#pls I wanna do drugs

[dotdotdottiedot]

where can I acquire this, NyQuil?

nyquild yucky!!!!!!!!!!!

[angelofsmalldeaath]

like real people do — a.h.b.

cw: drug use (weed), suggestive content, shotgunning kinda, yapping (a lot of it)

smoke curls around my fingers in the moonlight. it’s 2 am on a summer night, the heat’s not blistering but it’s warm enough that we sit on the balcony with barely any clothes on, his hand on my thigh, my hand around a spliff.

“d’you think if we were on a different planet, or–or the moon, i dunno, you think we’d be on a balcony somewhere, pointing at the earth?” his voice sounds deeper to my ears than it usually does, the words floating through my veins as sluggishly as the blood. 

it’s a thought that takes my mind to interesting places. 

i snort. “you’re so high right now.”

he mimics my snort, eyes crinkling. “and you’re so far away right now, c’mere.”

i want to point out that our thighs are touching, my knee nudging his every few seconds when one of us moves. but then his fingers trail up, up, up—roughened pads of his index and middle fingers against the smooth skin of my thighs and suddenly i understand. he’s so far away. 

it’d be nicer if i could climb inside him and make a home in his chest cavity. right next to his beating heart. 

“thoughts,” he taps my head, “so many of them. what are you thinking?”

“about you, about your chest.”

“my chest?”

he turns fully now, facing me, body angled towards mine while his face looks half-amused half-confused. instead of answering, i take another drag of the spliff and hold it in my throat until it burns. until my body forces a release. 

“you’re so high right now!” he mimics my words from before in a high pitched voice. a poor imitation. 

“oi! you thought we could have a balcony somewhere on the moon!”

“i still think we would,” he protests. i watch him, enamoured all of a sudden, shivering when his thumb traces my bottom lip gently. “a house just like this. for the two of us. and i think i’d point at the earth, say ‘look at that, look at you and me—’”

“we’d somehow be on earth and on the moon? at the same time?” 

my amused tone makes him roll his eyes. “two versions, darling. keep up please. now where was i?”

“look at you and me—”

“ah yes!” his hand wraps around mine, lifting it up until both our fingers are pointing at a random star in the sky. 

“look at us, happy and content and tanned from the sun. you’d have blonde hair, i think—”

“you think i should have blonde hair?” i gasp at him, mock offended, “you don’t like my hair the way it is?”

“i love your hair. i’d love it even if it was red or blue or green or purple. but that’s not the point, the point is you’d have blonde hair because we’d be in the sun all day, gardening or keeping bees or kissing or—” and this time he waggles his brows like a teenager, “—fucking.”

i giggle. it’s a pretty thought, a distant dream. but in this moment, it almost feels…touchable. with my finger pointing at the star i grab, i curl my fingers until my hand closes into a fist and i feel the pulsating core of the fading dream in the centre of my palm. he smiles too, and brings the back of my hand to his lips. 

“we could do that, be the earth version of ourselves instead of the moon version. i could dye my hair y’know? oooh! we could dye it at home.”

“absolutely not.” he dismisses the idea quickly, before my weed-addled brain can make any plans, and takes the spliff away from me. i don’t protest though—it’s a different kind of joy to watch him indulge, to watch it dangling lazily between his lips until he tilts his face up to the sky and exhales. 

“mean,” i tut. “you’d think for a man with such a sweet tongue you’d be less mean to me.”

“oh, you think a lot about my tongue, do you?”

a flush creeps up my cheeks. it’s the heat in the air running inside me, crawling through my veins. it’s the beginning of a summer thunderstorm, zapping through my blood. 

“i do. i think about you. all the time.”

“even now? when i’m right next to you?”

“especially now. when you’re so close and so far away.”

then i feel his hand on my waist, a small nudge, and suddenly i’m in his lap, head tucked into the crook of his neck. my cheek right above his beating heart. 

“better?”

“much.”

“stay like this then. stay forever.”

i smile at the thought of forever, of us growing old and frail right here on his balcony, tangled up exactly like we are, his fingers running through my grey hair, my hand on his wrinkled cheek.  

“open your mouth,” he nudges my chin with his thumb, parting my lips. a moment later smoke surrounds me—exhaled from his lungs, inhaled into mine. warm and charged and sweet. 

the faded dream comes to life, this time tinged with the promise of forever. i smile and bury my face into his neck. 

then i close my eyes. 

[girlyteengirl16]

when even the drugs don’t make you forget

[bumbling-jester]

god what is it about certain rock songs that have you screaming along with the singer with every ounce of emotion in your body until your muscles ache and your voice is hoarse

[byanyan]

ㅤseated alone at a table with a cup of coffee that has yet to be touched, byan's gaze is unfocused, staring off into the distance without really seeing anything. they look rather unlike themeself today — their face is bare, their hair down, and they're lacking in their usual excess of accessories. it's hard, keeping up appearances when you simply haven't got the energy. even their clothes are more simplistic than usual: a large and comfortable hoodie — bright pink, as most everything they own is — and the first pair of pants they'd lain eyes on this morning.

in truth, they're almost surprised that they even managed to will themself out of bed this morning. —glad for it, of course, because they'd hate to feel more pathetic and powerless than they already do, but surprised nonetheless. the weight of the world, of everything, has been crushing as of late, and really... the only reason they've managed to overcome it today is so they can get their hands on something to help numb themself to it all. (they've run out. used everything in excess and spent the last handful of nights too drunk or high to do anything, least of all think.)

it's almost their birthday. the thought earns a wry quirk at the corner of their mouth and a humourless breath is pushed through their nose. maybe that's why they want to stay so perpetually fucked up. the anniversary of the day they were brought into a world that never wanted them. a day full of reminders of past disappointments and how much nothing they're worth. joy.

expression souring, a hand swipes for the backpack which rests at their feet and begins a hurried search for their last remaining joint. gotta turn the brain off again. gotta dull the throbbing ache that's buried somewhere deep inside their chest. gotta do something since they can't just rip it all out.

maybe it's not the smartest thing, to light up in such a public space, but that certainly doesn't stop them from raising a lighter to the end of the joint once they find it. at least it's only something as mild as weed this time, right?

[shewhoeatssand]

A kaneki headcanon for you that I am metaphorically pushing under your door

Kaneki was a literary purist when he was younger, he’d refuse to buy any translated version of a book he wants to read and instead struggled his way through with a combination of the internet and a dictionary.

This was made even worse during his American lit phase because of how much cultural context is needed to understand the masterpieces. The only one he really connected with was The Grapes of Wrath, because of his upbringing and losing his mom because she was working to feed him.

Kaneki read American Psycho late into highschool and it brought down his Gpa by a decent amount. He had multiple notebooks just keeping track of everything going on in an attempt to understand what was going on. He’d spend nights up late theorizing about the book and was planning to submit his analysis on it for his PhD before he got ghouled.

Shironeki definitely speaks much better English and upon rereading it, he fell in love with fear and loathing in last Vegas, connecting it to his experiences in the ghoul world.

American psycho also was one of the things that connected Kaneki and Hide as they drifted apart as they got older, hide being a big fan of the movie saved their friendship.

OH GOD I’M SORRY FOR LEAVING THIS TO ROT FOR SO LONG, I just loved this one so much I didn’t know how to respond ❤️❤️❤️ I’m reading Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas RIGHT NOW ACTUALLY because of this ask!!!!!!!!! This whole thing is so accurate I don’t know what to add, I love it so much, I remember listening to American Psycho in the car while I was moving house and it turned my whole world upside down. And this ask also made me realise how much Kaneki would have liked this book too!!!! Aaaaaah I’d kill to have gotten to see his PhD analysis on it :((( too bad he was ghoulified. Thank you so much for this it is literally the basis for all my thoughts on Kaneki speaking/reading English or other languages

[nukanom1con]

borderline rambles.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting 

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself 

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼 

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer. 

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was. 

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal. 

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough  testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far. 

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.” 

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft. 

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji. 

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin. 

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more? 

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any  7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story. 

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was. 

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad. 

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it. 

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.” 

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them. 

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood. 

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m 

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly. 

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you. 

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething 

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up. 

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of  1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them. 

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena. 

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games. 

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast. 

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up. 

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them. 

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet. 

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off. 

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight. 

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time 

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue. 

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath. 

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm. 

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet. 

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time 

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you? 

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it. 

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty. 

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to. 

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue. 

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you. 

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.” 

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough. 

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad. 

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you. 

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable. 

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest. 

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.   

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him. 

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

��Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking. 

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

.

.

.

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

➸ masterlist

taglist:

@joemama-2 @erencvlt @pickuptruck01 @hanakotateyama @nuronhe

@beabadobeee @air3922 @timetoletmyimaginationfly @chiyokoemilia @jotarohat

@sirencholia @sorcerersseestars @horisdope @to-dabi @staoru

@aliidarling @ninjaturtletoes @lavender-hvze @lanadelreylover11 @chckn-pi

@satoryaa @gojodickbig @v4mpieres @reinam00n @sleepyyammy

@haikomaiko @tbzzluvr @myahfig4 @arabelluhhh4200 @bloopsstuff

@nat-the-gayass-down-bad-mf @badbclub @blackunecorn @geniejunn @n0tviv

@verystrawberryhottub @iheartshopping @peonysfordayz @dreamsxmerci @aishies-stuff

@milkm4nz @athinasaurus @sashisuslover @welldamnsatoru @aeriiixhh

@crystalymin @dcvilxswish @miakxn @satxoru

[starbandit]

trying to write high!sex but i can't remember the last time i got high :(

[kawaiisimp]

Knocked out all the school work I needed to do in an hour after procrastinating for the entire day, and now I'm mad at myself. Why do I do these things to myself!

[viscerasmoothie]

TW for suicidal ideation, drug mentions and shit

I can't take this anymore. It's almost midnight, I'm failing school, I was supposed to take a shower and my grandma threw my headphones at my chair that I've broken once (The chair, remember that post I made a couple months ago?), then got them and threw them at me, and I'm was crying like a fucking baby. I don't want to be alive anymore. I couldn't even make a game in Scratch, I can't draw for shit, I couldn't write a decent story for the life of me, people are killing others ruthlessly, and I can't do shit about anything happening in the world. I really am just a stupid kid who knows jack shit about anything. I'm an asshole to my best friend (Who I would probably kms if they left me), I can't finish any kind of test no matter how much time you give me, i can't write an essay no matter how much I'm interested in the topic, I generally can't do schoolwork for shit, and no matter how much I want to, I can't make any kind of good, meaningful change in the niche communities I'm in, let alone the world. I have no reason to be alive, I shouldn't be alive, what are the odds of a baby whose mother took heroin and smoked during pregnancy would even survive being born, or more realistically, a handful of weeks? And then for that child to be a complete and utter waste of every resource imaginable. Why did I have to be born? Why couldn't have my mother miscarried, or got an abortion for fucks sake? How do I explain any of this to my therapist, or the school counselor? I can't get the words to describe how I feel usually (Native English speaker btw), how in the everliving fuck do I even begin to describe this hot pile of garbage?

Anyways, unhinged rant is (hopefully) over. Please proceed with your usual scrolling, thanks.

Also my time zone is EST, so it might not be midnight for you.

[gyaruhana]

pls do thanos headcanons

Thanos/Choi Su-bong - headcannons

Synopsis: just sfw and nsfw headcannons of thanos

A/N: i love him so much he's the silly

Warnings: drug mentions, choking, thanos is rough, use of whore, clit pinching, penetration duh

SFW:

➠ Thanos my perfect husband where do I even begin?

➠ He’s slightly off the rails, sure. Just a little. But he has a good heart !!

➠ He makes rap songs for you all the time and they always include something about how pretty you are

➠ Would absolutely kill for you especially if you both were in the squid games.

➠ He’d likely keep playing the games because he needs that money but he WILL be protecting you at all costs.

➠ You are never not by his side because he couldn’t handle not having you in arms reach in a deadly game. 

➠ He doesn’t like when other guys flirt with you. It pisses him off and he always gets aggressive about it and tells them to back off.

➠ Highkey likes the idea of matching things like nails or clothes or bracelets..

➠ To him it’s like a sign that you’re his and he really likes when people can clearly get the message

➠ He’s not overly possessive, he’s just very open with his relationship and likes to show you off just as much as he likes for you to show him off

➠ PDA king

➠ Really doesn’t shy away from any sort of PDA

➠ In fact he’s always touching you. Whether it’s holding your hand, a hand on your waist, his arm draped over your shoulder - he’s never not touching you

➠ Would share his drugs with you if you need them because you’re stressed or scared. 

➠ Overall, just a silly guy who loves you so much and does not hesitate to show it

NSFW

➠ He’s rough, let's be real. 

➠ He really likes making you cum over and over again 

➠ He’s very vocal and will gladly groan as loud as he wants too but it’s also partly to encourage you to be loud because god he loves your voice !!

➠ Even though he’s rough, he makes up for that with words of praise

➠ ..okay sometimes he throws in the word whore but he always specifies that you’re his whore or his slut

➠ Honestly, sometimes takes a pill before sex because he”s so much more energetic when he’s high and it means he has more stamina

➠ Accidentally over-stimulates himself sometimes though because he can NOT !! get enough of you

➠ Don’t think he’s a big fan of putting you in pain. Some light choking, yes, maybe he’d pinch your clit while fingering you - but he wouldn’t hurt you enough to make you cry. 

➠ He only wants you crying from pleasure not from pain !!

➠ Tbh he likes to cum all over you. Inside, outside, down your throat- everywhere

➠ Overall, he rough in bed but not abusive bc he could never hurt his princess !!

"C'mon, you can cum one more time for me, yeah?" he spoke as he thrusted in and out of your tight hole. He had already gotten you to cum four times but he was going for a fifth. His thrusts were sloppy but his cock reached so deep inside you that you were seeing stars. Meanwhile, his thumb was playing with your clit, rubbing circles on it and occasionally pinching it. "Fuck.. yeah. Cum on my cock princess. I wanna feel my whore cream,"

[kamospeach]

all my exes still love me, call me up, he wanna freak .ᐟ

plot: exbf!choso is a simp and is begging for his ex girlfriend's forgiveness.

content warning: heavy cursing, drug use, high sex, public sex, car sex, piv sex, mating press, cowgirl, oral m!recieving, fingering, cum eating, choking, praising, softdom choso, dacryphilia, the whole nine really

peachy's yap: wc 2.6k.ᐟ this is my first time writing on tumblr ! if there's any tips you have pls comment them :3

Saturday at 4:42 pm

"mama, I'm sorry," choso pleaded, pushing your door open. this was the fourth time he showed up at your house this week, and you were honestly getting tired of this. coming to beg for forgiveness but never hearing you out.

"choso, please leave before my mom comes back," you say, not even looking at him. he came over to your house dressed in his fucking sunday's best, and that was the worst. he knows you so well and how much you like all the things he's wearing right now. 

hair down, a black tee that never fits right, sweats, the black and white ugg tasmans you got him for his birthday. gold chains around his neck, his usual nose stud changed to a hoop and rings on his fingers. he didn't even try this hard to dress up when you went to kenjaku and geto's birthday party. and was that? is that your pink scrunchie on his wrist? 'he's pushing it,' you thought to yourself.

"come on, don't do this," he says, pushing the door harder. you were now using all your strength to try to close the door.

"you have some nerve coming to my house dressed like a slut." you huff, giving up on pushing the door as he throws his head back in laughter. he knew what he was doing and he thought it was funny you were acting like his attempt was futile. but he noticed the way you looked at him when you opened the door.

"i thought you liked me like this," he asked softly and you sighed knowing it was true, you did like him like that.

"i do." you accept defeat, letting him in the house. "you're only here so we can talk about it. that's it." you pushed open the door and he followed behind you after taking off his shoes. 

"why'd you want me gone before your mom got here?" he asked with furrowed brows since your mom knew of your and choso's relationship. you just didn't want her to think you both were still together, and you couldn't bring yourself to break the news to her.

"i didn't want her to see you here and think we were still together." you say walking into your room and sitting down on your bed. he hummed about to sit on your bed and you stopped him by his chest. "nah strangers don't get to sit on my bed."

"y/n," he said your name in a tone that sounded pathetic, honestly.

"choso," you say, and he rolls his eyes, sitting on the chair in the corner of the room. you crossed your legs as the both of you looked at each other in silence. he looked down at your legs that glistened under the sun, then moved his sight to your freshly done toes. light pink french tip, just how he liked, and you said he had nerve. "since it seems a cat caught your tongue, i'll start the conversation. i don't want to get back together if she's all in our business. done."

"she's my friend y/n you don't like her and don't know why. you know if you had a real reason i'd drop her." he reasoned, getting upset all over again, having pretty much the same reaction when you broke up with him two weeks ago.

"i don't like her because she's always running back to me telling me our business. she might've told someone else. even before then she always seemed messy." you stressed to him and he still couldn't wrap his head around your explanation.

"what does that have to do with me, i didn't tell her to be messy. why does her being messy mean we can't be together?" he questioned raising his voice and you put your hand out telling him to stop.

"i already told you if you're going to yell, we aren't going to speak to each other," you warn him.

"i'm not trying to yell but fuck you gotta be reasonable." desperation was clear in his voice, and you sigh, knowing the way choso was. he didn't get mad often, but he does get frustrated and he's stubborn about what he wants.

"all that i'm saying is going to another woman about our relationship and not me is crazy." you felt the tears sting your eyes. "then she has the nerve to tell me 'choso says he really likes you but... oh i shouldn't say that' and run off with her friends." you ranted as you began to full on cry, he looked at you his heart aching at your pain.

"when you told me she said that i got on her right then and there. you can't punish me for her actions," he argues looking you in your eyes.

"i'm not punishing you; I'm doing what's best for me," you explained trying to help him understand where you were coming from.

"is it what's best? you've been crying before right now, i could tell. i saw you at school, and it looks like you aren't getting any sleep. shoko told me you haven't been out since we broke up. You left without giving me a chance to right my wrongs." he says, and you hum, thinking about it.

"i left because you weren't trying to see my point. you said i was jealous and then dodged me for two weeks." you say making it clear you didn't just leave him because of that. "i tried to meet up and you always claimed you were 'busy' with your band."

"take a ride with me later today? let's talk about it more then." he asked out of nowhere, and you laughed at his abruptness. "i'll take the top off the jeep we can drive around like we used to do. like before we got together, you don't have to immediately take me back. just vibe like when you actually used to fucked with me." you laughed at his lame attempt at a joke.

"okay." you nod as he stands up, holding his hand out for you. you place your hand in his as he helps you stand. 

"i still love you, mama i hope you know what." he says as he wraps his arms around your shoulders and your arms wrap around his torso. "no other girl could change that," he assured you, you nodded sniffling from crying earlier.

"i still love you too, cho," you say, looking up at the man who's been by your side for 4 years. choso was a sweetheart, quiet, and would never intentionally hurt you. it just hurts to know he went to someone else for problems instead of you since you've been together for so long.

"you don't have to say it if you don't mean it." he joked and you rolled your eyes at him.

"m'serious, cho." you stomp your foot, and he nods, still laughing at you a little.

"i know," he kissed your forehead, the only thing you'd allow. "i'll come to get you at six, okay?

"i'll be ready." you nod, and he smiles.

"it's warmer than usual today, you can wear them shorts i like," he smirked referring to some shorts you bought a couple of years ago that fit fine until choso started stuffing you like a pig. now you fill them out better and part of your ass peeks out the bottom. you never wore them outside the house only when you took drives with choso or you both stayed in the house for the day. 

"and risk you thinking you're back in? no," you say shooing him out of your room until the two of you run into your mom. just your luck. she squealed running to hug choso. this was normal when she hadn't seen him for a while. she always claimed choso was her son and even if you didn't bring him around she was asking for him.

you looked between your mom and choso in disbelief. your mom squeezed him so tight rocking him side to side and he smirked at you. this is exactly what you didn't want to happen she would be talking about this meeting for the next month and a half.

"hey mom." he greeted her with a shit-eating grin that had you five and a half seconds away from hitting him square in the back of his head. he knew calling her mom was going to make her love him more than she already did.

"aww hello my baby!" she cooed and you blinked slowly looking between the two of them as they engaged in a conversation that lasted way too long. she asked about his band, his classes, his brothers, and then your relationship. to which he responded with 'we're good y'know we would never leave each other' as he side eyes you with the meanest glare he's probably ever put out.

"okay, cho don't you have to go take the roof off the jeep? that'll take some time won't it?" you frown as you bat your lashes practically begging him to leave. he glances down at you as he holds a cup of tea your mom gave him. 

"i can't finish my tea?" he frowned and your jaw dropped at the audacity of this man.

"no? get out!" you take the cup from his hands and push him towards the door. "i can't believe you." you grunted as he slowly put on his shoes. "you know i didn't want you to see her and you spent 15 minutes talking to her." you huff as he opened the driver's side hopping into the truck.

"then you'll just have to hold out for a while until you tell her." he smiled down at you. "i can't get a kiss?" 

"leave," you said as he laughed at your angry expression. he started the car and drove off as you walked back into the house. you skillfully avoided your mom not trying to hear her gush over how sweet choso was. as you entered your room you decided to take a shower before he returned.

after your shower, it was going on 5:45 meaning choso would be there soon. the sun was setting and you looked out your open window at the pink and purple sunset. you keep your eyes peeled for choso's truck while listening out for your mom. you did not want her to know he was doubling back, if she found out she'd probably end up serving him dinner.

another 10 minutes passed and choso drove up to your house top off like he promised. he had music playing and it sounded like it was a song from his band's more recent album. although you always listened to RnB you knew every song that his band made. you never thought you'd been into hard rock or metal until choso sent you his playlist. 

when he turned in the driveway you quickly grabbed your phone and small purse. you sped down the stairs almost tripping on the last one and letting out a small 'fuck'. your mom watched you run out of the house not even bothering to ask where you were going knowing it was either with shoko or choso. 

as you suspected it was his band's music and he turned it down when you walked out the door. being the gentleman he is got out of the truck to open up the passenger door for you. you looked him up and down seeing he changed specifically his hair that was now back in two buns. not interested in analyzing his fit you hopped into the jeep and didn't even bother to thank him. he just laughed at your sass getting back in the driver seat.

"not talkin' now?" he asked and you huffed loudly crossing your legs and arms. your resolve was wearing thin and you knew going on a drive wasn't going to help. his scattered tattoos on his arm as one hand steered, your nameplate around his neck, and his clenched jaw. that was enough for you to forgive him right there and then. 

"cho." you whispered lowly after you both sat in silence for 15 minutes and he gave you a quick glance. "i hated the break but i think it was good for you," you admitted as choso hummed putting the car in park. he ended your drive at the beach the breeze was a little colder but it still felt good.

"what're you tryin' to say?" he asked leaning the seat back grabbing the half-smoked blunt out of his ashtray. your face dropped not even noticing the blunt when you got in. it made you think to yourself 'Let me check if my chair in the right position'. and you did just that looking around your seat and making sure everything was right. humming in satisfaction when you saw that it was. 

"i'm just saying that the break was needed. you realized you needed to talk to me about our problems. because she can't help you fix us if there is no us." you explain and he nods, you could admit that the reason for your short break was selfish. still, you didn't like what he did and you weren't willing to let it slide. if he had first apologized or even listened to you instead of trying to guilt trip you it wouldn't have got this far.

"i can admit that, yeah, and it won't happen again. i'll do whatever it takes to make you happy and you know that," he says turning his head a little and handing the blunt to you. you grabbed it from him bringing the blunt to your lips, taking a hit letting the smoke fill your lungs. choso put his hand on the top knee of your crossed legs. 

"if you promise to talk to me, i can promise i'll never leave." you bargain passing the blunt back to him. he looked at the blunt seeing your cherry lip gloss all around it. he sent you a pointed glare and you shrugged already knowing what he was thinking. 

"that'll work, so can i get a kiss now?" he asked and you scoffed, that was all this man thought about. Little did you know choso had been thinking about kissing you since you got in. your perfume intoxicating his brain along with the effects of the weed make him extremely horny. he needed his kiss now!

"that's all I'm good for?" you asked playfully and he laughed shaking his head.

"no but it's a plus." he mumbles as you lean over the middle console pecking his lips quickly. as you were moving back he gripped your waist locking you in the position. "what the fuck was that?" he asked and you laughed at his reaction. 

giving in you press your lips against his this time not a peck. your tongues danced with each other and you melted into the kiss. his lips were soft and you both kissed almost as if you were starved. although you were broken up for two weeks you hadn't seen each other in a month. this was what you both needed to be back in each other's embrace.

your hand reached for his face just needing to feel him. your hands grazed his jaw down his neck and to his chest. while his freehand stayed content on your left ass cheek. 

your hands traveled down moving lower and lower feeling on his abs. you were hesitant but you let your urges go against your better judgment. your reached down to palm his hard-on and his hips bucked up as he moaned in your mouth.

"either you do something about it or sit back in your seat." he leaned out of the kiss ashing the blunt. without being told another word you pulled the waistband of his shorts and boxers up grabbing his dick. you took it out of his shorts and looked at it as if you hadn't seen it many times before. this time the tip was a deep angry red like it was begging for a release.

you gave his tip a little kitty lick tasting his precum and he hissed placing his hand on your ass. you slapped him on your tongue before taking him into your mouth. not taking him all the way down your throat and just focusing on his tip. choso began to get impatient, the anticipation making him exasperated. he was trying to be nice and take things your speed but he was seconds from combusting. 

getting fed up he grabs your hair pushing you all the way down until his cock head hit the back of your throat. you gagged on him as spit bubbled around him and he kept you down with your nose pressed against him. 

he gave your throat small thrusts until you tapped his thigh letting him know you needed to come up for air. he pulled you up looking you in your face liking the view of drool dripping down your chin.

"y'know better," he said and you looked him in his eyes seeing the way his pupils dilated. this wasn't soft choso who didn't mind letting you be in control he was feral. what he didn't want you to know was that he held himself back for that month. he hadn't touched himself so he was little, 'backed up' if you will.

not wanting to anger him further you quickly took him in your mouth. tongue out and throat relaxed you began to please him how you know he wanted you to. not once stopping your constant movements as he moaned. head thrown back as his hand stayed in your hair only guiding your movements lightly. 

"i missed that mouth of yours." he groans as you take him out your mouth to spit back on it. you used your hands to stroke him while you looked up at him. "you're doing great." he praised you knowing exactly what you wanted to hear. just like he expected with that statement you went back to work. bobbing your head up and down gagging on him here and there. his moans and groans were exciting you and it started to become more enjoyable for you. 

you felt choso's leg spasm you knew him well enough to know that meant he was close. usually, you'd pull off and whine to him saying 'i want you to cum inside me'. but today you wanted to have the satisfaction of making him cum off head. 

you pulled off him licking up the dribble of spit along the vein of his dick. going to back and deepthroating him as he twitches in the back of his throat.

"fuck 'm cumming." he grunted loudly as he came down your throat. by this time you were absolutely soaked your legs were squeezed together. his sounds, the taste of him on your tongue, and the friction of your thighs rubbing together enough to make you finish. you swallowed but it wasn't enough for you, you continued to suck him off. "fuck... mama wait s...shit" he whimpered trying to get you off of him. once you were finally content you got off looking up at him. 

his eyes were closed and there were bite marks in his lips. his chest heaved up and down rapidly and his hand was on his head. you giggled to yourself reaching to take the tight buns out of his hair. you rake your fingers through his hair and he smashes his lips onto yours. the kiss was rushed and he pushed his tongue into your mouth tasting himself on your tongue. you massaged his scalp and he shuddered as he pulled away from the kiss.

"you'll be the death of me, swear to God." he huffed nodding towards the back seat. "get in the back," he instructed and you nodded climbing over the middle console to get in the back. he smacked your ass before you made it to the back. 

he put himself back into his shorts and got out of the driver's side. he looked around seeing no other cars or people around. which wasn't surprising since you both lived in a small town with a low population. he joined you in the back and you wasted no time climbing onto his lap. 

"i didn't take you for a public sex guy," you said as he scoffed looking down at you.

"says the girl who begged me to take her in the dressing room two months ago and your best friend's birth-" he rambled and you covered his mouth with both hands not wanting him to continue.

"enough." you roll your eyes as he grabs your wrists pulling your hands from his mouth. he licked his lips as he leaned forward making you fall on your back against the seat. the leather was cold and your back arched off the seat. he grabbed the waistband of your shorts sliding them off along with your panties. 

"this wet just from suckin' me off?" he mumbled to himself as he looked at your dripping folds like a starved man. he licked his lips again as he hovered above you reaching down to rub your clit. you let out a soft moan and he kissed down your neck which now doubled your pleasure. he pressed his nose against the curve of your nick taking a deep breath.

"did you just sniff me?" you ask in shock and he doesn't respond instead he pushed his fingers in your wet cunt. "cho..." you gasped at the surprise of his fingers. his fingers were thicker and longer than yours hitting spots you haven't been able to reach this last month.

"yeah?" he asked knowing you would barely be able to form a sentence while his fingers pump in and out of you. you began to talk but he added a third finger as your breath got caught in your throat. the squelching was loud and the feeling was overwhelming as you grabbed at his wrist. 

"just fuck me," you said eyes looking around his face practically begging him to get to it.

"please?" he was still vigorously fucking his fingers into you not too much caring about your request.

"p...please," you repeated and he smiled pulling his fingers out of you. he pulled his shorts and boxers down to his knees and pushed your legs to your chest. he put his three fingers at your lips and you quickly wrapped your lips around his finger tasting yourself.

he smiled at you in adoration loving the way you were splayed out in front of him. he grabbed his dick sliding up and down folds and lightly hitting his tip against your clit.

"ready?" he asked and you nodded and he gave you that same pointed glare. "use your words y/n."

"yes im ready," you reply and he nods nudging your entrance before slipping in halfway. you moaned out as he stretched you out the pain fading away just as quickly as it came. 

to get you adjusted he began to stroke with just half of himself before abruptly pushing himself all the way in. you threw your head back grabbing the headrest with your left hand. your right hand grabbing choso's wrist that was holding your legs to your chest.

choso's eyes were locked on yours as he wasted no time sending steady thrusts. your moans were getting louder by the minute and his grunts became more animalistic. he lowered down so that your foreheads were touching. 

his eyes glanced between you and your lips not sure where to focus. noticing his indecisiveness you leaned up to press your lips on his. the kiss was nasty and sloppy while his thrusts were pointed and relentless. you moaned into each other's mouth as he hit the spot that made your legs shake.

"you feel so good wrapped around me. s...so warm." he whimpered against your lips and your jaw was slack in pure bliss over his sensual strokes. "hold your legs." he tells you and you nod grabbing behind your knees keeping your legs to your chest. 

he places one foot on the floor of the car. he wrapped both of his hands around your neck and your eyes widened in shock. with newfound stability, he began to send longer and faster strokes. the pleasure became overwhelming as tears began to spill from your eyes. 

choso loved it. the way your eyes rolled back and the tears stained your cheeks. you crying from the immense pleasure he gave you boosted his ego. he knew it was pleasure or else you'd be tapping out or yelling out the safe word. 

the roughness of his thrusts and the noises that left his mouth pushed you toward the edge. your walls tightening around him restricting his movement and milking him for everything he had. you couldn't think straight as your climax approached.

"cho...ch..." you mumbled not looking away from his eyes and he nodded moving one of his hands from your neck to your clit. 

"i feel you... 'm right behind you." he moaned out speeding up the rubbing on your clit. all it took was two more strokes before your body shook from the overstimulation. you saw stars as your juice drenched his shorts and leather seats. "yeah, that's it... fuck." he said as he pulled out and fucked his fist a couple times before he came on your pussy. his cum landed on your swollen clit and drenched lips.

"are you...?" you gasped watching his dick get hard again and you looked back up at him. that was his second nut and you were starting to question who this man had become in a month. he'd usually be sensitive after one orgasm but good enough to go for a second round. which never bothered you since you usually could go for just two orgasms before you were ready to tap out. 

"it's been a month." he huffed chest moving fast as he scratched his head. "just help me get another one i should be done after this for real." you nod looking him up and down, he looks bigger too and his jaw is more defined.

"how many times were you going to the gym?" you asked and he rolled his eyes.

"you can ask me that later just ride me," he said clearly not in the mood for your questioning. you rolled your eyes but obliged getting as he sat in the middle seat. you straddled his lap and choso pulled up your crop top letting freeing your boobs from your bra. you grabbed his dick lining him up with your entrance before you lower yourself down onto him. 

"wait cho you're too deep." you whimpered, it felt like he was almost in your chest and you couldn't move. 

"take your time. you're doing so good for me." he praised you rubbing circles on your hip as you took deep breaths. once you felt more comfortable you planted your feet next to him. you began to ride him bouncing with a steady rhythm. 

"mmm..." you hum as choso's mouth latched onto your nipple sucking a biting as you continued bouncing on him. he pulled off your nipple looking at your fucked out face.

"hah... you look so sexy like this love," he said fucking up into you meeting you with half-assed thrust. he was getting sloppy and you knew he was close. his hand slapped your ass and it only encouraged you to ride him faster. his head lolled back enjoying the feeling of you gripping his cock.

"close so so close." you babbled and he gave you a lazy smile. he gripped both of your ass cheeks lifting you and fucking into you. 

"tell me you love me while you cum on this dick," he grunted into your ear.

"shit... i love you baby, love you so fuckin much." you moaned as you came this time not only did you drench his shirt and face you even got it in his hair.

"i love you too mama" he hummed pulling out. "turn around wanna cum on yer ass," he grunts as you turned around and he grunts stroke himself to his finish as his cum spilled all over your ass. you both sat in silence as you both struggled to catch your breath. choso reached into the pocket of the backseat and wiped you off.

"don't ever... tell that bitch nothing else," you said still out of breath watching your now not ex-boyfriend clean you off.

"why are you even thinkin' about her right now." he laughed helping you put back on your shorts. which he now realized were the shorts he advised you to wear earlier

"just thinking we can't ever break up again, i'm not letting you fuck nobody else like that," you said dead serious as he laughed at your comment. he helped you to the front seat and started up the car driving you to his house instead of taking you back home.

-

2 weeks later

"did you hear the band's new song?" shoko asked and you shook your head not even knowing they had put out a new song. 

"no? choso didn't tell me there was a new song," you admitted and she shrugged playing the song for you. from the speaker you heard your boyfriend's sexy silky voice singing falling in love with the song as always. until. you heard something that just didn't sit right with you. "what did he just say?" 

"huh? i don't know." shoko frowned as she re-winded the song. you couldn't believe your ears. you both looked at each other in shock.

choso was singing about fucking you in the back seat. 

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

hiii <33

first i want to say that i absolutely ADORE your page on here, your writing is just wow, perfection!! i really liked your sirius story (even tho i strayed off a bit and started liking rabastan too ahahahah-) it's amazing omg

and i was wondering would you be up for writing for barty? anything with him honestly lol, but if you don't have any ideas feel free to ignore this!

SAY LESSSSSSS (I've been dying for someone to request Barty or rosekiller pls send all the requests). Also! so glad you enjoyed that fic! (I played myself and kinda fell for Rab too 😬)

I Wanna Be Yours | BCJ

feat. Barty Crouch Jr. x blackcat!reader

SUMMARY: Barty is determined to win your affection, but due to his larger-than-life personality and your aloof nature, you find it difficult to trust his intentions.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, pov switches once, a little angst and a little fluff, blackcat!reader, artist!Barty, only soft for each other, mentions of drinking and drug use, strong language, sort of insecure!reader, Barty is a giant simp

AN: i'm having my scene music renaissance, and something about that era is so Barty-coded. I have a few other songs that suit him in my mind, but I'd love to hear any ideas you guys might have!

masterlist

“Honestly, I don't know what Slughorn’s problem is. If I want to make a love potion that makes Xeno hard for four days, I can—”

“Four days and I would die of deprivation,” Xenophilius chuckled, his arm draped over Pandora's shoulders.

“Sure, but what a way to go.”

You walked beside them, half-listening to their sugar-dipped conversation, equal parts disgusted and deeply jealous. You'd never admit it, but you so badly wanted what your best friend had. Devotion, affection, complete and total acceptance. But you walked through life like a spring-loaded trap, biting the fingers off anyone that dared come close.

“Should we grab dinner before heading to the library? I'm starved,” Pandora said, turning her attention to you.

“Sure, it's probably quiet this early anyways—”

“Going to dinner, are we?” Evan bound up between Xeno and Pandora, throwing his arms over their shoulders. “I'm fucking ravenous.”

Two arms looped around your waist, hauling you back into a solid chest. The familiar scent of clove cigarettes and paint enveloped you, as if you needed any clues to know exactly who had the audacity to handle you so boldy.

“As am I,” Barty purred against the shell of your ear.

You wriggled in his hold, slapping at his forearms until he released you. “Not in the mood, Junior,” you warned, ignoring the way your stomach flipped when you met his dark eyes, eyeliner smudged along his lashes.

“Aw, don't be cross, gorgeous. You looked like you needed a hug,” he teased, falling into step between you and Pandora, slowing his natural gait considerably. He snatched your books from your arms, ignoring your protest and cradling them against his chest. He was dressed in a white dress shirt and a Slytherin vest, his tie loose and sleeves pushed up, hand-poked tattoos sprawling and dark against his forearms.

“I'm fairly certain she needs a hug as much as she needs your dumbass in her space,” Pandora said, rolling her eyes. “Which is not at all.”

“Oh, she needs me.” Barty grinned. “She just doesn't know it yet.”

“Give it a rest, Crouch,” Xeno cut in. “Keep pushing her and you'll end up on the bottom of the Black Lake.”

“Oh, how exciting! How will you do it, treasure? Stabbing? Maiming? Choking? Oh Merlin’s fuck, please say choking—”

“Maiming sounds about right,” you bit, attempting to get your books back, but he was far too tall, holding them way above your head. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of jumping for it, and crossed your arms over your chest with a huff.

“You can maim me whenever you like,” he said, a cheeky smirk on his stupid, handsome face. “Will you do it now if I ask nicely?”

You ignored him, looking forward again.

Barty Crouch Jr. loved nothing more than fucking with you, finding the gaps in your armor and trying to pry them open. But no matter how attractive you found him, because saints was he attractive, or how endearing he could be in the in-between moments, you refused to play his game.

You would not be made a fool of, not like every other person he set his sights on and got bored with a week later.

“So are we eating or what?” Evan asked, walking backwards at the front of the group. Any student unfortunate enough to be in his path quickly scurried out of it, cowed by the Slytherin's reputation for retaliation.

You watched them shrink away from Barty too, who clearly got some sick sense of pleasure from it. He even bared his teeth at a Gryffindor that veered to close to you, flipping your bodies around so he was on the outside and you were next to Pandora again.

“I'm actually going to head back to the dorm,” you said, slowing so you fell out of line with them. “See you later?” You said to Pandora, who gave you a tight frown.

“Are you sure?” She asked, tilting her head like an avian.

“Yeah, you guys enjoy,” you said, pretending you didn't see the disappointment flash across Barty’s face as you turned on your heel, letting the opposite flow of students sweep you up and away from your friends.

The truth was, Barty scared the shit out of you. He was everything you weren't: outgoing, bold, rebellious, and just charming enough to get himself out of whatever mess he and Evan made. And for whatever reason, he was obsessed with pushing your buttons. And he did, with infuriating efficiency.

Pandora insisted it was all in good fun, that he was harmless, but you knew better. You saw the way he manipulated others to get what he wanted, the way he masked his calculation with charisma.

Barty Crouch Jr. was far from harmless, and even if he had his friends fooled, he would not fool you.

Barty's POV

Barty watched your head bob away through the crowded corridor, your books still heavy in his arms and guilt gnawing a hole in his chest.

Why couldn't he just fucking control himself? He felt like a noxious ball of energy, filling whatever available space he could, unable to contain his own impulses, a slave to his own existence.

He just wanted you so badly. You occupied every part of his mind, owned every thump of his wretched, ruined heart. He was irrevocably, intrinsically yours, but you couldn't stand him, and it was largely his own damn fault.

Because he was broken. Couldn't hold a normal conversation. Couldn't flirt in a way that wasn't deeply vulnerable, or obscene and intense. For Merlin’s sake, he'd begged you to choke him just now.

You were a fix he couldn't get, so he was suffering withdrawals from a drug he never had. He was going mad with it, the desperation for your attention. He would do anything to hear you say his name, to occupy an ounce of space in that beautiful brain, even if meant looking like an idiot. Like a psycho.

It was worth it just to have you look.

After dinner, the four of them returned to the Slytherin common room, Barty still carrying your books with a wrapped bundle on top. Every step towards your shared dorm with Pandora made his heart beat faster, a nervous sweat collecting along his spine.

Nothing made him nervous like you did.

Barty walked into the room last, his eyes immediately drifting towards your bed even though he tried to resist. You were curled up against a pile of pillows, surrounded by parchment and open books, your quill scribbling furiously across the page in your lap.

You glanced up when they entered, meeting his eyes for a split second, low-lidded and disinterested, per usual, and turned your attention back to your work.

The dismissal itched like a bug under his skin, his blood going hot and tingly. He needed you to look at him again.

He set your books on your desk and kicked off his shoes, flopping onto your bed before he really thought about it. It was softer than his, covered with quilts and pillows, and he noticed a little stuffed cat tucked away under your covers. He could smell you all around him, so sweet and warm, and whatever rationality he had left dissolved into goo.

“Who invited you?” You snapped, shoving at his shoulder with little success. A swell of affection at your pitiful attempt made his heart beat quicken, you were just so fucking cute.

He set the paper bundle on your chest. “Thought you might be hungry, sweetness,” he said, hugging one of your pillows to his chest.

Merlin, you were so beautiful when you glared at him like that. He filed the image away for later, mentally sifting through his paint collection for the perfect shade to match your pout.

You looked a bit perplexed at the package, almost angry, and his anxiety returned, fighting through the haze caused by your proximity. “You brought me food?”

He nodded, biting back ‘and dessert too’. He wanted you to actually eat the food, not throw it at his head.

Hesitantly, you unfolded the bundle, as if he'd given you something rotten, or was pulling a prank. It made his lungs squeeze with guilt. He was shitty to a lot of people, most people. But not to you, never you.

Your brow softened with relief when you realized it was just a sandwich, before quickly furrowing again. He wanted to smooth it with his lips, kiss you until it never creased with worry again.

“I'm not hungry,” you said, setting the bag on the side table. A twinge of hurt stabbed between his ribs, but didn't let his smile falter. He knew that's what you would say. And he also knew you would eat it later, when no one was around to see you accept a small gesture of kindness.

That was good enough for him.

You slid out of your bed, leaving his side cold, and he stretched out against your sheets, wallowing in your residual warmth like a niffler in a pile of gold.

The others chatted around you, Xeno lighting up a joint by the cracked window, but you sat down at your desk, turning back to your work and tuning them out.

Barty sighed, letting his eyes flutter closed so he could pretend he was wrapped in you body instead of your sheets, his nose buried into your hair instead of your pillow.

Reader's POV

You and Pandora walked arm in arm into the library, chatting about the idiots in your Transfiguration class. You were headed to your usual spot at the back of library, a collection of over stuffed chairs by a stained glass window overlooking the Forbidden Forest, and stopped short when you saw Regulus, Evan, and Barty already there.

Barty was reclined in the window, his long legs propped up against the other side, a sketchbook in his lap, quill between his teeth.

“Excuse the hell out of me,” Pandora said, startling them all from their abnormal quiet.

Barty's head snapped up, his eyes immediately landing on you, and he about fell out of the window.

“What? Like you own this table?” Evan drawled, not looking up from his book,his expensive loafers propped up on the table.

“Yes,” Pandora shot back, dropping down beside him and pulling out her books with clear agitation. "So if you're staying, keep your mouth shut."

Evan mimed zipping his lips and crossed his heart. Barty just turned back to his sketchbook instead of sauntering over to you with some cheeky quip on his tongue.

A prickle of uncertainty climbed your neck. Perhaps you really had upset him about that sandwich. You wish you hadn't said you were hungry as soon as it came out of your mouth, but you were too proud to apologize. You were so stunned by the gesture, so overwhelmed by his body pressed against you, his warmth mixing with yours, that you clammed up. Shut him down.

But even now, you couldn't bring yourself to approach him and apologize. Thank him. So, you sat down beside Regulus, the only other member of the group you found tolerable most of the time, and he greeted you with a dip of his chin.

You pulled out your work, determined to pretend Barty wasn't there at all.

Of course, you failed. Your eye kept wandering back to him, his sharp jaw silhouetted by the light, his pierced brow furrowed in concentration as his hand moved across the page, silver rings adorning ink stained fingers. He was dressed down today, jeans and Slytherin sweater, the collar of his shirt underneath it crooked.

After an hour or so of quiet, he dozed off, his head lolled against the window, quill dangling loosely in his fingers. Barty did that a lot, slept in unusual places at unusual times when the quiet dragged on a little too long. Evan mentioned once that Barty struggled to sleep at night, insomnia or something, and even the draughts Madam Pomfry made him only worked sometimes.

Unable to quell your curiosity, you got up to retrieve another book, brushing past him and sparing a glance down at his sketchbook. Your own face stared back at you, framed with rough sketches of your hands, your eyes, the bow of your lips.

Your heart gave a painful lurch, a burst of affection making your bones soften, and you nearly stumbled over the carpet, catching yourself on the bookshelf at the last second.

You hurried down another row, praying none of your friends saw you, and braced yourself against the shelf.

Did Barty like you? Like, actually like you? You couldn't fathom it. It didn't make sense. You weren't kind to him, or outgoing, or special. He was all of those things and more, the most fascinating, maddening, all-consuming person you'd ever met in your life.

Surely, he didn't see all of those things in you? But why would he draw you if he didn't see something of interest? Something he liked?

Fuck, you couldn't breathe in this stuffy library. You needed air.

You steeled yourself and walked back to the table, collecting your things.

“Something wrong, y/n?” Regulus asked, always too perceptive, and Barty stirred, picking his head up from the wall to peer at you through drowsy eyes.

“Nothing, I—”

Barty slid off the window and you lost your train of thought, heat scorching your cheeks. “Rushing off to hang out with your more interesting friends?” Barty asked, his voice a little gruff from his brief nap.

“More interesting friends? Not at Hogwarts,” Evan chuckled. “We're as interesting as it gets.”

“If you're bored, babygirl, all you had to was say so,” Barty hummed, striding up to you.

You placed a hand on his sternum to stop him from coming any closer, ignoring the flare of heat that accompanied the contact. “You were asleep five seconds ago,” you argued.

“Asleep and dreaming of all the ways I could keep you entertained.” He grinned, wicked and sharp, and the simmering heat spread to your lower belly, your heart beating fast.

“What are you, a fucking court jester?” You bit, unable to stop your arm bending as he pushed closer, the smell of ink and his cologne making your mouth water.

“I'm whatever you want me to be,” he flirted, and Regulus and Pandora groaned in unison.

“Will you leave her the fuck alone?” Regulus snapped, tugging Barty back by a belt loop. “She's not interested in your act, Junior.”

“Act?” Barty quirked a brow. “I’m dead serious.”

“Don't talk about his brother that way!” Evan shouted, far too excited to make the over-used joke once again, and you rolled your eyes. Apparently, the rare quiet time had come to an end.

“I don't give a fuck about his brother!”

“I don't give a fuck about you!”

“Oh, so you're a bitch and a liar?”

“I'm not a bitch, you cunt!”

“I'll see you guys at the party later,” you said, using their bickering as your window of escape. You all but fled the library, desperate for some fresh air and clarity.

If Barty sincerely liked you…did that change anything? Was there a way to know for sure how he felt? You didn't even know how you felt, not really. You'd never let yourself really consider it for fear of inevitable disappointment.

Sure, you found him attractive, everyone did. And yes, despite yourself you thought he was funny and sweet, in his own, odd way. And he was especially sweet to you. He never brought your other friends food, or waited for them after class, or snuggled in their beds. Well, besides Evan.

He didn't really touch anyone else either. But if you were close enough, as he often ensured you were, he was touching you whenever he could. Knocked together knees in the Great Hall, leaning on you during class no matter how many times you shoved him off, throwing his arms over your shoulder when it was cold, wrapping his pinky around yours in a particularly crowded hall.

Yes, his words were often obnoxious and bordering on insane, but his actions…his actions were sincere, thoughtful, almost tender.

Was that the real Barty?

Maybe you had been fooled just like everyone else into thinking he was nothing more than a joker, a rowdy troublemaker, when the reality was so much deeper.

Had you been all wrong about him?

By the time you and Pandora left your dorm room to join the party, the common room was a madhouse. Green lights flashed in time with the thumping bass, bodies dancing and mingling in every available spot on the dancefloor, a haze of smoke and glitter over their heads.

You were wearing a black mini dress and heels, held together by string and a prayer. Your hair hung in loose waves down your back, your eyeliner sharp and lips painted. You knew you looked good, lethal in the best way, but all you could think about was Barty's reaction.

Would he like it? Hate it? Or even worse, not even notice?

Together, you and Pandora moved through the crowd towards your friends usual place at the far side of the common room.

Of course, you spotted Barty first. He was leaning against the bar, dressed in all black, tailored trousers and a sleeveless undershirt. Apparently he ditched his actual shirt before you arrived in favor of displaying his countless tattoos, most of them done by his own hand. His hair was dark with pomade and pushed off of his face, glitter clinging to the sweat along his lean chest and shoulders.

He looked like a wet fucking dream.

Xeno let out a low whistle when you and Pandora stepped out from the crowd, drawing Barty's attention from Evan and Dorcas.

His jaw dropped instantly and with a dramatic flourish, he pretended to faint into Evan's arms, clutching at his heart. Despite yourself, you giggled, and Pandora shot you a surprised look through a gap in her boyfriends embrace.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Barty gasped, sliding out of Evan's arms and onto his knees. “Look at—baby, look at you!”

You flushed under the attention, your blood heating as it raced through your veins, but you just rolled your eyes at him, a new confidence blooming in your chest. He loved it.

You strode over to the bar, closing his mouth with a finger, and leaned against the counter. “Firewhisky?” You asked the student bartending, and they stared back at you, dumbstruck, before rushing to collect your drink.

Barty leaned against your legs, his cheek against your thigh. “What are you doing to me?” He whined up at you, feeding into your surge of confidence.

You pushed his head away, tugging at the roots of his hair before releasing him, and he groaned, a low, panty-melting sound. “I'm not doing anything. You're just insufferable,” you chastised, accepting your drink.

“And you're beautiful,” he said, sounding almost reverent, and you nearly choked on your drink.

“Fuck off and drool on someone else, yeah?” You snapped, overwhelmed by his candor, even though it was exactly what you thought you wanted.

Fuck, you didn't know what you wanted. And even when you did, it seemed your subconscious wasn't always in agreement. You had wanted him to drool over you. He was literally on his knees, but some broken part of your brain couldn’t accept it. So you pushed him away.

“C’mon, you simpering mutt,” Evan said, hauling Barty up. “I think I saw a kegger over there.”

Barty started to protest, but Evan and Regulus dragged him away.

“You should have some mercy,” Xeno said, leaning on the bar beside you.

“Oh?” You raised a brow at him, taking a sip of whisky.

“Poor prick is besotted,” Dorcas supplied.

“He's full of shit,” you bit, that panicky feeling crawling up your spine.

Pandora shook her head, and your eyes widened. “It's true, I’ve never seen him so fucked up over someone before.”

“He's not the obsessive type. Not when it comes to dating, at least. He loses interest as often as he changes his underwear. But he's been stuck on you for months,” Dorcas said.

“Yeah, he usually obsesses over like quill tips, and arson—”

“You guys are serious?” You asked, cutting off Xeno. “You think he actually likes me?”

They all stare at you, dumbfounded.

“You can't tell?” Pandora asked, grabbing your face and shaking you. “Babe, he's absolutely gone for you.”

“Like, gone gone,” Dorcas added.

“But it's Barty, I mean—he’s never serious—”

“Exactly, that's what makes it so obvious!” Pandora cried, exasperated. “I thought you knew!”

“Why would you think that!” You shouted back.

“Because he says it constantly!” Your friends yell in unison.

“He was on his knees, y/n. Like literally on his knees,” Xeno said, shaking his head. “It doesn't get much more devoted than that.”

Devoted. It clicked then, the signs you'd been brushing off, refusing to see clearly because of your own veil of distrust. Because you didn’t allow yourself to accept the truth out of fear. Barty had been showing you for months how he felt, and not just in his words, in his actions. Bringing you food when you were hungry, walking you from class to class, meeting your barbs and verbal lashes with a smile.

He’d been wearing his heart on his sleeve this entire time, and all you’d done is punish him for it.

Oh, fuck. How could you be so blind?

You set your drink on the bar and pushed through your friends, ignoring their calls as you forced your way through the crowd, searching for Barty in the sea of green. You found him standing with Evan and few other members of the Quidditch team, cheering while a fifth year shotgunned a dandelion draught.

“Barty!” You shouted over the roar, grabbing his wrist.

He turned, his eyes widening in surprise. “Y/n? Are you alr—where are we going?”

You dragged him into a shadowed alcove, slightly hidden from the party. Your heart was pounding in your ears, tears already burning behind your eyes. “Be honest with me,” you said, forcing yourself to hold his gaze.

“Always,” he said automatically, brow heavy with uncertainty.

“How do you feel about me?” You asked.

Understanding dawned, and Barty's expression melted into something painfully soft, painfully sincere. “I just wanna be yours.”

The admission stole the air from your lungs, made your heart freeze in place. "M-mine?"

“Yours,” he breathed, his hands finding your waist, grip tight as desperation filled his eyes. “Please, let me be yours.” He lowered to his knees again, his head by your navel. “I promise—I promise I’ll be good, if you’ll just give me a chance too—”

You leaned down and grabbed the silver chain around his throat like a collar, dragging his mouth to yours in a fervid, frantic kiss. He surged upwards, lifting you into the air and crushing you between his body and the wall, forcing air out of your lungs. You wrapped your legs around his narrow hips as his tongue pried open your mouth, desperate to taste you. Desire pumped through you, scalding hot and more potent than the whisky, making your head spin, your skin tingle.

You tugged at his hair, drawing him closer, and he whimpered low in his throat. Your cunt clenched at the sound, your thoughts turning singular: make him beg. Your tongue traced his lips, tasting beer and cigarette smoke, and you sucked his lower lip between your teeth, biting hard before soothing it with your tongue.

His hips canted up into your core, his hands moving down to squeeze your ass beneath your dress and grind your core against him. You gasped, breaking the kiss for a moment, and he seized the opportunity to pillage your mouth again, licking at your teeth and the roof of your mouth.

“Your dorm,” you panted, yanking his head back by the roots of his hair.

He didn’t hesitate, throwing you up and over his shoulder in a startling feat of strength.

“Barty!” you squealed, giggling and slapping at his back while he carried you to the stairs, his hand keeping your dress in place so you didn’t flash anyone. He couldn’t have made it any more obvious what was happening, and you found that you didn’t care. If you were going to be with Barty, you were going to have to get used to being loved out loud.

“Look at her ass again, see what happens!” You heard him bark, his voice a rumble through his ribcage, and you rolled your eyes, smiling to yourself as he carried you up the stairs.

A moment later, you were being tossed roughly onto his bed, the door slamming shut with a muttered alohomora. Barty crawled up your body, his dark eyes flashing with a feral hunger that made your pussy purr, and he dove into your neck with his teeth and tongue, making you gasp and arch into his body, your whole body alight with pleasure.

“Easy, baby,” you cooed, petting his hair to try and settle his frantic affection. Poor thing couldn’t seem to control himself, so worked up he was rutting against your thigh. “I’m not going anywhere, darling, relax.”

He whined into your neck, clutching at the fat of your lovehandles. “Need you so bad,” he groaned. “M’sorry, can’t help myself.”

You rolled over him, straddling his hips with yours. “I know, love. Just sit still and be good for me, yeah?”

He nodded vigorously, watching you kiss down his body with heavy-lidded eyes. You pushed up the hem of his undershirt, licking a stripe between the valley of his abdomen muscles, admiring the tattoos you’d only gotten glimpses of.

“So pretty, Bat,” you purred, and felt his cock twitch against your chest, his head falling back against the pillows. “Been wanting me this whole time?”

“Yes, so badly—fuck, treasure, please—” he moaned when you grazed your teeth along his hipbone, sucking the skin into your mouth to leave a mark. His hand tangled in your hair, rings cool against your scalp, and you released his skin with a pop, admiring the plum-colored bruise left behind. “I’m getting that tattooed,” he panted, dragging a thumb over your spit slick lips. “Swear to Salazar.”

You giggled, shifting further down to undo his trousers and finding that he apparently skipped boxers. His cock sprung out to slap against this stomach, rigid and flushed, a bead of pearly precum dripping down to his navel. Gently, you traced a finger over the protruding veins along his shaft, admiring him.

Barty hissed through his teeth, his muscles tensing to keep still.

“Good boy,” you praised, wrapping your hand loosely around him, pumping once, twice without any real pressure. He was long and slightly curved, gorgeous, and you couldn’t resist dragging your tongue up the root of him, feeling the velvety texture against your lips.

“Fucking shit, you’re going to kill me.” His fingers tightened in your hair as you lapped at the head, savoring the salty taste of him.

You looked up at him through your lashes, his head thrown back, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths, every muscle flexed tight. Fighting for his life to hold still.

“Baby,” he whined when you stopped, picking up his head to look down at you.

“Say your mine,” you ordered, hovering just over his cock, holding his wild-eyed gaze.

“I’m yours. I’m so fucking yours.”

You smiled and wrapped your lips around him, swallowing down as much of him as you could manage and he cried out, rough and breathless with relief. You bobbed up and down on his length, tongue pressing against the root of his cock and using your hand to stroke what you couldn’t reach, and you watched his soul leave his body.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he chanted, using your hair to lift and lower you a little faster, his control starting to falter as you pulled him apart. “Bloody hell, you’re way too good at this. What the fuck—oh saints. Your mouth feels like fucking heaven.”

You hummed in response, letting him push you further down, gagging on his length before he released you and you pulled off of him to catch your breath, a trail of drool connecting your lips and his head.

Barty groaned. “Never mind, I’m getting that tattooed. Right on my fucking forehead so every time I look in the mirror—”

You climbed back up his body and draped yourself over him, silencing him with a sloppy kiss, his tongue laving across your lips to taste himself. “Do you ever stop talking?” you teased, kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheekbone, his temple.

In a quick movement, he flipped you beneath him. “There’s one sure-fire way to shut me up,” he purred against your ear before kissing and licking down your neck and chest. Every pass of his lips was electric, a bolt of pleasure straight your weeping pussy, swollen against your panties and desperate for attention. “This dress,” he murmured, tracing the swell of your breast with his tongue. “Wear it for anyone in particular?”

“I wanted to see your reaction,” you admitted, gasping when his big hand came up to knead your tit, fingertips still a little stained from sketching. His rings were harsh against your skin, and you arched into him, relishing in his greedy touch.

“Sent me to my knees, sweetheart. Damn near killed me.” He pulled the top of you dress down, your tits spilling free, and he took one pert nipple into his mouth, lashing it with his tongue while he teased the other with his hand.

You keened, hands flying into his shaggy hair. Every pull of his mouth went straight to your cunt, making your hips buck against his thigh. He shifted to press his leg harder against you, letting you chase your pleasure, and hummed in approval against your chest.

The friction was amazing, buzzy heat spilling under your skin and making you moan and cling tighter to him, trembling with unspent energy. “Fuck, Barty—please.” You weren’t sure what you were begging for, but he seemed to understand you perfectly.

“Say your mine, treasure,” he said, biting at the side of your breast, and you yelped.

“Yes, Barty! All yours! Just please—”

He pushed two fingers into your mouth, silencing you while he shifted down your body. Without warning, he buried his face between your legs, licking and sucking at your pussy through your panties with an eagerness that made your eyes cross, your teeth sink down on his digits.

“So fucking sweet, baby. Melting like sugar f’me.” He yanked your panties down your legs and returned to his feasting, laving his long tongue through you before sucking hard at you clit. He slipped his fingers from your mouth, needing both hands to spread you open for his consumption.

Your mind was wiped clean, erased completely by all-consuming bliss as he practically mauled your pussy, vicious in his pursuit of your pleasure. His tongue fucked into you, the slurping loud and lewd, while he massaged your clit with his thumb. You dug your nails into his sheets, trying to stifle your screams into his pillow.

"So responsive, baby. Ready for more?" He asked, easing his middle finger inside of your clenching channel, curling against the gooey spot behind your pelvic bone that made you melt into the mattress. Adding a second finger, he started nursing your clit again, letting his dexterous artist’s fingers coax you open.

Once you were moaning, loose and languid against the mattress, he ramped back up, working your g-spot like it stole something from him he was hellbent on getting back. He dragged his teeth against your clit, soothing the flare of pain with his tongue, and you felt yourself draw tight, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“Barty—oh God, I’m going to come—oh fuck, oh fuck!” You lifted almost completely off the bed as your orgasm slammed into you, ripping through sinnew and bone to consume your heart, devour you entirely.

Barty slowed his ministrations, dragging his tongue through your spasming pussy with long, lush licks, his hold tight on your thighs when you started to inch away from him, your body twitching and shaking as you came down from your high.

“That’s my treasure, so fucking gorgeous when you come for me,” he hummed, smiling against your skin, and nuzzled his nose against your clit while he withdrew his fingers, making you jump and whine. “Not so mean now, are you, sweetness?”

You shook your head, trembling and weak, completely boneless beneath him.

"So soft for me, hm?" He dragged you down the bed, throwing one of your calves over his shoulder while he swiped the head of his cock through your messy slit. “Better hold onto something, darling. You've got me at the end of my leash.”

You wrapped your hands around the bars of his headboard and he grinned, a wicked slash across his handsome face.

“Fuck, I knew you were perfect for me.” He notched his cock at your entrance and with a smooth roll of his hips, buried himself to the hilt. You both cried out, the fullness, the stretch more intense than anything you’d felt before. “I was fucking made for you, baby,” he groaned, dragging his hips back before snapping them forward, your pussy fluttering around him.

“Fuck, B, feels so good,” you mewled, rocking your hips to meet his thrust for thrust, the bed creaking loudly beneath you.

He used his hold on your elevated leg to lift your hips off the bed, ratcheting up to a punishing pace, making you scream and thrash on the bed while he fucked you with every ounce of desperation and determination he’d harbored over the last few months. His teeth sunk into your calf, hard enough to send a bolt of pain down your leg and make you cry out, heightening the pleasure radiating from your core until you were teetering on the edge again, every graze of his cockhead against your cervix winding you tighter, higher—

“Shit, baby, I’m gonna come soon,” he grunted, his thrusts growing sloppy, erratic and rough, and you could only nod. “Can feel it, tres. C’mon, babygirl, come with me. Please, need to feel you come around me, m’dying for it, please, please—”

You came with a scream, your vision whiting out as sunlight blazed through you, eviscerating every ounce of tension, trepidation, fear, and leaving you a beacon of light, nothing but giddy, delirious stardust.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it—fuck!” Barty came a heartbeat after you, the swelling and throbbing of his cock as he painted your inside white prolonging your release, wringing every drop of pleasure from you until you both collapsed onto the bed, chests heaving and sticky with sweat, the glitter from his skin decorating yours.

You reached for him, trembling and raw, and he gathered you into his chest, kissing your cheeks and forehead with a dizzying gentleness. “Barty,” you breathed, hands curling against his chest, too overwhelmed with feeling to say anything else.

“I’m yours,” he whispered, cradling your face to bring your gaze to his. “I’m yours.”

You nodded, leaning forward to kiss him, taste him again, letting the warmth of his body, the heavy beat of his heart, ground you in the reality of this moment. Barty was yours, and you were his. And you were safe. He wanted you despite your attitude, your armor, your callousness. He wanted you exactly as you were, more than happy to lay in the shadows with you, or draw you out into his light to dance.

“And I’m yours,” you breathed against his lips, and he smiled.

“I'll be right back,” he murmured, pressing a delicate kiss to your head before flying out of bed and wrenching open the door, his cock barely stuffed back into his pants. “SHE’S FUCKING MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNEEEEEEE!” He screamed down the stairs to the party.

A chorus of cheers rang out, reaching you from the common room. You buried your face into his pillow, laughter bubbling up despite the embarrassment scorching your cheeks.

Barty whirled around, a maniac’s grin on his face, and he dove back into bed, determined to stake his claim as many times as possible before sunrise.

Thank you for reading!

[pintrestgrl]

Okay, listen!! Being very angsty here

Kook!reader and Rafe are wonderful together— the it-couple of Kildare. They both love partying and going on boat trips and shopping on the mainland. Rafe loves her and she loves him, and it's been like that for years.

Now for the angst: during spring break Topper hosts a party and reader loses Rafe while talking to friends, so she obviously goes to look for him, a little drunk, a little horny too, maybe, and poor baby finds him doing lines in some room and she just doesn't know what to say or do...

— 🪼

aw poor baby. she probably thinks he’s like the perfect bf too. 🥲 anyways hi 🪼 anon !! i missed u ! i love this idea too send more pls

also, for your season 4 ask, it might be like terrible to say but i haven’t watched season 4 yet… ik shocking. but im currently rewatching all the seasons rn 😭

but i will try to do it once i get to season 4 !!

i’m so so sorry 😭

also this ask is from like weeks ago.. but i just now got to it.. anyways im terrible at posting

pls enjoy !!

sweetheart!kook!reader with boyfriend!rafe.

you and rafe had been together forever, and everybody knew it.

everyone knew that you were his girlfriend, and he was your boyfriend.

you two were perfect together.

you went on yacht trips on his family’s boat, shopping excursions to the mainland, and you both attended every party that the outer banks had to offer.

another party came, so naturally you went with rafe.

you arrived with him, and began drinking and dancing the night away as he subtly pulled down your dress from behind you.

you had been there for around 30 minutes, when you realized you had lost him in the crowd at some point in time.

you already were a bit drunk, and kinda needy at this point. so, you needed rafe. desperately.

you stumbled along the crowded halls of the mansion, accidentally opening a few sex-filled rooms a long the way.

you finally came to the end of the hall, opening the door.

you froze.

behind it, was rafe. which should have calmed you down.

but the sight made you want to run away from the whole situation.

he was sitting in the laundry room, his head down as he snorted a line of white powder off the laundry machine.

you guessed you let out a small noise of shock, because his head raised.

the look on his face, was nothing but one of shock. of fear. of shame.

he wiped his nose, quickly standing up from the chair.

you backed away a little, not able to find the will to speak right now.

he spoke to you.

“oh, fuck— god, baby. it’s not what it looks like, okay. c’mere.”

he attempted to approach you, but you only backed away. you didn’t know what to say, or do, or think.

all you could think of, was that you just witnessed your sweet boyfriend doing a line of coke.

you finally found it in you to speak.

“what— what was that, rafe? what were you doing?”

he took hold of your wrists, not allowing you to move. he avoided your eyes, his pupils blown out.

he spoke.

“nothin’, baby. don’t worry about it. just calm down, okay. listen to me.”

you nodded slowly, afraid of who he would become while he was on drugs like this.

he spoke again.

“let’s just— go home. i think it’s time for you to go home.”

you shook your head, rather quickly. you didn’t want to go. you wanted to be with him. you didn’t mean to see that sight, it wasn’t like you wanted too.

you spoke.

“‘no— please, rafe. i wanna stay. please, it’s fine.”

he grunted, shaking his head.

“no. you’re goin’ home, okay? just listen to me for once, god.”

you frowned. his words got so much meaner, and you could only blame it on the drugs coursing through his body.

he took a bit too tight hold of your arms, leading you towards the door, then to his car.

you got in, too scared to protest staying at the party anymore.

you were scared. very, very scared. you’d never seen rafe like this in all the years you’d known him.

he turned the car on, sloppily pulling out of the driveway.

he sped all the way home, his car going well over the speed limit.

you were frozen, and silent with fear the whole car ride.

you wanted him to slow down, but you were much too fearful to say anything to his face right now.

he arrived at your house, letting out a gruff noise that only told you to get out.

you reluctantly opened your mouth, and spoke.

“rafe, we can— we can talk about it. please? can we talk about it?”

he scoffed, rolling his eyes. he finally looks at your eyes, and you saw nothing in them. nothing but his dilated pupils. usually, you’d seen a hint of love or admiration in his eyes.

there was nothing.

he spoke, harshly.

“just— shut the fuck up. got it? get out. now.”

you sucked in a shaky hiss at his mean words, nodding and opening the door of his car, hopping out.

usually, he’d have the common decency to walk you to the door and say hi to your parents.

as you walked to the door, you heard him speed off. not even bothering to see if you got in okay.

you felt tears prick your eyes, as you rushed upstairs. avoiding the words of your parents.

you showered, and changed. finally sitting down in your bed.

you were so worried, so confused.

where did he go? did he get there okay? what was he doing in that room?

you thought about sending him a text or two, but deciding to drop the idea when the memory of his blunt words came in your head.

you took a shaky breath, rolling over and clutching the stuffy that rafe had gotten for you a while back.

you had many questions.

how could he just dismiss you like that? and treat you so much different then he usually did?

you hated what he had done. hated what you had witnessed. hated what he said to you.

but yet, you couldn’t quite find it in you to hate him.

you loved him, with everything you had in you.

and he had been hiding half his life away from you.

you let your tears soak the plush animal, as you let every bad thought consume your mind.

before you finally, succumbed to a deep slumber.

[thewidowsledger]

Secrets Behind Our Dreams

Chapter 13: Option | 6.3k

© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You are a club dancer; a stripper. Natasha is a respected notorious mob boss. What would happen if your paths happened to cross one night? The only thing you knew about each other was your dreams, and neither of you knew what the other was.

Pairing: Mob Boss Natasha Romanoff x Stripper Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: 18+, bad writing, making out, smut, top!Natasha, Natasha has a penis, bottom!reader, cunnilingus, fingering (r receiving), arguing, cursing, hostage taking, drugging and kidnapping (I really don't wanna add this because it's a huge spoiler lol)

Author's Note: I added additional details on chapter 12 a few days ago after it was posted, so for those who have already read chapter 12, you might want to read it again because you might have read the unupdated version.

I am not a ballerina nor a professional one, I just wrote what I have researched so pls excuse my stupid mistakes here. This is not proofread and I wrote this chapter in a rush ;')) we are here to burn the slow xD and finally answer who's a lot better? Your vibrator or Natasha?

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

You began to back away, contemplating your next move and your instinctive act of kissing her. Natasha suddenly took hold of you, her sly hands slipping gently on your lower back. She then pulled you back to her, pulling you into a passionate, heated kiss. This time it's not just a lingering kiss on the cheek, not just for a fraction of a second.

The kiss grew more passionate and heated with each passing second. You found yourself moaning against Natasha's mouth, the sounds escaping your lips involuntarily.

There was an undeniable hunger and need in the way Natasha's tongue fought for dominance in your mouth, and you let her have it, giving her control as she ravaged you with her lips—almost as if she couldn't get enough of you. You could only grip her shoulders, thumbs digging into her neck creating a crescent mark in her skin.

Natasha pulled away suddenly, her lips leaving you—leaving you wanting more. You almost chased her mouth, the string of saliva connecting your lips together.

Her gaze upon you was calm and collected, but beneath the surface, you can see the hunger and the dark desire in her eyes. She looked at you as if you were her last meal and she was starving. Her gaze landed on your agape plump mouth again.

“What if you could be all those three at once?”

You looked at her, still trying to catch your breath after the hungry kiss, “What?”

“You heard me.” She husked, her mouth inch closer to yours.

“Wh—” you breathe, “What do you mean?”

She leaned in dangerously closer, her voice dropping to a more sultry tone as she responded, “Well, I suppose it's my job to make sure you don't have to resort to those two options of yours. After all, I wouldn't want you becoming someone else's trophy.”

You felt a shiver course through you as her hand traced down the curve of your back, her touch electric against your skin as she pulled you even closer that you can feel the bulge against her jeans.

“But I’ll offer you a third option,” she continued, her tongue darted out in a swift second, slowly licking her lips as if savoring the remnants you left in her mouth. “You can be all those three at once. A degree holder which you already are, and…”

“Be my personal stripper and my trophy wife.”

The offer were bold and unexpected, yet somehow, they felt right coming from her mouth.

And only a dumb person would decline that offer.

Your breath coming in sharp pants as you look up at her, your eyes captivated by her dilated pupils and parted lips.

“I…I’m a virgin, Nat…” you stuttered in a whisper, your cheeks turning red at your admission.

“That’s not what I asked of you, detka…” her piercing green eyes studying you in a way that made your heart race faster than normal. “But if you're gonna be my wife, I guess I’ll have to know that.”

“I’m gonna ask you again…” her eyes never left yours, you can feel her breath fanning over your lips.

“Can you be my personal stripper and my trophy wife?”

She actually didn't have to ask, again.

You couldn't resist anymore. You surged forward, pulling Natasha into a fierce kiss. Your lips crashed together as your tongues danced in an intimate embrace. You locked your arms around her neck as she scooped your ass up, wrapping your legs around her waist. She carried you over until you could feel the cold pole against your back.

Natasha's lips moved down to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake. Her breath was hot against your skin as she teased you with soft nips and licks. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, making it hard for you to keep still.

She slowly lowered you back to your feet, her hands now working to unbutton your silk top.

With your top completely off, Natasha let her gaze wander down your body, taking in every curve and inch of skin. Her eyes gleamed with desire as she traced her fingers along the edge of your lace bra.

"You're so fucking beautiful, detka."

And with that, your bra is completely out of your body.

Natasha's hands were now on your breasts, caressing and kneading them as if trying to memorize every inch of your body.

“Is this okay? Detka?” She asked, eyeing you for any sign of discomfort.

“Please, Nat. Make me yours.”

And she did.

Natasha immediately leaned down, her mouth replacing her fingers on your nipple. She sucked and teased it with her tongue, causing you to arch my back with pleasure.

Her mouth was all over you, her tongue tracing a hot, wet path down your body. She moved your legs open and lowered herself between your legs that made you shudder. When she's finally kneeling down in front of you, you let her tug your silk pajamas together with your panties until they're pooling down your feet. She then brought your right leg over her shoulder.

She looked up at you with those piercing dilated green orbs before her tongue flicked against your clit.

“Oh fuck!” Both of your hands gripped her braided hair tightly from the pleasure as she continued to lap you.

Natasha pulled back from you for a moment, her lips glistening with your arousal. “You taste heavenly,” she purred, her voice husky with desire as she locked eyes with you. Her gaze was intense and full of hunger, making you tremble with need.

She brought herself back into you, moaning and sending even more pleasure through your body as she expertly brought you to the edge. This time she plunged one finger inside you with a hunger that matched your own. You can feel the rough texture of her finger through your core but it was immediately coated with your arousal.

Natasha still managed to smirk as she continued to eat you out, it's just one finger and she could feel your tightness clenching around her finger, pulling her deeper inside. That made her crave for you even more.

It has been so long since you had a vibrator inside you, but this one's not a vibrator and you would do anything to come right now.

Her tongue focused on licking and sucking your clit while her forefinger came in and out of your hole, fingering you in rhythmic thrusts that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

“Oh god, fuck, Natasha!” you gasped, your right hand flew to your mouth, muffling your cries of pleasure. She's for sure a lot better than any vibrator you had in your whole life.

Natasha's fingers moved faster and deeper, pressing against that sweet spot inside you. The wet sound of her lapping your core and her finger pushing in and out of your tight hole.

“Oh, Nat I’m gonna!”

And you finally lost all control, crying out in release as your orgasm overtook you. Your body shook and trembled, every muscle tensed as you rode out the waves of pleasure Natasha brought you.

Natasha swiftly pulled your panties and silk pajamas back in place as she stood. You were still high from pleasure and the only thing that keeps you steady is the pole behind you. Your hands are still tangled in her hair and she's now in front of you, she eyed you as she slowly licked her lips and her arousal coated finger. Despite you being high in pleasure, you didn't miss that moment and you could only bite your lip at the sight of her. Your hands moved to her cheeks and desperately pulled her into a kiss, you moaned as you tasted yourself in her mouth.

Natasha gently pulled away and took her leather jacket and let it hang it to your shoulders to cover your bare chest. She now swiftly carried you in a bridal style.

“You did so good for me, detka. So good.” she murmured in your ears, pressing a light kiss against it.

You both left the room, leaving your silk top and lacy bra behind.

⧗

“Maria, we need to tighten up the security,” Natasha said, her voice brooking no argument. “It's not secure if Yelena can just waltz in unannounced like this.”

Maria sighed, crossing her arms, “Did you two talk?”

“If by 'talk' you mean papers scattered on the floor, broken glasses, and a slightly bruised wall,” she responded casually—too casually, “then yes, we talked.”

Maria sighed once again, a sense of weary resignation in her eyes. She had grown up with Natasha, witnessing firsthand the tumultuous relationship between her and her sister. When Natasha had decided to start building her own empire, Maria had been the first one to offer her support—she was even the one who told Natasha to start her own business so she could finally get away from her family.

“There was a change of plans,” Maria confirmed to Natasha, “Is it true that you weren't able to finish the meeting that was held here earlier? Because the associates asked to move to a different location.”

Natasha already knew about this and she nodded in confirmation. It was supposed to be done but your unexpected appearance disrupted the flow of the meeting, but Natasha didn't blame you, though, because she liked the events that followed after that.

If she would have you in that position again—you gripping her hair—pushing and bucking your core down to her mouth as you try to muffle your cries while she eats you out. Hell, she would let you disrupt every meeting she’ll have.

“You good?”

Maria's voice pulled Natasha out of her reverie, and she tried to shake off the thoughts that had been preoccupying her mind just moments ago. A faint blush crept onto her cheeks as she hastily responded, “Yeah, I'm good.”

Maria just hummed but she clearly knows what's going on in the redhead's mind.

“I had Y/N’s clothes that were left in that room put in the laundry.”

Natasha swallowed a lump on her throat as Maria walked towards her, “You might wanna tie your hair back.”

Natasha's hands instinctively went to her braid, her fingers tangling in the thick strands of hair as she pulled it over her shoulder. The hair tie had already been removed, leaving her braid slightly loose in its end.

“You left this too.” She placed a plain black hair tie on her desk, you might have accidentally tugged it while you two…

“Damn, Nat I didn't know that's the purpose of the room you asked me. I thought it was a studio or something.” Maria raised a brow before heading to Natasha's office door.

“Hey! It-it is a studio!” Natasha couldn't help but feel a little defensive as Maria teased her. She tried to maintain her composure, although the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed the things that were going into her mind.

She made it for you, it is a studio, at least that's how she planned it to be.

“Sure…sure, but I wouldn't get shocked if it would turn into a sex den.” Maria teased once again, winking at her best friend before she shut the door.

“Hey! Maria! Comeback here!”

⧗

You slowly blink your eyes open, feeling the soft silk of the sheets against your skin. As you push the comforter aside, realization dawns upon you—you're not wearing anything on your top, and Natasha's jacket is lying haphazardly on the pillow beside you.

Memories of the previous night flood your mind, a cocktail of sensations and emotions. You can still feel the remnants of her touch on your skin and the scent of her perfume lingers on the jacket—on you, sending a shiver down your spine.

With wide eyes, you quickly rush towards the full-length mirror in your room. As you look at your reflection, a wave of surprise and a little bit of shock washes over you. The marks on your skin it's like a roadmap outlining Natasha's path along your body.

You carefully trace your fingers down from your neck, tracing the marks that continue down to the valley of your breasts.

“Be my personal stripper and my trophy wife.”

“Fuck…” you screw your eyes shut at the memories.

Every touch, every caress, every sensation that Natasha had brought out in you came rushing back like a tidal wave. The need for her, the aching desire for her touch, was overwhelming. You closed your eyes tightly, your body instinctively reacting to the recollections of her lips and hands on your skin.

Your eyes scan the table next to your bed, and you spot a white box adorned with red ribbons. Curiosity piqued, you reached out to the box and saw a note tucked into the lid.

“A small trophy, for my wife.”

You bite your lip to the words of Natasha's note. The thought of being marked and claimed in this way awakened a primal part of you that longs to be desired and owned by her.

As you peer inside the box, you find that it contains a single item, a beautiful pair of pink pointe shoes. Your eyes start to glisten with tears as you gently touch the shoe. This one was different, so much more exquisite and perfect compared to the one you had before. Those were cheap, thrift store finds that you had to painstakingly repair and patch up. This new shoe seemed so much... better. It looked elegant and more importantly, it looked comfortable. But you weren't sure if you could wear it; your feet were used to the pain and torture that came with the cheap shoes you usually danced in. You let another tear fall down your cheek before you put the box down and slipped onto some comfortable clothes.

⧗

You had walked to the room Natasha said she made for you, seeking solace and a place to immerse yourself in your dance. An unfamiliar music played softly in the background, a random selection that you didn't recognize but chose to dance to anyway.

As you continued to dance, you looked at the wide wall mirror eyeing your reflection, you observed your movements. The music pulsated through the room, you began to perform a series of ballet moves that you’ve learned on your own. You're a quick learner, you’ve only seen these steps at least once and you can do it neatly in a blink of an eye.

Your body moves with grace and precision. You twirled in elegant pirouettes, extending your leg and pointing your toes during tendus, gracefully arched yourself in arabesques, and leaped through the air with powerful grand jetes. You allow yourself to lose in the movement, each step and twirl flowing effortlessly, your body becoming one with the rhythm and the space around you.

Your dancing was interrupted by the sound of the door opening forcefully. You turned to see Natasha standing at the threshold, her breath labored and her shoulders tensed.

“Natasha?” you ran towards her, your heart in yout throat when you saw the blood seeping through the fabric of her shoulders. The sight stopped you in your tracks and you reached out to touch her, your fingers trembling as they traced over the wetness of the fabric.

“I’ll find Maria.” you said firmly, trying to pull your wrists free from Natasha's grip. But she tugged you back, her eyes pleading with you not to leave her. “No,” she whispered, her was voice broken and vulnerable. “Please don't go. There's a kit behind those speakers," Without a second thought, you ran towards the speakers, moving them aside to reveal a small black case. You opened it up to find bandages, gauze, and painkillers.

Natasha walked slowly towards the pole, her body aching from the injury she had sustained. She sat down heavily, resting her back against the cool metal, and let out a deep sigh of relief, “The shoe fits perfectly?” she asked as she closed her eyes.

“Y-yeah, t-thank you,” you managed to say. And Natasha just hummed but you can feel that she was smiling.

You could feel your mind racing with panic, a million thoughts swirling uncontrollably in your head. Natasha needed you and you are struggling to keep it together. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears as you ran your hands through your sweaty hair, your heart pounding in your chest.

Natasha opened her eyes and looked at you kneeling in front of her. She could see the fear in your eyes and knew that you were trying to keep it under control. She smiled softly, trying to reassure you, “Come here,” she gently took your arm and pulled you on her lap.

“This seems normal to you.” You huffed, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall.

It is indeed normal for Natasha to walk back from her latest business, her body covered in bruises and scratches, her clothes tattered, and a gunshot wound on her thigh—it's a lifestyle.

She tugged at the fabric of her sleeves, pulling them up to reveal a fresh cut on her arm, she was stabbed. She winced slightly as you began to clean it, her eyes focusing on you as she gently circled her thumbs on your waist.

“Does Maria know about this?” you quivered.

“No, later maybe, yeah,” rambled, groaning as she adjusted herself. Making you move slightly on her lap.

“I need to call her,” you insisted, but Natasha shook her head, digging her fingers on your waist, “No, you're gonna stay here.”

As you finished cleaning her wound, the room fell into a moment of silence. Natasha sat quietly, her gaze unfocused as she took deep breaths, trying to steady herself. You couldn't help but feel a wave of anxiety wash over you, wondering if you were doing everything right.

The silence became too much to bear, and just as you were about to break the tension, Natasha spoke up. “You scared?” she asked, her voice softer than usual. In that moment, all the worry and fear you had been holding back came pouring out.

“Of course I am!”

You harshly wiped the tears that started streaming down your face. Natasha watched you cry, a pained expression in her eyes. She felt guilty, like she was putting you through unnecessary emotional turmoil.

She moved a strand away from your face, “I don't like seeing you like this,” Natasha whispered, so softly that you almost didn't hear her. But the words were enough to make you stop you, your hands frozen in mid-air as you looked at her. Your eyes were puffy and glossy.

“Natasha,” you breathe, “I don't like seeing you like this too,” you managed to say between sobs, you softly jabbed her chest with your finger. You cannot bear to see her in pain too, her going home with wounds, bruises, stabs, gunshots and for her it's nothing? Maybe for her it is, but for you it's not. What if she comes home cold? Lifeless?

“You don't deserve this.”

Now, you huffed hearing it from her, “Taking everything back?” your face hardened into a smirk as you wiped the tears out your face and quickly moved away from her lap. Natasha furrowed her brows, confused at your question. She tried to chase you to make you stay in that position, she wanted you close to her—now you just moved away.

“So you asking me to be your personal stripper and your trophy wife was what?” Your voice trembled slightly as you voiced your thoughts, “Out of lust? To get to me? To use me?” you chuckled slightly.

“Detka, that's not what it is,” her voice cracked, she didn't want you to think that she was just using you. She never intended that.

“You wouldn't wish a life with me!”

“What if I want this, Natasha?” You asked the question before you could even think, “What if I want this? What if I want you, Natasha? What if I want to be with you?” The words tumbled out of your mouth, each one a confession that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable. You gulped the lump on your throat, turning your back at her as you sob uncontrollably.

Natasha hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest as she processed your words. She watched as you turned away from her and her instincts kicked in. Without thinking, she stood despite the pain on her shoulder. Then, she moved closer, her hands gently reaching for your waist.

At first, Natasha was taken aback when you swatted her hands away. You turned to look at her, she saw the clear view of your face—the uncertainty and pain in your eyes, followed by a flash of something else - desire? She didn't think twice as she reached for you again, pulling you closer by your elbows.

“Natasha, no,” your voice barely above a whisper. You tried to move to push her away but Natasha was determined. She pulled you closer still, your face just inches from hers now. Her eyes locked on yours.

“Y/N, don't fight me,” gently, her hands moved down to your cheek and you didn't fight back. Tears started streaming down your face again as you cling to her touch, she looked at you before closing the gap of your lips, pulling you into a searing kiss. She could taste the saltiness of your tears on her lips and it only made her want to hold you tighter, wanting to stay like this with you forever.

You managed to pull away from her and Natasha tried chasing your lips but you immediately stepped back. You stood there for a couple of seconds, waiting for her to say something, you wanted her to say something but no words came out of her mouth.

You wiped your tears away and swallowed a sob before speaking, “I…uhh, I’ll find Maria.” With that, you turned and left the room not daring to look at her because you know what's going to happen if you do.

⧗

You just found clinging to Yelena as she drives her bike away from the manor. You just called Maria to get Natasha and you went into the kitchen when Yelena approached you and proposed an idea, suggesting a ‘little escapade’ as she calls it when she saw you all vulnerable alone after your encounter with her sister. And without hesitation, you found yourself nodding in agreement. The manor had been stifling and you desperately craved a breath of fresh air.

You were easy, too easy.

Yelena stopped the bike at a nearby ice cream place, she turned to you and inquired, “So, where do you wanna go?”

Your response was a nonchalant shrug, not having any specific destination in mind. Sensing your lack of a preference, Yelena grinned. “Let's grab some ice-cream then,” she said, gesturing towards the ice-cream parlor.

Yelena immediately went straight to the counter and placed the order for both of you, not even bothering to ask what you wanted. You sat silently, patiently waiting for her to finish. It was your first time leaving the manor in what felt like forever, and you relished the opportunity to be out and about once again. But as you sat there waiting, your mind began to drift to Natasha once again. Thoughts of her started to plague your mind, you couldn't help but replay the argument in your head, recalling every word and the addicting touch of hers. You tried to make sense of what had happened and how things had spiraled out—how you spiraled out.

You want her, you want to be with her. You long to hear the simple words that she used to soothe your worries and fears, that you just have to stay and be with her and no harm will come after you. Yet, deep down, maybe you yearned for more than just those words, maybe you wanted her to say the same thing—that she wants you and she wants to be with you.

“Ice-cream for your thoughts?” Yelena waved the ice-cream cone on your face, pulling you out of your deep thoughts of her sister.

You immediately took it and walked out of the ice-cream parlor and Yelena walked after you, “How much do I owe you?” You asked.

“Why? Do you have money with you?” She asked back, huffing knowing that you have none.

“No,” you replied quietly, savoring the taste of the strawberry ice cream. “I only have a black dress, a pair of heels, and a knife,” you mumbled. “And lingerie,” you added as an afterthought.

In truth, you barely had anything that was truly your own. All you had were the clothes you had worn the night you worked at Valkyrie's and that's everything you got since ending up in Natasha's penthouse.

After finishing your ice cream, you saw a nearby library. And you made a bold request, despite your attempts to keep your facade of aloofness intact. You tried to maintain a certain distance from Yelena. Yes, you accepted her ‘little escapade’ but that doesn't mean that you had forgotten how she had treated you since the day you two met. Her harsh attitude and scathing insults still echoed in your mind and you couldn't help but feel a pang of resentment and wariness whenever you were near her. But right now, you have no time for that, you want peace and a breather.

“I want to go inside,” you said, your voice betraying a hint of pleading despite your efforts to sound indifferent. “Please.”

“You look cute when you beg.”

Irritation flared in you at Yelena's mocking tone and teasing words. You couldn't help but roll your eyes in response, you licked your thumb after you finished your ice-cream to get the small crumbs left of the cone. With doe eyes, you stared at her that caused her to almost choke at her ice-cream.

“Yeah, thanks, your sister hears it a lot,” you replied with a wink, before crossing the street towards the direction of the library leaving her behind.

“Zlyushchaya suka.” (Feisty bitch) She whispered under breath before running after you.

As you entered the library, the aroma of old books and the hush of whispered conversations enveloped you. You approached the counter and without wasting any time, you signed your name on the guest book, eager to immerse yourself in the library's collection of books. Yelena followed suit, walking over to the counter and casually scratching her name onto the page.

As you maneuvered through the library, you were drawn to a section filled with the works of Emily Dickinson. Your eyes landed on her collection, and a sense of comfort washed over you. You had a deep fondness for the poet's work, and you eagerly reached out to pick up one of her books.

Yelena, meanwhile, was casually browsing nearby. When she saw what book you had chosen, her eyes widened momentarily,

“You read Dickinson too?”

“Wild nights, wild nights, were I with thee wild nights should be, our luxury…” You lazily recited just to prove her that you do read Dickinson's works. You grabbed a book that caught your eye and walked towards the blonde, you placed it on the top of the book she's reading.

“Grumpy Monkey,” Yelena read the title to herself. Her mouth agaped slightly offended at what you did, she immediately immersed herself to look for a perfect book to give you.

Yelena approached you with a cocky smirk, slamming a book onto the table. With a hint of mockery in her tone, she asked, “You live there?” you looked at the book entitled: Bitch Planet, Volume 1: Extraordinary Machine

You flashed a book in her face, as if you're ready for this, “Mr. Author Lewis here wants to give you an advice on how to raise your I.Q.” She read the title in her mind, How to Raise Your I.Q. by Eating Gifted Children.

“Okay, that’s alarming,” Yelena pointed out, which made you giggle. She returned to look for more books and spotted a book with a hilariously controversial title. She couldn't resist the urge to call out to you in a loud whisper, waving the book in her hand. “Hey, hey!”

Eating People is Wrong you read, despite the distance between you, Yelena's infectious laughter managed to reach your ears. Her boisterous chuckle filled the library, causing a few heads to turn in your direction. You immediately shush her causing the blonde to slowly and pretend to look for a book to read.

“Games You Can Play with Your Pussy; and Lots of Other Stuff Cat Owners Should Know.” You read in disgust and you turned to look at Yelena who was sitting in front of you, her eyes watered as she fought back the tears forming in her eyes, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Terrible book title,” you remarked. She pulled another one that made you roll your eyes, did she really just collect books with controversial, alarming and terrible titles?

You sighed as you read the title again. “Still Stripping After 25 Years,” you gasped, which made Yelena slap the table, still trying not to burst into laughter. You didn't even read the blurb of the book before you judged, “They should not put this in a public library!” You whisper-shouted.

“Okay, that's enough,” you chastised her, she was sitting on her seat in an almost slouching manner and you found yourself crossing your arms across your chest as you raised a questioning brow at her but she instantly straightened up and adjusted her vest.

It feels like you're with a kid, honestly.

“I like your vest.”

Yelena’s eyes widened at your compliment, “I just absolutely love vests with lots of pockets. They're so practical, and they just have that perfect blend of style and function, you know?” she giddily rambled. You just hummed as you flipped the book you’re reading.

“It's actually Natasha’s,” the revelation made you look at her, “I took all her clothes when she left.”

“How long has it been since she left? If you don't mind me asking…” you inquired carefully, hoping that you didn't cross any line.

“18 years, papa made her manage the business with him at 16 then she left when she was 19.”

“She started that young?” Yelena just hummed, her energy immediately dropping down.

“You know, your sister loves you,” Yelena immediately eyed you after you said those words, “Even though you always come around her property with no invitations,” you chuckled as you closed the book that you had no plans on finishing reading.

She just shook her head slightly as if she's trying to focus her mind and remove thoughts in her brain.

She hates you, she reminded herself.

“Let's go out, go for a walk.” You gave her a smile and grabbed her hand, the closeness making the blonde guilty.

As you and Yelena stepped outside the library, you noticed a small box on the sidewalk, filled with six adorable puppies, each of them looking at you with curious eyes. A $20 sign hung over the box, indicating that they were for sale. Poor adorable puppies just being sold?

Yelena's phone suddenly vibrated from her pocket, causing her to break away from your grasp. She looked at you apologetically and told you that she will just get it for a second. You nodded and informed her that you will go see the puppies, you pointed the direction so she'll know where you are before you both went your separate ways.

“The delivery should be done in 15 minutes, we’ve waited for so long.”

Yelena's heart dropped as she saw the text on the small screen. Guilt and dread, that's what she feels right now. She made a huge mistake on getting too close to you, this wasn't supposed to happen, she never intended to let her guard down and warm up to you.

She hated the fact that you have no crumb of flaws in you, well yes, of course you have your own flaws but it's not enough for her to hate. She tried testing you as if she was digging the pandora's box, it's nowhere to be found. She can't find any reason to hate you.

And she hate you for that. She hates you, she did. She hated you.

Yelena's heart raced as she desperately searched for you, but you were nowhere in sight. She spotted a two black van meters away from her and panic gripped her as she frantically looked for you. But suddenly, she saw you waving at her, a small puppy cradled in your arms. She immediately ran towards your direction.

“Can we get this puppy for Natasha? You know your sister always wanted a pup—”

You were taken aback when Yelena withdrew a wad of cash from her pocket and swiftly pulled out a $100 bill. Without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed your arm and quickly yanked you away from the scene, she wasn't even able to get her change.

“I need to get you back to the manor.”

The golden retriever puppy was whining in your arms and you cooed it even though you're being dragged by the blonde.

Yelena's panic intensified as her gaze darted anxiously in different directions. She noticed the same van she saw earlier moving slowly, following closely behind the both of you. Her focus shifted to you, and she watched you coo at the puppy in your arms, blissfully unaware of the danger that was trailing behind. Yelena's heart wrenched as she realized that she had never intended for things to take this turn—with you.

Yelena fished out her motorcycle keys from her pocket. She quickly straddled the bike and turned on the ignition.

“Get in.”

Despite her brusque tone, you quickly obeyed her and swung your leg over the bike, settling in behind her. Suddenly, without any warning, she gunned the engine and the motorcycle shot forward, taking off like a rocket down the street. The small puppy in your arms gave a slight yelp, startled by the sudden movement. You instinctively cradled the furry bundle closer to your body.

“Can you drive slow?” you asked worrily as you try to balance yourself in the bike, you weren't holding anything for support just the little puppy in your arms.

As Yelena prepared to turn the corner, her eyes widened in horror as she suddenly saw a van blocking the road and she can't just maneuver around it. Yelena's heart raced, and she had no choice but to hit the brakes, bringing the motorcycle to a skidding halt. The puppy in your arms whimpered softly at the sudden stop. Yelena considered backtracking, but her hopes were dashed as she saw the van that had been pursuing you earlier was now blocking the return path as well.

“Yelena? What's happening?” You asked as you were practically being trapped by the two vans.

Yelena could only grip on the handlebars at your question, her knuckles turning white as she struggled to keep her composure. She didn't give an immediate answer, her gaze flickering between the van that blocked your path and the one behind, trying to figure out a way out. After a minute of contemplating, she gave up.

“Just stay here. I'm sorry.” Yelena told you, you nodded slightly as you adjusted yourself in the seat of her bike.

Why is she apologizing?

Yelena dismounted the motorcycle and slowly approached the van. The driver's door opened and a bald burly, threatening-looking man stepped out, a hardened scowl on his face.

The bald man's voice lowered into a menacing growl as he confronted Yelena. “You tryna run away from us?”

“No.”

The man's expression darkened and he took a step closer to her. “Give us the girl now,” he demanded, leaving no room for negotiation, though this is a negotiation.

In a snap Yelena seized the burly man and she held him like a shield, using him as a means to keep the others at bay. As the other men started to exit the van, their faces hardened and their hands reaching for their weapons, Yelena's eyes darted from one to the other.

“Let the girl go and I'll let this bald-headed demon man go.”

“Yelena what's happening?” You called out to her in a whimper.

“I'm sorry, Y/N. Please come here.”

You immediately obeyed her command, slowly stepping off the bike and moving closer to her. As you did so, you turned around, trying to keep an eye on the men who were approaching from behind.

As you stood behind Yelena, the weight of the situation started to sink in. Your heart pounded in your chest and fear gripped you. You clutched the puppy tightly, its small form shaking slightly in your arms. Panic coursed through your veins and you couldn't help but look around, searching for a way out or any sign of help. “Y-Yelena?” you stuttered.

“Y/N, forgive me. I promise I’ll get you back to Natash—”

She wasn't able to finish her words when she suddenly dropped to the ground, unconscious after being shot with a tranquilizer the men had fired at her. Your heart froze and you could barely comprehend what was happening.

“Yelena!” Your voice was filled with anguish as you called out to her, tears streaming down your face.

The man she has been holding captive earlier stalked towards you and yanked you by your arm. The suddenness of the grab made you release your hold on the puppy. The man's eyes roamed over your body and ripped your top, he quickly inspected your shoulders. Satisfied with what he saw, he glanced up at the other men and shouted, “This is the one!”

“Yelena!” you hollered as the man wrapped his arms around your waist and dragged you. Even in your disoriented state, your survival instincts kicked in. With all the strength you could muster, you tried to fight back against the man who was holding you.

“Fuck you!” You growled, you spat at the face of the man, he was really enraged as he wipe the spit on his face but when he poised to strike you a man intervened grasping his wrist.

“We cannot leave no marks on her,” he calmly said, a sinister smile starting to form on his face.

“Fuck you too!” You shouted, the adrenaline pumping through your veins gives you a momentary burst of courage.

He smirked at how feisty you are but he then shushed you and pressed a cloth over your nose and mouth, “You've brought us in so much trouble already, you're gonna pay for it.”

You never stopped to fight back but your limbs started to flail weakly, your attempts to kick and struggle against them proving futile.

The world blurred around you as tears streamed down your face, your voice hoarse from crying out Yelena's name once more before everything started to fade away and the last thing you saw was the small puppy nudging Yelena's unconscious body.

Secrets Behind Our Dreams: Masterlist