it, right? that could be the only explanation for why he seeks you out...right?

warnings: 18+ mdni all characters are 18, gojo slight angst, messy makeout, gojo eating pussy like his life depended on it, fingering, unprotected sex, penetrative sex

word count: 12k

note: yay! part two is done! please comment and reblog, it's really appreciated. thank you @jadeisthirsting for beta reading! <3

slytherin!gojo masterlist + jjk masterlist

If there was one thing you grew to understand about Hogwarts, it was that the castle was entirely unpredictable.

From the moving staircases, the random ghosts that would appear out of nowhere, to the disappearing portraits that sometimes only reappeared to listen in on student gossip, you knew you had to expect the unexpected when it came to ancient school.

But never in your wildest imagination would you have thought that you would’ve kissed Gojo Satoru.

You couldn’t even pretend that it didn’t happen, despite the fact you wanted so desperately to obliviate your mind and move along with your life.

You could still feel his lips on yours, even days after it happened. You could feel his hands on your body, the way he held you to him, the way he kissed down your neck. You could still hear the way he said your name, breathless, almost desperate.

“Fuck,” he had whispered, heavy on your lips as he dipped down again to kiss down your chin tilting your head up to expose the column of your neck, “Fuck,” he said once more, diving down as he sucks and bites at your skin, his movements growing faster and more erratic once he hears the soft and sweet mewls that escape your swollen lips.

You tried to blink it away.

“Satoru,” he had said against your skin, “Not Gojo. Not you.”

Not you.

That Saturday and Sunday you refused to move from your bed, huddled under blankets as the other girls in your dorm came and went. You could hear the loud party they held after yet another win at the quidditch game, so you just cast a silencio charm around your room, feeling your mattress create a permanent dent in the fetal position you were lying in.

One of the kinder girls of your dormitory, Celeste, crouched down to where your head peeked out from your swarm of blankets, her brown brows furrowed together with worry, but you promised her it was just a stomach flu, nothing to worry about, and told her to go enjoy the party.

That next Monday morning you made sure to go to the transfiguration classroom, glad to find that skipping breakfast helped to see that nobody except for Professor McGonagall seemed to be in the room, of course, aside from that little snowy owl perched atop her desk, its wide eyes blinking slowly at you as you walked in.

You remember how Professor McGonagall looked up briefly, annoyed that a student was here before classes even started, but she did a double take when she noticed it was you, welcoming you by saying your last name with a little bit of surprise.

“How may I help you?” Her eyes looked at you over her glasses, her hands lay flat on her desk, next to the quill she was just using.

“Professor, I have a request to ask of you.”

A part of you was glad that you were such a good student, one who never asked for much and gave everything you had towards the work you did, especially for her class. McGonagall’s thin bow raised slightly, her lips pursing together as you motioned for you to continue. You swallowed thickly, pulling out the thick pieces of parchment tied together, your contribution to her essay, as you laid it down on her table.

“I would like to change my partners…if possible,” your voice was shaking, “I have my work all done here,” quickly going to show her the work that you had done, but her hand outstretched, her slender finger grasping yours as you halted your movements.

When you looked at her face, the only emotion you could trace, which was one you had never seen on the older woman, was genuine concern.

“Has Satoru done…something” She tried to find the right words, but you insistently shook your head, trying to act as if nothing was wrong aside from you.

“No, no,” you sputter out, “It’s me. He’s done nothing wrong. I just,” you sigh, trying to calm down your heart, noting that the large clock outside had struck three times and that her first-year students would be filing in any minutes, “Please, I’d do the rest of the essay alone if necessary.” You know that you were pleading with her at this point, but you couldn’t care.

McGonagall looked you over once, noting the bags under your eyes, the way you actively looked like you hadn’t slept in days, and thought for a long second before she nodded, waving you along as other students started to come in.

“I’ll take care of it,” she said, a promise, and you thanked her extensively, bidding her goodbye as you ran across school to make sure you didn’t miss Lupin’s riveting defense against the dark arts lesson about warding off vampires.

And she stuck to her word.

That day you sat in your usual seat, in the back, but instead of Gojo sitting next to you was a disgruntled Charlie Reeve, his arms crossed like a petulant child, depressed to be split up with his friend despite not having any work done.

You saw his flash of white hair, stopping in confusion when he saw the Gryffindor in his seat, your eyes locking briefly as his nose flared.

“Oh, Mister Gojo, I had to rearrange some partners,” Professor McGonagall called out, motioning him to come sit up front with Benny Thompson, “Some people thought it’d be better to leave this essay until it was absolutely necessary.” She cast the two Gryffindor boys a knowing look, not necessarily a lie, and deep inside you felt grateful that she was able to find something believable.

And so, with all of your tedious efforts to make sure that you never bumped into Gojo Satoru, you went weeks without really seeing him.

Of course, it was difficult, increasingly so as it seemed that he was everywhere you went. When you went to the library, he was there, at your usual table, either reading or working on homework, which meant that you had to weasel your way into the astronomy tower to do your work.

And then he began to go to the astronomy tower, you’d see him looking over the ledge, his hair flickering in the wind, his back thankfully to the stairs as you quietly made your way down, running away to find somewhere else.

Sometimes when you were lying in bed, trying to go to sleep, unwillingly, your mind traveled back to that night. And it seemed like all your hard work was in vain because despite trying to act as if he didn’t exist, he was something that you could never forget.

Gojo acted indifferent, however, which both helped and stung a bit. Helped because you were glad he went back to forgetting that you existed, and though you wanted him to act as if he maybe had feelings for you, you knew he never would, and so you blended back into the background

But despite it all, you found that somehow October bled into the unforgiving winds of November, which slowly turned into the winter of December.

Your classes were wrapping up, and teachers no longer cared much seeing that they too were looking forward to the long-awaited and deserved break.

You found that with the workload that was slowly dying down (for you at least, seeing how you had finished up most of your exams, and all the essays and projects the professors had assigned to you months in advance were done, unlike some people who believed in the power of magic enough to leave it to the last week), you visited Hogsmeade more. It offered you some solace to take your mind off of everything.

The snow was beginning to set both on the ground and on top of all the roofs and signs, making the small village look like a wonderland you’d see inside a snow globe. A part of you couldn’t stop the happy smile that made it on your face as you walked through the cobblestone streets, looking inside every shop as if you had the money to spend.

On one of the Saturdays, you were able to give yourself a rest from the work you had to finish before the break started. You bundled up, a silver and green scarf wrapped around your neck, your old mittens (passed down from your mother, of course), and your thickest knitted sweater, went out for Hogsmade.

Hogsmeade is usually busy during December, which you like, pretending that you were somewhere far away, perhaps a little village in France, as you gently make your way around the eager students ready to buy things for their families for the holidays.

After a couple of years of visiting this place, you’ve picked up some key knowledge. Never go to Honeydukes before seven, otherwise, it’s entirely ransacked and they sometimes stock up on Saturdays at half past seven. Zonko’s is only good once in a while, otherwise, it’s too overwhelming, and Gladrags Wizardwear had something marked off if they went unnoticed for too long.

And, perhaps the best part of your visits to Hogsmeade, you had a pass from McGonagall, which let you stay an extra two hours. While most students made their way back before their ten o’clock curfew at night, you were able to get special permission from Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape to stay till midnight.

You told them that you didn’t do anything crazy and that the only reason why you longed to stay out late was really only for Saturdays because the three broomsticks sometimes brought in the wizarding jazz society, a group of witches and wizards who played live on their respective instruments. It was your favorite part of Hogsmeade, and after some negotiation, you were allowed out after ten.

But before then, you spent your time in the other shops, browsing for nothing in particular.

You found yourself admiring some of the intricately made quills outside a window that was on display. Surely expensive, but you simply looked at them, your face almost pressing up against the chilly glass to get a closer look.

There was a group of friends a couple of feet away from you, and you could hear the giggling now and then about something, but you didn’t think it’d be best if you looked over to see what was going on, mind your own business.

You walked along, moving to the next shop window when you noticed that the giggling almost seemed to be following you.

You felt yourself peeking over briefly, somehow not being shocked that it was some of the seventh-year Slytherins, the kids you had grown up with, looking over at you, the girls pointing to something near you as they laughed behind their hands.

Tough skin, you reminded yourself, trying to ignore it as you tried to look at the new cauldrons. At least, you would’ve distracted yourself had you not heard a loud, almost animated rip.

You look down, but not quickly enough to see your bag tear open, some of your knuts fell out, along with your chapstick, your tissues, and some other miscellaneous things.

It didn’t take a genius to glance over at the girls, to see one of them with their wands out as one of the other girls cackles, and while you were used to their antics, it didn’t hurt any less.

You bent down, going on your knees, trying to find some of the things that had disappeared in the snow. One of the girls, Avery McKenna, who talked loud seemed to talk even louder, as if wanting to get your attention.

“Satoru! Satoru, look!” She spoke in a whisper which was louder than your normal speaking voice, and you looked from your lashes at the mention of his name.

And you saw him as one of the other girls shuffled around, tugging at his coat sleeves to direct his attention away from whatever shop window he was looking into as she pointed a finger at you on the ground. You quickly looked back down before you made eye contact with him, your fingers growing cold from the bite of the snow.

You didn’t want to know what he looked like, what sort of smile would take over his face at the sight of you looking like this. You pick up your bag, putting it under your arms so that it won’t grow wet from the snow, inspecting the gash with a heavy heart, realizing that there’s no way to mend it. It looks like a wolf had slashed its claws through the fabric, something that no needle and thread, or even a reparo charm could fix.

You shove the coins in your pockets, holding the rest in your gloved hands as you stand up, cheeks heating up in embarrassment as you feel their stares on you, the snow seeping in through your pants, causing you to shiver as you try to find a place you could into to get this sorted.

Thankfully, The Three Broomsticks was just up ahead, and so you tried to mute out all the people behind you as you turned your back, walking up the street as you heard the snow crunch under your shoes, sniffing from the cold as you walked into the familiar pub.

—-

The Three Broomsticks was a Hogsmeade staple.

Inside the pub was a roomy place, a fire always lit in the corner, the flames crackling almost all the shouts and yells and drunk laughter. Up on the stone walls were photographs of famous witches and wizards who had visited the pub, paintings of people long past that used to frequent it, and family members of those who owned it. It smelled of ale and peppermint, the atmosphere warm and welcoming, something that you always enjoyed.

It was usually full, so you count yourself lucky to find a little empty booth near the back.

You got some water seeing how the last knut you needed to buy a butterbeer got lost somewhere in all the snow, and laid out all of your things on the table, including your mauled-up bag.

You wipe at your eyes, careful that nobody sees the stray tears, and allow yourself to sit against the wooden booth, shutting your eyes for a second.

You count to ten, allow yourself to calm your breathing down, and crack your neck, moving it around to your left and right side. The sun was nearly starting to set and it was already five, so it was going to be a bit before their usual jazz band came. Although you’d been looking forward to it since last week, at this point you just wanted to go back, have some soup, and then sleep.

When you open your eyes you find yourself staring at the ceiling, breathing deeply through your nose as you look back down, a surprised gasp escaping your lips to find somebody sitting in front of you.

“I-” Gojo starts but you’ve already started collecting all of your things off the table, your heartbeat skyrocketing as you shove whatever you can in your pockets, sitting up as you try to leave.

But he’s fast, sitting up from his seat, blocking you with his tall body as you feel your heart in your throat, pounding away rapidly as you try to look away from him.

He’s here, he’s here, he’s here.

His hand is holding your elbow, he’s holding you, and he seems desperate, his eyes searching yours, begging you to just listen to him.

Why is he here? Why is he holding you?

“Can we talk?” His white brows are furrowed, his lips parted as his thumb rubs up and down on your skin, “Please?”

What does he want?

You’re looking at him, really looking at him for the first time in months, and despite not seeing him face to face for a while, you can still notice the little changes. There are bags under his eyes, he seems worn down. His eyes, the ones that you often dreamed about, were swirling with unspoken emotions. His lips looked like they were chewed raw, much like yours.

But he still looks like he did that one night in October, the way he spoke your name as if it were the only thing he could say, his hair tousled by the December winds, and his cheeks flushed a rosy pink.

“I n-need to…” you swallow thickly, your mouth running dry as your eyes dart around to not look at him, “I need to go.”

But you don’t, and he knows that you don’t.

“Your water…miss,” the waitress suddenly comes around with your mug full to the brim with water, looking curiously at you and Gojo as she sets it down on the table, giving you a small smile as she walks away.

“Please,” he says one more time, and his voice is heavy, piercing through your chest and into your mind, working like a devil’s snare as it wraps itself around you until you are entrapped by everything that is him.

You look at the door of the pub, noting that none of his friends are either there or outside, and you look at him once more.

You lick at your gnawed lips, letting out a defeated sigh as you give him a single nod, watching as his face breaks into a smile, his shoulders sagging from the release of tension as he helps you back into your seat and climbs into his own, across from you, and you set all your stuff back on the table.

His eyes follow your movements, look at your bag and the contents that used to be in it and he whips out his wand, going to cast a spell before you cut him off.

“Reparo didn’t work,” you mutter, fidgeting with your fingers as you awkwardly sink into your seat, watching him intently as if he had been a painting you’d been studying that suddenly came to life.

His eyes flicker to yours and he puts his wand away sheepishly.

“I didn’t know that they were going to do that,” he finally says, breaking the silence.

You nod curtly, looking at your hands resting in your lap as you try to think of what to say. Of which emotion you should call upon to do the talking for you, which thing you had been itching to say to him ever since that night.

“It’s nothing they haven’t before,” you finally say, looking up at him with a sad smile, watching as his chest rattles with an inhale. His fingers are interlocked with each other as they rest on the table, his green sweater resting snuggly on his muscular frame as he leans in, as if he were scared you were going to disappear.

He goes to open his mouth to speak, but you cut him off again.

“Why do you care?”

His mouth shuts, his blue eyes shimmering brightly in the light of the fireplace. He doesn’t seem angry or annoyed, just shocked.

“What?”

You breathe roughly out your nose, looking away briefly as you click your tongue against your teeth, your fingers gliding across the mug, the little water droplets that slid onto the table creating a ring around the cup. You twist and turn it around by the handle, deep in thought.

“Why do you care so much? Why do you care about what happens to me?” You press, your head tilting to the side. You try to look fierce, trying to channel the anger, the pain, the hurt that you’ve been feeling not only since October but since you first stepped foot through that castle.

His lips parted as if he were going to say something, but his head dipped, his fingers playing with that gold ring on his finger, the one of his family crest.

“I…” Gojo can’t seem to finish, can’t seem to find the words. But that’s fine because you’re finding them for him.

“I’ll find a new purse and I’ll move along with my day because I’m used to this Gojo,” your voice is slowly growing, “I’m used to your friends, to you and your pureblood hierarchy. So stop acting like you’re this hero that should get rewarded with whatever it is you want from me by talking to me o-or pitying me,” you ramble, your voice dripping with venom, your eyes stinging as you try to control yourself, “Just please stop acting like you care.”

He doesn’t say anything, his lips pressed together tightly, his jaw ticking. His eyes reflect a storming sea right now, one a sailor would never return from.

“That night, when you kissed me,” your voice was loud enough to be a whisper, but he hears you, his breathing hitching as he most likely thinks back to that night, “Were you able to cross off another check mark on your list? Did you finally fulfill all the crazy things you wanted to accomplish?”

“Stop,” he seethes out through clenched teeth, his eyes daring you to continue.

You’re glad that the pub is so busy and so loud to cover the two of you.

“Did I taste different than the pureblood girls? Than Alicent? Than Eliana?” You pushing him, pushing at his buttons because this has to be it, this has to be when he finally tells you that you were some bet that he made with his friends, that kissing you was worth some extra galleons to fill his pockets as he came back gallivanting to the other Slytherin purebloods.

His eye twitches, his breathing heavy as he murmurs another stop but you just shake your head, hoping that he doesn’t see the gloss covering your eyes, the way your lips are trembling thinking of all the possibilities.

“You’re mean, Gojo,” the words fall from your lips, heavy, pointed straight at him, and you can feel a tear drop down your chin, splattering on the table, right next to all the water droplets from your mug, “A-and you don’t even realize it. Or maybe you do, I don’t know,” you shrug, “Those weeks when we were working on that essay I sent an owl to my mum and she sent one back saying how happy she was that I finally had a friend.”

There’s a beat of silence.

You can’t stand to look at his face.

You helplessly wipe at your cheeks, looking away as you heaved in a shaky breath, nodding confidently for your own sake as you stood up.

“I need to go,” you mutter, your water sat untouched as you made your way around the people standing and talking, made your way out the door, and let your tears loose.

—

The break couldn’t come by any faster.

You occupied your time and mind by doing everything possible.

You found a broom closet that was big and comfortable enough for you to do your work, and most days you found yourself there. You ate your meals alone, as always, and made sure that wherever Gojo was, you weren’t.

One of the only things you could look forward to was when the holidays came and when everybody left. It meant that only a handful of Slytherin’s stayed and that meant that you could finally have some moments of quiet to yourself.

Hogwarts was a different kind of magical during Christmas time, and you tried to take time to appreciate the dozen trees, the floating candles that had red ribbons tied around them, the little snow clouds that sometimes followed you around, and the mistletoes that some of the fifth years thought would be funny to hang up around the castle.

And when the breaks finally came around, you watched as people bid each other farewell, their bags packed sufficiently enough for the two-week break as they made their way out of the school and to the train, waving at each other until they departed.

You watched from the stairs, knowing that you too could go home, but seeing that your mom picked up more shifts around the holidays, you’d just be spending these two weeks alone rather than surrounded by strangers, which you still preferred.

The professors seemed to be in a better mood around this time as well, and it helped with distracting you from all the other thousand thoughts that were running through your mind.

The Slytherin common room was always empty around this time of year. Seeing that most of the kids went to their families, it gave you some time to actually enjoy the amenities you usually miss out on during other times of the year.

The room itself was decorated with a large Christmas tree near the large, arching window that looked out into the black lake, and stockings on the fireplace of those students that were staying.

Despite Slytherin and their hatred for the color red, the room was a nice mix between the two clashing colors.

After dinner, on the first night with everyone gone, you made your way down to the dungeons, muttering out the password as the large doors swept open, allowing you inside.

Your first thought was to sit in front of the fireplace on one of the couches and catch up on reading, but seeing that there was almost nobody here you decided to go change into something more comfortable.

Making your way up the stairs that led to the girl's dormitories you noted that most of those who were staying were relays from years before, some fourth and sixth years, a couple of first years, and rounded the corner that led to your room.

Well, that would’ve led to your room had it not been blocked.

“Sorry!” You cry out in surprise, a little shocked, and then your shock melts away as you feel like banging your head against the stone wall when you see that it is none other than Gojo.

“I need to tell you someth-”

“The train left!” You cry out, feeling like dragging him out by his hair.

“I’m aware-”

“Then why aren’t you on it?” You push past him as you go to open your door, feeling him right behind you.

You’re glad that all of your other roommates are gone because Gojo doesn’t seem to be giving it much thought as he comes in as well.

Your arms are crossed as you look around, looking for something, anything, that you could use to ward him away. He’s standing awkwardly at the doorway, wringing his fingers in a way that he never does.

He’s wearing a loose sweater, gray in color, and it seems to make his eyes even more striking. There are still bags under his eyes, but his face seems a little more flushed as if he was slowly coming back from the dead. His white hair is tousled, and you note that he hasn’t styled it in a while.

“I’ve been thinking ever since the three broomsticks,” he’s talking and you’re pacing around the room, trying to act like you don’t care that he’s here, “And I have some things I need to tell you.”

You’re rummaging around in one of your cupboards, but he knows what you’re doing, and he steps a little closer to you, shutting the door behind him as you glance up at him briefly, raising a brow.

He swallows, running a hand through his white strands as you turn your back to him, looking through your jewelry box as you begin to take off your earrings.

“I saw you, this summer.”

You stop.

Gojo continues.

“My parents had some ministry work to do, and we went to the city. I was walking around one day, trying to figure out where I was supposed to go when I saw you,” Gojo sounded nearer, his voice more desperate, “I saw you through a window. You were working… I think. You had this apron on and you were walking around this little restaurant.”

You swear you could hear your heartbeat.

“And you were smiling at something this guy said, and you just looked so…happy,” he pauses, “And pretty…you looked so pretty and I didn’t know what to do because I’ve never felt this strange feeling in my chest where…”

Where everything just stops, then starts moving in tandem as if there had been a loose screw the entire time until now.

“And I think I’ve always felt this way, you know?” He’s not stopping, and you’re scared that if you look at him you’re going to believe him, believe that he’s telling the truth and that this isn’t some sort of dream you’re forcing yourself to see, “In our fifth year, when you were telling the class about your happiest memory, you had this smile on your face. Or last year, when we were in potions and Nanami said a joke, you’d laugh and I just felt so…lost.”

He’s lying.

“N-no, no, you’re lying,” you croak out, moving past him as you keep your head down, going over to your bed as you sit at the end of it, needing something to sit down on because otherwise you’d collapse.

“I’m not,” Gojo pleads, his voice behind you, “And for so long I thought I was lying to myself because I didn’t know what I was feeling,” he takes a few steps closer, standing at your bedpost, “I’d never felt this way about anyone. A-and you’re right, you are different. You’re so different from anybody else and I love it.”

You’re shaking your head, your back to him as you sniffle.

“I don’t believe you,” you mutter, your arms wrapped around your middle as your head dips down, lashes wet with tears.

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds and you realize it’s because he’s moving to where you’re sitting, and you see him clearly as he crouches down on the ground, his hands moving to hold yours as he forces you to look at him.

It’s such a strange sight seeing the Gojo Satoru, the Prince of Slytherin, the most stoic and composed person you’ve ever met so…vulnerable in front of you.

“I know-”

You’re shaking your head at him, lips pouting together as you blink slowly, your nose scrunched up in frustration.

“You’re lying-”

“I’m not, I’m begging you, please-”

“You’re lying, Gojo,” You say, your voice cracking as you feel your tears rolling down your, collecting on your chin before they splatter crudely on your bed sheets, “You don’t feel this way about me. You’re either lying to me o-or to yourself because…” you struggle to find the words, “Because in no world would you feel this way about me.”

His hands are warm, his thumb gentle as it rubs over your knuckles. And you don’t notice it until he pulls them away to wipe at your tears, his fingers soft and slow against your skin as you hiccup.

“But I do,” he whispers, his thumb cradling your cheek, “I do. Y-you’re so smart, and kind, and witty, and caring, and you’re so wonderfully you.”

This is too much.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you plead, wondering when he was going to give up the act and leave so you could be alone.

“You only eat your eggs if there’s a little bit of syrup on them,” Gojo says immediately, and your eyes shoot up to his, “You put an extra flick on the dots of your i’s, you like McGonagall most out of all your other professors, you never change your necklace, you-”

You push him by the shoulders, frustrated knowing that he’d never stop, changing the subject.

“If you cared about me you would’ve done something,” your voice isn't yours and you can’t recognize it as it escapes your windpipes, “I mean, you only had three years. Y-you called me a mudblood, your friends never stopped when they were doing, you - you,” deep inside, your breath is lodged inside your lungs and you choke on it.

Gojo cradles your head, pulling you into his chest, and for some reason you let him. You melt into his warmth, into the way he holds you as if you were the thinnest piece of glass, and you can’t remember the last time somebody held you like this.

His hand rubs up and down your back, and you feel your tears and snot wet his sweater, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“I did,” his own voice shakes, “I did, and I…” he swallows his bile, “I wish I could go back and take it back, take all of it back. If I could trade everything I have to turn back time and change the past, I would. I’ll spend my life making it up if you’d let me. You have no idea what I would do…” for you.

You pull away from him, and he lets you.

“You’re all I’ve ever been able to think about this past year. And especially ever since that night, I couldn’t get you out of my mind,” his hands go up to hold your face, tracing your features with the most delicate touch, “Your eyes, your nose,” his finger glides down the slope of it, “Your lips, your skin, your hands.”

“But,” your hands go up to his wrists, pulling them down and he lets you rest them on your lap, hanging off your every word as if you were religion, watching you preach as he remembers every word, every syllable, every tone and inflection you have as gospel, “I’m a muggle-born,” you laugh wetly and painfully, “And you hate muggle-borns.”

And for once you see him break into a small and melancholy smile that's full of years of longing, of confusion, of wanting, and his white strands fall on his face. Unconsciously you move them out of the way so that you could see his eyes.

“My parents hate muggle-borns, and I’m their only son,” your eyes drop to that gold ring, and he notices, “I believed them, and for so long I felt so confused because you weren’t like anything they described,” his lips quivered, “I don’t hate muggle-borns, and I don’t hate you,” he raised your hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to them, “I could never hate you.”

You inhale shakily, your heart thumping in a strange, new rhythm.

“What about the others?” You ask shakily, “Your friends, your parents, everybody else?”

He shrugs, looking indifferent as he plays with your fingers.

“I’ll get new friends,” he shoots you a small smile, “And I can just buy new parents.”

You snort, rolling your eyes at his antics, and he brightens up seeing your change in demeanor.

“You…like…me?” You ask finally.

He lets out a little bit of air in a disbelieving chuckle.

“I like you more than the air I need to breathe,” he kisses your knuckles again and you snort, rolling your eyes as you wipe at the corners of them.

“Then how have you been breathing all this time without me?” You ask a bit teasingly, wondering how you never noticed that his eyes have little specks of green in them, or how the blush on his cheeks sometimes traveled up to his forehead.

“Horribly,” he says and you give him a small laugh, “But it feels like I just took my first breath after eighteen years.”

—

After that, Gojo could not be separated from your side.

He sat next to you during all of your meals, throwing nasty jinxes at anybody who looked at the two of you weirdly. Sure, people couldn’t stop talking, but after the first three people who left with a red ink-looking stain on their face, they learned to keep their whispers low.

When the two of you were in the common rooms he laid next to you as you read, or vice versa, pulling you into his chest as he told you stories from his childhood.

And of course, it took you a while to warm up to him, but slowly and surely you felt at ease around him, feeling like you could be as true to yourself without any fear of repercussions because he loved you wholly, and he had no cares about anything else.

“What’s that you’re reading?” He’d say sometimes, looking over your shoulders to scan whatever book it was that you were reading. Thankfully you still had a couple of days till Christmas, and another week of break after that, so the common room was empty, spare for a few stragglers.

The fireplace crackled in the background, the smell of cinnamon and cloves heavy in the air.

“Voyages with Vampire,” you reply, turning the page as you hear him groan next to you.

“Lockhart? The fraud?”

You giggle, shoving him a little bit, eyes never leaving the page as you try not to lose your spot.

“Yeah, but his books are interesting.”

And Gojo didn’t care too much, because as you got to read your book he got to be with you, which was all he’s ever wanted since he was fourteen.

Other days he’d take you to Hogsmeade, his hand holding onto yours, letting you steer him into the different shops you wanted to look at, a content smile on his face. He loved the way you looked, bundled up in your scarves and sweaters, and he loved that it was mainly just the two of you, seeing that Hogsmeade was unusually empty with everybody gone.

And sometimes he’d squeeze your hands a couple of times just to let you know that he was there, and you’d squeeze back twice, looking behind your shoulder so that you wouldn’t miss his boyish grin.

He mentally noted all the things you picked up, asking if you wanted it, but when you saw that he was beginning to pull out his wallet you shook your head sheepishly, putting it back as you began looking at other things.

“Let me just get this-”

“No!” you cried out, embarrassed as you moved away from whatever shelf it was, hearing him let out a sigh of frustration, laughing at his childish antics.

“But I can just-”

“No, Gojo,” you’d tell him, your voice a little sterner, “I don’t like you because you have money. Too much of it, might I add.”

And he’d pout, his arms circling your waist as he petulantly stays in place, resting his chin on your shoulder so that you can’t move.

“But I just so coincidentally seem to have it,” he pressed a kiss to the side of your head as you tried to look at something else, trying to act like you didn’t turn to jelly in his hands, “Why won’t you take it?”

You giggled, angling your head to look back at him.

“Because I don’t need a bursting raspberry delight,” you chided him and he’d groan, pulling you even closer to his chest as he outstretched one of his long arms, picking up something in front of you, inspecting it as he showed it to you, putting it back as you shook your head, “And I don’t need cockroach clusters.”

And you smiled, feeling happy, genuinely happy as you continued to look around the store with Gojo latched onto you. You felt normal for once, felt the way you’ve been wanting to feel ever since you were eleven.

—

The days passed by and you found yourself back in the common rooms the night before Christmas, sitting on the couches, facing Gojo as you listened to him talk about all the things he’d been wanting to tell you.

The days passed by and you found yourself back in the common rooms with Gojo the night before Christmas, letting him play with your hair as you leaned up against him on the couch, reading another book.

“Did I ever tell you how Benny Thompson didn’t know what an animagus was?” Gojo says randomly and you gasp, looking over your shoulder as he nods as you lay your book down on your chest.

“You’re lying,” you say and he shakes his head, twisting and turning that ring on his hand the way he usually does when he likes to fidget.

“And he asked me if the books in the library had all been written in the actual library,” he continues and you let out a loud, shocked laugh, holding your hand over your mouth in disbelief.

You put your book on the table so that you could move up closer to him so that you wouldn’t have to crane your neck so much.

“Well, to be fair, I think he was just a bit disgruntled to be moved away from his partner in crime,” you move some of the hair out of his face as helmets you sit on his lap, his hands resting comfortably on your waist as you lean in to whisper, “Seeing how I saw them hooking up in one of the broom closets.”

Gojo’s lips part, eyes wide in shock as you nod slowly, a smug grin on your face.

“Makes sense,” he finally muttered and you snorted, thinking back to how the two boys literally couldn’t be away from each other for too long before they made a fuss about it.

Most of the other students had gone up to their beds, excited for the early morning they’d be having with presents and such, but you liked staying up this night, liked watching as the presents slowly appeared under the tree.

His mouth opened in a small yawn and you moved slightly, feeling guilty for keeping him up so long.

“Do you ‘wanna sleep?” You offered, twirling some of his white strands around your fingers as his eyes traced over your features.

His hands moved up and down your back, holding you close to his body.

“But the presents?” Gojo started, looking at the big Christmas tree near the fireplace as you giggled, noting how he was trying his best to control the yawns that were threatening to spill from his lips.

“I’ll just look at them tomorrow,” you promise with a giggle, swinging your legs off from him as you stand, stretching your arms above your head as you let out a tired yawn of your own, rubbing at your eyes as you bookmark the page you were at, watching as he stands up, doing a little stretch of his own.

He slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to him as he presses a kiss against your forehead, letting you lead the way back to the dormitories.

“Promise to wake up early tomorrow?” You say, looking at him with a raised brow, watching as he crosses his hands across his heart.

“Swear on it,” he assures you with a little cheeky grin, his shoulder playfully knocking yours as you snort.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, your eyes taking in all the festive decorations, not noticing how he couldn’t stop looking at you. The girl's dormitories were on the left, and down the hall, you’d find the boys, which meant that you were the first to depart as you neared the top of the stairs.

You move to stand in front of your door, your book in your hands as you stare up at him, noticing the pink flush that never seemed to leave, all over his cheeks. He looked so pretty like this.

“This is me,” you say jokingly and he chuckles softly, his hands back on your waist as you feel him press a gentle kiss to your forehead. He never pressured you to kiss him back, always leaving small yet thoughtful pecks either on the crown of your head or on your face, wherever he’d find that you didn’t squeal as he tried to kiss.

He says your name quietly, looking down at you as you meet him in the middle.

“Merry Christmas Satoru,” you whisper, and you see the wide, boyish smile that breaks across his face when you say his name, loving it only when he hears it from your lips.

“Merry Christmas sweetheart,” his voice quieter than usual, kinder, and in a lovesick way that not even amortentia could replicate.

You look up for a brief second when you sense something is off, and you giggle at the little green and white plant that is forming above your head.

“Mistletoe,” you mutter.

“Hm?” He sounds confused until he looks up when he sees it growing, it’s green leaves and little white flowering buds, looking back down at you.

And again, just like that night in October, you don’t know which one of you it was that moved closer to bridge the gap, but either way, only seconds later did you feel him press his lips against yours, and you were gone.

He was gentler than the last time as if he was savoring your lips, your taste, the way you moved against him. Gojo wrapped an arm around you, tugging you to him, his other hand fumbling with the door handle as the two of you tumbled inside, his foot raising to kick it shut as you tangled your fingers in his hair.

“S-satoru,” you whine, needing more of him, needing him in a way you’ve never felt, your eyes fluttering shot when he bites at your lips, his tongue prodding past your lips as you let him, your stomach fluttering delightfully, “More, need more,”

His eyes flicked open for a second, ensuring you were okay, and he grinned.

His lips resumed their movements, sucking and yours, teeth nipping as your face became of a mess of spit, moaning slightly as he nudged your jaw up with his nose, your head tilting backward as you gave him more room on your neck.

Mindlessly you reach for your wand in your back pocket, waving it near the direction of your door as you lock it and cast a muffliato charm, something you would thank yourself for greatly later.

Gojo was relentless as he pressed kisses and sucked harshly on your skin, needing to mark up what was his, needing people to see that you were his, and you could only whine as he left dark marks on your skin, soothing them with little pecks as he moved down.

His scent was all-consuming, the way he held you made you go dizzy, and if only you knew that what you felt, he felt ten-fold more. Gojo was so crazy about you, that if you told him to jump from his broomstick he’d gladly do it.

“Is this,” he sighs, trying to catch some air, “This okay? Do you want me to stop?”

And you quickly shake your head, muttering out no, no, as he chuckled darkly, moving your (his) sweater away from your shoulders so he could kiss down there too.

Your hands, which had been wrapped around his neck, fell to his chest, pushing at his sweater as you wanted to paw at the skin, wanting to feel more of him, and you heard his breathing stutter, his lips pausing momentarily at the feeling of your hands on him.

He says your name like a mantra like he’s been waiting his entire life to say it, and you catch his eyes once again like he’s asking for permission to continue, and you nod, smiling up at him as you let him.

Your fingers grasp at the hem of his sweater, tugging it upwards so that you could see his skin beneath, the muscles sitting nicely, a glimpse you sometimes saw when he was moving around too much, and your heart stumbled.

He helped you, tugging it upwards and over his head as he discarded it somewhere on the floor, and for once you feel the air get knocked from your lungs.

He’s built. Long, muscular shoulders, soft skin that shouldn’t be as daunting as it looked right now, but he wasn’t even focused on that, his nimble fingers running across your waist where your sweater had hitched upwards, and you just know that you need more of this.

You’re not even thinking as you shed it off of you, joining him on the floor, and his eyes widen, swallowing thick as he sees what he only thought he’d be able to see in the back of his mind as he dreamed.

You were stunning, and suddenly he thought back to the statues he saw in Italy when he traveled there as a child. He thought back to how those ladies looked, and how the sculptors must be twisting and turning in their graves when they could’ve had you as their muse.

“Stopp,” you whine, embarrassed, your hands going up to cover your naked skin, but he gently pushes them down, kissing your collarbone, the skin above your breasts which were still hidden with your bra as he shakes his head.

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters, the words escaping him as if his mind is working faster than any other part of his body, “So beautiful.”

He dips his head back down to kiss you, and a surprised sound escapes your lips, but you welcome it nonetheless, feeling entranced by him, by the fervor in his movements, as if he wouldn’t survive without this.

His hands worship you, slow and careful as they run against your naked skin walking you back so that your knees hit the back of your bed.

“You’re pretty good-looking too,” you try for a joke but it falls short from your lips because it’s true. You’d read stories of Aphrodite and Persephone fighting over Adonis just because he was the most gorgeous man they met, and you were worried that if the gods were real you’d have to hide him away forever.

He hums in the back of his throat, as if he didn’t believe you, and gingerly laid you down on your bed, his massive body looming over you as you smile, a gleeful smile on your face as you try to make sense of what your life was.

“What’s so funny?” Gojo teased, pressing little butterfly kisses on your cheek, the tip of your nose, your chin, and you couldn’t stop smiling, feeling ticklish when he kissed your neck again, a light giggle falling from your lips that made his ears turn pink.

“Nothing,” you said breathlessly, squealing when he bit the skin in the middle of your tits, swatting at his head as he grinned, pressing a soothing kiss to the spot.

“No, it has to be something,” he argues, kissing down the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, never breaking eye contact with you as you swallow thickly, no longer laughing as you feel a heat growing in your stomach, “Is it funny when I kiss here?” He presses a kiss above your navel, “Or here?” He’s reaching the top of your jeans, pulling them down slightly to kiss your hip bone, “Or maybe here?”

And you shake your head, want and desire in your eyes and he chuckles darkly, slowly unbuttoning your jeans as he slides them down your legs, his heart sputtering in his chest when he comes back up to see you all sprawled out for him.

You feel self-conscious about your choice of undergarments, both old and nearly falling apart at the seams, not matching in any sense of the word, but Gojo doesn’t seem to care. He looks at you as if you’re a painting that’s suddenly come to life, and he doesn’t know how to handle that.

You reach behind yourself to work at the old clasp of your bra, sliding it down your arms as you lie back down, looking sheepishly at him as you realize you’re far more exposed at the moment than he is.

But Gojo seems to have gone to another world, not moving from where he was as his eyes don’t leave from your chest.

“Don’t look at me like that!” You shout, trying to cover up your bare chest with your hands but he gently tugs your wrists away, his blue eyes wavering as he groans, getting closer to you before he glances up.

“Don’t hide from me then,” he’s pleading, beginning, “Please.”

And you can’t, because the way he presses gentle kisses to your bare breasts is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You’re breathing hitches, and your head falls back to your pillows as his mouth closes over on your nipples, a moan ripping from your throat.

“Oh,” you say, breathing shakily through your nose as his other hand goes to your other tit, his thumb flicking over your nipple as you feel yourself grow wetter down there, terrified that there’s going to be a pool when he looks.

He sucks, bites, marking up this territory that only he’s going to see, his pink lips switching to your other one as you whine out loud, feeling lightheaded as he presses three kisses to your hard nipple, worshiping you like you were his deity.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says with a mouthful of tit, pulling up from your chest as he kisses you briefly, kissing down your body one more time before he settles in between your legs, “And no man has been more willing to die than me.”

You whine when his hot kisses trail up from your calf to your knees, wet as they glisten in the candlelight as if he was making his path visible up to where you were burning, needing for him to meet you.

“You talk a l-lot,” you’re trying to sound steady but you can’t when he’s looking at you like that, but he just kisses the inside of your thigh for a second long, his nose nudging at your clothed cunt as you whine.

You’ve only heard about the other girls talking about sex, feeling embarrassed as they acted out what the other guys did with them. They talked about how they threw them around on the bed or how they pushed their heads down into the pillows but they never mentioned anything about this.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, “I should stop.”

And he doesn’t give you any warning as he presses a kiss to your clit through your underwear, your little gasp of surprise going straight to his dick. He hitches your legs on his shoulders, looping a finger around the waistband of your panties as he slides them down, a deep, guttural groan almost punched from his lungs at the sight of your glistening cunt.

Fuck, he thought to himself, you actually were going to be the death of him with the way he still can’t properly breathe around you.

“Perfect,” Gojo whispers, his head dipping down, “You’re perfect.”

And before you can chide him again, he dives down, his tongue licking and sucking at your pussy lips, your back arching off of the bed as your fingers grasp onto his head for support, unknowingly pushing him even further into you.

He’s fast, tasting you as he groans again, your saccharine essence bursting against his tongue, and he can’t control himself. It’s so messy and wet, and you can see your juice shining on his chin when you glance down briefly to look at him.

“O-oh,” you stutter when he pushes a slender finger inside your walls, clenching down on him as his lips find your clit, suctioning at it as you whine for him to go fast, “Oh god,”

He smiles against you, his finger slowly moving in and out, his lips kissing your clit, feeling the way you grew tight around him and didn’t stop.

When he added his middle finger you felt like you were going to die, not knowing how you’d be able to handle all of him if this was just you losing yourself on his fingers, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care right now.

His fingers are long and reach deep within you, something you’ve never felt before, but knowing that you’d surely die without it if he stopped.

“S-Satoru,” you’re mewling, and he thinks he could just cum with the way you’re saying his name, “Don’t stop, please, f-faster.”

And he kisses your cunt to tell you that he hears you, his fingers positioning in and out of you, his tongue alternating from where his fingers were to going back up to your little bud, your eyes screwed shut as you feel that rope grow tighter and tighter in your stomach.

His unoccupied hand travels up your stomach to toy with your breasts, flicking your nipples back and forth, the added sensation along with everything else causing you to nearly lose whatever sanity it was that you had left.

Your toes curled, your fingers gripping onto his white strands even tighter, feeling bad for how hard you were pulling at him, but he urged you, loving that sting.

“How do you feel?” He takes a break, his voice a little muffled, his fingers not stopping as you whine helplessly, “Everything okay?”

And you can tell he’s just teasing you because when you push his head back down he goes willingly, acting as if you were his last meal on this earth and he just couldn’t wait for the sweet release of death.

“Good,” you moan, “S-so good,” and your voice is egging him on, making him go faster and faster, your toes curling as he switches between his fingers and his mouth, doing something heavenly that you never knew you could experience.

You’re growing tighter around him, your chest heaving as you feel something strange, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, coming.

“W-wait, ‘Toru, I…” and you can’t stop it, your eyes going white as he doesn’t stop either, his fingers pistoning in and out of you with no remorse, “I don’t know…fuck…coming, I…” and you’re just babbling mindlessly now, your back almost off of the bed as something snaps and you’re gushing around his fingers.

It’s euphoric, the feeling. You can’t breathe but somehow you can breathe better than you have in your life, your walls clenched around him like a vice, your thighs shaking as you cum around his fingers.

You wailed out a hopeless moan, your hands covering your mouth as if that could silence you, fat tears dotting your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling and you were trying to fill your lungs back up with air as his mouth never stopped sucking at your clit until he was sure your climax was over.

When you finally calmed down and sank back onto the bed, Gojo sat up from between your thighs, his hair messy, chin and lips soaked with his spit and your release, his eyes a bright cerulean blue.

You watched as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, cleaning you off of him, moaning like a whore at the sight. He dipped back down, kissing you feverishly, letting you kiss yourself on him as you whine, feeling like a different person entirely.

When he pulls away there’s a line of spit connecting your lips, and he’s never looked happier.

“Are you feeling good?” He’s rubbing soothing circles on your hips, “Want to stop?”

You groan, swatting at his shoulders.

“You’re too attentive,” you say, and he snorts, kissing in between your brows as he pecks your lips one last time, reaching down to unbutton his pants, and throw them somewhere along with the rest of your clothes.

You watch in a love-sick haze as he tugs at his boxers, his fingers quick as he discards them too, and suddenly, the two of you are bare before each other.

He is Adonis, you finally decide when you get to get a full look at him, there’s no question.

His legs are just as toned as the rest of him, his thighs huge with pure muscle, something necessary to be quidditch captain as well as one of the best seekers Hogwarts has ever seen. The v-line that leads down to his…oh god.

He’s huge, and while you haven’t been with any other guy, you can tell that he’s big. His dick sits hard and angry against his stomach, his pretty pink tip leaking with pre, curving slightly. Your mouth waters at the veins that start at his base, his white hairs trimmed, and go upwards.

How would he fit in you?

“Don’t worry,” Gojo assures you, as if reading your mind, “I’ll go slow. Tell me at any point if it hurts, okay?”

And you nod, your mouth watering as he climbs atop of you, his hand near your head as he presses one final kiss to your hairline, wrapping your leg around his waist as his other hand goes down to finger his dick, plunging two fingers into your wet pussy, lubricating it in your wetness as he looks down at where the two of you met.

“Ready?” He asks, and you can only whine, murmuring out a needy yes as he chuckles, your legs spreading open to accommodate him, and he lines his tip up with your entrance.

You feel like the air that you had so tirelessly gulped back seconds ago was punched out of you at the feeling, and he stays true to his words, going as slow as humanly possible so that you could get used to his length.

He pushes past you gently and carefully, your walls clenching around him, memorizing every vein he has, the curve of his dick, and you watch as his hips press into yours, the way his abs tense as he tries to go slow.

It stings, but in the most delicious way possible. Your eyes dot with tears, but you need him to move, not knowing why he was taking so long.

Gojo balances himself above you, and you grow wetter and wetter the more he sinks into your warmth, your legs circling his waist to pull him in even closer, your arms tangling around his shoulder, into the hairs at his nape.

“More,” you whisper, needing him unlike anything you’ve needed before, “M-more, ‘Toru, please,”

His eyes look at you with slight apprehension.

“Are you s-”

“Yes,” you cut him off, your legs tightening around him as he groans, his dick pressing more into you, sinking into you completely until all of him was sheathed inside your cunt.

You could feel him in your stomach with the way he was pressing up into you, feel the outline of his dick against your skin, and his head dipped down so that you couldn’t see his face anymore, his breathing stuttering as he tried to regain his composure, trying his best to not pull out and slam back into you.

Gojo gives you a couple of seconds to grow used to him and tries to be as much of a gentleman as he can be, but with every other tick of that clock on the wall he thinks he’s going to go inside, not recognizing himself anymore.

Your chest heaves, and you nod.

“‘M ready,” you say finally, and his head draws back up to you, his brows furrowed together, trying to make sure that you weren’t just saying that for his sake, but you nod again, “I’m ready.”

And god, he feels like he’s finally seen the light as he pulls out of you, nearly all of his dick from your snug cunt, your juices shining in the light, and he pushes himself back in, groaning out from deep inside his chest as you clench around him.

He does it again, and again, and again, and before you know it he’s slamming his hips into yours.

“Shit,” he moans, his voice deeper and lower in pitch, “F-fuck, you’re so tight, you have’ta,” he lets out whine when you clench around him, “You have to relax, please sweetheart, you’re killing me.”

His hands are leaving bruises on your hips from how hard he’s holding onto you, your moans mixing with his as your ankles dig deep into his back, your back arching so much that your tits were pressed up against his chest, gleaming with sweat.

“Mhh, ‘Toru, oh my g-god,” you can’t even recognize your own voice, “S-so good, s’big ‘Toru,”

You watch as he drops a hand in between your two bodies, his fingers rubbing at your clit as your mouth opens in a silent scream, sweat dotting at your forehead as you bit your lip to keep in your debaucherous moans.

He bites down on your shoulder, leaving yet another mark, his nose inhaling at the last remnants of your perfume, making sure he’d never forget a single thing about tonight.

His fingers along with his dick are driving you to ruin, and you feel that same coil coming back, being pulled taunt deep within you far quicker than the first time. He’s relentless against your clit, kissing your tits gently as you cry out.

“Shit, I…” you can barely breathe, his own groans and moans filling up the room, “I can’t, I feel like…!”

“I know, I know,” he says, knowing what you’re meaning, what you’re feeling, because he’s not too far from his own release either, “Come on, let go, I’ve got you,” he muttered against your glistening skin, edging you on even more.

Your fingers tangle in his white strands once again, pulling him closer to you as your lips lock with his, the kiss messy and not even coherent but you don’t care because as his tongue mingles with yours, his hips never stopping and his fingers picking up pace, you moan out loud, lewd and wanting into his mouth as you come.

This time is even more intense than the last time, and you can’t stop clenching around him, your cum coating his dick, making it even more wet as you spasm around him, your eyes seeing stars, feeling a loud thumping in your head and chest.

It doesn’t help that he doesn’t stop either, your orgasm lasting even longer as he chases his own high, his head thrown back in an instant as he pulls out to finish on you, white spurts coating your heaving chest, painting you like his own portrait.

“Fuck,” he sighs out, his white lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he looks at you, underneath him, covered in his cum, and feels something primal surge in his chest at the sight, like you’re his god and he’s finally in heaven.

Even after he pulls out you feel yourself pulsing around nothing, already missing him as you whine absentmindedly at the loss.

When you finally calm down, you crack your eyes open to see him sitting on his haunches, pushing back his sweat soaked hair away from his face as he shoots you own of his wide grins, your own face breaking into a smile as you throw and arm across face.

You feel the bed dip, and peek out to see him walking away.

“Where…?” You croak out, your voice hoarse, and he throws you a wink from over his shoulders, finding a clean towel in your little bin that you keep at the end of the room for when you and the rest of the girls need to shower.

He brings it over to you, grabbing his wand, casting a small aguamenti charm on it, only to get it slightly wet, as he comes back to where you were lying.

You silently watch as he gingerly drags it across your body, cleaning you up between your legs, wincing at the way you inhaled sharply, still feeling raw, and kissing your stomach in an apologetic manner. He then dragged it across your chest, making sure he got everything, throwing the towel in the dirty bin as he climbed up to bed with you.

“Thirsty?” He asks, and you nod meekly, graciously accepting the cup that he fills with the pitcher near your bed stand, gulping it all down as some of the water droplets fall on your chest, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you set it to the side, falling back in your bed

The bed isn’t really meant for two people, especially one with his size, so you have to cuddle close together, but you don’t mind the way he pulls you closer to his chest, pulling the blanket above so that it rests on your naked body.

“Good?” He asks simply, and you nod again, craning your neck to look up at him as you smile gleefully.

“Good.”

—

That morning, you were the first to wake.

You blink slowly, sitting up, wiping at your eyes as your mouth opens in a loud yawn.

You look over to Gojo next to you, his hands still strewn across your waist, his lips parting slightly as he sleeps gently.

You don’t want to wake him up, not used to seeing him so at ease, but you remember that it’s Christmas morning, falling back down to your mattress as your fingers tap on his bicep, watching as he cracks one blue eye open.

“Hmm?” He hums tiredly, annoyed that you had moved away from him, pulling you back to the furnace that was his chest.

“You promised you’d wake up,” you say with a whine, giggling when his eyes snap open, never wanting to break a promise he makes to you, sitting up suddenly as he looks around the empty room.

“I’m kidding,” you tease, “I don’t usually get much, come back to sleep.”

Gojo yawns, rubbing his hands across his face, and gives you a knowing look. Your brows furrow together in confusion, tilting your head to the side.

“What?” You ask, sitting up next to him as his thumb traces against your knuckles.

“Nothing,” he kisses your forehead, your nose, your cheeks and then finally your lips, “It’s just that I think that the majority of presents under that tree are for you,” Gojo says with a grin, watching with a smile as your face breaks into the cutest grin, your eyes bright as you tug on his fingers.

“Really?” you’re already getting out of bed, the smile on your face never ending as you tug on your jeans from the floor, “Really?”

“Really,” he says, handing you your sweater as you pull that on mindlessly, your movements fast and hurried, excited for Christmas morning for the first time since you were a kid.

“Oh, and,” he holds onto your wrist, stopping you momentarily as you try to pull on a sock over your feet, “I have something I wanted to give you…in private.”

Your eyes squint together, trying to see if he was going to say a dirty joke or if he was actually serious.

When he releases your wrist, he unfolds your hands, taking your ring finger as he slides a ring across it, something that he must’ve had hidden in his hand for a good second because you never saw him get anything.

“What…?” You turn your hand around, only to see his gold ring, embellished with his family crest, shining back at you.

“‘Toru, I…” You were shaking your head, going to take it off, but he stops you, his blue eyes shimmering a light sky color, creasing upwards as he gives you one of the smiles that he only reserves for you.

“It’s yours,” he says, closing your fingers into a fist as he brings it up to his lips, kissing it softly, “And besides, it’s just a placeholder.”

You let out a disbelieving chuckle, looking at the ring once again as you glance up at him.

“Placeholder for what?”

Gojo gives you another knowing look, as if you should know the answer to this question.

“You’ll see,” he promises, and you laugh, helping him put on his own clothes, messing with his hair, pushing it back so that it wouldn’t be so messy.

“You want to be my husband?” You say teasingly, walking to the door as you cast him a glance, “Because you should know that I need to get a stable job and house and everything before I even think of marrying. Are you sure you’ll want to wait that long? After all that time?”

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing the crown of your head.

“Even after all that time,” he murmurs against your hair, “Always.”

taglist: @satorusemepls, @mokonasenpaiposts, @kao-ri, @rinxgojo, @notsochillnerd, @astral-hydromancy, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron, @tedbunny333, @13-09-01, @mynameislove1, @hyunsuks-beanie, @uziwork, @haychhans, @cccccccccccleo, @sweetteez, @mxdwomann, @sorcerersseestars, @tiramusuc0ffee, @sourairi, @luringfantasy, @gojoswife69420, @empathum, @luna-v-roiya, @r0ckst4rjk, @hyori2, @kaisenkalogathia, @kraytjustkrayt, @nobayashi-blog

#gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo x you #gojo x you smut #gojo x reader angst #gojo x you angst #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #satoru x reader #satoru x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader fluff #slytherin!gojo

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prettycottagequeer · 11 months ago

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ok maybe I'm a little late to this BUT I'm gonna do a to-do list motivation thingy because I've had the worst two weeks since I started college :)

SO these I should start on asap:

50 I make the snack I really want but I haven't had the motivation to make

100 I clean my dorm. another thing I've been meaning to do for a week

150 I do the presentation about mid-victorian fashion I've been putting off (due Monday)

200 I start memorizing the monologue that was due a week ago (now due Tuesday)

these can wait longer:

300 I spend time outside. It's so nice but I'm getting stuck scrolling because I feel like shit. vicious cycle ect

500 I start setting a better weekend routine (aka getting up before noon)

1k I start working out again. I was doing a routine to get more masc and build muscle and I liked it but life hit me like Crowley driving the Bentley and I've missed like 3 weeks

2k I buy my first binder. I've been coping with sports bras for almost a year now and I haven't been able to justify spending $50+ on a binder even though I know I'd love it and use it everyday.

Do I tag people? I don't know but I'm going to. @the-globe-theatre-maggot @weirdly-specific-but-ok @howmanyholesinswisscheese

here's just some context if you want to read, feel free to skip. some of this I've talked about in the maggot server, some I haven't, but I really just need a place for this to go that's out of my head. tw homophobia, transphobia, car crash(??)

How I Have Been Run Over By The Bentley Going 90 In Central London What Feels Like 50 Times In The Last Two Weeks

I'm going to college about 4 hours away from my parents, and it's been really nice. They.. suck, to say the least. transphobic/homophobic ect, super traditional conservative catholic, racist, all of it. so i tried to move somewhere where I wouldn't have to think about them and I could be myself and do what I can to be happy. March 1st was the start of my spring break, which meant going home because the dorms close. I was already not excited, but I was prepared. the problem with being away from home is I forget just how bad they are. My optimism gets the better of me and I think maybe this time they'll be better. so I decided to not hide my septum piercing.

that was a mistake. it starts a whole fight where they say we know you're trans, you're actually a girl and you always will be, we have the bones argument, they think I'm being influenced by demons or something (if only they knew about crowley) because I want to change my name, and they tell me that going on t will completely ruin my body and give me cancer and other things. They're also mad about my dyed hair, septum, and general style, and say I'm setting a terrible example for my (5) younger siblings and make it a point to tell me just how much of a disappointment I am. I think I'm pretty cute and fun but y'know, whatever. very fun time. I lie so much, don't give them any more details about my identity, and say I'm not planning to go on t to save my ass. which is all on instinct which makes me feel worse because if I'm really trans I should be able to stand up for that, right? maybe I'm faking the dysphoria.

the next morning I wake up really sick, and spend the rest of the week sick and feeling like shit because I'm home and back in the same place and situation I was a year ago that I thought I escaped. at one point I pretty much lose my voice but also kind of get gender euphoria from it. it's weird.

On Friday it's time for me to drive back 4 hours to school, and I make it about 3/4 of the way when google maps takes me on a random gravel road and I crash my car, really crash my car, like sideways-in-a-ditch-windows-broken-crawling-up-out-the-door crash it in the middle of nowhere. (I was fully paying attention to the road, it was raining and super slick) I call my parents because I have no one else to call and I sit in a Subway for 3 hours while they drive to get my car. when they get there they're (understandably) really mad, and they tell me that I'm not mature enough to be going to school so far away and I need to get my shit together and stop depending on them. which. is probably true. but made me feel even more stupid about the fact that I crashed my car. I get back to school and I'm still Very Sick with no energy or motivation to do anything. So I've spent the last week trying to get better and honestly to do anything. it hasn't really worked. I'm a lot better health-wise (Not emotionally), still sick but I have a lot of work due, so I really need a push to get started

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nereidprinc3ss · 10 months ago

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strange perfections

in which spencer reid and fem!reader meet by accident at a coffee shop. and then they keep meeting there. they've really got to stop meeting like this. (no, seriously. hotch is pissed.) / do you believe me now? bonus chapter!

series masterlist

fluff! warnings/tags: meet cute:) some dark humor, romantically inexperienced reader, spencer reid graduated from caltech, mit, and the derek morgan school of rizz a/n: this can absolutely be read as a standalone BUT it was written as a prologue for my series do you believe me now? to explain how spencer and r met! completely optional, if you're only here for the smut no worries! reading this bonus chapter might make the next chapter better though as it contains discussions of how they met:) anyway, I LOVE YOU!! let me know if you like this silly little random thing! kisses

The café door opens again. A blustery wind raises goosebumps on your arms and makes your bones ache again. You look up at the latest intruder—a hobbling elderly man in a newsboy cap and a knit red scarf.

Stupid scarf, you think.

Stupid door.

Stupid wind.

Your mug is empty, and the table you’re sitting at is sort of sticky and rickety, and there are so many papers in front of you that you wonder why the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to print the PDF out and annotate it that way instead of just doing it on your laptop like a normal person in the 21st century. Nothing is going right today. It’s the third café you’ve tried in the past few weeks as you attempt to find some place that feels homey, lucky, but this one just feels… inconvenient.

You look at the stack of papers and sigh.

Stupid Lord Byron.

Stupid cafe.

Usually, cafés are relatively quiet and peaceful—a refuge for the overworked to bask in the luxury of quiet jazz and the smell of dark roast as they continue to overwork themselves. This particular establishment, however, today hosts a group of teenagers—presumably playing hooky—who have commandeered a big booth in the back and keep walking right past your table because apparently they couldn’t have just ordered their drinks at once and they all have to do it separately and loudly.

One of them has an incredibly irritating, gratingly pubescent laugh, and they think everything is hilarious. This whole situation is unbearable.

Just as you’re gearing up to go, of course the fucking door opens again. This time, it’s accompanied by a particularly strong gust.

Strong enough that Lord Byron doesn’t stand a chance.

Your printed copy of his works blows off the table, at first page by painstakingly annotated page and then before you can even process it, all at once.

Yeah. This is definitely not your lucky café.

As you curse and go to stand up, you run into one of those dumb kids. His huge ceramic mug goes flying, careening against the edge of your table and completely splattering you and all your stuff in 16 liquid ounces of scalding espresso and milk.

It’s silent for a second, save for a few drips from the puddle on your table to the floor, before the kid is apologizing profusely and turning red as a tomato. You can’t even respond—you look down at your ruined favorite sweater, and then around at the pages of Byron littered with color-coded sticky notes, overflowing with angry and purposeful red ink that you spent so much time on, scattered all over the floor.

Eventually the boy catches on that you’re not going to forgive him and he skitters away, back to his friends, who whisper and giggle profusely. Only a few of them get up to start gathering the fallen pages with you. Several other patrons end up helping as well, so the sheets of paper are gathered and returned into your sticky hands fairly quickly. You thank each person without looking up as they hand you their respective stack. All you want is to get out of here.

“Here—I’m really sorry about this,” someone says—a tenor-ish male voice, distinctly sympathetic as he holds out a rather larger stack of papers than anyone else had bothered to pick up.

“I’ll live,” you sigh, straightening up. “But thank… you.”

The man standing in front of you is the kind of man who makes you want to untuck your hair from its usual spot behind your ears, and to stand up straighter, and to try and not stare even though you want his attention. He’s gloriously beautiful in a way that repels and attracts you. He’s the type of man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day in high school and probably wouldn’t now. Instantly you feel both insecure and reduced to a former version of you who would simper and fawn over boys who wanted nothing to do with her. You feel like going to the other side of the café and sitting in the best light and staring out the window poetically and hoping he’s looking at you.

“On the one hand, I feel bad for being the person who opened the door and let the wind in. On the other… I feel compelled to say at least they’re not covered in coffee like the rest of your table is?”

You laugh vacantly, a second too late, positively coveting the awkward smile on his angular face. Then you make eye contact, and his eyes are so the opposite of angular—they’re huge and inviting and the warmest golden-brown you’ve ever seen, and they’re looking right back at you—and you have to look down. Fuck. You hate when you do that.

Think of something normal to say!

“Yeah, true. Now I just have to reorder 264 pages. That… that don’t have page numbers.”

You shuffle through the papers. They are hopelessly scrambled. Your heart sinks just a bit.

“Um… I might actually be able to help with that, if you want?”

You frown, glancing up. What kind of sex trafficking ploy is this?

“That’s okay. Might be easier with just one person.”

He laughs—it’s similarly awkward, similarly endearing.

“Do you mind letting me just… try? It’ll only take a minute.”

Only take a minute? Is this beautiful man deranged? Why are the hot ones always crazy?

But, perhaps because you’re a pushover who can’t stand up to people, much less beautiful people, much less beautiful men who are paying you undue attention, you find yourself giving in. You hold the stack out.

“Sure. Give it your best shot. I’ll be impressed if you can even figure out what page one is.”

He’s already flipping through the papers with a drawn brow, walking away with them, and barely looking over his shoulder as he mutters, “I have Byron memorized. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

You follow him, because hello, he has all your annotations. He’s definitely insane, you think, as he sits down at a table and starts rapidly sorting the sheets into separate piles.

All you can do is stand awkwardly behind him as he stacks papers seemingly at random, barely glancing at them before deciding where they go.

Maybe a minute, maybe a few go by, each of which have you progressively more flabbergasted, before he’s tapping the edges of a stack of paper on the table and standing, handing them to you with his lips pressed into a thin pleasant line. There’s almost a glow about him—like he couldn’t be more in his comfort zone.

“There you go. Should be in order now.” You sport a frown bordering on a grimace as you take the stack and flip through it a bit. Sure enough, it seems that everything is in order. You keep looking between the man in front of you and the papers, incredulous as you wait for something to be in the wrong spot.

“How did you do that?”

His cheeks turn slightly pink.

“I know Byron really well. I know how each passage ends and begins so I put them together like puzzle pieces.”

“How did you read that fast?”

“Uh. I’m a speed-reader?”

You scoff, taking another look through the stack.

“I think that may be underselling it.” A thought occurs to you as you’re grazing over one of your longer annotations—full of expletives and strong opinions. “Oh, god. You didn’t… you didn’t read my notes?”

The man’s eyebrows raise as if he was waiting for you to mention that and he smiles like he doesn’t quite know how to break it to you gently.

“Maybe a few,” he eventually decides, laughing under his breath. “I appreciated the commentary on his relationship with Augusta. It was… colorful.”

Heat rises in your cheeks as you mumble.

“Yeah, I had a hard time appreciating the romantic poems. They’re less cute when there’s like a fifty percent chance he’s writing about his sister.”

“Half sister,” he corrects. You give him a look.

“Does that make it better?”

“… no,” he realizes. “Not even a little bit.”

You laugh, relieved that his face looks as warm as yours feels.

“Well… thank you, for the help,” you say after a silent second.

“Of course. Sorry, again. I, um—I hope your day gets better?”

“Yeah, well. I feel like statistically it has to, right? It’s kind of a low bar.”

He smiles, a perfect, perfect smile, and gives you a little wave as he leaves. Without coffee. Checking the clock on the wall, you realize it’s approaching one in the afternoon. If he’d been here on his lunch break, he sacrificed it to organize your stupid Byron texts. You smile to yourself.

He was totally in love with me.

And he can’t prove me wrong because I’ll probably never see him again.

All things considered—this coffee shop does seem pretty lucky. Maybe you’ll stick with it for a while.

The next time you see the mysterious sexy speed reader is four days later—though you’ve been here every day since. He catches your eye right as he walks in, and his brows jump in pleasant recognition. You smile. He smiles back, before going up to the counter and ordering a coffee with a ludicrous amount of sugar in it.

I should take note for when I make him his coffee in the mornings, you think to yourself, and then you snort at your own delusions, shaking your head at your book. Obviously you’re not that divorced from reality, but you’ll entertain the fantasy forever until one of you stops showing up to this café.

What you’re absolutely not expecting is for him to walk up to your table with his to-go cup.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi!”

Jesus. Tone it down, girl scout.

He gestures to your stack of papers: now secured in a three ring binder. The cup says Spencer.

Spencer. Spencer.

It feels important.

“I see you’ve upgraded.”

“Yes! Yes, I did,” you laugh self-consciously, still struggling to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the help the other day. I would still be sorting through all of this if it weren’t for that, so… yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course! I’m glad I could be of use.”

“Spence!” Someone calls from the cafe door. You both look up to see a stunning blonde beckoning him away.

Ah. Naturally. The girlfriend who is one trillion times prettier than you.

Spence.

Reality sets in.

“Coming!” He replies, with all the eager compliance of a child, before turning back to you. “Um… well… I’ll see you?”

It’s an awkward way to say goodbye to a stranger, but you suddenly don’t care enough to dwell. Instead you nod once, less enthusiastic now that you know he has a 10 waiting for him on the sidewalk.

“I am a creature of habit.”

Another wave as he walks away.

The two disappear from the doorway, but the perpetual breeze seems to carry a snatched bit of conversation your way.

“Who was that?”

“Uh… I don’t actually know.”

Yeah. Reality definitely sets in.

Over the next few days, you break your café streak. Life is busy. There’s not always time to artfully ponder Romantic poetry and drink a six dollar coffee while waiting around for certain people to show up.

Okay, so… maybe it has more to do with him than you’re letting on. But you’re not going to do that thing you do again, where you become limerently obsessed with a man you don’t know and who is way out of your league just because you can’t form an actual attachment to anyone to save your life. Besides, you remind yourself; we probably wouldn’t be compatible anyway. He’s probably a huge loser. Or secretly a douche. Or chews with his mouth open. Obviously nobody that attractive can also have a good personality.

Not to mention he has a girlfriend. That should put you off, too.

But you hadn’t been lying when you’d proclaimed to be a creature of habit—you return to the café once you feel sufficiently detached from this Spencer character.

He’s there. Of course he’s there. Why had you been expecting for him to not be there? It’s not like he was a figment of your imagination.

This time he’s accompanied by a different blonde woman—a bespectacled blonde with a big floral headband and a patterned dress and a red cardigan and tights and heels that look self-injurious. She’s quite eye-catching; you want to keep looking at her, but you seem to draw her attention, too. Her big eyes widen minutely and briefly you wonder if you’re supposed to know her, but certainly you’d remember meeting a person like that. She doesn’t seem easily forgettable. Both of you look to Spencer at the same time, who’s looking between you with an almost panicked expression.

“Oh! Th—” the woman whispers, cutting herself off when she realizes how loud she’s being in the otherwise silent establishment. “Ah! Okay, right. Never mind.”

Spencer sighs. You want to laugh, but you’re baffled by the whole thing. So you go back to reading.

Ten minutes later, they draw your attention once more.

“Go, go ahead! It’s more problematic for you to be late than me. I’ll be like, thirty seconds tops.”

You don’t look up as Spencer leaves the café—but are you supposed to gather that these two eccentric individuals are coworkers? And what of the first blonde woman, who you’d presumed to be his girlfriend? Where is she?

While you’re wondering all of this, the new blonde teeters her way over to your table.

“Hi!” She says pleasantly, waving a purple-tipped hand and wearing the biggest grin.

“Uh… hi?”

“I’m Penelope. You’ve met my friend Spencer. He just left.”

“Oh—sort of,” you smile weakly, closing your book. “Not formally. I didn’t know his name.”

That’s a lie, but maybe feigning non-chalance will make it real.

“Well, I just wanted to come over and say I love your bag. And your jewelry and your coat. I love your whole look. I bet you’re a really cool person.”

“Um—thank you!” You perk up, smiling genuinely now. The compliment warms you—you didn’t think your look was all that interesting today. “You too. I love your outfit.”

“Great! You’re—you’re great. This is good information. Um… just out of, like, sheer curiosity, could I get your name, age, and occupation? Oh—and your zodiac sign?”

What kind of convoluted sex trafficking ploy—

“Garcia!”

Spencer is at the doorway again, looking adorably miffed.

Adorable? Get a grip.

“Wh—I’m just making a new friend! Is friendship illegal, now?”

“This is the kind of friend-making that gets you a restraining order,” he urges.

You look up at Penelope Garcia, enamored by their whole dynamic. They clearly care for each other, despite the squabbling. What kind of job do they have where they talk to each other like this?

“It’s fine,” you smile, introducing yourself to her.

“That is such a good name!” She says, and you’re getting the sense she’s kind of always this enthusiastic. “So now we know each other’s names—we should probably definitely be friends, right?”

“Yeah! Um, definitely!”

“Yes? Oh my god! I love this! Okay, um—we work at Quantico, so, we’re like, 10 minutes away—but this is better than the coffee shop that’s closest to the building, so we come here all the time. Usually it’s just us and five grouchy old men, which makes this is really exciting.”

“Quantico… that’s the FBI academy, right?”

“Other stuff, too,” she nods, still smiley.

Oh! Cool. So they’re FBI agents.

So that’s cool.

You’re cool with that.

Her phone starts ringing—she locks eyes with Spencer.

“Hotch?”

“Ooh, we are in trouble,” Penelope sing-songs, leaning down to write her number on your notebook without asking. Not that you mind, of course. She adds a little heart and a smiley face next to her name before capping your pen and toddling away. “Bye, new friend!” She calls over her shoulder, waving goodbye with just her fingers.

“Bye,” you manage, though it’s probably too quiet.

Spencer flattens his mouth into an approximation of a smile and waves again.

You accidentally find yourself mirroring his goodbye, facial expression and all. Fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. You hope he doesn’t read into it.

Nah. Boys are dumb.

You text Penelope later that afternoon—a simple greeting so that she can save your number—and then you forget about it.

It’s not until five days go by without sign of any of them—the two blondes, Spencer, this mysterious and foreboding Hotch figure—that you start to seriously question your sanity. Did they drop off the face of the planet, or what?

But of course, just as you’re sitting at your usual table, Spencer walks in. Alone.

He sees you immediately, but instead of the wave you’d come to expect, he immediately flushes, looks down at his shoes and hurries into the small lunch-rush line.

Weird.

You corner him at the coffee bar, where he’s adding more sugar to his coffee. How are his teeth so nice if he does this to himself every single day?

“Hey,” you say, affecting casual confidence as you bus your empty mug. “… Spencer, right?”

It’s comical how you’re pretending you haven’t turned that name over and looked at it from every angle hundreds of times since the first time you heard it.

He nods, only glancing up at you as he stirs. To your surprise, he knows your name, too. When you give him an odd look, he smiles almost apologetically, finally looking at your face for longer than half a second.

“I heard you introducing yourself to Penelope. Sorry if that’s…”

“No, no! Is she around, today? I texted her last week, but she never responded...”

“Today is operating system update day, so I don’t even really have a way of knowing if she’s alive in her office.” It’s funny to him, but you just smile, baffled. He notices your silence and catches on, scrambling to explain himself. “She’s our tech analyst. There are 243 computers in our building and she has to update them all remotely, which requires getting every agent to agree to not touch their computer at the same time for an hour or so.”

“Oh… does the FBI not have, like… an IT guy, or something?”

He laughs again—the way his eyes crinkle when he does it makes you a little breathless.

“You should say that to her. I think you would become her favorite person.”

It’s hard not to smile when he’s smiling because of you—however indirectly that may be. Quickly you realize you’ve both been standing in front of the coffee bar for too long.

“Alright, well… tell her good luck, for me?”

“I would, but I’ve been kicked out for an hour while she does the updates.”

Your brow furrows and you laugh.

“From the whole building? You just can’t keep your hands off your computer for an hour?”

“Not if I want to do my job, no. And I am kind of obsessive about my job. I’ve been the reason she had to start the whole process over again before and I’d rather not be that person again.”

You say it before you can think too hard.

“Well, if you have an hour to kill… there’s an open seat at my table? No pressure, obviously.”

And that was the first of thousands of hours you would come to spend with Spencer Reid.

After that, it sort of becomes a regular thing. He comes almost every day—except for occasional week or so long stretches, which you have discovered are a part of his absolutely fucking insane job—and sits with you, sometimes with Penelope, once with the other blonde, JJ, who you’ve since deduced is not his girlfriend, most often alone. Usually he can’t spare more than ten minutes, but he begins pushing it, little by little, until thirty minutes go by and you think surely his boss (the great and all-powerful Hotchner) must be beginning to notice.

One day, during your usual lunchtime rendezvous, his phone rings. He talks right on through it, like it’s not happening.

It ceases. And then it starts again.

Your head drops to your shoulder, something like pity or regret softening your features. He catches your eye and melts slightly, mid-sentence—like he knows you’re about to tell him to be responsible.

“Do you think you should…”

His hands drop from where they’d been enthusiastically positioned mid-air.

“They’ll be fine if I’m late from lunch one time. I’m usually more punctual than any of them.”

You roll your lip between your teeth—it’s not that you want to tell him to go; in fact, those delusions you’ve been harboring about your future life together are only getting worse with each inexplicable minute he entertains your company.

But his job is important.

“What if you have a case?”

“Then I would have gotten more calls from more people by now.”

Your head tips back as you laugh lightly at his unwavering insistence.

“I’m flattered that you so enjoy my company that much. But I can’t with good conscience keep taking up your work hours like this.”

As the laughter fades, he just… watches you, lips slightly parted, eyes intense but not entirely present.

“You’re probably right,” he finally breathes. “Maybe… you should start taking up my other hours, instead?”

Spencer Reid, you unexpected charmer.

You balk.

“Like… we would hang out? At a different time of day? Not here?”

“Those are the basic premises, yes,” he chuckles, nodding affably. “I’ve never actually seen you anywhere else. For all I know you could be a ghost eternally tethered to this building.”

“Where would this hanging out take place?”

Fuck, you’re totally being weird. His brow knits.

“I don’t know. Where else do people hang out?”

He’s not genuinely asking you, he’s gently turning you in the right direction. You charge forward blindly.

“Restaurants.”

There’s that pretty smile of his again, the one that makes all the thoughts drain from your head like cold bathwater. Though, there’s a sort of mischievous edge to it now that you haven't seen before.

“That’s certainly an option. If I asked you to hang out with me at a restaurant... would you say yes?”

You look down. God, your face feels warm.

“Would you be asking me out on a date? In this hypothetical scenario that we’ve constructed, I mean.”

Spencer seems to think about it for a moment, which fills you with unexpected panic. When you look back up anxiously, he has the same smile on his face, but his eyes are a little softer now.

“I would.”

More panic sets in—just a bit. But you don’t let what is undoubtedly a tidal wave of anxiety break through the emotional guard-dam. Keep it together. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted.

Unfortunately, you are perhaps more transparent than you’d realized. Spencer begins to look slightly worried, leaning forward in his chair.

“You don’t have to say yes. I know we don’t know each other very well, I just—”

“No!” You find yourself assuring him, though you curse yourself because you kind of want to know what he was going to say. “I would say yes. I’ve just, um—god,” you laugh gustily, self-consciously. “Sorry I’m being so weird. I’m out of my depth. Nobody’s asked me on a date before. I don’t really know the etiquette.”

Spencer chuckles.

“You’re doing great. Don’t worry about it.”

Not, what?

Not, you’ve never been on a date before?

Not, that’s crazy, or that’s weird, or how have you gone your whole life without being asked out?

With the implication being, you’re odd. Different. Maybe not in a good way.

He says none of that.

“But I should probably actually ask you, huh?” His cheeks turn pink as his laughter is redirected inwards.

“Sounds like a good first step.”

Spencer is still smiling as he says your name and it sounds so good from his mouth. It makes you sound so real.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Butterflies in your stomach doesn't begin to brush what you're experiencing—your entire abdominal cavity is like a Monarch sanctuary.

“I’d love to.”

He seems genuinely relieved as he beams, slumping back in his chair.

“Oh, thank god. I was so nervous you’d say no. I never do that. Thank you for not saying no. Not that you couldn’t have said no—it would have been completely fine and obviously within your rights to—”

His phone rings again. Both of you are relieved that he was interrupted—but admittedly you thought his rambling was super cute.

“I should—”

“You definitely need to go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a still-breathless smile. “Um—what’s your number?”

You look around fruitlessly for pen and paper.

“I don’t—”

“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

He’s so weird.

A breeze hits your skin as he opens the door. You’re already writing your wedding vows in the back of your mind as you watch him go.

part four

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic

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princessofmarvel · 1 year ago

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Business and dates

summary | when grace leaves, it leaves the shelbys with a heartbroken thomas. polly takes this as an opportunity to get him with the girl she's always wanted him with

pairing | thomas shelby x fem!reader

word count | 2.30k

genre | fluff! with just a tad of angst!

requested? | yes! thank you so much for your request! i had so much writing it, and i am kind of proud of this one, lol.

warnings! | mentions of bullying, and the reader not eating from being worried! and, i have not proof read this yet!

author’s note! | Hi! Thank you all for being so patient as I worked on this! Requests are open for drabbles, and headcanons only at the moment for these characters! And as always, I do I have really bad OCD that causes me to write in some random capitalization, and punctuation, But I think that we don't have to worry about that in this fic lol. And let me know if there are any mistakes, but please be kind!

No one knew what had happened that day. All anyone knew was that Grace was suddenly gone, and that she had left the Shelby family with a heartbroken Thomas. And the person left to pick up the pieces was his lifelong best friend, who has been in love with Thomas since the day they met back when they were just small kids.

Thomas was having a decent day, school had just let out and he was walking back home (alone because his older brother Aurther thought that it would be funny to run off before Thomas got out of class) when he saw a young girl getting picked on.

“Stop it! This is my favorite skirt!” Thomas heard her yell to the kids that had her on the ground, kicking dirt onto her clothes while laughing and taunting her. Thomas knew that these kids were practically afraid of him, so he knew he could get them to leave the girl alone. He also knew that his mother would scold him if she found out that he didn’t do anything to help her.

“Oi! Leave her alone, or I'll put a curse on you!” Thomas called out as he made his way up to the group, and pulled a razor blade out of his pocket. The kids practically scattered the moment they heard Thomas’ voice. Leaving just him, and the girl with dirt on her clothes.

“Thank you” He heard the girl say in a quiet voice as he put his hand out to help her back up.

“What caused that?” He asked, curious as to what the girl could have done to anger the other kids so much.

“I-I told them that I wouldn’t do their homework.” She said back to him, as she tried to get the dirt off of her skirt. Thomas told himself that he should have known it was something like that. There wasn’t anything serious that this girl could have done to upset them so much.

“Come on, I’ll walk you home, you live on Watery lane, right?” He said as he started walking, with the girl running a bit to catch up with him. He knew her name, he recognized her from school. She lived right across from him, but they never said anything to each other. She had been over to play with Ada sometimes, but they never spoke.

Neither one of them said anything as they walked, it wasn’t until they got to her home that Thomas spoke up.

“They shouldn’t bother you again, no one should.” He said as he stood outside her doorstep, seeming almost sorry since he knew his reputation, and how kids would stay away from him in fear of getting cursed.

“It’s alright, I don’t really have any friends anyways.” The small girl said, while rocking back and forth on her heels.

“Why don’t you come play at my house? I know my family won’t mind.” He said to her with a small smile. Truth be told, Thomas didn’t really have many friends either, and he saw an opportunity to make one.

Ever since then, the two were inseparable. They did everything together, they were even each other's first kiss. Her family was weary at first, but soon saw how protective the Shelby boys (and the rest of the Shelby family) were over her, and grew to like them. The two were like this up until Thomas was called to war

“Tommy, this has to be a mistake.” The girl cried into Thomas’ shoulder as he held her. “All three of you at the same time? What kind of cruel joke is this”

“The universe has a funny way of doing things.” He mumbled into her hair, his hand resting on the back of her head. “I’ll come back, sweetheart.”

“You don’t know that, Tommy” The girl said as she pulled her head out of his shoulder, and looked up at him, eyes red and puffy.

“You really think I'm leaving you yet? You think I'm going to leave you before you get married? Please, your future husband doesn’t get off that easily.” He said with a small laugh while trying to lighten the mood as he held her face with his hand. “Nothings taking me from you, not yet.”

“You better come back, Shelby.” She said as she looked up at him with glossy eyes. “Or, I’ll bring you back just to kill you myself.”

Thomas laughed and kissed her head, as the air in the room changed. He didn’t know why, but he leaned down and kissed her lips softly, all he knew was that he couldn’t leave without giving her a kiss, even just a light one. “You’ve got nothing to worry about” He said as he pulled away.

She believed him, she tried not to worry. She didn’t worry until his letters stopped coming. After a month of not hearing from him she worried so much she got sick. She wrote him everyday, sent him a letter at least once a week, if not twice. No word of his death ever came.

The day Thomas arrived home, she was sitting at the kitchen table with Polly. His heart broke when he saw her, she was paler, and her face was skinny, all signs to her not eating properly. Neither one of them said a word to each other for a week. It wasn’t until (Y/n) decided that she had enough, and stormed into his room.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she shouted, growing red in the face.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, not meeting her eyes, already knowing what she was talking about,

“You! You come back, and are completely different! You’re cold, and mean to everyone, which maybe you were that way to some people before, but never to me! Never to your family!” As she yelled at him, she started to sway as if she was about to faint. Before she could hit the floor, Thomas grabbed her and set her down on the bed beside him.

“You need to eat something.” He mumbled, not looking at her which infuriated her more.

“I thought you were dead.” This caught his attention as he heard her start to cry. He finally turned to her. “You stopped writing.”

“I didn’t know how to write to you, you would ask me how I was, and I couldn’t find it in myself to tell you about how I had just watched a man die. I thought it better to not write.” He said, pulling her into his chest. “Why are you not eating?”

“You worried me, anything I ate just came back up.” She mumbled into his chest.

“I told you not to worry.” He said with a small laugh coming from his chest, the first in a long time.

“Tough shit, Shelby.” She mumbled back, while pulling her head out of his chest.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, just staring at the other, until Thomas finally spoke up. “I’m trying to get back to normal.” He mumbled, barely loud enough for her to hear, she wouldn’t have if they hadn’t been so close.

“I know, it will just take some time.” She said while she caressed his cheek. “And, I’ll be here to help you heal.”

After that day, nothing ever really went back to how it was before the war. But it was like that for everyone. Thomas had gone back to normal as much as he could. He had his moments, but everyone did. And, (Y/n) didn’t lie, she was there every step of the way, even in the bad times she never left.

The two never fought again until the day Grace left. She had tried telling Thomas before that something was up with her, but he just wouldn’t listen. The only other person that seemed to notice it was Polly.

“He’ll never go for it.” John pipped into the conversation. Polly was currently trying to figure out a way to cheer Thomas up, and the idea she had was to put Thomas with (Y/n). She already considered the girl a daughter, and she always wanted her with Thomas. To her, it was the perfect plan.

“That's why we don’t tell him! All we tell him is that he has a business meeting at the new restaurant, he’ll show up, expecting some business man to be there, but instead (Y/n) will come in wearing the most beautiful thing I can find, that he’ll just have to stay.” Polly explained to the boys and Ada.

“Alright, but how are you going to get (Y/n) there, dressed up, without suspecting anything?” Ada chimed in.

“We’ll tell her a boy stopped by and asked to take her out.” Polly said, as if it was obvious.

“Please, she’s not going to just agree to go out with someone, especially if she doesn’t even know who it is.” Arthur muttered.

"Actually she might.” John announced to everyone. “Just to make Thomas jealous, she mentioned it back when Grace was around.”

The Shelby’s set everything into motion that night. Polly told Thomas he had a meeting, then she told (Y/n) about the secret man that wanted to take her out.

So Thomas sat in his suit, waiting for this man to show, when he saw (Y/n) walk through the door, dressed like a vision in her red, drop waist, beaded dress, with an old pearl necklace to match. She looked around the room, until her eyes landed on Thomas.

“What are you doing here?” She asked him, as she walked up to his table.

“Business meeting, what are you doing here?” He asked, suddenly growing jealous at the thought of her being here for another man.

“A date, and what business meeting? I know your schedule, there wasn’t one planned, did you make one?” She asked, wondering who on earth Thomas could be meeting for business at this hour.

“No, Polly told me I had one, who’s the date?” He asked, his jealousy rising.

“Not sure, Polly told me-” A look of realization crossed both their faces “Polly” The two said in unison.

She decided to sit down, now laughing to herself. “You’re the date.”

“You’re the business.” Thomas responded, a small smile growing to his face.

The two sat there for a minute, before Thomas spoke up. “You do look stunning.”

“Polly picked it.” She said, with a small laugh.

“I bet she did.” Thomas said with a laugh, and a sigh. “She’s wanted us together for ages.” He mumbled.

“And what do you want?” The girl asked. Thomas had always had a feeling that (Y/n) liked him, he was just never sure how much, until he looked up and met her eyes that were filled with nothing but love and want.

“You in my life.” He said, keeping his eyes on her. “I thought a relationship between us would mess everything up. I couldn’t risk losing you.”

“Thomas.” The girl said, grabbing his hand across the table. “You could never lose me, even if we did have a relationship and it failed, I would still love you. But, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this.”

“I have distracted myself from you for as long as I can remember. I wouldn’t let myself fall for you.” Thomas said, standing up from the table, (Y/n) following.

“It’s okay to fall, Thomas, who knows, maybe it won’t hurt.” She said, as she placed a hand to his face. Without thinking, Thomas leaned in and kissed her with everything in him, causing her to hit the table, his hands on the side of her face being the only thing to keep them from falling. The pair kissed until they needed air. When they pulled away, he rested his forehead on hers.

“Let’s give this a try.” He whispered, looking into her eyes.

The girl smiled and gave Thomas a quick peck, before they left the restaurant, her holding his arm. The walk back to the Shelby home was mostly quiet, until she spoke up. “Thank god for Polly.”

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #cillian murphy #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby fic #tommy shleby fic #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby fluff #tommy shelby fluff #thomas shelby angst #tommy shelby angst #thomas shelby peaky blinders #tommy shelby peaky blinders #peaky blinders

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bunny-1111 · 6 months ago

Note

I love love love your writing! I was just re-reading “Theodore Nott who…” and possibly wondered if you could expand on how he reminds reader that he will propose when they are finished school. Kicking my legs giggling thinking about that 😂

Aww, thank you. Of course, I can. Let me know if you have any other requests!! PS I wrote a whole thing, ready to push post now. It was perfect, but something happened, and it didn't save, so I had to rewrite it the best I could, I hope you enjoy this anyway AH I'M SO MAD 🥲,

...

Theodore, at age 11, thought you were the prettiest girl in school

Theodore, at age 13, began to navigate his not-so-small crush on you

Theodore, at age 16, felt his heart in his stomach as he swallowed his pride and finally asked you out

That is where our story starts.

By 17, you got comfortable enough and started spending the night in each other's dorms; one random Tuesday morning, Theo woke up earlier than usual, you were still fast asleep. Theodore was a very productive person. If he woke up early, he would get up, make a coffee, go for a run around the grounds, come back, and shower, all before most had even opened their eyes. As he reached for the corner of his side of the blanket and moved to start his day, you felt him, causing you to stir, your brows quickly scrunching, your body automatically moving towards him; you reached for him even in sleep. Something in his mind slowed, something in his heart raced, something in his soul shook. Dropping the blanket in his hand, he surrendered to you, laying so close, gently caressing your face, feeling peace in your dream state. Then it dawned on him, if I married her, this would be the last face I would see before I slept and the first I would see when I woke up.

That's when it began.

His constant reminders of marriage.

That very morning.

When your eyes fluttered open, Theos wide eyes already met yours, it would've scared you in his eyes weren't so dreamy.

"Good morn-" you start

"Marry me" he interrupted

"What?!" you laughed out. It was too early for this

"Marry me?" he smiled

"shut up" you laughed, reaching your hand under your pillow, softly throwing it at him

"Come on, why not?" he pleaded

"Theodore, we're still in high school, that's why", you smile

"Fine, you fucking time waster, but after we get out of here, I'm gonna marry you", he insisted

You thought it was a passing thought.

Something he wouldn't bring up again.

Boy, were you wrong, he proved that time and time again over the next two years.

Sitting in class, he would peck a kiss on your cheek from behind you. "Kisses for the Mrs" he would whisper with a smile before returning to his own seat

In the great hall, he slapped Matteo's hand away as you and he both reached for the same dish. "Can't you see my fiance wants that slice?" he grits, serving you before Matteo puts it on his own plate. "You aren't fucking engaged?" A defeated Matteo retorts, arms out in confusion. "Don't start", you apologise on behalf of you and your pretend husband

In Hogsmeade, you and Pansy tried on dresses. Theodore was walking past when he saw you in the mirror. Letting himself in, he slithered behind you, his reflection joining yours in the mirror, slipping a hand down your waist. "You know, if you look this good in this dress, I can only imagine how good you'd look in white," he'd smirk, "you know when we get married," he muttered on his way to the register, leaving money, giving the workers strict instructions to charge him for any dress you bought, for them to keep the change too.

When Theodore had early morning Quittich practice, he would leave a steaming cup of coffee or tea on your bedside, accompanied by a note: " To keep you warm while I'm gone, good morning, my better half, Mrs Nott."

When you studied in the libary, you had a very distinct look of focus. He would lay a bored hand on his face, "Come on, let's go for a smoke", he whined, "No, Theodore, We have final exams soon. You should be studying. Go without me if you want" you explain, fingers pointing at text on his book, "not going without you" he said frustrated under his breath. Theodore kept testing, blabbing nonsense, attempting to distract you, staring at you instead of the open books. "Why are we wasting time? You could be pregnant by now," he said, his free hand twirling your hair. This caused you to slam your book closed, looking up at him, your eyes widening. "What!?" he laughed. "If I had it my way, we would've tied the knot last year, and we would have a kid on the way", he continued; you did nothing but shake your head and fight your growing smile.

Walking through the gardens, you pointed at some hydrangeas. "My favourite flowers" you smiled. "I know" he smiled "I'd walk down the aisle with hydrangeas in my hand," you say softly, leaning in to smell the flowers, "When we get married, I will" you say picking some to take with you. Theodore could've fainted on the spot. 'When we get married,' your voice repeated in his mind, pulling you up into a deep kiss

When you finally graduated, Theodore pulled your father aside. If there was something Teddy valued, it was tradition; he was officially asking for your hand.

Returning to you, smiling ear to ear, he suggests you join him on a walk. Reaching the tree near the Black Lake, he kissed your forehead, one hand intertwined with yours, the other hand in his pocket, fidgeting with a small box.

A box containing a ring.

That he had bought on the year prior, now all that was left to do was kneel.

unedited today, sorry for any incorrection I'm too tired to reread or edit rn LOL

in my mind me and teddy r married

him in a suit KILL ME NOW one chance PLS

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starvrse · 5 months ago

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MISSING YOU

| pairing : non-idol!kim minji x famous!fem reader

| summary: minji misses you and gets horny

| warnings: g!p minji, smut, jerking off using panties, lowercase, not proofread, more but i can’t think of them 😭

minji let out a heavy sigh as she entered her dorm and locked the door. it’s been 2 days since you left korea and went to paris for fashion week, and she missed you soo much.

she tried to take her mind off missing you by studying. but no matter how hard she tried to focus on her school work, her thoughts kept drifting back to you. she longed for the comfort of your embrace, the sound of your voice, and the feeling of your lips on hers. despite her best efforts, her heart ached with the loneliness of missing you.

eventually minji shut her book and leaned back in her chair, letting out a groan. thinking of a different way to get her mind off you, the kim picked up her phone and decided to scroll on random apps.

after scrolling for a while, her thoughts eventually drifted away from you. she continued mindlessly scrolled through her feed, when suddenly a post caught her attention, reading “OMG YN AT FASHION WEEK” her finger paused for a moment on the screen, mentally cursing her internet for not loading the content fast enough.

after a couple of seconds, the videos finished loading and she found herself unable to look away from the sight of you. the more she watched, the more her heart ached with longing and the more her cock started reacting.

minji lightly bit her lip as she scanned her eyes across the outfit you were wearing. the tight Chanel dress that hugged your curves in all the right places. the dress was a classic black and white houndstooth print, with a tight bodice that accentuated your small waist and full hips, and a skirt that flared out at the knees, giving it a retro yet sophisticated vibe. your hair was in a high ponytail with a side part, the style was basic yet you made it look amazing.

palming her cock while scrolling through your hashtag, the dark haired girl felt dirty and embarrassed for being so horny. turning off and putting her phone on the table, she pulled her pajamas pants and boxers down.

wrapping her hand around her hard dick, she slowly started pumping it. closing her eyes shut and letting out light sighs, minji moved her hand faster, trying her hardest to get off.

“obviously this isn’t working..” she mumbled to herself, feeling more frustrated and out of control than before. she clenched her jaw and let out a frustrated huff, knowing that she needed something more intense to finally find the release she so desperately craved.

giving up, she stands up out of her chair and makes her way to the bathroom to clean herself up. throwing her boxers in the dirty clothes bin, she catches a glimpse of the small pile of your dirty laundry that you left.

—

“this is sick…” she thinks to herself as she searches through the pile and finds a pair of your victoria secret panties. she picks them up and brings it to her nose, inhaling your scent deeply. as your familiar smell fills her senses, she closes her eyes and lets out a soft sigh.

immediately running back to her chair she picks up her phone and opens the same photo of you. setting her phone up on her books she sniffs your panties again while jerking her cock faster, staring at the picture. letting out moans and whimpers as she imagines pulling at your ponytail while your on your knees looking up at her with her cock in your mouth.

she abruptly stops everything. standing up, laying your underwear on her table, and picking up her phone while opening the camera app. she presses record with her left hand and starts pumping her dick again with her right. putting her shirt in her mouth so you can get a clear view of her abdomen, and so she doesn’t ruin her favorite shirt with cum, she lets out muffled whimpers.

finally reaching her peak, her shirt drops out her mouth, and whiny moans of your name spill out of her lips. as her nut spirts all over your panties, the desk, and the floor.

after squeezing out every last drop of cum on your underwear, her left hand shakily zooms in on her fingers spreading out her semen on them.

“i-i’m sorry for ruining your panties princess, this is what happens when i miss you.” she says, the pout evident in her voice. minji stops the video and doesn’t waste any time going to your contact and sending it, typing a “wish you were here to clean me up :(((“ after.

have you guys realized how ass i am at making titles 😭anyways we’re so back 🙂‍↕️ also sorry for the awkward ending i literally did not know how to end ts 😭😭 just use ur imagination for yns reply 🙏 REQUEST ARE OPEN OH YEAHHH KEEP ME BOOKED AND BUSY

#starvrse #fem reader #kpop smut #g!p #kim minji #minji x reader #minji smut #newjeans #kpop fanfic #newjeans smut #g!p minji

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snoopychris · 2 months ago

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incomplete

in which... cheerleader!reader needs matt's help and finds out the sad truth about his situation

warnings: no use of y/n (the name sweetie is used in place of y/n for my own sake), random names used for friends

an incomplete. glancing down at the rubric to your most recent science project, you couldnt believe what you were reading on your paper. nick was looking over your shoulder, his mouth dropped wide open. “sweetie… an incomplete means you can’t cheer tonight…” he whispers, the multiple pairs of eyes on your paper still widened to their full potential. you take a second to look up, and become painfully aware of the situations and all of your friends reactions to it. chris’ parted lips, sadie’s hand over her mouth, nate running his fingers through his hair, nick’s mouth still wide open, and claire’s fingers nervously fiddling with her necklace. you swallow for a moment before peeking at your phone.

10:48 am. there was still another 27 minutes left of lunch. 27 minutes worth of convincing your science teacher to please, please, please, give you another chance. you do the only thing you can possibly think of. with a swift grab of the paper sitting on your cafeteria table and your tote bag, you book it upstairs to Mr. Harrison’s science room. even though its lunch, and a normal teacher would take this 45 minute break to leave the school for as long as possible, Mr. Harrison always stayed in case any students needed him for any reason at all. upon entrance to the classroom, you get an immediate explanation, without even asking any questions.

“yes sweetie, i know its an incomplete. but your project was incomplete. you never got it peer reviewed.” Mr. Harrison tells you from his desk, sending you a look. you let out a small huff and part of you is tempted to kick your feet and begin throwing a tantrum like a toddler, but you decide to instead act like an adult. you slowly make your way towards the desk, setting your paper down. your voice is quiet when you speak, but its still intelligible. “you know that not a single one of my friends is capable of peer reviewing an AP biology project. we won’t even meet in class again until monday so… i cant cheer tonight?” you let out a small exhale and accept defeat before you notice your teachers pen pointed behind you. you slowly turn and come face to face with the same person who had been stuck in your mind for a good while now. “matt can peer review your project.” you hear from behind you, causing matt’s eyes to shoot up and look at you, previously unaware of the situation that had been going on in front of him. you gently swallow as you take a seat in front of matt, keeping your paper nearby. your heart almost stops when he takes his airpod out to give you his utmost attention.

his breath hitches in his throat when he realizes that he’s not dreaming and that this is all really happening, you’re sitting in front of him in your cheer uniform that hugs your curves in all the right place, and you need him. “hi matt,” you smile, your lips parting into a genuine smile. he doesn’t mean to do it, but he pauses for a moment before replying. “hey… i can um..you need a peer review i take it?” he whispers, his voice scratchy as if he hadnt talked all day, mostly because he hadn’t. without waiting for a response, he grabs the paper from besides you and begins marking it up with his pen. you watch intensely as he flips through the pages full of words, diagrams, keys, and descriptions and makes note of the things you did wrong. while waiting, you take notice of his phone, adjourned with a clear case and a pokemon card. “charizard is cool and all but… piplup was always my personal favorite.” you whisper, tucking your hair behind your ears. the speed in which matt’s eyes meet yours is ridiculously fast before his vision moves to the pokemon card in his phone case. he blinks a few times before realizing youre trying to start up a conversation. “yeah no… piplups cool. i switch it out sometimes. wouldn't say that charizard's my favorite either but chris told me that this card is really cool looking.” he smiles, continuing to mark up the paper besides him. you chuckle quietly before furrowing your brows. “why are you in here alone?” you whisper, turning your head in realization that aside from your teacher, matt had been the only person in the room before you arrived. when he replies, you feel your heart shatter into a million pieces. “i um… got no friends really. Lucas is just good company i guess.” “lucas?” you question, not knowing of anybody in the school with the name. a throat is cleared behind you, and when you turn, you learn that matt is on a first name basis with the biology teacher. after letting out a hum in response, you frown and begin to pick at your fingernails. when matt hands your project back to you, a relieved exhale leaves your mouth. the project is rushed over to the teacher’s desk, where your previous incomplete is replaced by a B+. an A was never the goal, you really only needed at least a C. you get a nod of approval from him, knowing that you’ll be able to cheer later that night.

once you gather your very few belongings, you begin making your way to the cafeteria before noticing the 18 minutes you have left of lunch. it would be enough time to go through at least 5 or 6 different conversations with chris and the rest of your friends, but you hesitate for a moment before turning back around into the science classroom. you take a seat across from matt once more, let out a small smile, tuck your hair once more, and lick your lips before speaking. “so... who is your favorite pokemon?” a smile creeps onto matt’s face, and even though Mr. Harrison can feel the young boy’s heart explode from across the room, you somehow remain oblivious.

๋࣭⭑ 𖤘(reply or message me to be added!): @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @mattsbrat

๋࣭⭑ dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

๋࣭⭑ a/n: one more because i truly don't know when i'll be able to post again after sunday and i also have like nothing prepared! my inbox will remain open if there's any requests or if anybody wants to share thoughts about this au i already love so dearly. love you all kiss kiss!

-gen

#⋆˙⟡snoopychris #⋆˙⟡nerd!matt #⋆˙⟡matt!#matt sturniolo #⋆˙⟡snoopychris writes #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo au #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo smut #the sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo series

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mya-valentine · 1 month ago

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Can I have some hilarious headcanons with Denki, Ochaco, Momo, Shinsou, and Shigaraki with a Narcoleptic S/O that sleeps a LOT due to their quirk, Like they can even fall asleep while standing up!

Headcanon: Narcoleptic S/O

Denki Kaminari

The first time you fell asleep standing, Kaminari thought you’d fainted and freaked out, running in circles yelling for Recovery Girl. Now, he just gently props you up against a wall like it’s no big deal.

He gets startled constantly because you’ll doze off mid-sentence and then wake up like nothing happened. One time, you fell asleep holding an electric whisk, and he screamed when it turned on as you dropped it.

Denki has accepted his fate as your default nap station. He’ll just carry on conversations with the others while you snooze on his shoulder. He’s weirdly proud of how “cozy” people think he looks.

He’ll try to wake you up at the worst times. “Wait, babe, are you okay? Are you ALIVE?!” He’s so loud you end up startling awake and accidentally smacking him.

Kaminari keeps a daily tally of how many times you’ve fallen asleep in random places, like standing in the elevator or on a park bench mid-conversation. He has a betting pool going with the others.

Ochaco Uraraka

At first, Ochaco panics every time you suddenly drop off to sleep, rushing to catch you before you hit the ground. Over time, she gets better at spotting the signs and just guides you gently to a chair before you keel over.

On movie nights, you inevitably fall asleep halfway through. She’ll try to nudge you awake so you don’t miss the good parts, but you just mumble, “I’m awake” and promptly start snoring again.

One time, you used your quirk and fell asleep while floating. She had to panic-jump to pull you down before you drifted into a tree.

If you fall asleep on her during training, she’ll just sit there, stroking your hair and giggling about how adorable you look.

She once told villains that you were the team’s “ultimate sleeper agent,” which confused them long enough for the team to ambush them.

Momo Yaoyorozu

Momo tries to plan around your sleepiness, setting alarms and keeping snacks nearby to help keep you awake. It works… until you fall asleep anyway.

She’s made custom chairs, pillows, and even a portable mattress for you. She insists they’re practical, but your classmates tease her for spoiling you.

You fell asleep standing up during a school assembly once. Momo frantically waved her arms to block others from noticing while whispering, “Wake up!” You didn’t.

She reads up on narcolepsy and quirks to help you manage better. One time, she accidentally turned a study session into a lecture about sleep cycles, and you fell asleep halfway through.

If you pass out in battle, she panics and assumes the worst. “Are they unconscious or just sleeping?!” Cue her aggressively shaking you while trying not to cry.

Hitoshi Shinsou

As someone who’s perpetually tired, Shinsou relates a lot. You two could nap through an entire afternoon, curled up somewhere cozy, and call it a successful date.

He’s so used to you falling asleep randomly that he barely reacts anymore. You once fell asleep during training, and he just sighed and muttered, “Guess we’re done for the day.”

If a villain catches you sleeping mid-fight, Shinsou plays it off. “They’re bait. Wanna test your luck waking them up?” The bluff works surprisingly often.

He jokes about using his quirk to keep you awake. “If I brainwash you, you technically won’t fall asleep, right?” He wouldn’t actually do it, but the threat makes you glare at him.

He’s perfected the art of positioning you so you don’t fall over when you pass out. One time, he even carried you piggyback-style during training while you napped.

Tomura Shigaraki

The first time you fell asleep while standing, Shigaraki thought you were messing with him. “Are you serious right now?!” He only realized it was legit when you started snoring.

The League is lowkey fascinated by your ability to fall asleep anywhere, anytime. Dabi has taken so many pictures of you passed out in weird positions.

Shigaraki tries to “test” your limits by seeing how long it takes for you to nod off. It’s a weird game, but he finds it hilarious when you fall asleep mid-glare.

He’s terrible at waking you up and just pokes you with one finger, muttering, “Oi, wake up, idiot.” When that doesn’t work, he just leaves you there.

If you doze off during a mission, he’s ready to throttle you. “Seriously?! You’re just gonna SLEEP in the middle of this?” But if anyone else comments, he’ll snap, “Shut up—they’re fine!”

Masterlist

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pbandnoj · 8 months ago

Text

Sending the randomest shit to a pre-relationship Megumi would be the funniest thing. I mean this would before he even realized he had feelings or that you had feelings for him. The poor guy was clueless. And you thought it was hilarious.

Let’s start this off by saying you and Megumi were close, but so were all of you guys, it was a tight nit circle. But Megumi was just different than the rest. So you spent a lot of time together, and texting when you couldn’t be.

So one night you guys as well as Itadori and Nobara were sitting in Megumi’s dorm (the cleanest), just lounging have some random ass conversations. And a few minutes later Megumi was picking up his phone, seeing a message from you. With a raised brow he looked at the simple blue heart emoji you sent, with the most weirded out face you had ever seen him make. Which in turn caused you to burst out laughing getting a few looks from the other two.

Another encounter of this was when you were training. A lax a daisy school day, sparring with each other and some of the 2nd years. And Megumi looked stunning, sweaty and running his hands through his hair every few seconds had you salivating. This garnered another one of your unfiltered texts, and while you knew what you could and couldn’t get away with, you always teetered on that line.

So a “God Damn” text was sent his way. Course he didn’t see that until a few seconds later where he pulled up the bottom half of his uniform top up to wick away the sweat from his face. His eyes went wide as he gave you a look that you couldn’t quite read, a giggle fallin from your lips.

This had happened so many times Megumi decided to enlist Itadori’s help, confused as to what you were getting at. “Itadori,” his calm voice called out, maybe one of the only times he said his name without being irritated with his fellow classmate. The pink-haired teen’s ears perked up, “Yeah Fushiguro?” He called looking up only for a phone to be shoved in his face. Megumi wasn’t good at asking for help and this was the closest it was gonna get, “Read.”

As Itadori’s eyes filtered over the messages a smirk resonated on his face, “I don’t know man, seems like she’s into ya,” he said with a way too toothy grin. Megumi’s brows furrowed as he shook his head, “Not possible,” he huffed out causing Itadori to snicker, “I’m telling you dude that’s what it is.”

And from that day on Megumi was a little too aware of everything you did around him, the dots connecting in his head. But how did he feel about this? He had no clue, absolutely none.

That’s when he went to Nobara, once again someone he wouldn’t normally go to. “Nobara?” He called out the same way he did Itadori’s name, and her ears perking up the same way. “Oh?” She said with a soft snicker, causing Megumi to roll his eyes. Once the situation was explained Nobara’s brow never stopped being raised, “So?” She grumbled eliciting a groan from Megumi, “How am I supposed to feel?”

She shook her head, a tsk coming from her mouth, “Now cmon on Megumi, you’d be passing up a great chance with em.” His brows raised before shaking his head, “That’s not what I’m asking.” Nobara was now the one groaning, “Look, I can’t tell you how you feel, but I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

And let’s just say Megumi was even more confused when he left that conversation, and it didn’t help when he bumped into you. His face was beet red, one of the only time you had seen him like that. “Everything ok Gumi?” His heart fluttered as he nodded, words caught in his throat. “Wanna hang out?” You tilted your head, his heart fluttered once more as he nodded. You smiled, happy he was gonna hang out with you, and his heart fluttered once more.

Let’s just say Megumi never thought he’d be the guy to be in a relationship. He wouldn’t be the guy to want someone. And never did he ever think he’d be the first to confess. Yet here he was muttering the words out, the same calm and collected voice now just a little more shaky.

And while you were flabbergasted of course you accepted, cause you felt exactly the same.

#megumi fushiguro #jjk fic #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #jujutsu megumi #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi fluff #megumi x you

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arjudy224 · 21 days ago

Text

The Intern: Small Talk with a Dead Man

After a dramatic realization during Christmas break, Y/N has been peacefully trying to live her life without the influence of the Batfamily. One night after classes, she is visited by an old friend...

*Fluff*

Prequel: Death of a family

The Intern: Day one

The Intern: The Laughing Fish

The Intern: Busy Work

The Intern: Outreach Gala

The Intern: Teachers Pet

The Intern: Visiting an old friend

The Intern: Chemical Valley

The Intern Small Talk with a Dead Man

The Intern: Billionaire Boys Club

I shouldn't have been surprised. TV broadcasts. Google Alerts. The radio guy who complained about Gotham's newest Crime lord during my morning commute. A few local news stations dared to ask, "Is Red Hood more dangerous than the Black Mask?"

Despite all those warning signs, my heart stops when I see him again. A flash of lightning illuminates the man across from me. The signature Red Helmet drips rainwater on my ratty tan carpet. The towering man is far from the mischievous teenager I once knew. Judging by the watercolors across his knuckles, he must have driven from patrol.

From the corner of my bedroom, my phone vibrates on the nightstand. Dick's grinning face covers the screen. I hurriedly decline the call. Tim's face makes an appearance. The screen goes black. I drag my gaze back to the dead.

"Hatchling?" Jason observes motioning to Tim's contact name, "What's Damien's? Infant?"

I pause to think about it. What did I make Damien's?

"Sassy pants... with several angry emojis." I elaborate showing him the contact.

"Ahh... fitting for a child raised by assassins."

The room feels too small. Stuffy even. After years of dreaming of what I'd want to say to him, I blank. The helmet drops to the floor with a thud. His voice breaks.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go."

That breaks me out of my stupor. Crossing the room, I shush him.

"Take this jacket off before you track any more water in. My landlord is terrified of mold."

Reluctantly, he lets me peel the wet leather away from his goosebumped riddled skin. The hulking man slumps towards my touch. In the darkness, I can almost forget how long it has been.

How many nights did we do this? Bruce starting a fight. Jason sneaking in through my childhood window with a devilish grin.

"I figured I've already disappointed one father figure. Why not disappoint them both?"

The image of his charred corpse flashes in my mind. Some memories don't age well.

A well-timed thunderclap shakes me back to the present. My Jason had blue eyes.

"Go sit in the living room," I command throwing a towel in his direction, "Do you want tea?"

"Yes please." He agrees following my heels, "Do you have-"

"The usual? " I interrupt with a sly backward glance, "Who do you think I am?"

I almost blush at the look he gives me. Good God. My back turns to face him while I turn the kettle on.

Which mug do you give a dead man?

I correct myself.

Which mug do you give a crime lord?

I look past the cluster of random holiday cups to my shining star. A brand new Superman mug complete with a washable cape napkin. Water. Green Tea and chamomile bags. A little bit of honey.

While I set everything up, Jason studies the collage of photos on my wall. Some from Gotham. A mix from school. His eyes fall upon a selfie of Dick, Alfred, Barbara, and I. Encrested on the frame, it reads, "Jason Todd Memorial 2022". My throat gets tight. It seems so meaningless now. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I analyze the man. The new uniform is much more outwardly utilitarian than his Robin costume. No more shorts. The guns are new. He had set a few in a cluster on the coffee table. Jason takes a postcard from the collage in his hands.

"George Clooney?" He muses turning over the card, "Dick always had a flair for the dramatics."

"It runs in the family," I retort setting down his mug on the table.

As I draw near, he smiles at the choice of mug.

"I didn't realize that you picked sides."

"Alfred sent it to me as a peace offering," I shrug.

I motion to the brown patched-up couch. Jason eagerly reclines. His body stiffens at the strange lumps towards the center.

"Courtesy of Ma Kent," I joke, "I'm convinced she lined it with kryptonite, so Clark wouldn't jump on it."

Rubbing his sore shoulders, Jason grimaces sitting up.

"Well, I'm sure this is the only couch that could cause the Man of Steel back pain."

Sitting next to the sweaty young man, I sip on my own tea. The bitterness of the green tea grounds me to the present.

"Do you want to talk about what happened in Gotham tonight?" I question glancing at the freshly bandaged cuts on his arms.

He shakes his head grimacing at the memory. New City. New topics.

Grabbing the remote, I start, "What are you feeling tonight? I've been aching to rewatch "You're Next" for a while."

He eyes me with playful suspicion. Jason folds his arms behind his head.

"What? I've always found scary movies comforting after a long day."

"Like the way you find Ma Kent's Couch to be comfortable?" He teases fidgeting with the coarse fabric of the homemade pillow.

The random stains make him raise an eyebrow. Thunder shakes my apartment.

"It's an acquired taste." I reply pulling the pillow flush against my chest, "Besides, horror is the only genre where your anxiety is always right, but the horror never stays for too long. It’s nice to see the Protagonists survive to the end of their story."

For a moment, he looks like my Jason again. The slight bruising around his left eye causes him to squint ever so slightly, but he flashes me an amused smirk. His fixed gaze never leaves my face. I start to sweat. What if he thinks of me differently? Five years is a long time. We've both changed.

"You watch too many movies." He remarks offering me half of the blanket.

I snuggle close allowing myself to enjoy this moment. A flash of lightning illuminates the small TV screen.

"That is probably true." I reply lying my head on his shoulder.

The exhaustion of the day compounds until the opening credits fade into black.

Taglist: @nosyrobin,@jjsmeowthie.@epicy0n,@gaychaosgremlin,@rory-cakes,@luna-zendra-star,@b4tm4nn,@anuttellaa,@chibiduck

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ch0llies · 1 month ago

Text

REVIVAL | CHRIS STURNIOLO

A story in which a messy breakup lands you in your best friend’s Boston apartment a year after high school, and you find yourself face-to-face again with Christopher Sturniolo—your first love. As your paths cross again, the bitterness of how you left him still lingers, fueling every hated glance. But with your best friend dating his brother, you know is there’s no escaping Chris—or the tension that refuses to die. Is this revival destined to reignite, or will it crumble under the weight of your unresolved past?

story warning: this story includes very toxic and abusive behavior. none of the actions or words in this series are justified and are written exclusively for entertainment purposes only. under no circumstances are they personally associated with chris other than just using him as the main character. read at your own discretion. now that that is cleared up, there will be filthy smut, angst, swearing, underage drinking, underage drug use, abusive behavior, morally skewed choices, toxic relationships, and overall mature themes. if any of this upsets you... don't read!

word count: 7.7k

CHAPTER FIVE:

The next afternoon, the apartment was quiet except for the sound of you and Ava in the kitchen, surrounded by takeout containers and coffee mugs. Matt and Chris had left a couple of hours ago. Chris hadn’t said a word to you before leaving, just gave a nod in your direction before walking out the door with Matt. His silence had been deafening, and it gnawed at you even now.

“So,” Ava said, dragging out the word as she popped a piece of orange chicken into her mouth. She leaned forward on her elbows, her eyes narrowing. “You gonna tell me what the hell happened last night?”

You sighed, swirling your straw in your iced coffee. “Where do I even start?”

“From the beginning, obviously,” Ava said, grinning as she gestured dramatically with her chopsticks. “Spill. Now.”

You hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out how to even begin to explain the absolute chaos of the night. Finally, you took a deep breath and dove in. “Okay, so after you and Matt disappeared to—”

“Have amazing drunk sex,” Ava interrupted, smirking. “In the frat bathroom.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got that loud and clear,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Anyway, I was just hanging out, you know, flirting with random guys and trying to have a good time—”

“You slut,” Ava teased, grinning.

“Shut up,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “You’re just the one who said she had drunk sex in a frat bathroom?! But anyways this guy, Cam, comes up to me. Super hot, like jawline for days, beautiful eyes, just—ugh, chef’s kiss.”

Ava gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “No way. Did you hit it off?”

“Uh, duh,” you said. “We started talking, and then we started making out.”

“Slut,” Ava said again, her grin widening.

“Oh, it gets worse,” you said, biting your lip. “He put his hands on me, like… on me. And it was getting really heated, but then—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Ava said, holding up a hand. “Don’t tell me Chris saw.”

“Oh, he saw,” you said, your voice dripping with exasperation. “And he lost his fucking mind. He shoved Cam so hard he almost fell over, and then they started arguing.”

“No!” Ava gasped, her eyes wide.

“Yes,” you said, dragging the word out for emphasis. “Chris was all, ‘Back off,’ and Cam was like, ‘Who the hell are you?’ And then Chris just… snapped. He was so pissed, Ava.”

Ava slapped her hand on the table, her eyes sparkling with disbelief. “Are you serious? He actually fought a guy over you?”

“Yeah, and then Cam just gave up and left,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “But it didn’t end there. Chris grabbed me and dragged me out of the party.”

“Dragged you?” Ava repeated, her jaw-dropping.

“Like, literally dragged me. He threw me over his shoulder, put his hand over my ass to cover me, and carried me out like a caveman.”

Ava slapped her hand on the table, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Shut up. He did not.”

“Oh, he did,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “And then we got back here, and it just… exploded. We started fighting—like really fighting.”

“What do you mean fighting?” Ava asked, her expression turning more serious.

“I mean I was yelling at him, shoving him, and he just kept pushing back,” you said, your voice softening. “And then he pinned me against the wall, and…”

“And?” Ava whispered, her eyes huge.

“And we kissed,” you admitted, covering your face with your hands. “It was intense and messy and so fucking angry, but I couldn’t stop. It was like I didn’t even care how mad we were at each other.”

“Holy shit, Y/N,” Ava said, her voice barely above a whisper.

You lowered your hands, staring at your untouched food. “The worst part is, I don’t even know what to do now. He’s so different from the Chris I knew in high school, and I barely recognize him anymore. But somehow, I still…”

“You still what?” Ava asked gently.

“I can’t help but still feel for him,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m just as drawn to him now as I was before, even though he’s so… closed off and angry and impossible to read.” You let out a shaky laugh. “I mean, I basically ghosted him in high school for some guy I barely knew who asked me out. I guess I can’t really blame him.”

“So fucking what?” Ava said, her voice sharp. “You didn’t owe him anything, Y/N. Just because he was obsessed with you doesn’t mean you had to cater to his feelings. You were never dating. You had every right to date whoever you wanted.”

“It wasn’t like that,” you protested, though her words struck a chord. “We were close, Ava. And I just... I cut him off without even saying goodbye.”

“Again—so what?” Ava said, leaning forward. “You were a teenager. You were figuring your shit out. He doesn’t get to hold that over your head forever.”

You sigh. “I suppose. But at least he’s not my ex.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Bitch please. While your ex was a dick, Chris isn’t exactly a saint right now, either.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, no kidding. He’s been nothing but an asshole since he got back into my life.”

“Exactly,” Ava said, pointing her fork at you. “So why are you so hung up on fixing things with him?”

“Because he was a saint. And I miss him,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I miss how things used to be with him. Before everything got so messy and complicated. He wasn’t always like this, Ava. You know how good he was to me. He made me laugh, he cared about me, and now...” You trailed off, shaking your head. “Now he’s just angry and bitter all the time. And he takes it out on me.”

“Yeah, because he’s holding onto shit that happened years ago,” Ava said, rolling her eyes. “You ghosted him, Y/N. So what? He needs to grow the fuck up and let it go.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “We were best friends. We were—God, I don’t even know what we were. Something more. But I was too scared to ask, too scared to mess it up. And now it’s like he’s holding that against me forever.”

“Yeah, well, that’s on him,” Ava said bluntly. “If he wanted to be more, he should’ve said something. It’s not all on you.”

You groan. “God, he doesn’t make any sense. Why does he act like this?”

Ava stabbed at her orange chicken with a little too much force. “It’s easier for him to be pissed off at you than to actually deal with his shit. Classic emotionally constipated man-child behavior.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Pretty much. But then he has these moments where it’s like... I don’t know. And it messes with my head.”

“Like last night?” Ava asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” you said, groaning as you leaned back in your chair. “He dragged me out of that party like a lunatic, started a fight with Cam, yelled at me, and then—then we ended up making out like our lives depended on it.”

“Because he’s a walking contradiction,” Ava said with a smirk. “He’s mad, but he’s also still obsessed with you. The dude can’t decide if he wants to strangle you or kiss you.”

“Great,” you said flatly. “He should just shoot me with a gun.”

Ava laughs. “I’ll shoot you both with a gun.”

You glanced at her, the knot in your chest tightening. “I just miss him, Ava. The old him. The version of Chris that made me laugh until my stomach hurt, who actually talked to me instead of just... yelling. And I hate that I still feel this pull toward him even when he’s being a complete asshole.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ava said, waving her hand. “You’re remembering the good parts of him and ignoring the fact that he’s being a cunt right now.”

You nodded slowly, her words sinking in even though they didn’t make the situation any less complicated. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“I always am. Now shut up and stop repeating yourself. You said the same shitty argument like seven times and I keep clocking your shit. Saying it for an eighth time isn’t gonna change anything.” Ava said with a grin, grabbing another piece of chicken.

***

It was almost 3 a.m., and you and Ava were sprawled on the couch, half-watching some rom-com on Netflix while picking at a bowl of popcorn that was long past stale. The apartment was dimly lit, the movie’s flickering light reflecting off the walls as you both tried to ignore how late it was.

“You think she’s actually going to pick him?” Ava asked, gesturing toward the screen as the main character debated her love triangle dilemma.

“She better,” you replied, popping another piece of popcorn in your mouth. “The other guy’s a walking red flag.”

Ava snorted. “Aren’t they all?”

Before you could respond, her phone buzzed on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with Matt’s name. She grabbed it, raising an eyebrow as she answered. “Matt? What are you doing up this late?”

You could hear his voice faintly through the speaker, his words rushed and excited. “Hey, babe. I know it’s super last minute, but me, Nick, and Chris just came up with this crazy good idea for a YouTube video. Problem is, we need to be loud, and we don’t want to wake our parents, so we were wondering if we could come film at your place.”

Ava rolled her eyes, glancing at you with an exasperated look. “It’s three in the morning.”

“I know,” Matt said quickly. “But it’s gold, I swear. We won’t stay long, just an hour tops. Please?”

Ava sighed, clearly torn. “Hold on.” She muted the call and turned to you. “What do you think?”

You shrugged, already knowing you weren’t going to say no. “Sure, why not? I could use some entertainment.”

Ava unmuted the call, rolling her eyes again. “Fine. But if you break anything, you’re buying us dinner for a week.”

“I already buy your ass dinner almost everyday,” Matt said, his grin practically audible. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes. Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ava said, hanging up. She tossed her phone onto the couch and sighed.

You laughed, sitting up straighter. “It’s not like we were about to go to bed or anything.”

“True,” Ava said, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “But if they wake the neighbors, I’m not bailing them out.”

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Ava got up to open it, and the boys streamed in, carrying camera equipment, a tripod, and what looked like a giant bag of snacks.

“Thanks for letting us film here,” Nick said, grinning as he headed straight for the kitchen to set down the tripod.

“You guys are lifesavers,” Matt added, leaning in to kiss Ava on the cheek before setting down a box full of props on the counter.

Chris walked in last, carrying a camera bag slung over his shoulder. His hair was slightly messy, his hoodie hanging off one shoulder, and his sharp jawline caught the dim light just right. You looked away quickly, trying not to let his presence affect you. But of course, it did.

“You guys really couldn’t wait until tomorrow to do this?” Ava asked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter.

“Nope,” Matt said, grinning as he started unpacking the props. “When inspiration strikes, you’ve got to roll with it.”

Nick laughed, setting up the tripod near the kitchen island. “You’ll see.”

Chris stayed quiet, setting down the camera bag and beginning to set up the camera with efficient, practiced movements. You tried to keep your attention on the movie still playing on the TV, but every time he moved, your eyes drifted toward him. His focused expression, the way his hands worked the camera, the way he completely ignored your existence—it all left a bitter taste in your mouth.

The boys finished setting up the camera, positioning it near the kitchen island. The space was now filled with their energy—loud, chaotic, and slightly overwhelming. You leaned back on the couch, pulling your knees up and trying to focus on anything other than the tension simmering in the room. But it was impossible to ignore Chris, even as he acted like you weren’t there.

The boys cleared off the kitchen island, pushing aside anything that wasn’t essential and leaving the space completely empty. Ava and you took your seats behind the camera, ready to watch whatever chaos they were about to create. Matt leaned over the counter, grinning as he looked at you both.

“Alright,” Matt said, rubbing his hands together. “We’re not going to tell you what we’re doing right away. You’re going to react with the viewers. It’ll be better that way.”

“Sounds ominous,” Ava said, raising an eyebrow. “But okay.”

Nick laughed, adjusting the tripod to get the perfect angle. “It’s genius. You’re going to love it.”

Matt glanced at you. “Can you press play for us? We’re starting now.”

You reached forward, hitting the record button on the camera. Immediately, Chris’s demeanor shifted. His slouched posture straightened, and a grin spread across his face as he leaned into the counter. His energy completely transformed, the playful, animated side of him that you hadn’t seen in so long lighting up the room. It was like flipping a switch.

“Alright, what’s up, guys?” Nick said, waving at the camera. “Welcome back to another video. Today, we’re doing something a little different.”

“Something insane,” Chris added, his voice light and teasing as he gestured dramatically toward Matt. “This was all his idea, by the way, so if it goes south, blame him.”

You couldn’t help but stare at Chris, your chest tightening. This was the version of him you missed—the Chris who was loud, funny, and so unapologetically himself. The realization that he could still be this person, just not around you, twisted the knife a little deeper.

Matt clapped his hands together, pulling your attention back. “Alright, alright. We’re doing the Deaf, Blind, Mute Challenge. If you don’t know what that is, one of us will be deaf—wearing noise-canceling headphones—one will be blindfolded, and the last one will be mute—tape over their mouth. And we’re going to try to complete a task.”

Nick grinned. “Spoiler alert: It’s going to go horribly wrong.”

Matt turned to Ava, his grin softening slightly. “Sweetheart, can you grab some headphones, a blindfold, and tape for us?”

“Of course,” Ava said, hopping up and heading toward the hallway closet. She returned a moment later with the supplies, setting them down on the counter. “Alright, I’ve got noise-canceling headphones, a blindfold, and some tape. Who’s doing what?”

“I’ll take the headphones,” Nick said, grabbing them.

“Blindfold me,” Matt said, holding his arms out dramatically. “Let’s get this started.”

Ava rolled her eyes, grabbing the blindfold and walking over to Matt. “Alright, hold still, drama queen.”

As she worked on tying the blindfold securely around Matt’s head, she glanced back at you. “Y/N, you do Chris. Here’s the tape.” She handed you the roll of tape, her tone casual, but her smirk told you she knew exactly what she was doing.

Your stomach flipped as you stood and walked toward Chris, the tape in your hand feeling heavier than it should. He was leaning against the counter, his grin still in place, but as you approached, his eyes locked onto yours, and the air between you shifted instantly.

“Ready?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Chris raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “I’m always ready.”

The weight of his stare made your hands tremble slightly as you tore off a strip of tape. You stepped closer, the tension between you palpable as you held the tape up. His eyes didn’t leave yours, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the room disappeared.

You hesitated for just a second before pressing the tape gently over his mouth, your fingers brushing against his skin. His lips were soft beneath your touch, and the heat of his breath against your fingertips sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes darkened as he watched you, the intensity in his gaze making it impossible to look away.

Your hands lingered for a second longer than necessary, your thumb grazing the corner of the tape as if testing its hold. Chris’s chest rose and fell slightly faster, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Good?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded slowly, his eyes locked onto yours, and the heat in his gaze made your cheeks flush. You stepped back quickly, the moment breaking as Ava’s voice cut through the air.

“Alright, we’re set!” she said, stepping back to admire her work on Matt.

You moved back to your seat behind the camera, your heart racing as you tried to shake off the tension from the encounter. But no matter how hard you tried to focus on the chaos unfolding in front of you, your mind kept drifting back to the look in Chris’s eyes—and the way it had made you feel like the world was tilting on its axis.

Ava and you stood behind the camera, your arms crossed as you watched the boys set up for their chaotic cupcake challenge. The kitchen was a disaster waiting to happen, and you could already tell that this was going to be a train wreck—but an entertaining one.

“Alright, we’re recording,” Ava said, pressing a button on the camera. “Do your thing, boys.”

Nick, now wearing the noise-canceling headphones, couldn’t hear her at all. He was standing off to the side, bobbing his head like he was listening to music. Matt had the blindfold on and was flailing around dramatically, feeling for the counter. Chris, with the tape firmly over his mouth, simply crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, his annoyance already evident.

“Okay, let’s get started!” Matt shouted, completely missing that Nick couldn’t hear him and Chris couldn’t speak. He groped around for the mixing bowl, finally grabbing it and slamming it onto the counter. “Step one: bowl. Nailed it.”

Chris, leaning against the counter, made a series of exaggerated gestures toward the ingredients, his eyes narrowing at Matt’s lack of efficiency. Matt, of course, didn’t notice, and Nick was oblivious, wandering over to the pantry and pulling out a random can of beans.

He turned back to the counter and nearly walked into Chris, who grabbed the can, sighed dramatically, and shoved it aside.

Matt finally managed to locate the flour, opening the bag and immediately spilling half of it onto the counter. “Shit,” he muttered, waving his hands around. “Is this the flour? Did I get it?”

Chris clapped loudly, trying to get Matt’s attention, but it only startled him. Matt jumped, slapping the bag of flour, and an even bigger puff of white powder exploded into the air.

Nick, still completely unaware, grabbed the sugar and started dumping it directly into the mixing bowl—without measuring. Chris groaned behind his tape, shaking his head and gesturing wildly, but Nick just ignored him and gave a thumbs up.

“Nick, stop!” Matt yelled, though his voice was way too loud. “Are you measuring it?”

Nick, of course, couldn’t hear him. He started humming loudly, pouring even more sugar into the bowl while Matt blindly felt around for eggs.

Chris stepped in, grabbing the sugar away from Nick and pointing aggressively at the mixing bowl. Nick squinted at him, tilting his head like a confused puppy before turning back to the counter and grabbing the salt instead.

You gasped, watching as Nick dumped a generous handful of salt into the batter. Chris froze, his eyes widening in horror before he started slamming his hand on the counter to get someone’s attention.

Matt heard the banging and spun toward the noise, knocking over the carton of eggs in the process. “What’s happening? Is it going okay?”

Chris threw his hands in the air, looking past the camera at you as if to say, This is what I have to work with? His gaze lingered on you, the tension in his eyes clear even through the ridiculousness of the moment.

Nick was now attempting to crack eggs one-handed, with more ending up on the counter than in the bowl, and Matt had somehow managed to grab a whisk and was waving it around like a sword.

“What are you doing?” Matt yelled in Nick’s general direction. “You’re supposed to be mixing!”

Nick, oblivious, grabbed the whisk from Matt and started stirring the batter—with way too much enthusiasm. Flour and sugar flew everywhere, coating the counter and both of them in a fine white dust.

Chris looked like he was about to lose it, his hands on his hips as he glared at the mess. He turned to the camera, his eyes meeting yours again, and raised his eyebrows.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. The boys eventually managed to get the batter into a cupcake tin—though most of it ended up on the counter or the floor—and Chris carefully slid it into the oven, giving a mock bow as he turned back to the camera.

Nick took off his headphones as the others started cleaning up, finally realizing the chaos he’d missed. “Wait, what just happened?” he asked, looking around at the flour-covered kitchen.

“You were a fucking menace,” Ava said, laughing.

“I think Chris might actually murder you after this,” you added.

Chris peeled the tape off his mouth with a dramatic wince, immediately running his tongue over his lips as if to rid himself of the sticky residue.

“That’s a wrap,” Matt said, grinning at the camera. “We made cupcakes… kind of.”

“More like a flour explosion,” Nick muttered, glancing at the disaster zone around them.

Chris, still standing by the oven, smirked. “Don’t worry. The real magic happens when we taste-test these bad boys.”

Matt leaned toward the camera, still grinning. “Alright, we’ll cut here, clean up, and be back when the cupcakes are ready. See you in a bit.” He turned to Ava and you. “You can stop the recording now.”

You reached over to the camera and hit stop, the room falling into a relative silence except for the hum of the oven.

“Alright, boys,” Ava said, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter. “If you’re going to mess up my kitchen, you’re going to help clean it.”

Nick raised his hands in mock surrender. “Yes, ma’am.”

They all pitched in, wiping down the counters and sweeping up the flour. Nick somehow managed to spill even more sugar while trying to help, earning an eye-roll from Chris and a muffled laugh from Matt. Meanwhile, you and Ava stood back, occasionally handing them paper towels or pointing out spots they missed.

Once the kitchen was somewhat back to its original state, the oven timer dinged. Chris grabbed a pair of oven mitts and pulled out the tray, carefully setting it down on the counter. The cupcakes looked… uneven, to say the least, but they were technically edible.

Matt reset the camera, waving you over. “Alright, let’s get this taste-test on record. Y/N, press play.”

You hit record, stepping back as the boys lined up behind the island, each grabbing a cupcake.

Nick held his up like it was a trophy. “Alright, guys, moment of truth. Are these a disaster or a masterpiece?”

Chris bit into his first, chewing thoughtfully. “Tastes like flour and salt,” he said, swallowing and grimacing. “Solid one out of ten.”

Matt laughed, trying his own and immediately choking on the dryness. “Oh God. Who let Nick measure the sugar?”

“I thought it was sugar!” Nick yelled defensively.

The camera captured every laugh, every over dramatic reaction, and every complaint as they tried each cupcake. Once they’d suffered enough, Matt called it. “Alright, that’s it for today. Thanks for watching, guys. Don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe. We’ll see you in the next one!” He waved at the camera before turning to you. “You can cut it now.”

You stopped the recording, and the boys began packing up their equipment, their energy still buzzing from the shoot. Ava and you watched from the couch as they loaded the tripod and camera back into the cases, their voices overlapping in excited chatter.

“So, Nick,” Ava said, looking over at him as he zipped up a bag. “How was your trip to LA? You never told me much about it.”

Nick straightened up, his face lighting up. “Oh, it was amazing. Touring all the film schools was insane. The campuses are gorgeous, and the equipment they have is next level. It made me want to move there tomorrow.”

“That’s awesome,” you said, leaning forward. “Did you find a school you really liked?”

“A couple, yeah,” Nick said, nodding. “But it’s expensive, you know? So I’m still figuring it out.”

Matt leaned against the counter, grinning at his brother. “Yeah, but with how well the channel’s been doing lately, who knows? Maybe you’ll be able to afford it soon.”

Nick’s eyes brightened even more. “Right? Our videos have been getting more and more views every week. It’s starting to pick up for real.”

“That’s so exciting,” Ava said, smiling. “You guys are really doing it.”

“I guess so” Chris said, his tone more subdued as he finished packing up the last of the equipment. His eyes flicked to you briefly, something unreadable in his expression, before he turned back to the counter.

You couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride for them, despite everything. They were making something out of nothing, turning their life into something tangible—and people were loving it.

“That’s awesome, guys,” you said, offering a small smile.

As the boys packed up the last of their equipment and started moving toward the door, Ava glanced at Matt and grabbed his arm, pulling him aside.

“Stay the night, please?” she said softly, giving him a playful pout. “It’s late, and I barely got to spend any time with you. Plus, you’re not driving home at 4 a.m.”

Matt hesitated for half a second before smiling. “Alright, sweetheart. You convinced me. I’ll stay.”

“Of course you will,” Ava said, grinning as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.

Meanwhile, Nick slung his bag over his shoulder, glancing between everyone. “Yeah, no, I’m good. I have to meet Alanah tomorrow morning, so I’m taking the car home.” He gave Matt a knowing look. “You can find your own ride back.”

“Good luck waking up early,” Matt said, smirking at his brother.

“Please,” Nick shot back. “I’m a professional. I’ll be fine.”

As Nick headed toward the door, you found yourself standing awkwardly by the couch. Chris leaned against the counter, his gaze burning into yours as if he was daring you to say something. The tension in the air was thick, crackling between you like static electricity, but you stayed silent, your eyes locked with his.

“Alright, we’re going to bed,” Ava said suddenly, grabbing Matt’s hand and tugging him toward the stairs. She threw a grin over her shoulder as she added, “Don’t stay up too late.”

Matt followed her with an easy laugh, and they disappeared upstairs, leaving you and Chris alone in the quiet apartment.

Chris didn’t move from his spot by the counter, his arms crossed and his eyes still locked on you. The silence stretched between you, heavy and charged, but neither of you said a word.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to think of something—anything—to break the tension. But the way Chris was looking at you, dark and unreadable, made it impossible to focus.

The room felt too quiet, too still, and you couldn’t tell if it was the weight of unspoken words or the memories of everything that had passed between you. Either way, it left you rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak as Chris stayed exactly where he was, his gaze never wavering.

Once the living room was completely empty, the faint creaks of the floor above told you that Ava and Matt were fully preoccupied upstairs. The silence downstairs felt thick, like a suffocating blanket wrapping itself around you. You lingered near the couch, unsure of whether to sit or retreat to your room. Before you could make a decision, Chris moved.

He stepped away from the counter and crossed the room in a few long strides, his presence commanding and impossible to ignore. Without a word, he gestured toward the couch. “Sit.”

You blinked at him, startled by the calm authority in his voice. “Chris, I—”

“Sit,” he said again, softer this time, but with a weight that left no room for argument.

Reluctantly, you sank onto the couch, your heart hammering in your chest. He sat down beside you, his posture casual but his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.

“Chris,” you started, your voice wavering slightly. “Can we talk about yesterday?”

He leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. Let’s talk.”

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. “You had no right to push that guy off me, Chris. What I do, who I’m with—it’s none of your business.”

Chris tilted his head, his eyes never leaving yours. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know,” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “I get it, okay? I messed up in high school. I shouldn’t have done, and I’m sorry for that. But you never made anything clear between us and it was making me go crazy. I’m sorry for putting myself first but you don’t get to act like you still have some kind of claim over me.”

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Claim over you?” he repeated, his tone almost mocking. “Is that what this is about?”

You frowned, your frustration mounting. “Yes, Chris. That’s exactly what this is about. You can’t just insert yourself into my life now and act like you get to dictate what I do.”

Chris leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked at you. “You’re missing the point, Y/N.”

“What point?” you snapped.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. The touch was soft, almost tender, and it made your heart stutter in your chest. “The point is,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “that I can’t stand seeing you with guys like him. Guys who don’t deserve you.”

Your breath caught, his words throwing you off balance. “Chris—”

“You’re beautiful,” he said, cutting you off. His hand on your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. “You always have been. You’ve always been my beautiful girl. And seeing you with some random guy who doesn’t even know how lucky he is… it drives me crazy.”

You stared at him, your pulse racing. “You don’t get to say things like that,” you whispered.

“Why not?” he asked, his gaze dropping to your lips for a brief second before meeting your eyes again.

“Because it’s manipulative,” you said, your voice trembling.

“Is it?” he asked, leaning closer. “Or are you just scared of how much you still feel when around?”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “Chris, I don’t want to do this with you right now. I just want to understand why you think you can act like you still have some kind of authority over me.”

“Authority?” he repeated, his voice dripping with mock amusement. “Y/N, I don’t need authority. You don’t even realize how much you give away without me having to ask.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you shot back, your frustration boiling over.

Chris leaned closer, his hand resting lightly on your thigh, his touch both grounding and suffocating. “It means I know you, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “I know the way your mind works. I know the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. And I know that no matter how much you want to run from this, you can’t.”

You wanted to pull away, to break the tension and stand your ground, but his words left you frozen, your heart racing in your chest. “You don’t know me,” you whispered, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Chris’s smirk deepened, his thumb brushing lightly against your leg. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

The way he said it- calm, condescending, and so damn sure of himself- made your stomach twist. You hated how much power he seemed to hold over you, how easily he could unravel you with just a few words.

“This isn’t fair,” you said again, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and something you couldn’t name.

“Life’s not fair,” Chris said soothingly, leaning over and running a hand through your hair. “But here’s the thing: I’m not asking you for anything, Y/N. I don’t need to. You’re already exactly where I want you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you clenched your hands into fists, trying to steady yourself. “I’m not playing your game,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

Chris’s gaze softened, just for a moment, but there was still an edge to it that made your skin prickle. “You don’t have to,” he said simply. “You’re already in it.”

Before you could respond, he grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap with an ease that made your heart race. His hands settled on your hips, holding you in place as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“You think you’re still in control,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “But you’re not. Not anymore.”

The softness of his tone contrasted sharply with the weight of his words, leaving you torn between anger and something that felt dangerously close to surrender.

“Chris, stop,” you said, your voice trembling as you tried to push against his chest.

But he didn’t budge, his grip firm but not forceful. “Stop what?” he asked, his voice laced with mock innocence. “You don’t like hearing the truth?”

Your frustration bubbled to the surface, and you shoved at his chest again, harder this time. “What do you want from me, Chris? I don’t understand you.”

Chris let out a low laugh, his smirk deepening as he leaned back slightly, keeping you firmly in place on his lap. His hands moved to your waist, his grip possessive yet unnervingly calm. “What do I want from you?” he repeated, his voice smooth and dripping with condescension. “Now, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

You glared at him, your hands resting against his chest, trembling with a mix of anger and something else you didn’t want to name. “Yeah, it is,” you snapped. “Because one minute, you’re furious with me, yelling at me, and the next, you’re—”

“Touching you like this?” he interrupted, his thumbs brushing slow circles against your sides. His eyes darkened as they roamed over your face, locking on yours with a gaze that made your stomach twist. “Or maybe it’s because you’re letting me. Let’s not pretend you don’t like it, Y/N.”

Your chest tightened, and you pushed against him again, trying to create even the smallest bit of space between you. But his hold didn’t falter, and his strength only highlighted the imbalance of control in the moment.

“Stop,” you said through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to do this.”

“Do what?” he asked, his voice softening as if he were talking to a child. “Remind you of how easy it is for you to fall back into this? Because, Y/N, you’re doing exactly what I thought you would.”

You froze, his words hitting harder than you wanted to admit. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He tilted his head, his smirk taking on a sharper edge. “It means this,” he said, gesturing between the two of you, “is what you seem to do best at. You fuck me over, you play the victim, act like I’m the one crossing lines, but here you are, sitting on my lap, letting me touch you.”

Your face burned with a mix of shame and fury. “You pulled me here,” you hissed.

“And you stayed,” he shot back, his tone sharp enough to cut. “You could’ve walked away. But you didn’t, because deep down, you like this.”

His words left you speechless, your throat tightening as you struggled to come up with a response.

“But let me make one thing clear,” Chris continued, his voice dropping lower, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. “High school was your time to have me wrapped around your finger. You lost that. You don’t get to play that game anymore, Y/N.”

You blinked, your anger turning into something closer to desperation. “Then what the hell are you doing?”

Chris leaned in, his nose brushing against your cheek as he whispered, “I’m playing my own game now. And this time, it’s you who’s wrapped around my finger.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his words sank in, the weight of them suffocating. “You’re so—” you started, your voice trembling. “You’re such an asshole.”

He laughed softly, his lips brushing against your temple as he spoke. “Maybe. But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the mix of anger, shame, and undeniable attraction leaving you completely unmoored. “I don’t understand you,” you said again, your voice breaking. “I don’t know what you want from me, Chris.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes scanning your face with an intensity that made you want to shrink under his gaze. “I don’t want anything from you. You make me sick.” he said, his tone far too calm for what he was saying. “I just want to see how far you’ll let me go.”

The tears spilled over, hot and unwelcome, but you refused to look away from him. “Why are you doing this?” you whispered, your voice trembling as you searched his face for any sign of the Chris you used to know.

Chris tilted his head, his hand brushing against your cheek in a mockingly tender gesture. “Because I can,” he said simply, his voice calm, almost soothing.

You wanted to scream at him, to shove him away and demand answers that made sense, but instead, you sat there, frozen as his thumb gently wiped away your tears.

“Don’t cry, beautiful,” he murmured, his tone shifting into something soft and disarming. His fingers moved to your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek again, slow and deliberate. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as his other hand moved to smooth back a strand of your hair, his touch maddeningly tender. He combed his fingers through your hair, his eyes scanning your face with a softness that felt like a cruel trick.

“Chris,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t do this.”

He leaned closer, his forehead almost touching yours, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Yes, you can,” he said, his tone dripping with quiet confidence. “You’ve always been able to handle me, Y/N. You did throughout high school. You just forgot how.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, leaving you torn between anger and the pull he had on you. “I clearly didn’t in high school, Chris. You don’t get to do this to me,” you said, though your voice lacked the strength you wanted it to have.

Chris smirked faintly, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw as he tilted your chin up slightly. “I’m not doing anything, baby,” he said, his tone almost condescending. “You’re the one letting it happen.”

You clenched your fists, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Why do you have to be like this?”

“Like what?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Honest? Direct? I think you’re just mad because I don’t sugarcoat things for you.”

“Mad?” you repeated, your voice rising slightly. “I’m furious, Chris. You act like you can just waltz back into my life and—”

“And what?” he interrupted, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. “Make you feel something? Scare you a little because you’re not in control anymore?”

You bit your lip, your vision blurring with fresh tears as his words hit too close to home.

“Shh,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your lips, silencing whatever comeback you were about to muster. “Let’s not ruin the moment with your mouth, okay?”

You glared at him, but the fight in your chest was beginning to fizzle out, replaced by a growing sense of defeat.

“Come on,” he said after a moment, his tone shifting into something almost coaxing. “Let’s go upstairs to bed. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

You hesitated, your instincts screaming at you not to give in, but his hand moved back to your cheek, cradling it gently as his thumb wiped away the last traces of your tears. “Let’s go,” he added, his voice low and laced with a dangerous sort of charm.

After a long pause, you nodded, too emotionally drained to argue anymore. He stood, holding out his hand to help you up. You took it reluctantly, and he led you upstairs, his grip firm but not forceful.

The walk to your room felt like a blur, your mind racing with conflicting emotions as you tried to make sense of what just happened. Once inside, Chris closed the door behind you and leaned casually against it, watching you with an unreadable expression.

You turned away from him, your hands trembling as you rubbed at your face, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

Chris watched you for a moment as you sat on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands, your breathing uneven. You felt his gaze like a weight, pressing down on you, and it made it impossible to think clearly.

“You know,” he said finally, his voice low and calm, “you’re making this harder than it has to be.”

You looked up at him, your frustration flaring again. “How am I supposed to act, Chris? You pull me into all of this, twist everything I say, and then expect me to just… what? Go along with it?”

He tilted his head, his smirk faint but present. “I expect you to trust me, for one. Something you used to do without question.”

You blinked at him, his words hitting a nerve. “You don’t make it easy.”

Chris pushed off the door and took a few slow steps toward you, his movements deliberate, calculated. He crouched in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees, the intensity of his gaze locking you in place.

“Life isn’t easy, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. “You should know that by now. But you’re stronger than this. You’re stronger than all this doubt. And deep down, you know I’m right.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, the way they dug under your skin and made you question everything. He brushed a thumb over your knee, his touch maddeningly gentle as his eyes searched yours.

“Come here,” he said, his voice coaxing.

You hesitated, but the pull of his presence was too strong, and you let him guide you up onto the bed. He slid in beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you against him.

“Chris,” you started, your voice trembling.

“Shh,” he whispered, his lips brushing lightly against your temple. “Stop overthinking. Just… let it go.”

His hand moved to your hair, his fingers combing through it in slow, soothing motions that made your chest ache with a mix of frustration and longing. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re exhausted,” he said, his tone soft but edged with something darker. “You’re fighting me, fighting yourself, and for what? Just let me take care of you, Y/N. Let me be what you need.”

Tears pricked at your eyes again, and you hated how much you wanted to believe him, how much you wanted to let yourself sink into the comfort he was offering—even if it came with strings attached.

“You don’t care,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You’re just doing this to—”

“To what?” he interrupted, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. “To mess with you? To hurt you? If that’s what you think, why are you still here?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The truth was, you didn’t know why you were still there. You didn’t know why you let him get to you, why you let him hold this kind of power over you.

Chris leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “That’s what I thought. You’re still here because you want this, Y/N. Whether you admit it or not.”

You clenched your fists, your frustration boiling over. “I hate you,” you whispered, the words more for yourself than for him.

He laughed softly, his breath warm against your skin. “I know,” he said, his tone infuriatingly calm. “You hate that I’m right. And you hate that no matter how hard you try, you can’t let me go.”

You closed your eyes, your tears spilling over as his words settled over you like a weight. He pulled you closer, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured, his voice softening just enough to sound almost tender. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

And as you lay there, trapped in his hold, you couldn’t help but feel like you were sinking deeper into something you didn’t know how to escape- a web of manipulation, desire, and the lingering ache of what used to be.

a/n: pls comment what yall think so far and any ideas/predictions you have! any thoughts or criticisms are appreciated!

MASTERLIST

tags: tags: @mattsobvimyfav @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt

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