Hi, I Hope You're Doing Well. I'm Writing To You With A Heavy Heart And An Urgent Request For Help. My

Bakugou x F!Reader, Demon!Dabi x F!Reader Word Count: 3.4k

!!: sex, noncon, virginity, fingering, oral, spanking, ‘good girl’

A/N: And to round out kinktober 2023, something more than 100 words

Is there a word for bad miracles?

Stairs creak under your feet. A small gust of wind swirls around you and makes every hair on your body stand on end. Your boyfriend shines his flashlight around the dark foyer, highlighting the furniture covered with musty tarps. Whoever lived out here clearly thought they were coming back… until they didn’t.

“Katsuki,” you whisper, “Why did we have to come out here?”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid now,” Bakugou scoffs.

You watch the flashlight beam sweep across a corner laced with cobwebs. “It’s… creepy.”

“Come on,” he says and keeps climbing the staircase. “I got a surprise for you upstairs.”

“I swear to god if you’re trying to scare me.”

From the top of the stairs, the flashlight turns on you and illuminates your face. “Remember when we first started dating? Your profile said you liked adventure.”

“Yeah,” you cross your arms over your chest. “Hiking and shit, not abandoned houses.”

“C’mon, you’ll like it. I promise.” He walks down the hall, and when an eerie feeling settles over you from being alone, you run up the last couple steps to catch up to him.

Bakugou turns a door knob. You brace yourself for one of his friends to pop out from behind and scare the shit out of you. He walks in, and you take a hesitant step forward. Warm, soft lights come on.

Peering in, you let out a soft ‘oh’ before relaxing. In the middle of the room is a neatly made bed covered in rose petals. You recognize the plush comforter from Bakugou’s closet back at his apartment. The man in question walks around the room lighting white votive candles – some in equally small, carved pumpkins and others in glass holders. 

“Not so scary now, is it?”

“Katsuki,” a blush crawls up your cheeks. “Did you do all this?”

“Well I sure as shit didn’t let anyone else do it.” He lights the last candle before walking over to you and wrapping his arms around you.

“Why not a hotel or something?” you blurt out.

“Really?” he raises an eyebrow. “You’re going to nag about where I chose to go?”

“It’s just that it’s so romantic and everything else about the house is… not.”

“Our anniversary is Halloween. I’m sticking with the fucking theme.”

“We could’ve gone to an amusement park-” you start to protest.

Bakugou’s brows furrow together. “Why’re you stalling?”

“What?”

“You’re stalling.”

“I-”

“Damn it,” Bakugou runs a hand through his hair. “Kirishima was right, this was stupid. You hate it.”

“Katsuki, I don’t hate it, but there’s a bed in the middle of the room! And you know I’m saving myself for…” Your voice trails off. Saying it outloud, here, in the abandoned house, makes it seem so childish.

Bakugou’s rough thumb strokes your cheek. “I know you’re saving yourself for marriage. Which is why-” he slowly sinks down to his knee and pulls out a small velvet box. “-I was hoping you would say yes to marrying me.”

“Oh my god!” You slap a hand over your mouth. Through the tears welling up in your eyes, you can barely make out Bakugou’s hopeful expression as he waits with bated breath for your answer. Nodding, you hold out your left hand and let him slide the ring on with shaky fingers. “Yes, oh god, yes!”

You pull Bakugou to his feet and stare at the ring, a new comfortable weight on your finger. “I’m still waiting until we’re married,” you choke out as he wipes away the tears.”

“Don’t remind me,” he groans and pulls you close. “But there’s other things we can do here.” His lips press against yours. You relax into it, your body softening against his.

It starts as a distant rumble, something you could pass off as a car in the distance. But when the lights start to flicker and the house shakes, you and Bakugou break apart. An earthquake? Right now? Bakugou grabs your hand and mutters something about needing to leave before the place falls in on itself. 

Black smoke swirls from floor to ceiling in front of the two of you and all the air in the room is sucked in by the vortex. Bakugou’s arm stiffens under your vice like grip. When the smoke falls away, a man with jet black hair stands where the vortex was. Scarred skin covers a majority of his arms and upper part of his torso, but what stands out against that are his unsettling turquoise eyes that seem to glow from within.

“Mortals,” a gravelly voice snarls, “You dare to disturb my resting place?”

The more you stare, the less… human the man seems – if you can even call him a human. His ears, pierced with silver, are elongated and pointed, almost like one of the aliens from a sci-fi show Bakugou had you watch. And is it your imagination, or are there puffs of smoke escaping his body where scarred and unscarred skin meet?

But the cherry on top, the features that make all the alarm bells ring in your head, are a pair of white horns standing out against his dark hair. 

“Back the fuck off.” Bakugou puts his arm out protectively in front of you — as if that would protect you from whatever the fuck this thing is. 

“And what are you going to do about it?” the man sneers. With a flick of his clawed fingers, Bakugou flies away from you and slams into the wall. Hands splayed, he scrabbles to find purchase as he slides upwards.

“Let him go!” you scream, “Please! Let-”

As you take a step forward, Bakugou coughs, his words strained. “Get outta here.”

“Katsuki, no, I can’t leave you here!”

“Get. Help.” That jumpstarts something in your brain. Help. Right. Help. You don’t even get one step when the door slams closed. You freeze like a deer in headlights. The demon – you decide this as your mind catches up with the last thirty seconds, it’s the only thing that makes sense – turns his attention to you. He raises his other hand and you brace yourself to fly against the wall like Bakugou had.

“Hell, what is that scent. I haven’t smelled this since…” He trails off. Inhaling deeply, his eyes burn bright, an ethereal blue you can’t stop staring at. “A virgin.”

Bakugou lashes against his invisible restraints, but you remain rooted to the spot. 

A virgin. 

“You. You’re my ticket out of this shithole.” He stalks around the room. Turquoise eyes glow with excitement and rove up and down your body. “A virgin sacrifice will get me out of here.”

“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with.”  Kill you? Where are these words coming from? You don’t want to fucking die here! You certainly can’t fight this thing. Now is not the time to find false confidence. 

“Kill you?” His sharp laugh grates your skin like broken glass. “Why would I kill you when I could have my way with you?”

Blood drains from your face, leaving you lightheaded. “Have your way with me?”

“I intend to take your virginity, babe,” he smirks, “I’m outta here if I fuck you.”

“Fuck me?”

“Beelzebub below, are you dating a parrot or a woman?” the demon laughs at Bakugou. Turning to face you, all humor leaves the demon’s face. He makes a zipping motion with his fingers. “If all you’re gonna do is repeat what I say, then I don’t want to hear a single sound come out of you.”

Maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s demonic power, but one way or another you’re paralyzed as the demon walks over to you. He drags one of his claws down your cheek and hooks it at the top of your shirt. Acrid smoke fills the air as his finger cuts away your clothes. Your shirt and bra — a black lace specially picked out for Bakugou — fall to the floor, leaving your tits exposed to the cool air of the room. Your pants and panties follow suit and you close your eyes as both the demon and Bakugou drink in your naked form. 

Sharp nails drag across your skin as he circles you – thankfully painless and leaving no cuts like he did your clothes. The demon’s hand cups one of your breasts as if appraising it before trailing down your stomach and across your ass. 

This can’t be happening.

He’s talking, but it’s not to you, and you tune him out.

Please, please. Someone help us.

Bakugou struggles against the wall and the demon cackles before slinging more taunts.

If there is a god out there, please help me.

The demon’s hand smacks your ass with a satisfying smack. Silent tears roll down your cheek.

No one will come and save you.

Your head is viciously jerked to the side and you can make out the demon’s face inches from your own through your tearstained vision.

“I said,” he says softly, “Let’s give your precious boyfriend a show.” His hand slithers down your stomach and parts your folds. You shudder against his touch. 

No. No, no, no, no. 

His fingers graze your clit, sending a bolt of electricity to your core. Bile rises in your throat.

Please god no. Don’t let him touch me. This is humiliating enough.

There’s a chuckle in your ear. The demon presses a finger against your entrance and slowly eases in. Your mouth opens in a silent sob. He teases you, strokes your walls with a ‘come hither’ motion. 

You hate that you can feel him writhing around inside you. You hate that he’s gone farther than Bakugou ever had. But most of all, you hate that you can feel yourself loosening up for him; getting wetter for him. 

A second finger slides in. Bakugou glares at the demon but doesn’t look away. Can he not look away? Is he stuck watching you get fucked against your will?

A forked tongue wraps around the demon's fingers when he drags them out of you and holds them up for Bakugou to see – clear strings of arousal lapped up.

“Have you even tasted her?” he taunts, “She’s divine.” Bakugou’s gaze flits from you to the demon, his cheeks turning beet red. There’s no retort from him.

With a wave of the demon’s hand, the bed in the middle of the room slides closer to Bakugou. The demon takes your hand and leads you over.

A front row seat to your first time. Rose petals flutter around you as you bounce onto the bed. The bed Katsuki prepared. Your legs are knocked apart, and you watch in silent horror as the demon strokes his cock mere inches from you.

“Watch, mortal, as I take your girlfriend’s fucking virginity.” His glowing eyes turn back to you. The head of his cock presses against your entrance. You don’t want this. You were saving yourself for the man you planned on marrying. You were saving yourself for Katsuki. And now he has to watch this.

You should be embarrassed.

You should feel shame.

You should feel anything except… needy arousal.

You can’t even look away as he pushes in. Your voice may be gone, but you inhale sharply as his cock splits you open. It’s not what you thought it would be. There’s no pain, no uncomfortable tearing sensation; just a stretching that leaves you dazed and overwhelmed. 

“Fuck,” the demon hisses, “I forgot how good virgins are.” Large hands wrap around your waist and pull you further down on his cock. You bite your lower lip. Maybe the pain can distract you from how your blood is roaring inside you.

It’s not until he’s buried all the way inside you that his eyes flash a brilliant blue. He holds you against him, his mouth slightly agape. His whisper barely reaches your ears. You wouldn’t have known he was talking if you weren’t watching his mouth move.

“I’m free.”

You lay on your back unmoving. If he’s free then he could leave. He could walk out of the house and leave you and Bakugou alone. This nightmare could end.

“You fucked her, now let her go!” Bakugou’s shout causes the demon’s blissful peace to crumple into a snarl.

“Your pretty lady set me free, the least I can do is give her a good fuck to remember me by,” he smirks. His hands slide up the back of your legs and hook under your knees. Pushing them towards your chest, he leans in, somehow pressing deeper into you. Your breath hitches and your mouth falls open. 

Shit. 

If you had your voice, you know a needy moan would’ve filled the room.

All that leaves your mouth though is a sharp exhale. But he knows. He heard. You close your eyes to school your features. The moment you open them, his eyes, blazing with desire, are locked on yours.

He knows.

There’s an intimacy that brings a blush to your face as he fucks you slowly, his eyes still holding your gaze. Neither of you can look away. His cock kisses your cervix and when you think it can’t get any better, he shifts slightly, changing the angle. The demon leans in, his tongue licking a stripe up the column of your neck

“You taste so good, babe. I can taste your fucking arousal. If I give you back your voice, will you be a good girl for me?” His teeth graze your skin, sending shivers down your skin. You nod, slowly at first – like the way the demon thrusts into you – then more emphatically as he speeds up.

“I want you screaming my name,” he murmurs in your ear, “I want to hear you screaming for Dabi.” His lips lock on yours, his tongue pressing against your lips. You can’t even pretend to put up a fight; you spread your lips and meet his tongue in the middle.

A trail of spit connects his mouth to yours when he pulls back.

“Say my name.”

“Dabi,” you croon with a worn out voice. You’re rewarded with the entire length of his dick pulling out and pushing back into you.

“Again.”

You say his name louder.

Each iteration louder than the last is rewarded with a torturously slow thrust.

But you need more. You squirm beneath him, angling your hips, anything to entice him to fuck faster. And the fucker has the audacity to slow down. 

“C’mere, Princess.” Dabi wraps his arms around you, pulling you close and rolls the two of you over. “I want to see these lovely tits of yours bouncing.” You arch your back as his claws trail down your back and settle at your waist. He lifts you up and down his cock, helping you get a rhythm before you take over.

The pressure building in your core has you bouncing frantically on him – you’d felt it before when you used toys and your fingers to bring yourself pleasure, but this is something more. Something toe curling. Something that has you digging your fingers into his forearms. His dick is able to hit the right places you could never get, barely satiating a newfound need deep within you.

“Hold on, Princess,” Dabi groans and effortlessly holds you above him, the tip of his cock barely inside you. You whimper at the loss of contact and try to fight his grip. “I want this to last as long as possible, so take a seat up here.”

Apparently your dumbfounded expression is hilarious since he starts laughing.

“Up here, babe.” His tongue flicks out between a scarred bottom lip and an unscarred upper lip. When you still look unsure, he hauls you up and settles your legs on either side of his face. He trails kisses up your inner thigh, each one inching closer to your core.

“Don’t worry, babe, I won’t break.”

He locks your legs against his face and you have no choice but to seat yourself against his mouth.

He has you gasping the moment his tongue flicks out. Your hands run through his hair as he laps at you, each stroke adding to your overwhelming passion. Grabbing onto hair and horn – really whatever is within your grasp, you pull yourself against him and spread your legs further. 

A chorus of ‘please’ and ‘more’ fall from your lips like a desperate prayer as Dabi’s tongue swirls around your sensitive nerves.

It’s not until you lean back so his tongue can delve inside you that you feel guilt. Crimson eyes locked onto you in disbelief silences your intoxicated begging. He might as well have poured ice water over you. 

You forgot about him.

You forgot your fiance was pinned to the wall, watching you enjoy a demon’s cock.

Every moment, every sound forever etched into his mind as you stopped fighting and gave in to temptation.

A sharp nip on your inner thigh brings you back to Dabi. You tear your gaze away and pull back to see the forked tongue you were enjoying so much laving the pinpricks left from his teeth.

“As much as I want you to come on my tongue, I’d rather have you creaming on my cock.”

He rolls you off his face and onto your back.

Obediently, you spread your legs, one hand creeping down to continue where he left off. The buzz running throughout your body increases with every enticing swirl of your fingers around your clit. 

“I want to come, Dabi,” you mewl. 

He laughs, the sound no longer shards of glass against your skin. “How can I refuse since you asked so nicely.”

He sinks inside you with a single stroke and you wrap your legs around his hips. Dabi’s fingers swat your hand away before taking over, his hand possessively splayed over your mound as his thumb works on your clit. Your hands twist in the comforter and rose petals as you drown in impending pleasure. 

“Who does this cunt belong to?” Dabi growls.

“You,” you whisper.

Correct, but not enough. There’s no rewarding thrust of his dick. 

“Who?” He raises an eyebrow. You know what he wants. You’re teetering on the precipice of orgasm, and every second he’s not fucking you, the feeling slips ever so slightly.

“You, Dabi!” You clench around him, desperate to keep your high. A clawed hand digs into your waist slightly and pulls you flush against him.

“Who’s the only one you’re going to fuck?” he hisses, turquoise eyes narrowing.

“You, Dabi!” you wail, the electric feeling building up, almost uncontainable. “I belong to you!”

“Good girl,” he growls and fucks into you again, “Come for me.” His words – his permission – wash over you and release the pent up feeling. Your orgasm rips through you, an intensity you’ve never felt before. No toy or even your own fingers could compare – would compare ever again.

Dabi’s hips smack against your own once, twice more before pressing flush against you. Heat pools in your lower abdomen and you can feel his cock twitching inside you. A part of you wonders if sex is always like this, but an even smaller part of you knows that it’ll only be this good when you’re with Dabi.

He untangles from you and leans over, panting slightly. He presses a surprisingly chaste kiss to your cheek before his lips ghost over your skin to your ear.

“Left you a parting gift, Princess,” he purrs, “If you ever want to see me again, just look in a mirror and say my name three times.”

The bedroom door flies open and Dabi looks your blissed out form over one last time before walking out.

When the front door slams closed, Bakugou is released and falls to the floor. He rushes to you, his hands clenching and unclenching as he hovers at the edge of the bed. Worry pushes his brows together.

All he can do is watch.

It’s up to you to break the silence.

“I’m sorry, Katsuki,” you pant, “I said I was saving myself for the person I was going to marry.” 

One Week Later

You look yourself over in the bathroom mirror, adjusting your light blue bra. Pushing moving boxes out of the way, you nod to yourself encouragingly.

No time like the present.

“Dabi,” you whisper. Your irises flash a brilliant turquoise for a second. Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Dabi.” You swear you can feel his claws ghosting over your skin.

“Dabi.” The lights flicker for a moment before going out completely. The only thing visible in the mirror is the thin blue ring around your irises – until another pair or ethereal blue eyes just over your shoulder joins them. Sharp nails dig into your arms.

A deep voice chuckles in your ear. “Miss me already?”

banner image by /mwrona on unsplash

swore i could feel you through the walls | Dabi/Touya Todoroki

Dabi knows that he can’t leave you now. You belong to him, and he belongs to you, and the stars knew before either of you did. And Dabi can’t argue with fate, or destiny, or pure dumb luck, not that he wants to. He pulls your comforter up over his body. He’ll be here when you come home to him. In a place made for staying, Dabi thinks he will.

Notes: hiiiiii so this is an idea that has been bouncing around my head for like. Literal years ajsjsjsjs It’s always kind of been more of a horror idea and then I fanficified it and now it’s this! This was kind of a process and I rewrote and replanned and went over this over and over again but I think it is at a place that I am mildly happy with. It’s a completely ridiculous idea and I’m honestly a little insecure about it but fuck it!! Thanks for reading hope u enjoy<3 (title from Chinese satellite by Phoebe bridgers) listen to the playlist here!

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, f!reader, explicit content, yandere!dabi, stalking, Dabi hides in readers house without her knowledge, some paranoia, psychological abuse, slight yandere!reader, mentions of somnophillia but no actual instances of it, violence, non-consensual voyeurism (Dabi watches reader masturbate), unprotected sex, oral f!receiving, marking, biting (shoulder, neck), painplay, one mention of carving names into skin with no instance of it, mentions of blood (reader bites dabi’s neck and draws blood), use of good girl, mutual obsession

Words: 9.3k

He can’t breathe. 

Dabi runs from the low-ranked hero, surprisingly fast on his tail as the distance between the two becomes smaller and smaller. With his lungs burning, his skin irritated from quirk use, and the lack of help from his peers, Dabi realizes that he needs to find a way to lose the ice quirk user that is quickly gaining on him. 

Turning down a narrow alleyway, he’s disappointed to find that it’s a dead end. He pauses to catch his breath, keeping himself tucked tightly against the shadowy wall. Dabi surveys his surroundings, finding nothing but garbage before he looks up. He’s against an apartment building, he realizes, looking at the lights in the windows above him. 

All windows are lit except one.

Dabi doesn’t have the time to wonder about the owner, shaking his head and forcing himself up the fire escape, preparing himself to use his quirk if it comes down to it. He breaks the lock on the darkened window and shuffles inside. He falls over a stack of books that sits underneath the window, freezing on the floor as he listens for any movement throughout the walls. When he hears nothing, he stands from the floor and closes the window, creeping down the hall in search of the other rooms. There’s one bathroom and a bedroom with no one inside, and relief rushes over Dabi as he feels his shoulders relax.

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˚୨୧₊♱ please don’t kill me mr ghostface, i wanna be in the sequel .ᐟ.ᐟ

ghostface!Dabi x fem!reader

˚₊♱ cw: smut, creampie, knife play, mentions of blood, fingering, derogatory remarks, degradation & praise mixed together cause I’m a slut for both, jealous possessive Dabi. MDNI +18

˚₊♱ word count: 4.6k

˚₊♱ A/N: my contribution for this year’s halloween, here comes your favorite psycho killer 🔪

It all came down to a fun event held at the PLF headquarters, something Toga and Twice had mostly insisted on, a Halloween party. The rest of the members were unsure, some calling it a waste of time with such childish matters, but as more thought was put into this, Shigaraki and Re-Destro in the end agreed. Some fun never hurt nobody, and the League deserved some fun time after all they had been through to achieve what they had today. Just one night to forget about the exhaustion of everything and enjoy the time.

You couldn’t deny, the thought of a Halloween party had you thrilled, the most exciting part were the costumes and makeup and the creativity that came with it. The rules for this celebration were clear: the dress code was a halloween costume, whatever it was, it didn’t matter. Even though some of the villains looked “scary” enough to the point no costumes were needed. One of these villains being a certain raven haired flame user, who was less than thrilled for such waste of time, as he said.

“Technically you’re a modern day Frankenstein, I doubt you’ll need anything to wear!” Toga said, pointing at Dabi’s piercings and staples all over his face.

“Emo Frankenstein!” Twice exclaimed.

“The party hasn’t even started and you both are already a damn headache” Dabi rolled his eyes, putting down his cigarette in the ashtray and leaning back on the couch. The League had gathered together in the lobby to enjoy some nice food before the party started later this evening.

“Hey guys, don’t be rude!” you said, hoping that Toga’s words didn’t offend Dabi in a way whatsoever, even though he didn’t really seem to care. “You could also be Hades you know? The one from the movie Hercules…who has blue flames for hair? That’s an easy option as well”

“Yeah? I think I’d need my pretty Persephone by my side” he grinned. “Would ya be willing for the role perhaps?”

His teasing question had you almost choking on the water you were drinking, the mental image of you both as Hades & Persephone had you feeling all warm inside. Oh, if only..

“Just kiddin’. Thanks for the suggestion doll, but I doubt I’ll be coming to such stupid party. Shit’s not for me,” he continued, before facing you. “But maybe I’ll pass by just to see what you will be wearing~”

“That’s a secreeet!” you grinned, though you still hadn’t decided what to wear. Too many options laid on the table.

“Yeah? Gonna be so scary people will drop dead at the mere sight of you?” he teased and you kicked his arm. “Or maybe so enchanting you’ll haunt everyone’s minds for the night, hm?”

“You worried you might be one of the victims and fall for me or something?” you smirked which earned a chuckle out of him.

“We’ll see who the victim is going to be, babe” he winked, the sentence sounding threatening and yet thrilling too.

“Oh no! Somebody’s dying tonight!” Toga giggled. “Imagine though, wouldn’t it be exciting? A serial killer going stabby stabby on Halloween night, like in the movies!”

“I’d rather live to see the day thank you” you said awkwardly, noticing Dabi grinning.

“Ya’ scared?” he asked.

“As if!”

The rest of the afternoon was spent on getting ready. You had thought for you and Toga to dress up together as the angel and the devil, though she changed her mind at the very last minute and chose to be a vampire instead. You didn’t mind, being a vampire actually fit her, knowing her bloodlust. Unfortunately there was no time left for you to get other costumes and pick something else, so you got stuck as an angel. Without a devil friend. Being an angel wasn’t your absolute favorite option, but the costume made you look ethereal: a shiny white short dress with frills and bows, pretty angel wings on your back, a halo on your head, your hair nicely done and soft glowy makeup on your face. Out of many options, being an angel was the easiest and the quickest, not to say the prettiest as well, so you didn’t bother to change it. It could also pass for a white swan costume too, out of the many options you had searched with Toga on the internet to match together.

Soon enough you met the rest of the group: Twice decided to be Deadpool, Compress remained in his magician outfit, Shigaraki had surprisingly dressed up as well, a game character from the League of Legends which you had no idea of, but he looked so cool. You encouraged him to wear that costume on daily basis as well.

You rushed to the underground arena where the party would be held, and it was already booming with loud music, crowds cheering and partying, the place filled with halloween decorations, and you just knew it was going to be the best night ever. Though only something was missing. Someone.

Dabi had already decided he would not be participating , though he had been meaning to show up and look at how everyone had dressed up.

No, in fact, he was interested in you. Him not joining the party had you upset, but at least the thought of his eyes on you, checking your cute angel outfit had you excited.

Though as minutes passed, he was nowhere to be seen. You decided to text him, feeling nervous, not wanting to sound too desperate.

You: hey Dabi, aren’t you coming?

After a minute or two, you received a text back.

Dabi: Ain’t making it tonight, doll. Too tired, I’m thinking of calling it a night and just pass out.

You: oh, okay then, sleep well!

Turning off your phone you let out a sigh of frustration, disappointed that he wouldn’t see you tonight. Of course you’d still have fun with the rest, but as you had applied your makeup earlier and dolled yourself up, your mind was occupied only by Dabi.

“Heeeey angel, why so serious tonight? Come on, let’s dance!” Toga’s loud voice snapped you out of your thoughts. The little vampiress grabbed both of your hands and pulled you to the dance floor along with Twice.

“I love this song!” you shouted, finally catching up with the rhythm of the music and enjoying yourself, not paying much attention to the prying eyes of the audience from afar. The sight of you dancing confidently, swaying your body and lost in the music, managed to get quite the attention from many people. Here and there people would come and join you, men you didn’t recognise, dancing with you as well. You didn’t mind, already made up your mind to enjoy this night at the fullest.

He doesn’t like that one bit.

As you danced, from time to time you would catch a quick glimpse of someone, who was in the middle of the crowd but not dancing like the rest. He was tall, dressed in dark clothing, gloves, and a mask which you recognised to be Ghostface from the movie “Scream”. At first you didn’t pay attention to him, but as time passed, you noticed the Ghostface killer was in fact staring at the dance floor where everyone was dancing.

Staring at you.

“I’m gonna grab a drink!” you told Toga who probably didn’t even hear you. Turning your head back as you left the dance floor, you noticed Ghostface started walking too, keeping his distance, but still observing you as you grabbed your drink. You felt awkward, and almost creeped out. Maybe it was some stupid prank and probably he was doing this with other people as well.

Except he wasn’t.

Thirty minutes had passed and the man with the ghostface mask had been observing you the whole time. There behind the crowd, tall dark figure standing out easily from everyone who was dancing. It made you frustrated, so you decided to run towards his direction. Walking through the crowd was difficult, but as you reached your destination you noticed he had vanished. You eyed the whole area, but you couldn’t find him anymore, it was like he disappeared off the face of the earth.

“Weirdo” you scoffed, relieved that he had gone away. Being watched like that made it awkward for you to enjoy the party.

Just like in the movies, Toga’s words echoed in your mind. Yeah, and Ghostface apparently had picked you as a first victim. The thought was ridiculous, but it still sent a shiver down your spine.

After a while you had the need to use the restroom so badly. Getting out of the party arena, you walked through the empty hallways to find the restrooms. At some point you regretted not bringing Toga with you, the silence and darkness were creeping you out. Quickly you ran for the restroom and finished your business, before looking at yourself in the mirror once more and fixing your makeup.

A sudden noise had your soul jumping out of your body. Slow, heavy footsteps were approaching, tap, tap, tap, as they got closer, louder.

“..hello?” you called out, but no answer. The footsteps had stopped, nobody entered the restroom. You gulped, fear rising in your heart as you slowly got out, eyes searching for anybody nearby. The place was empty.

But there was someone walking outside!

“Hellooo? Is someone here?” you called again, feeling anxiety tighten your chest. Re-Destro’s mansion was kind of creepy on its own, huge building filled with endless dark corridors that led you to god knows where. You still had yet to learn your way around this place.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

The footsteps again. You turned around, now sweating in fear.

“Wh-Who is there?! Hey, this isn’t funny!” you backed away, looking at some dark corner. From the shadows you saw a pair of boots appearing, slowly revealing someone.

Ghostface. The same one who was observing you earlier. He was now in front of you, towering over you as approached slowly.

“Huh? What do you think you’re doing you creep?! Cut this shit off, it’s not funny!” you shouted, but there was no answer on his side. Instead, he raised his hand slowly, revealing a sharp knife that he’d been holding this entire time.

“Oooh yeah wow, very creepy.” you snorted, but the more you looked at it, you realised that the knife was real. Dread settled deep in your gut as you looked at Ghostface gripping the handle of the knife tightly and walking towards you.

Finally, your legs gave in from being frozen in fear, and started to run. You let out a scream the moment he started running after you too, chasing you down the dark corridors. Panic had you hyperventilating, your high heels were making it difficult to outrun him. Loud heavy footsteps were sprinting towards you, the darkness of the hallways making it impossible to see the killer clearly, you could only hear him.

As stupid as it was, your legs sent you to a storage room, panic preventing you from thinking straight and find your way back to the party. You closed the door, quickly hiding behind some containers and sitting there in fear, shutting your mouth to not let out any noise. You had forgotten your phone in the restroom too. For a long time you’d find the protagonists in horror movies stupid and pathetic for not being able to think clearly on how to escape from the killer and get help, but now look at you. Even more stupid and pathetic than them, the thought would make you laugh if it wasn’t for the terrifying situation you were in.

Your hand reached to grab a hammer nearby, ready to attack in case he entered the storage room. Your quirk wasn’t fit to fight, and you cussed yourself for it.

Fuck, if only Dabi was here, he’d incinerate this fucker to ashes in seconds for pulling such insane prank on you.

The heavy footsteps from outside snapped you back to reality. Your heart was beating out of your chest, praying that this was just a prank and he’d only take it this far, that he’d leave you alone and go bother someone else. Your eyes widened as you heard him right outside the door, trying your best to swallow down the whimpers threatening to come out. It was a heavy silence that was suffocating you, for a moment you weren’t really breathing.

Not until the man outside kicked the door open with his boot, entering inside with ease. Your grip on the hammer tightened, and as soon as he approached your hiding place, you came out of it swaying the hammer to his direction, backing him away.

“Don’t you dare come closer!” your voice trembled as you tried to threaten him. You heard a faint chuckle under his mask, before he reached for you again, blocking your attack as his hands gripped on your arm, making you unable to hit him with the hammer. His strength was insane, twisting your arms in ways that had you dropping the hammer on the ground.

“Get away from me!!” you screamed loudly as strong gloved hands pulled you back by your angel wings, pushing you to the ground with ease.

“Stop it!! Let go!! Somebody help- mmmmphf!”

His hand was placed on your mouth, shutting you up and preventing you from screaming further. Finally tears started rolling down your cheeks, you had no idea who this creep was, and now the knife was brought closer to your face, the sharp tip tracing your tears slowly, as if wiping them. You laid there on your belly and him behind you, a trapped angel, unable to move or escape, what you thought was some stupid prank turned out to be worse. You had squeezed your eyes shut, breathing erratically, until you heard the same faint chuckle coming from the man on top of you. For a second you stopped breathing, slowly opening your eyes and turning your head towards the man behind you. Glossy eyes were met with the terrifying ghostface mask that observed you.

That laugh, the familiar scent that you finally managed to recognise.

No way?!

Gloved hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips, as he got closer to your face, taking in your scent of fear. Then he grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks together.

“You look absolutely divine tonight…”

The familiar voice made your eyes wide.

“D-Dabi?!” you stuttered pathetically as he laughed, removing his mask. Relief washed over you, but at the same time anger quickly bubbled up.

“You fucking idiot!! This wasn’t funny, I-I thought I was going to die!” you whined, more tears rolled down your cheeks as he hushed you, wiping them clean. “I was about to hit you with a hammer too! You’re fucked in the head!”

“Aw my sweet angel, did I really scare you that bad huh?” he hummed, but he didn’t sound sorry at all. The fucker was enjoying it all. And he’d do it again if given the chance.

You tried to push him away, too angry at his stupid prank, but he managed to roll your body and lay you down on your back, keeping both your wrists locked with one hand, preventing you from moving.

“Couldn’t miss this night without looking at my girl..” he whispered, leaning closer to breathe down your neck and leave soft kisses “… and get a taste as well.”

“Ugh, you’re insufferable!” you scoffed, still not over the death scare he had pulled on you.

“But it’s Halloween baby,” Dabi said, kissing your jaw and then going for your pouty lips, giving them a teasing bite. “Don’t you want to recreate our own scary movie~?”

You rolled your eyes at his words. Though, his low husky voice followed with kisses and bites all over your neck and collarbone had you already hot and bothered, you couldn’t even stay angry at him for one second.

“Gotta admit.. you make a pretty good Ghostface” you said, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Yeah? And you’re such a sweet little victim too” he licked his lips, his hand sliding under your dress. “So beautiful f’me, how could I miss this?”

With a quick movement, he put the mask back on, grabbing the knife and putting it on your throat. Your breathing hitched, now frozen as his other hand found the hem of your panties.

“Dabi??”

“Shhh now, just stay still. Be a good girl and you won’t get cut, would be a real shame if something like that happened..”

Oh, so this is how it is. Having a knife pointed at you was by all means terrifying, but knowing it was Dabi, you knew he would never hurt you. The tables turned, and now what you found terrifying, had your panties dampening. He had already removed his gloves, and you could tell it was him by looking at the scars, though the mask stayed on.

Slender fingers skilfully managed to find their way to your weak intimate spot, slowly and teasingly dragging along your wet folds.

“You sure you were scared babe? I mean look at you..” his laugh came muffed under the mask. “Just admit you liked it, being chased like the pathetic pretty victim you are, ready for me to kill and devour~”

His fingers rubbed your clit as his nasty words went on, making your hips buck up and your breath hitch.

“Wanna see all kinds of pretty noises you let out for me tonight” Dabi whispered, plunging two fingers inside of you that made your body jolt. “Your cries, whimpers, moans, screams, give it all to me, don’t you dare hold back-”

The knife in your throat pressed further against your skin, the fear of him accidentally cutting your throat mixed with the pool of pleasure between your thighs. It was crazy, but your body responded in ways you didn’t even know it could.

“P-Please… don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel!” you said breathlessly, a giggle managed to escape your mouth. You were high on adrenaline, far too gone, and even if Dabi stabbed you in that moment you felt like you’d enjoy that too in some sick twisted way. He got closer, the ghostface mask right above your face as you pulled him in, spreading your legs further for the killer.

“I’d have killed you by now if you weren’t so fun to play with” he cooed in your ear, curling his fingers inside of you, the wet squelching sounds of your sloppy cunt had your face heated up in embarrassment. “Needy sluts like you need their brains fucked out, not bashed in”

The more he dragged his words, the closer you reached to your climax. His movements got rougher, fingers slamming into you faster.

“F-fuck..m’gonna cum.. f-feels so good.. Dabi!!” your moans got more high pitched as you reached your high. Almost forgetting the knife pressed tightly on your throat you squirmed beneath him, your eyes blurry, unable to focus on his mask as they rolled at the back of your skull.

“Atta girl, cum for me… need ya all nice n’ ready” he grunted, knuckles deep inside of you as orgasm washed all over you. Your hands gripped his shoulders, head falling back as your body trembled.

“How weak, ‘s that all it took to break ya?” Dabi laughed and you tried kicking him with your fists.

“S-Shut up…” you breathed out.

“Too bad, I’m not even done with you”

Without a warning he flipped your body around so you were laying on your belly again, pushing your head on the ground.

“Ass up” he said, pressing the cold knife on your asscheek as a warning. You obeyed his command, arching your back nicely to give him a good view, until his hand pulled your hair from behind, making you yelp in return.

“Y’know doll, I could say I’m still mad from earlier” Dabi said threateningly, his voice going an octave lower sending shivers down your spine.

“Mad? W-why?” you whispered, wondering what might’ve angered him. But then it clicked; the whole time you were dancing on the dance floor, not even noticing the eyes of many other villains nearby looking at you full of lust, at your swaying hips and flashy angel wings fluttering, easily grabbing the attention of everyone.

A playful grin spread across your face, you loved when he got jealous.

“Maybe instead of declining the offer to come to the party, you could’ve danced with me the whole time. But oh well.. other people got to enjoy me tonight so-”

“Ain’t you a little attention whore?” Dabi said through gritted teeth, his hand coming down to smack your ass so hard the loud sound echoed through the room. You hissed in pain, unable to move as you felt your asscheek go numb already.

“I had a change of heart at the last minute” he continued. “Grabbed a shitty costume nearby and decided to join the party. But to my surprise, I see your pretty ass dancing around mindlessly, sooo lost in the music you couldn’t even see those fuckers approaching to dance with you. And you just let them.”

You raised an eyebrow, wanting to test his jealousy even further. Playing with fire might get you burned, but that’s what you wanted. “How is that so wrong? You allergic to fun perhaps? I dance with who I want.”

Dabi positioned the sharp knife on your asscheek, the tip threatening to plunge itself on your skin. “Yeah? Maybe I haven’t made it clear enough then…”

What?

The knife slowly digged on your flesh, your eyes widened at the pain that had you screaming.

“D-Dabi what are you-fuck!! It hurtssss!!”

“You forget who you belong to, sweetheart” he said, continuing to carve into your asscheek what seemed to be his initial. Warm blood slowly rolled down your legs and so did your tears down your cheeks.

“My name carved on you will be a constant reminder of that” Dabi grinned, looking at the bloody mess. “No other man gets to even look at you, let alone touch you, got it?”

You whimpered a weak “yes”, trying to catch your breath. Suddenly the flat of the knife was pressed right against your bare pussy, the cold metal had you moaning in surprise.

“Look at you, you like it when I cut you up huh?” he bit his lip, watching you slowly grind your pussy on the knife. “Careful there baby, I need this cunt functional…”

“S-Stop teasing me!” you said, panting hard as Dabi pressed the knife further against you.

“Me? It’s all you, grinding on this knife like a pathetic bitch in heat.” he laughed crudely, before looking down at the bulge tightening his pants. After teasing you long enough, he unbuckled his belt, pulling out his hardened cock, piercings decorating his veiny shaft, tip red and leaking with pearly precum, bulging with anticipation to plunge into your needy hole as soon as possible. Leaning down beside you, he took out his phone, pulling you by your hair and making you face the camera in front of you. The flashlight of the camera brightened your teary face stained with the ruined makeup and messy hair, capturing the moment as the killer with the ghostface mask stood behind, as if mocking you before breaking you.

“Gorgeous..” Dabi grinned, looking at the picture, before his tip teases your glistening folds, sliding it inside of you with ease. A soft moan escaped your mouth as he stretched you out completely. Throwing the knife on the ground, his hands roughly grabbed your body, sliding underneath your clothes to grope your tits whilst the pace got faster. You couldn’t hold back the loud moans, arching your back more for him and spreading your legs fruther as he fucked you from behind.

“Fuck look at that-” he grunted, gripping the plump flesh of your ass while looking at the way his cock disappeared inside your greedy cunt. Blood had already coated your skin and lower back, making the view unable to resist for him.

“Mmhmm f-feels.. so goood.. more…” you whimpered mindlessly, drunk on his cock, the pain of his carved name on your skin already forgotten.

“More, huh?” Dabi said, stopping his movements. “Y’know what, angel slut? Show me how much you want it”

“H-Huh?”

“Fuck yourself on my cock”

Heat creeped up on your cheeks as he stood there motionless, his cock still hard inside you waiting for you to move. The mask was still on, his pants lowered and his shirt halfway up, showing his scarred abs and lower abdomen, glistening with sweat. Even fully dressed as a serial killer, this man looked hot. You kept your eyes on the man behind you as you began moving, going back and forth and fucking yourself on his cock just as he ordered. You felt every inch grinding against your gummy walls, making your head spin.

“Good girl…nghh fuck- that’s it” he moaned, placing his hands on your ass again to guide your movements. You felt so full, and yet wanted him deeper, to completely invade you.

“Dabi…wanna cum…” you said breathlessly, speeding up your movements but tiring yourself out in the process.

“Tch. C’mere…”

Pulling himself out, he flipped you over and laid you on your back, putting your legs on his shoulders and sliding it in again without a warning. The new position got you screaming, if you thought he was deep before, you were wrong. It’s like he could reach depths you never even knew you had, tearing you apart.

“F-fuck Dabi!!” you cussed out as he leaned in closer, your thighs now pressed against your tits as his hand wrapped around your throat. You looked at the ghostface mask as he fucked your brains out, desperation painting your face.

“Tell me what you want, pretty girl~” he said, not slowing the pace.

“W-wanna cum.. n’ want you to kiss me!” you pleaded, grabbing at his mask. He let you remove it, before crashing his lips against yours in a needy, hungry kiss. Moaning against his mouth, you felt the knot forming in your stomach explode as he kept hitting that certain spot over and over.

“That’s it princess…fuck you’re creaming all over this cock” Dabi said, looking at the mess where you two connected, the squelching noises and smell of sex had filled the room. He kept fucking in your trembling body as you saw stars, barely catching your breath as he reached for his own high. With a loud groan he shot loads inside of you, painting your insides white, some of it even leaking outside. It made you feel warm, full, so full of him.

Slowly he removed your legs from his shoulders, reaching in for another kiss, not pulling out of you just yet.

“Baby..” he whispered through the kisses, chuckling as he saw you barely responding. “Did my little victim already pass away?”

“Mmhmm… mr. Ghostface certainly knows how to make his victims scream” you teased, biting his lip.

Dabi grinned, gripping your hips. “Looks like I haven’t made you scream enough since you still got a voice in that throat of yours”

Your blush deepened, eyes widening at his words.

“That sounds like a threat”

“And a promise, sweetheart. Cause I’m not anywhere near done with you yet”

Nobody minded the screams and cries echoing from Dabi’s room through the hallways for the rest of that night. After all, it’s Halloween. Kill or get killed.

that pussy got MURDERED.

🏷️ tags: @hunajan @suksatoru @sukunaes @angelblueflame @trickster-kat @luvsymai @syrenkitsune @melodyglow-blog @baby-tini @ameliaenya404 @zukowantshishonourback @sukunas-bitxh @cyberdazetragedy @shortstuffiequeen24 @isabeauwolf @gabz38

One-Shot: Conjugal Visit

Fandom: My Hero Academia Pairing: inmate!Bakugou x fem!Reader, slight Kirishima x fem!Reader Rating: R / 18+ Word Count: ~8K Summary: You meet Bakugou for his monthly conjugal visit, on what happens to be a very special day. Warnings: Swearing, smut, dub-con, oral, overstimulation, unprotected sex, spanking, spitting. Please let me know if I missed any. Notes: A birthday celebration fic for our resident angry boy, Bakugou. Inspired by that one Prison Break episode.

Last minute addition to the Bakugou Birthday Bash Collab. Thanks @lady-bakuhoe and @jodrawssmut for letting me join. Be sure to check out all the other entries in this Masterlist.

I think my ambition got the better of me when writing this, and I bit off more than I could chew. I have never written anything so explicit - risqué yes, but nothing to this degree; nevertheless, I hope you enjoy my first attempt at writing smut, and any advice for the future is welcome.

Conjugal Visit

You sat in the driver’s seat of your car, gripping the steering wheel in a tight, sweaty grip, while watching the digital clock on the dash like a hawk.

14:28

Thirty-two minutes to go.

Taking a look in the rear-view mirror, you assessed your appearance. You had chewed your lips so much you had removed most of the lipstick you had painted on before leaving your house this morning.

Shit! He wasn’t going to like that.

You grabbed your purse from the passenger seat and rifled through it for your lipstick; Blood Poppy. It wasn’t your usual colour, preferring more neutral tones, but you had been told to wear this specific shade. It was wildly expensive, out of your price range, and you were thankful you were not footing the bill. The same went for your new outfit, a matching red, high-waisted dress that flowed around your thighs and ended at your knees; opened-toed shoes finished the ensemble to show your red pedicure.

After pulling off the lid, you twisted the tube and adjusted the mirror down to your lips. You applied a generous helping of the rich, red shade across your anxiety-bitten lips. After blotting the excess on a tissue, you smacked your lips together and fixed your hair, before giving a brazen wink and air-kiss to your reflection.

You looked the very definition of a ‘Scarlet Woman’.

It didn’t lessen your nerves.

14:36

Twenty-four minutes to go.

Hands back on the wheel, you closed your eyes and took some calming breaths. You needed to get your head in the game.

It was not every day you were required to visit a prison, and you had hoped and prayed you would never have to. However, life was known to have a cruel sense of humor, and had not been especially kind to you in the past six months.

You were here to visit your husband.

The infamous Amber Dragon.

One of the leaders of the Sousei no Ryuu Clan - The Twinborn Dragons. The other was his brother-in-arms; The Ruby Dragon.

They were notorious and well known throughout Japan for their criminal activities; from extortion, to racketeering, to gambling and drugs. Moreover, they were most infamous for the violence and murders.

If you were unfortunate enough to cross their path, you were unlikely to be found again, not in one piece anyway. One poor sap, you had heard, had inadvertently insulted the Ruby Dragon’s mother. Months later the man's hands and eyes had been found way up north in Hirosaki, his feet down south in Osaka, and his torso in between in Saitama. They never found his head. The police couldn’t pin the murder on him and he walked away scot-free.

His brother, on the other hand, had been caught red handed. He had shot and killed a rival Yakuza boss known as Deku, of the One For All Syndicate, a moniker your husband had given him when they had been childhood friends. It had happened in broad daylight, starting a war between the two groups, and The Amber Dragon had taken the fall to stop the bloody massacre of killings on both sides.

Surprisingly, he was incarcerated in a medium security prison for the crime; and you supposed that's what money could buy you when you were incredibly rich and powerful.

You shimmied your shoulders to adjust your brassiere and clear your head. You hated breaking in a new bra; and the thong wedged between your asscheeks was not helping matters. You resisted the urge to dig it out.

14:42

Eighteen minutes to go.

You had been told to arrive fifteen minutes early.

So, it was time to leave.

You put on your peacoat, pulled your keys from the ignition and snatched up your purse. Exiting the car you clicked the button on your keychain to lock it and then threw it in your purse and closed it with a snap.

After taking one last look at your appearance in the reflection of the car’s window, you gave your hair one last adjustment, and morphed your features into what you hoped was confidence.

The armed guards on duty had been trying to be nonchalant with their staring since you had pulled into a parking space, but as you made your approach, they openly stared at you in interest.

One of them banged on the door when you were within a few feet and the gate opened.

You didn’t look at them as you passed, but you felt their eyes follow you as you walked into the building that housed the visitors entrance.

There were a number of women seated in the waiting area. They had made an effort too, to dress up for their men, with fancy clothes and painted faces.

You didn’t stop to chat though, you had zero interest in their lives, instead, you made your way to the window and tapped it to get the officer's attention.

He didn’t even look at you as he asked, “Inmate’s name and number.”

“Bakugou Katsuki, 17042019.”

That got his attention and the rest of the occupants of the room, as all the wives stopped their chattering.

He looked up, and immediately diverted his eyes, but not before you caught the fear in them. It seemed The Amber Dragon’s reputation even held weight here. He typed something on his computer. “Mrs Bakugou, please go straight through,” he said, pressing a button under his desk and the buzz of a lock releasing echoed throughout the room.

As you made your way to the door, you caught snatches of whispering.

“She’s married to that monster.”

“He is a looker though, I wouldn’t mind spending an hour locked in a room with him.”

“Why does she get to go straight through? I’ve been waiting for nearly an hour.”

“I prefer the Ruby Dragon, to be honest.”

You let it all flow off your back. They could say what they wanted, however, they knew nothing of your life.

A male and female officer were waiting for you on the other side.

Just like going through customs at an airport, you emptied the contents of your purse into a tray, which the man checked, and you walked through a security arch. There was no beep, but the woman patted you down anyway. You held your breath as she ran her hands over and under your beasts; and when she reached between your thighs, you resisted the urge to cross your legs. You got the feeling that she was being a little rougher than was necessary, but you kept your mouth shut and your expression blank; refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing you so uncomfortable.

“Clear,” she said to her colleague, with a glare at you.

“Clear,” he replied.

You grabbed your things and returned the woman's glare with smug satisfaction. You knew she was dying to find something, anything, just to have the excuse of locking you away just like your ‘evil’ husband.

A third correctional officer appeared and escorted you through a maze of corridors with locked doors; each one having to be locked behind you before the next could be opened.

The officer said nothing throughout your journey, avoiding eye contact with you. Only the clanging of the barred metal doors and the jingle of his keys kept you company. However, with each clang and jingle, your heart rate picked up as you came closer and closer to your destination.

Eventually, you stopped before a plain looking door with a large ‘#3’ plaque set in the center; you entered at his command and heard the lock click behind you after he said the prisoner would be escorted to the room soon.

The room had one barred window, set high into the wall, and the scuffed and dirty walls were painted in a bland magnolia. A large double bed took up most of the space, it’s sheets discolored and wrinkled. An old CRT television from the eighties sat on a stand in one corner, its antenna twisted and bent; and a small, round plastic table and chairs sat to the side of it. You scrunched up your nose. It looked like a scummy motel room, and you didn’t want to think of the activities that had been going on in here before you had arrived.

Taking off your coat and laying it on the back of one of the chairs, you took a seat and resisted the urge to pick at your red manicured nails.

After a few minutes, you heard the jiggle of the lock to the door you had come through, and it caused you to stand and whirl around with your heart in your throat.

He was here.

He was led in by a big burly correctional officer, who undid the cuffs that locked his hands and feet together with a restrictive chain.

He never took his eyes off you, or even acknowledged the other man’s presence, as he was released; even when the officer left with a reminder that he only had ninety minutes, and a final turn of the lock after he left.

For a man who usually wore a black suit and tie with a white shirt, the orange prison jumpsuit oddly suited him. He was known for his impeccable taste in fashion, and his vest of white flowers had flown off the shelves, sold out within minutes, after he had appeared in court for his trial. You couldn’t see the sleeve of tattoos decorating his arms but you knew they were there, you had stared at them enough in the pictures of the newspapers. His hair was a mess, but suited him also, reflecting his explosive personality. But his eyes….

His eyes were still watching you, sweeping up and down your body with an unreadable expression.

Bakugou Katsuki.

The infamous Amber Dragon.

Leader of the Sousei no Ryuu Clan.

You unconsciously took a step back.

His smirk in reply was devilish.

“My brother out did himself this time.”

His voice was gruff and gravelly at the same time, and it sent a shiver up your spine.

You didn’t know how to respond, and you probably looked stupid standing there like a dumbfounded deer caught in headlights. Seeing him on the news and in the papers was nothing compared to meeting him in the flesh.

He cocked his head to the side and licked his lips as he walked towards you with long, purposeful strides, and you started to back away from him.

Before you hit the wall, he grasped your hips to spin you around. You steadied yourself by bracing your hands against the wall. Panic welled up in your chest and the urge to scream out bubbled in your throat.

You shouldn’t have agreed to this.

He shushed you with a kiss on the back of your neck and a finger to your lips. “Shh, we gotta make it believable.”

Your heart was thundering now, ready to burst from its protective cage. You had been prepped extensively by his brother, Kirishima, beforehand, and you knew that for this to work you had to play along, but not like this.

What were you supposed to do? You were trapped in a room with a convicted killer.

You did the only thing you could; you nodded with a whimper and felt his grin against your shoulder.

His large hands came up to cover your own, dwarfing them, as his Callused fingers stroked over the backs of your hands and down to your wrists, where he encircled them in a loose grip.

You whimpered again.

“Good girl,” he whispered, as his hands trailed over the sensitive skin of your inner arms to your elbows. Goosebumps followed in their wake, and you shuddered at his ticklish touch. He didn’t stop though; his fingers continued their invisible path up towards your collarbones, only to dip over and under your shoulders to rest above your breasts.

You understood now why men feared him and why most women wanted to bed him; he emanated confidence and mystique, like a panther stalking its prey.

You watched as your chest heaved up and down and his hands moved to the rhythm as you waited for his next move. He moved his body closer and you felt every inch of him at your back, every hard, sinewy muscle contoured perfectly for you to fit inside his caging embrace. Your breathing stuttered when he hooked his chin over your shoulder to look at your face, and you dared not meet his gaze.

“Relax.”

Closing your eyes, you wished he would stop whispering, it was doing unspeakable things to your insides.

They then snapped open, as his hands made a gradual descent over the swell of your breasts to cup them in his palms, and your breathing picked up again.

This was going too far.

Yes, you were told to fake having sex with the criminal, so that the correctional officer standing outside the door would not suspect anything suspicious, but being manhandled had not been a part of the deal you had made with The Ruby Dragon for the cash you needed.

The Amber Dragon must not have gotten the memo.

You knew it was a risky move, but you pulled his hands away from you and manoeuvred around him to put as much distance between you and the murderer.

Bakugou looked pissed at first, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort of causing a scene, so shrugged and put his hands in his pockets instead.

“So,” he tsked, “you want to do it the boring way.”

“Yes,” you breathed through clenched teeth, thankful that little manoeuvre had not signed your death warrant, as you gripped your coat on the back of the chair. You needed to stay away from him, no matter how much his touch ignited a fire in your belly.

He shrugged again and sat himself down on the edge of the creaky bed. “Well,” he waved at you. “Get on with it.”

You felt your face burn with embarrassment, remembering back to when you had been practising with his brother. Hours spent moaning and groaning to simulate sounds of intercourse until he was happy.

“Now?”

“That’s what conjugal visits are for, right? Or did you want a chat and a nice cup of tea first?” he drawled.

Doubting he was the type for small talk, you straightened your spine, closed your eyes and took a deep breath in.

You didn’t think you were very good at it, but if the tent in the redhead’s pants at the end of each session was anything to go by, you thought it was pretty convincing.

You could do this.

As you exhaled, you let out a long, breathy, and drawn out moan.

Peeking an eye open, you found Bakugou watching you curiously, with a raised eyebrow and a smirk on his face. He was finding this amusing.

You refused to be belittled by the infuriating blond, and vowed to get this over and done with as quickly as possible; and if you could elicit an embarrassing response out of him by the end of it, all the better.

Closing your eyes again, you put on a show for the officer outside, and more importantly for Bakugou. You moaned, whimpered, keened, mewled and whined your way to an orgasm. You used his actions earlier to make it more believable as you imagined what else he had hoped to get away with as he groped you. Would he have taken you against the wall, over the table, on the bed, or all three?

As you imagined the various scenarios, you felt yourself getting warm with arousal, and began to throw in little bits of speech as your imagination went wild; ‘yes’s’ and ‘please’s’ and ‘more’s’ started falling from your parted lips. His wet mouth on your nipple as his thumb played with your clit, fingers dipping into your cunt to coat your inner lips with slick. Him pushing your head down to watch as his cock kissed your entrance only to disappear inside, feeling the stretch of his girth.

At the crescendo of your climax, you pictured him furiously pounding into you with that infuriatingly smug smirk of his.

Coming down from your high, you smiled in satisfaction. You had done well, if you did say so yourself.

“If you thought anyone would believe that pathetic little performance,” he said, bored, “you’ve got another thing coming.”

“But I-”

“Kirishima taught you didn’t he?”

You nodded, “Yes, but-”

“This won't do.” He stood from the bed. “That idiot watches too much porn; you sounded like a back-alley whore.”

You glared at him, offended. “I am not a whore,” you bit out.

“Fuck this! You won’t be able to keep that shit up for another five minutes, never mind an hour.”

You didn’t even have time to catch your breath before his mouth was on yours. You hadn’t even seen him move, he was so fast.

“Wh-”

“Just shut the fuck up,” he mumbled against your lips his hand firm against your jaw, “and go with it.”

No, no, no, no, no.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

You weren’t here for this, but he had given you a taste when he had first walked in, and your body did not agree with the protests ringing inside your head.

What would your mother think?

You were trapped with no escape. If you didn’t comply and decided to call out, you knew Kirishima and his henchmen would hunt you down like a pack of wolves, and you and your mother’s fate would be sealed; that is, if Bakugou didn’t kill you in this very room first. It didn’t matter that you had used his image for your fake orgasm, this was wrong on so many levels.

His grip on your jaw tightened. “Don’t think,” he grit out. “And I promise you will want to come back next month.”

He continued to kiss you more thoroughly, his tongue forcing itself inside your mouth to do battle with your own.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, you decided to put any thoughts of your mother aside, and kissed him back. A tear falling from your eye.

“That’s it,” he whispered, in a husky tone, as he pawed at your hips and scrunched the soft material covering them. “Be a good girl for me, it’s my birthday after all.”

You knew what day it was, which is why Kirishima had insisted on you dressing up for the occasion. Apparently, the blond had a thing for the colour red; ironic, considering his brother was so closely associated with it.

You couldn’t deny that the danger was alluring to you though; every time you had turned on the TV to see his handsome profile broadcast on the screen it had had you rubbing your thighs together in want, and wondering what he would feel like between them.

He was powerful, not just in strength, as he demonstrated when he picked you up to deposit you onto the bed, but in confidence and charisma. He exuded it from every pore of his body, without saying a single word; and you found it wildly attractive.

Leaving you to catch your breath, he stood in front of you, pulled down the zipper of his jumpsuit and shook his arms out of the sleeves. Underneath his wore a plain white wife beater shirt, which allowed you to feast your eyes on the exhibit of tattoos that adorned his arms.

His right arm displayed a golden, orange dragon; its head tilted back in flight, its wings spread wide as it breathed fire into the sky, and its barbed tail wrapped around his forearm to end at a point on his inner wrist. The red dragon, that was inked onto the skin of his left, looked like it was crawling down his forearm, leaving deep, bloody scratches in its wake with a snarl on its lips as it showed its pointy teeth; this time, its spiky tail wrapped around Bakugou’s bicep.

They were an exquisite piece of art, and you thought they should be presented in a museum with how beautiful they were. It only added to the fact that he was incredibly ripped like a bare knuckle boxer, and the scars that littered his torso only added more of an edge to his incredible physique.

After he had removed his shirt, you used an arm for balance as you reached up with the other to trace a finger down the tail of the gold dragon. He stopped you before you made contact, and bent over your form, forcing you to lean back. He grabbed your wrists and tugged, causing you to lay back on the bed with a yelp.

He tutted in annoyance, “Only good girls get to touch.”

With your wrists still in his clutches he pushed them over your head, as he guided your legs apart with a knee and settled himself between them, the mattress squeaking as he went. “Do as you’re told and I will pay you double what my brother is,” he said before claiming your lips once more.

You moaned, your head spinning like you were in a fever dream. He was dominant and controlling in his touches; you dared not complain as he had his way and transferred both of your wrists into one hand as he reached beneath you to undo each of the buttons at the back of your dress. When you felt him finger the hooks of your bra he pinched them together and you felt the release as the elastic contracted, and the cups around your breasts became loose.

If there was one thing you could say about this explosion of a man, it was that he had no problem with multitasking; he hadn’t stopped his assault on your mouth, or let go of your wrists still in his grasp, as you felt his thumb pressing into your pulse point, throughout the undressing.

It made you think of the other women he had taken to bed to get so good at this.

Before any jealousy could rise in your gut, he switched gears and bit and sucked at your neck, while pulling down the straps of your dress and bra. You shivered as your nipples puckered when they brushed against the heated skin of his chest, and he groaned in return.

“Fuck,” he exclaimed, looking down at your nakedness and moving to cup one and feel its weight.

You arched your back when his mouth descended and laved his tongue around the darkened areola. While massaging the plump mass, he alternated between sucking and licking at the nub at the centre.

He had released your wrists to grope at the neglected breast, and you took the opportunity to thread your fingers through his hair and pull him closer, with a throaty keen. Your legs also widened when you felt his thighs push at the back of yours and he encouraged you to wrap them around his slim waist.

The next thing you know, you were being lifted into his lap as he sat back on his haunches and you felt how hard he was for the first time. Without even seeing it, you knew he was big, and you gasped at your predicament, realising how deep you really were in this mess.

You knew where this was going, and you mentally slapped yourself for giving in so easily. You shouldn’t be wanting this. But there was no going back. You knew he wasn’t going to let this visit end with heavy petting and dryhumping; you were going to have sex with a criminal, but not just any criminal, a cold-blooded murderer, the head of a dangerous Yakuza empire.

Just as you were coming to this realisation, you felt his digits glide along the smooth expanse of your inner thigh and tease at the edge of your lace underwear. They traced along one of the thin straps at your hip to follow where it dipped in between the mounds of your ass. Your grip tightened in his hair and he moaned at the action, taking a handful of your ass and squeezing roughly, causing you to grind against his erection, and let out your own moan.

“Yes,” he hissed. “Such a good girl.”

You bucked your hips against his with his words of praise, and he encouraged you to move more with a smack to your ass.

His lips found your neck again, and this time you gave him encouragement as you tilted your head to give him more access.

“Been too long,” he whispered between nips.

You whimpered in reply, and he answered with another smack before tugging at the string of your thong, causing friction along the folds of your sex.

Oh God, did that feel good.

And when he bought his hand back around, to cup the heat between your legs, you were lost. Your mind was gone; and when his middle finger drew a line along your clothed slit, it short circuited.

“So wet and needy,” he whispered. “No man at home to keep you satisfied?”

You shook your head in response when you realised he was waiting for a reply, and he had paused in his ministrations.

His smile was self-satisfying as he said, “Better remedy that then, eh?”

Your nod was all the answer he needed, as he flipped you onto your back again and kissed a line from your mouth, and between your breasts, bunching your dress around your waist as he made his way downwards along your stomach, and came to a stop at your aching center.

He made quick work of removing your underwear and dived straight in without premiable.

No part of his mouth was put to waste, everything was used; his lips sucked and slurped at your essence; his teeth nipped and tugged at your folds; and his tongue flicked at your clit and probed at your opening. And with each lewd sound you made he went faster and harder, spurring you on towards your end.

Heaven, was all you could think as he devoured you.

You had died and gone to Heaven.

He didn’t stop; not even after you had released your climax all over his face; he kept going. Faster, deeper and harder. When the overstimulation became too much, you tried weakly to push him away with a hand on his shoulder, but he growled and slapped it away.

When he started to use his fingers, in conjunction with his mouth, to explore your innermost regions, you were sure he was going to kill you, if he hadn’t already. Instead of Heaven, you now found yourself imprisoned in the second level of hell, being punished for your lust-driven desires.

His fingers were long and reached places you could only dream of, and with each new finger he added the more you felt that knot in your belly coil and tighten. He was talented and knew just where to touch to get you calling out for more no matter how much it hurt.

“Again, cum again!” he commanded.

You wailed and screamed in agonizing ecstasy as a second wave of pleasure crashed through you, spreading from your core and working its way through every limb; you felt your back arch and lock with the electricity zapping through your nervous system, and a tingling sensation was left in its wake as you came down from your high, prickling along your sweat soaked skin.

Warm breath fanned across the heated skin of your face, as you tried to remember how to breathe, and you opened heavy eyelids to see Bakugou watching you fervently.

You blinked in shock at his closeness, and a gasp of surprise left your mouth when he kissed you again, sharing your taste. He lifted you up to remove your dress completely and lay against the pillows with you positioned above him.

He smirked that smirk of his and said, “Your turn.”

You choked on a second gasp.

He wasn’t expecting you to… Was he?

“Oh yes, Princess, I am,” he smirked. “And I expect to see that lovely lipstick smudged, and a ring of red around the base of my cock by the time you’re finished,” he added, as he touched your lips and smeared your lipstick across your cheek.

You gulped and looked down at the bulge in his jumpsuit.

“Well,” he said, gesturing to his state of arousal, “Clocks ticking.”

You snuck a quick glance at the clock on the wall to find you were already more than halfway through your allotted time.

How long had he been eating you out?

“Oi! It’s my fucking birthday. Get on with it,” he interjected, pulling you from your reverie to look at him again, and he raised his hips to urge you on.

Taking a steadying breath, you took the plunge and tugged down his jumpsuit, taking his prison-issued boxer shorts with it.

Your eyes went wide at the view of his impressive length and thickness resting against the ‘v’ of his toned abdomen. He was so big you didn’t know where to start, and you contemplated on whether you could get away with giving him a handjob.

Bakugou was having none of your hesitance though, as his hand gripped the back of your head and pulled you down towards his crotch with a growl.

Bracing yourself with one hand against the bed, feeling the springs dip, you gripped his cock with your other, feeling the coarse hairs at the base tickling the edge of your palm.

It only took five strokes for him to become impatient with the lack of mouth action, and took it upon himself to remove your hand and grasp it in his own palm before pushing your head down further.

“Open up,” he ordered.

You could do nothing but obey, as the tug on your hair was becoming painful, and as soon as your lips parted and the pink of your tongue peeked out, he shoved you down on his length.

Too far down; you gagged and spluttered around him, struggling to breathe, hot tears brimming your lashes. However, he did not let up; he held you there as you felt saliva and precum pool in your mouth, and like the melting wax of a candle, it dribbled down his shaft to puddle around his hand.

He groaned in satisfaction as your throat constricted around him, your tears burning a line down your cheeks. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, he grunted as he took pity on you and pulled you off, only so he could stroke your spit along his erection.

Gasping for air, you coughed, and wiped at your tears, while you watched as he pleasured himself. You had never seen a man masturbate so brazenly in front of you before, and it only aroused you further to know that you were a stranger to him, and that he was a dangerous man to you.

“Ready now?” he asked, catching your eye.

You looked between his face and his still moving hand.

It didn’t matter what you said, you knew he was going to take what he wanted any way.

You can do this, you told yourself. You were no blushing virgin and had sucked plenty of dick before; granted, they weren’t as big as him, but you could do this. Nodding in acquiescence, he removed his hand as you arranged yourself more comfortably between his spread legs.

He folded his hands behind his head and settled back to enjoy the show.

This time, you started by scratching your splayed fingernails up his thighs as you mouthed kisses from the base of his resting cock, along the bulging vein on the underside, and up to the swollen, circumcised tip, leaving blood poppy lipstick stains in your wake. You repeated the action on your second pass, and on the third, you stuck out your tongue and gave the full length of him one long, flat, languid lick.

Bakugou hummed at that, so you did it again and watched his expression to gauge his reaction. His chest was heaving and beads of perspiration were trickling down the valley of his pectorals with each movement; his face was flushed and the ends of his hair were sticking to his forehead. What got your attention though, were his eyes, they were heavy lidded but burned bright, like molten lava, as he watched you.

Keeping eye contact, you took his cock in hand again and licked another long stripe to the tip, where you fixed your lips around the head and gave an equally as long suck.

He seemed to like that, as you felt the muscles in his thighs tighten, and his head fell back onto the pillows. You smiled and sucked again, like you were enjoying a deliciously bitter, cum flavoured lollipop. Two could play at this game.

When you felt confident enough, you pulled away and Bakugou’s head snapped back towards you with a glare, wondering why you had stopped. You gave him a smirk of your own before you steeled yourself with a large, deep breath, and engulfed him in your moist cavern. You hummed loudly, sending vibrations down his shaft towards his testicles.

“Fucking hell!”

The buck of his hips, shoved him further down your throat, causing you to choke, and you pushed a hand down on his abdomen to prevent him from going any further, as you pulled away from him.

“Don’t fucking stop,” he hissed.

You complied and continued to bob your head as you sucked, licked and hummed around his cock, and palmed his sack, going a little lower each time you went back down on him.

His panting and moaning became louder the longer you pursued your goal of getting him off, and taking all of him in your mouth; until, unexpectedly, he pulled you off him.

“Why’d you stop me?” you frowned with a wipe of your chin; you had just found your rhythm.

He snarled like an angry animal, “Too close, gotta have you now.”

You yelped as he pushed you onto your stomach, lifting your behind into the air, your spine curving like a stretching cat. He took position behind you; and as you felt the first brush of his cockhead at your entrance you panicked.

“Wait!”

“What now?” he did not sound amused at the interruption.

“What about protection.” You looked towards the bowl of condoms sitting in the middle of the table on the other side of the room.

“Too far,” he ground out between clenched teeth, “and not enough time.”

You raised yourself up slightly, and twisted your head uncomfortably to look towards the clock over his shoulder.

There was still twenty minutes left!

“A girl like you has got to be on the pill, right?”

You nodded, “Yes, but-”

“Then that’s good enough for me. Now take my cock, like the good girl you were when you blew me.”

He never gave you the chance to reply before he entered you.

All the breath was knocked out of you in that one swift motion, filling you to capacity. You fell forward with a strangled exclamation at the intrusion, and if he hadn't had a firm hold on your hips, you were sure it would have been enough to dislodge you and send you tumbling off the bed.

His pace was brutal, and you held tight to the discoloured sheets beneath your bent form as the metal frame of the bed screeched across the floor with each thrust. It was painful, no matter how wet he could make you, or how much he prepped, you don’t think you could ever be ready for him.

This was not how you had imagined how your day would have unfolded. Your job was to pose as Bakugou Katsuki’s wife, and meet him for a conjugal visit so that it was easier to smuggle in something from his brother-in-arms - what that something was, you didn’t know - but you had agreed to the whole scheme for your mother’s sake; she was ill and needed an expensive, life-saving drug to help her get better.

Now you were on your knees getting the pounding of your life from The Amber Dragon himself; and you couldn’t believe you were enjoying it.

Were you a whore for this? Technically you were being paid, and Bakugou had said he would double your fee.

“Better than the others he’s sent,” he grunted over your compromised form.

There had been others? How many fake wives had Kirishima sent into the proverbial lion’s den, or in this case, dragon’s. Bakugou had been here for almost a year now. Did he know this would happen? Had the smuggling just been a pretence and you really were just a paid whore?

You had a sneaking suspicion he did, if what Bakugou said next was anything to go by. And Kirishima had had his little fun out of you too, before sending you off to his brother.

“You taste tart like lemons, suck cock like a pro, and have the tightest pussy in all of Japan,” he moaned, going even deeper with each thrust. “Gonna have to ask for you again, when the next visit rolls around.”

Well, that boosted your ego somewhat; and the thought of coming back to see him next month made you groan. When you pushed back against him and he hit that sensitive area deep within you, your groan turned into a mewl.

“That’s it, Princess,” he murmured, stilling his pistoning hips. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Raising up on your elbows, you followed his instructions and looked behind you to find him watching the lewd sight of you pleasuring yourself, his hands spreading your cheeks apart to get a better view. All shame had flown out the window now as you grinded against him, and swirled your hips to find that friction you felt earlier against your delicate spot.

There, right there.

“Yes,” you cried out in triumph.

You watched as he spat where your bodies joined, and you felt the trickle as it mixed with your combined fluids.

He spanked you. “Keep fucking going,” he barked with another slap.

A few more swivels of your hips and you were in Heaven again, shaking and stuttering as your third orgasm of the day sent your head spinning and your bones melting in rapture.

Before you could collapse, Bakugou’s strong hand grasped your neck and pulled you flush against his chest with an arm wrapped around your waist.

“You’re not done yet, Princess,” he growled into the shell of your ear.

“I- I- I can’t,” you stammered, grasping at his colourful forearm for dear life. “It- It’s too much.”

“You’ve got one more in you.” He punctuated his remark with a jolt of his hips, which had you arching away from him - taut like a bowstring - with a squeal, which only made him penetrate deeper.

He held you firmly in place by your throat as he continued to plunge into your, still dripping, cunt, hitting that sweet spot each and every time.

“Take it,” he growled. “Fucking take my cock.”

Your eyes crossed when the callused pads of his fingers joined in on the abuse, and rubbed against your neglected clit, adding a new sensation of torture into the mix.

“Pl- Pleash,” you slurred, dropping your head back against his shoulder. You had no idea what you were begging for - for him to stop, to continue - you had no idea, your brain had long since checked out, and had left you a slobbering, sobbing mess.

He smirked at your plea.

The hand at your throat turned your head to face him. “Say it again,” he said with a firm slap to your abused cunt.

You felt your hot tears burn a path across your temple as you looked into his lust filled eyes, and he licked them up slowly. “P-pl-please,” you whispered.

“Good girl.” He rewarded you with an open-mouthed kiss.

You squealed in both pain and delight when he resumed his assault; your nerve endings were on fire, sending an inferno running through your bloodstream.

Forget Heaven and Hell, you were no longer in this dimension, you weren’t a part of this world, you had transcended. Your shell of a body didn’t belong to you anymore as Bakugou played you like a well-tuned instrument and claimed ownership over it.

He had your mind in the palm of his hands too, erasing everything you knew until there was only him. Bakugou Katsuki. He took up every corner, leaving no room for anything to get past his all-encompassing presence.

You were his. And no man would ever compare.

He had ruined you.

You no longer registered the creaking of the bedsprings or the fact that the bed had moved almost two-foot across the room. You focused on his arms wrapped around you, his hot breath on your neck and his desperate pants against your skin, as a final tsunami of ecstasy drowned you in waves and waves of euphoria.

You screamed as your release flooded out of you.

“FUCK!”

You felt him fill your spasming cunt; a torrent of life-giving essence flooding your insides and squelching as his hips continued to hammer against you, and you felt his cum leak down your thighs from your conjoined bodies.

You both collapsed forward, Bakugou having the foresight to hold himself above you, before rolling to the side, so as not to crush you.

The bedsprings settled their squeaking as the sounds of heavy breathing took their place, filling the silence of the room.

“I think that was enough of a show to keep that fuck-wit of a guard off my back,” he breathlessly said.

You felt your overheated cheeks burn hotter with embarrassment at his implication. You had forgotten all about him.

A moment later, Bakugou leaned over the side of the bed to retrieve his jumpsuit, and pulled out a packet of cigarettes from the pocket; after lighting it, he took a long drag and blew the smoke towards the ceiling.

You shook your head at his offer of a turn on the stick, too exhausted to even lift your head, when you noticed he had also picked up your bra, and was rubbing the lace between his fingers.

It was a pretty bra, one you intended to keep at the end of all of this.

“Hey,” you shouted, when he began to rip open one of the padded cups. “What are you doing?”

“Getting what you came here for,” he mumbled around his cigarette.

You blinked in disbelief.

So you were here to smuggle something. You had been confused when Kirishima hadn’t given you anything to hide, thinking the underwear he had handed you was just another part of the blond man's particular tastes.

“Hah,” he said when he found what he was looking for.

He lay back down beside you and raised a plastic, black chip into the air, twirling it between his fingers.

“What’s that?” you asked.

“A birthday present.”

It didn’t look much like a birthday present to you. It was just a small black rectangle, the size of a memory card. “Huh? What’s it for?”

It must have held some meaning to him, as the next thing you saw was him giving you a hard, penetrating stare. “That’s between my brother and me.”

Ok, it was important, and he didn’t want you to know about it. It seemed he was particularly tight-lipped when he wasn’t trying to seduce you.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” you replied in defence, remembering who you were talking to.

He clutched the little chip in his palm, as you tried your luck and tentatively reached towards his arm and traced the lines of one of his dragon tattoos, like you had wanted to do earlier. “What?” you said to his disapproving stare. “I was a good girl.”

He took another drag and smirked knowingly, “Yes, you were. The second best birthday present I’ve had today. Kirishima really is too fucking nice for his own good.”

“Did you really mean it when you said you wanted to see me at the next visit, or was that a ‘in heat of the moment’ kind of thing?” you asked with a frown, as your finger passed over amber wings. You didn’t want this to be it; you only had five minutes left.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he replied. “I think we’ll be seeing each other sooner than you think, Princess.”

He twirled the chip again, focusing all of his attention on the thing, and you watched mesmerized at how dexterously he handled it.

“Much sooner.”

You believed him when you saw the self-assured smile he wore from the corner of your eye.

References:

Yes, I did take Sousei no Ryuu (Twinborn Dragons) from Yu-Gi-Oh! I do not regret it.

Alternate Ending - Warnings: Dark Content.

“What’s that?” you asked.

“A birthday present.”

It didn’t look much like a birthday present to you. It was just a small black rectangle, the size of a memory card. “Huh? What is it?”

“The key to my freedom.”

He gave you a look you couldn’t decipher before he was on you, pushing your face into the pillows forcefully and wrapping his hands around your neck.

When he began to squeeze too hard, you came to the realisation that this wasn’t round two of love-making, and you panicked and started to thrash and scream for help.

He didn’t let you though, he flipped you over and shoved the chip down your throat, before you could alert the guard outside. You choked as he placed a hand over your mouth preventing you from spitting it out.

His grip grew even tighter and you clawed at his hands, trying to get him to release you. You reached up to scratch at his face and arms, leaving deep welts behind, like the red dragon inked into his skin, but it had no effect, it only caused him to add more pressure.

“Yes, fight back,” he laughed maniacally. “I love it when they do.”

Your head was becoming fuzzy from the lack of oxygen to your brain, and when you tried to swallow, the chip lodged in your throat and blocked your air way and you began to violently convulse.

You could do nothing.

You were going to die.

Bakugou was smirking again, but this time it had none of the flirty undertones from before, this time it was sadistic.

He was enjoying this.

He was enjoying killing you.

Black spots began to obscure your vision and your hands dropped from their clawing to fall at your sides.

Why had he done this? Why you?

He leaned down and placed his lips against your ear, “It’s nothing personal, Princess. You’re just a means to an end,” he whispered and kissed you behind the ear. “Thanks for the unforgettable birthday.”

Your last thoughts were of your mother as your vision faded completely, and you stilled.

of love & lemons | k.bakugo | m.list

disclaimer!! this is a rewrite/heavily edited version of the fic i have on AO3/the fic i posted from lookslikeleese in 2019-2020! this is not plagiarised or stolen (i probably dont need this disclaimer, but we shall see ahhdjdjjsjaj)

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: 18+! college au-ish (UUA is the university, but they're still training to be heroes), explicit sexual activity, sneaking around, unrequited love, secret sex friends, fem!reader, reader is a firecracker & has a fire-related quirk, todomomo, bakugo swears a LOT (i am sweating at how much he swears bdnfjjd), angst, alcohol consumption & partying, more tba as the chapters unfurl

▸ ▸ ▸ word count: 30k-ish

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: i love this fic so much. it was my first foray into bnha and as such i want to talk about it more! aspects of the original fic don't align with my interests anymore and i really just love the story so im tweaking it a little. i hope you have fun coming on the journey with me (again, maybe)

chapter one: the cabin in the woods

wc: 6.3k | angst, making out

chapter two: the deal

wc: 7.6k | fingering, oral (m receiving)

chapter three: rumours

wc: tba

chapter four: loose ends

wc: tba

chapter five: epilogue

wc: tba

last night, you had your very first sleepover with katsuki.

it was perfect. no snoring or sleep walking, no blanket hogging, and most importantly—no pro hero work pulling him away in the morning. the only thing that would’ve made it better, is some clarity.

you’re dating katsuki, but it’s not official—he’s not your boyfriend. you wonder if maybe, he’s just not that into you, or perhaps, he just doesn’t have the time. time—something he’s never had enough of, that has to be it, right?

your very first date, it was a two parter, because he was needed elsewhere mid mapo tofu. a few other dates after that were also cut short—maybe he thinks you just don’t know each other well enough yet? is it even possible for someone like him to think that way? whatever the reason, you need to know.

“morning katsuki,” you murmur, shuffling into the kitchen as you pull your sleeves up over your fists. you have a clear goal in mind—but he’s cooking, without a shirt, and suddenly your mission is ten times more difficult. is this what being a pro hero feels like?

“morning,” he mumbles back, glancing up briefly as you lean against the counter.

“what am i to you?” shit, how did that slip out? you could’ve sworn you asked how he slept.

“a fuckin’ headache,” he replies, sliding two glasses out of the cupboard and onto the counter. he opens the fridge, grabbing the carton of apple juice, and the carton of orange juice.

date three, part one—you had a heated debate over which is better, apple or orange. katsuki told you he doesn’t like to chew his damn beverages, and you told him that, believe it or not, they make orange juice without pulp. still, he went on about the bitterness, the acidity, and the horrid oj and toothpaste combo—yet here he is having both in his refrigerator—how odd.

“c’mon, i’m serious,” you urge, watching the liquids cascade into their respective cups.

“so ‘m i.” he nudges your glass towards you, bringing his own up to his lips and chugging it.

“but, i’m in your apartment,” you pause, noticing the way his face contorts into a full on sentence—one that reads yeah, no shit. “i slept in your bed with you, i’m wearing your shirt,” you continue, gesturing to the long sleeve currently swallowing you whole.

“you’re talkin’ my damn ear off too,” he breathes, wiping an arm over his mouth.

by date five, it was obvious that katsuki’s actions spoke louder than his words—which is impressive considering just how loud his words are. puddles lined the streets that evening, courtesy of the afternoon downpour. it was busy, drivers lost in their own little worlds as they drove past—and each and every time, katsuki would angle his body to the right just a bit. he cursed every last one of them who sped by, and he was absolutely miserable by the time you made it off the main roads but, at least you were dry.

“nevermind,” you say, sliding into a chair at the dining table. you’ve decided that, whatever this is—it’s good enough for you.

but it was on date one part two that katsuki knew you were it for him. after running out on you just three nights prior, he was glad you even showed up—but you went one step further. you sat there with that pretty smile on your face. no eye rolls, no guilt trips, and not a single snide remark or complaint. you even offered to pay for the meal—as if he would ever let you do such a thing, but he found it cute nonetheless. so, he owes you this.

“hey,” he barks, causing your head to snap up. the two plates he had set on the counter are full now, he must be done. “you’re mine.”

the look on your face must’ve said it all, because he’s choking back a laugh as he carries your plates over. you’re his? why did he blurt it out so casually? are you missing something?

“oh c’mon,” he huffs, plopping down in the seat next to you. he turns, trailing his eyes up and down your figure. “you slept on my damn side of the bed, in my fuckin’ shirt.”

he gave you this shirt—right before he told you to go wait in bed while he tidied up—how the hell were you supposed to know he has a specific side?

“don’t play dumb,” he pauses, scowl growing as he watches you reach for a piece of food with your bare hands. he grabs your wrist, ushering for you to let him roll your sleeves up—like hell he’s gonna sit back and watch you get his shirt dirty.

he folds the fabric with precision, biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt to hide his smile—but he just can’t.

“y’already know you’re mine.”

you've always wanted to know what it was like to fly but ideally not in the arms of the man you've been avoiding for two weeks.

in which you've been avoiding hawks and he figures it out - prohero!y/n x hawks

it was a beautiful day to have a day off.

the weather was perfect: sunny with a hint of breeze. not too warm for it to be uncomfortable but warm enough for a short-sleeved shirt, you didn't run into any unexpected incidents that suddenly required you to perform any hero work, just wasted the day away doing absolutely nothing but unwinding by yourself. the lunch you had was amazing too, you really ought to go back and try out their other dishes, maybe bring a few friends from the agency too.

it’s just a shame that you have to end the day in the arms of the man you've been avoiding for the past two weeks, feeling your feet dangle helplessly in the air as he carries you securely, albeit, uncomfortably. 

"never knew hawks kidnapped people off the streets during patrol," you muttered, squinting as to combat the wind that was slightly drying your eyes. 

"depends what your meaning of 'random' is because judging by your definition, you mean strangers-" he stops talking when you approach the top of fukuoka tower and the prohero sets you down carefully, although you still stumble.

your heart thumped heavily in your chest, the exhilaration of soaring through the air was slowly seeping out of your bloodstream. although you really couldn't tell if it was flying at the ridiculous height that was freaking you out or if it was just the natural effect hawks seemed to have on you. damn that pretty bastard.

he continues his previous statement "-you and i both know we're not strangers. so what gives? why are you acting like we are all of a sudden?"

you cling on to the hand rails of the tower. heights wasn't much of a challenge but with the man you've been pining over ever since you first met him? you might need a second.

you met hawks when your agency and his had formed an alliance and it just so happened that your assistants assigned your patrol times to align. hawks was the number 2 hero and you were eager to learn how he went about his day-to-day, hoping for some help on how to boost your own rating up whilst learning how he manages an agency at his young age. he entered the prohero industry not too long before you but given your similar ages, he definitely had a headstart so when the opportunity to collaborate together came, you jumped at the chance.

what you hadn't taken into consideration however, was the extent of his charming personality and how easy it was to get along with the wing hero.

patrols were fun, full of laughter and jokes whilst competing in friendly competitions in who could save more civilians and apprehend more villains. sure, you shouldn't be goofing around on the job but nobody had to know.

adding in hawk's good looks, it did not take long for you to fall ass first for him.

your first instinct was to keep about your interactions but eventually the pining got too much that you figured out ways to avoid him where possible. meetings were meetings, but patrol times? your sacred little pockets of moments together? those could be minimised.

you took on late nights, all the way into the early morning unlike the usual afternoon schedule you'd established for the longest time.

and the act worked! for two weeks that is because now you're standing in front of hawks who has swept you off the street and brought him to his favourite place in the city.

this sucked.

he looked perfect in the golden hour too, honey illuminating his skin with a gentle glow that only enhanced how irresistible of a man hawks is.

"i don’t know what you’re talking about, nothing gives," you try to reply as nonchalantly as possible, excusing your nervous movements by pretending it was the wind blowing in your eyes uncomfortably.

hawks scoffs, "yeah sure, just like how you're giving me nothing."

you can't resist the pout from creeping on your lips. "is that why you kidnapped me off the street? to ask what's wrong? you could've just stopped me instead of flying off like i'm some worm for you to feed your baby chicks."

"haha, real funny. bird jokes," he rolls his eyes, a hint of a smile ghosting his lips.

"you know you like them."

"not as much as i'd like it if you told me what was actually up with you. taking patrols at midnight? seriously? i know you like your sleep."

"personal matters," you lie. although, it wasn't really a lie - it was personal, the way he made you feel was absolutely personal.

"what about today? why didn't you tell me you were off today because we could've hung out and visited that farmer's market i know you like."

you shrug, "thought never occurred to me."

he narrows his eyes in suspicion. "okay, then why wouldn't you tell me your hours were changing? i wouldn't mind picking up some nights," he asks, bottom lip poking out a little as a he furrows his brows.

you put your head in your hand, "no- that would've been, nevermind."

"tell me," he pleads. "it would've been what?"

you hate the way he's looking at you with so much passion and intensity that it wants to make your heart lurch out of your chest and right into his hands. this would be so much easier if he just-

fuck it. "it would have defeated the purpose."

"so you’re avoiding me on purpose then. did i do something wrong? cause if i did-"

"no!" you exclaim suddenly, tone full of exasperation and desperation, conveying the frustration you've been feeling the past two weeks into one sudden syllable. it actually takes hawks by surprise because he stumbles back a little and there's a moment of silence where you're just gauging for each other's reactions. "i mean- no, you didn't do anything wrong, and that's the frustrating part."

you continue with little space for him to intercept, "it's just, oh what the fuck, i know i shouldn't be saying this because it's totally unprofessional and-"

"out with it, y/n."

"-i like you.”

the air choked at your sudden confession and hawks’ expression says it all, morphing into one of shock - wide eyes and a slightly parted mouth before transforming into a wide smirk. you look away and cross your arms, which was a defense mechanism that hawks definitely picked up on. after spending so much time with you, how could he not have? 

he leans against the pole of the tower, suaveness oozing off him as if he wasn’t just frantically asking you what was wrong with you, “how much do you like me?” he asks, smugness evident in his tone.

you cover your eyes, “if i do not see, i do not perceive, go away.”

his laughter rings through your ears and you peek at him by separating your fingers slightly, “oh come on, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about-”

“yes there is! i have a crush on you and you’re literally the most embarrassing person in the world! being associated with you is embarrassing enough!”

he clenches his chest in faux-pain, “that one hurt, you should consider your words more carefully y/n, it’s a wonder how you won a bachelors like me.”

you give him a look of defeat as the words he just uttered registers in your head. “stop playing, this is serious.”

“you just called me embarrassing to be around!”

“because you are!”

hawks raises a brow at you, “number two hero not good enough for you? i’ll shoot for number one next time, then will you finally not be embarrassed enough to go on a date with me?”

oh god, this was a mess. “no, no, i suppose a date with you now is good enough.” 

“good enough?” hawks parrots before sighing with a shrug, “i’ll take it.”

“that came out wrong because i’m still seriously trying to believe that you’re not pulling my leg,” you point your finger in his chest, “you seriously like me back?”

“and i want to take you out on a date. tonight.”

“yes, let’s do it. tonight it is then.” 

“even if i’m the number two hero?”

“because you’re the number two hero. it’s the only impressive thing about you.”

“you’re the one who has a crush on the number two hero.”

you laugh heartily, wrapping an arm around him whilst doing so. he hugs you back instinctively with a big, warm smile plastered on his face. if you weren't so nervous you would've seen how smitten the look in his eyes were, “i guess i am. can you bring me back to the ground now, number two? i think the civilians should see that their local hero didn’t just kidnap a stranger from the ground.”

“they’ll know when they recognise you as their favourite, local hero. besides, it lets them know you’re off the market now, so good."

not so little | t. shouto

✮ tags ; gn!reader, minor age-gap (4 years), sfw

✮ wc ; 1.3k

✮ a/n ; this is not the most original idea ever so sorry but i wanted to write my take on it

"Seriously," Touya leans on the door frame of Natsuo's room, self-satisfied smile on his face "You're crushing on...Shouto? Our Shou-chan?"

You cover your face with despair at your predicament. You can't believe you're actually telling either of them. It wasn't like you were planning too. In what universe would you even think to do that deliberately?

But Natsuo is frighteningly good at grilling you about things when you refuse to tell him. Ever since he found out about your crush, he made it his lifes mission to harass you about it. You were careful, damn it. You didn't even actually tell him, he used to his annoying deductive reasoning to figure it out. You tell Natsuo everything.

He knows about every weird medical problem you've ever had, every partner you've ever dated, and every weird fit of crying you've ever cried in your life. He's your confidant. Your best friend. So he knows there's only two sorts of crushes you couldn't tell him about.

If it was on an ex or if it was on one of his siblings. His first guess was Touya - but he figure you wouldn't be this embarrassed about that since you often wolf whistle at him when you're in the house.

Then he guessed Fuyumi, because you're still embarrassed by how pretty she is. When you said it wasn't her - he was briefly stumped before settling in a shocked silence.

"...Are you crushing on Shouto? Seriously?"

Your embarrassment told him he was right, and now you're sitting in his room and hoping the world will swallow you because you're crushing on your best friends little brother of all things.

In your defense, it wasn't always like this. You didn't see much of the youngest Todoroki at all growing up. He was in his dorms for most of highschool and Natsuo spent most of his early adulthood ducking his parents house entirely. You only met him properly when he turned twenty. They're only living together now for Touya.

You kind of wish they weren't - since it'd save you the trouble of being embarrassed twice. You've been seeing Shouto a lot recently, since you've been coming over to hang out with Natsuo.

Shouto is not the 16 year old boy you always made. He's 22 and he's got tall and lean muscle. He's polite but sweet and strangely - much funnier than you could've ever predicted. He's genuinely very kind but most of all - he's been very direct on telling you that he likes you.

You don't think anyones ever pursued you like this in your life. Both of your last relationships ended amicably but neither of them had been this...direct with you ever. Shouto is very direct, actually. Direct in telling you which honorifics to use, and telling you how nice you look, and saying he misses you often. You've been dismissive. Even you're not so desperate as to openly pursue your friends little brother.

But again, he's not so little anymore. He's taller than you now, and he's got lean muscle. He always smells great. He is incredibly pretty in the fairy prince kind of way. This is by far the worst crush you've ever had to endure in your entire life. You've tried to forget.

But just last week he walked you home after patrols, speaking casually and kindly and good god - what is with the broad-shoulders? When did that even happen?

You want to die. You want to disappear into a black hole. You want to scream and cry. Why you're crushing on a boy 4 years younger than you? Why is Todoroki Shouto of all people make your heart flutter?

"Seriously... I mean I knew he was flirting with you pretty brazenly but," Natsuo looks like he's holding back a grimace. If you weren't holding back tears, you'd hit him "...Shouto? Like...really?"

"Didn't know our little angel was such a casanova. Crazy world we live in."

"Neither of you are helping." You say exasperated. Natsuo leans back on his palms, sighing a little. "Do you think I wanted this?"

"It's not the end of the world," Natsuo offers thoughtfully. You give him a meaningful glare from the corner of his bed but he doesn't budge "I mean..I guess if I got to pick who he dated, you're not at the very bottom of the list."

You kick his side. "That's so backhanded."

"He doesn't want to admit you two are a good match," Touya says thoughtfully, unwrapping candy from his pocket. A habit he picked up trying to quit smoking "He'll be lonely if you date Shouto."

"Shut up, Touya."

You ignore both of them for a minute trying to get your bearings.

"You think we're a good match...?"

Touya laughs hard "Is that all you heard? Poor Natsu, already being abandoned."

Natsuo shoots Touya a glare.

"Touyaaaa," You drag, reaching over to tug on the bottom of his shirt "Elaborate."

"And feed your delusions?" He says, clicking his teeth "Fine. Only because it's funny."

Natsuo hmphs, and you look at him apologetically. You two will have to talk about it later. Touya rolls the candy in his mouth, pulling his shirt up to scratch at his abdomen.

"Dunno. You're like... probably one of the only people who's not gonna treat him weird cause he's a good little hero. That brat... it's probably best for him to date someone normal and civilian-esque. Not like being a hero is the most important thing in the world to him."

You flush a little. This is really, really bad. Natsuo gives you a disapproving look. You look back at him a little softer.

"I won't date him if he's off limits." You offer. Touya coos at you both.

"Well aren't you darling."

Natsuo groans, laying flat on the floor.

"Ugh. It's not like I can just say no. It's enough of a miracle that Shouto is showing interest in anyone. And if he misses out on true love, even if it's," He gives you a sideways glance and shakes his head "Even if it's with you then I can't actually stop it."

"I'll reject him if you tell me too."

"What kind of older brother do you take me for?"

"Yeah, what kind of older brother do you take him for?" Touya mocks, laughing to himself "Aren't you just a saint, Natsu?"

"Touya, I'm gonna throw you out of my room."

"Ooh, someone's mad."

Before Natsuo as a chance to come back, the sound of the door opening from the living room downstairs floats up. Shouto calls out. You feel your heart almost fall out of your ass. Touya, delighted, is the first to reply.

"Shou-chan, we're upstairs."

You make a gesture of violence towards Touya who replies by pretending to jerk off then giving you the middle finger. You don't have time to collect yourself before Shouto is upstairs. He's back from patrols and he's a little sweaty. You feel heat creep-up up your neck.

"Touya-nii, do you still—oh," Shouto smiles soft as he realizes "It's you. I didn't realize you were here."

"I came in after class."

"Alone? You should've asked me to walk home with you."

You flush. Touyas' snickering is not helping you at all.

"Isn't that out of your way?"

"It's fine. I do stuff like that a lot," You're almost disappointed until he tacks on "But it's you so it's alright."

You look up at him wide-eyed. He gives you the ghost of a smile. God you're screwed. Before you can reply, Natsuo clears his throat.

"Go wash up. You stink." He chides. Shouto immediately goes back to being a little brother, nodding his head.

"Okay. Then," He looks at you directly. You're so screwed "I'll be right back."

You wait until Shouto is finally down the hall, listening for the bathroom door to thump shut before falling back into Natsuo's bed. Touya breaks out into a fit of laughter as Natsuo sulks in the corner.

But all of it feels like white noise when you compare it to the sound of your heartbeat, thudding hard in your chest.

house rules (roommate au)

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary:

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

so immediately you slam the door. 

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

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

oh, fuck. 

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

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

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

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

"and you're less than dressed." 

"i thought you stood me up." 

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

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

"i didn't cancel. i'm here." 

"you're late." 

"so i've heard..." he drawls. 

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

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

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

"are you going to apologize for being late?" 

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

"really?" 

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

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

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

you slam the door against his foot again. 

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

something in his voice already implies that it will. 

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

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

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

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

"ten minutes. maybe twenty." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you attempt a fake smile. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"um... sort of." 

"sort of?" 

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

gojo hums. "why'd he move out?" 

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

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

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

"okay, good, 'cause that's hideous." 

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

"did you change rooms?" 

"what?" 

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

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

gojo snorts. 

"what?" 

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

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

"you're not going to look around?" 

"it looks like the pictures." 

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

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

"not that i know of..." 

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

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

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

"yes." 

"can i see?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"can't you?" he asks, challenging. 

"no." 

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

and somehow you doubt that. 

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

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

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

"yes." 

"such as?" 

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

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

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

"okay." 

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

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

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

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

"these are not negotiable." 

he only continues to smile at you. 

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

"fine. you still want to live here?" 

"mmhmm." 

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

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

*

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

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

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

but satoru gojo is hard. 

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

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

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

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

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

and honestly, gojo's just asking for it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you ate my ice cream?" you repeat. 

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

"i might kill you." 

"i thought we banned homicide from the apartment." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you blink. 

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

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

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

you laugh. 

"clearly you've never been." 

"i'm still expecting ice cream." 

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

"like you've never skipped a class." 

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

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

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

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

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

"i seriously doubt that." 

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

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

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

"nor ever will," you grind out.

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh, wait. it does. 

you frown at him. 

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

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

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

"do you own this bar?" 

"what? no." 

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

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

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

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

"nanami," you cut in, "hey." 

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

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

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

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

"because i didn't realize." 

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

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

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

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

"he promised me alcohol." 

she nods knowingly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru laughs, not questioning this, and walks away. 

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

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

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

how long had that taken? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"are you ready to go home?" 

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

you don't, for whatever reason. 

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

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

"oh, really?" 

"learned when i was a kid and everything." 

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

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

like he's an actual toddler.

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

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

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

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

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

he smiles at you. you roll your eyes. 

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

but were you really expecting it to? 

*

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

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

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

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

you try not to laugh. 

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

"sorry?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"did you lose some pigment in your hair?" 

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

"from what?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo looks like he might start crying.

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

"don't you have a room?" you ask. 

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

"no." 

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

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

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

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

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

"clearly." 

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

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

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

"a book." 

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

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

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

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

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

seriously, his presence is impending doom itself. 

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

"i crave my fist on your face." 

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

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

"probably?" 

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

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

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

you groan and he laughs at you.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you're cleaning air?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"nanamin," he interrupts. "go." 

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

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

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

you raise your brows but do as he says. 

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

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

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

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

"satoru, she's just watching--" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

from suguru :p : 

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

can you please kick him awake? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"telepathy. now get up." 

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

"suguru said you'd say that." 

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

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

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

"why are you so mean to me?" 

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

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

"i'll sue back for mental damages." 

he laughs, and wiggles from your grasp. 

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

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

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

"yup." 

"he's a terrible friend." 

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

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

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

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

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

"what class is it?" 

"theoretical physics." 

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

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

"i can imagine." 

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

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

"no, suguru just thinks i'm lazy." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"really?" 

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

he grins. "cruel." 

"and i'll record it." 

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...and?" 

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

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

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

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

"how did you even find the library?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you're a part of a study group?" 

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

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

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

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

"nope, again." 

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

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

"do i seem worried to you?" 

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

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

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

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

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

you squint. "did you actually?" 

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

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

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

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

"flip night." 

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

"it wasn't that bad." 

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

gojo smiles. "consider yourself lucky." 

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

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

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

you laugh that thought away as soon as it comes.

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

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

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

"why not?" 

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

"do it in the morning." 

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

"then don't study." 

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

he grins. "i get it from you." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...going home?" 

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"no." 

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

"i told you, that's not mine." 

"so you gave it away?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"yes." 

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

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

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

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

"well, it was true then." 

you roll your eyes. 

"i wasn't going to say that anyway." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"whatever will i do now?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"getting turned on by my pain?" 

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...are you sure?" 

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

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

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

"what?" 

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

your brow furrows. "about what?" 

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

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

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

"no, and i don't dance." 

gojo rolls his eyes. "everyone dances." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you left me--" 

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

"you'll get me that anyway." 

"i'll let you pick it this time." 

"that's usually expected, you know?" 

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

"i don't know that, actually." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

it's probably just the alcohol, though. 

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it sounds like something else to you.

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

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

"'cause you deserve it." 

he laughs and leans in, so you follow him. 

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

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

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

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

"really?" 

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

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

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

"you okay?" 

"i think i might be a little drunk." 

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

"you're a lightweight." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i don't look at you a lot." 

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

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

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

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

"what?" 

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

"i'm not?" 

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

"why not?" 

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

gojo's brow furrows. "how?" 

your brows furrow. "how what?" 

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

"you'd have to ask him." 

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

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

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

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

"hey," gojo says, interrupting that feeling. 

"what?" 

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

"i'm not?" 

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

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

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

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

"they do?" 

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

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

how long has it been now? 

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

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

*

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

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

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

he just smiles easily, ruffling your hair.  

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

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

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

*

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

and so maybe you hang out with him sometimes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

"to the store." 

"it's eleven." 

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

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

"i need stuff." 

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

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

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

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

"you can't leave right now." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i can do whatever i want." 

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

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

"when i realized how weak you are." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you are ruining my mood." 

"oh, good." 

you scowl. "move. right now." 

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

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

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

he snorts. 

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

"what is that?" 

you frown. "what?" 

"what's wrong with your face?" 

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

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

"don't talk to me. ever again." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

"gojo?" 

he laughs. "the one and only. c'mon, i'll tuck you in." 

"did you just get home?" you must still be sleeping, because his hands are so soft right now. and his voice is so quiet--like the creaking of an old house. 

"yeah. are you going to get up?" he's kneeling in front of you, and his face is bare. you almost want to laugh at how bright his hair is even in the dark. 

"where were you?" 

he shakes his head, smiling up at you, and moves from the floor. "c'mon, sit up," he beckons, trying to get you to move your head from its place. you wince. eventually, he gives up and your heart almost disappears when he picks you up, tapping your legs so that you'll wrap them around his waist. 

you do it, but only because you don't want to fall. 

"why are you so tall?" you complain as he carries you to your room, feeling much more awake when you're this high in the air. 

gojo snorts. "i'll take that as a thank you," he whispers in your ear and sets you on your bed. then he sits on the edge and takes your socks off, pulling the covers out from under you. his movements are slow as he covers every inch of skin he can see, his breath the only sound between the two of you. 

it's colder when his hands move, and he looks at you for a moment as if trying to make sure he's satisfied with his job. 

"are you going to make fun of me for this in the morning?" 

gojo grins, squeezing your leg as he stands up. "probably. but only a little." 

"okay," you yawn, blinking as he backs up towards the door. 

"night, sweetheart," he whispers to you, and then a flash of hair is all you see before your door is closed and you drift back to sleep. 

and in the morning you wake up and can't remember how you got in bed. gojo doesn't say a thing. 

*

satoru gojo can say so much without saying a single thing. 

when he burst into your room--surprising you because you hadn't realized he was home--throwing himself on your bed and mumbling something about hating his life, you didn't say a word. 

and he'd sat there for ten minutes while you typed out a paper on your laptop, glancing over to him every couple of minutes, slightly worried because he hadn't moved an inch. 

you've seen a lot of his moods recently. you've seen him excited about some movie you didn't understand, exhausted after a long day of classes, angry when suguru and you leave him out of a joke. but most of that, you assume, is just him being himself. every feeling he has is probably seven times larger than the average person's.

but now that he's groaning into your bed, you can tell, just from the way his body deflates, that there's something wrong. you could see it when he walked in the room, and felt it because he'd told you he was getting dinner with his parents tonight. 

but if you know one thing about him, it's that he won't talk about it if you ask. 

because after a couple of weeks of spending more and more time with him, you'd quickly realized that you didn't actually know much about his life. he doesn't tell any stories about his childhood, or high school years--minus the ones that he tried to suffocate suguru for letting slip. he doesn't mention his parents much, and when he does, it's nothing but the bare minimum. he mentions classes so offhandedly that you hadn't even known how extensive his studies were until suguru was teasing him about an award he'd gotten a couple of years ago. 

he could talk to you for hours on end, but he wouldn't say anything. 

so after realizing this, you'd resorted to asking suguru about it.

that night, gojo was asleep on the floor between your feet. his hand was under his head, and he was snoring loud enough for you to notice. you'd sat down to watch a movie with him after he'd claimed that you and suguru were losers for being tired at this hour and that he was the youngest of you all. 

suguru only smiled a little bit at your question.

"satoru keeps an infinite amount of space between him and everyone else," he'd said softly, into the warm air of your apartment. "even with me, and i've known him since we were kids. his family..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

you'd frowned. "what?" 

"he's always been too much for them, in a way. i mean, you know, he is too much most of the time. but he does all of it purposefully; the arrogance, the bravado. i don't know... i think he just wants to control whatever image everyone has of him. to the extent that his personality is based on pushing people away, just so he can figure out who's actually going to stick around." 

you'd watched him then, with his fluttering eyelashes--his sunglasses lying on the ground next to him--and his bright hair. the gentle movement of his lips as he dreamt. he was softer like this, less forceful, less of a burden, and more of a boy.

and beautiful, of course, but that's an offhanded thought you wouldn't acknowledge.

"so, he doesn't talk to you about--" the words felt wrong, and you almost felt guilty for talking about him like this, with his best friend. but still. "--important stuff?" 

"he talks to me about a lot of things. but, no, not really. i get a long-winded rant sometimes, but not often." 

"then how are you supposed to know anything about him?"

suguru smiled at you, looking between you and gojo like there was a secret he didn't want to tell. he sighed. "satoru doesn't really tell me any of the important stuff because we've known each other for so long. i understand how his family is because i've watched him deal with them. i can guess how he's feeling based on his expression. but for people he hasn't known as long, like you, getting to know him is like i-spy." 

suguru didn’t need to elaborate. you got it.

like trying to find little hints of him hidden between all of the mess. you'd snorted and agreed. 

and it feels even more true now, with him cowering in your blankets. but still, you say nothing. 

you get it, to a certain degree. vulnerability was one of the feelings you liked to push away; secrets were only supposed to be coveted by you. getting close to people was a dangerous thing, risky in its own way. 

but, thinking that gojo doesn't trust you--couldn't trust you... it's more irritating than it should be. and maybe that's just because you're arrogant, and think yourself to be trustworthy. or maybe it's because you trust him, in your own unique way, even with all of his too much and extremeness. 

you don't say that to him though, just like he doesn't say anything to you. 

"hey," you push him with a foot. "are you drooling on my comforter?" 

there's a moment of silence, then gojo rolls over. "not a lot." 

you roll your eyes at him and type another sentence--a collection of words that have nothing to do with the actual essay you're writing, naturally--waiting for him to say something else. 

and, predictably, he does. "why aren't you paying attention to me?" 

"i'm busy, gojo." 

"no, you're not." 

"i am doing homework." 

he looks up at you. his sunglasses are somewhere on your floor. "well, then you're definitely not busy," he grins. 

you swat away a hand that tries to steal your computer. 

"aren't you supposed to be at dinner?" you ask him, trying to seem like you don't care about the answer. 

he sighs again. "canceled." 

"why?" 

"my dad had a meeting or something." 

"oh." 

you let the silence wade for a minute or two, trying to be discreet when you watch his face for any signs of discontent. but gojo just has his eyes closed. his hands above his head. 

eventually, you nudge him again. "did you eat anything?" 

he shakes his head. 

"do you want me to make you something?" 

an eye opens. he turns over and rests his head on his hands, squinting at you. "are you being nice to me?" 

"not intentionally." 

he snorts, poking you, almost in awe. "you are." 

"i'm just trying to make sure you don't die, okay? who knows what you've eaten today." 

he crawls up your bed, sitting right next to you so he can rest his head on your shoulder. and you should push him off, but you don't. "it's okay. i'm not very hungry." 

"that's not what i asked." 

gojo laughs against you, his hair brushing against your neck. 

you shouldn't say anything more. you shouldn't even entertain him and his antics, and you shouldn't even care (but you do. for some, stupid, infuriating reason). 

so you look at him, and your voice is soft when you ask, "you okay?" to him, hoping that it doesn't seem too intrusive. wishing that you didn't actually care if he was or not.

gojo's eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, you get that feeling again. 

that feeling in your stomach that makes you want to jump away from him. that makes your hands want to shake, and your voice fade. that feeling that you know--too well, too much--but can't get rid of. 

like an itch you're not really supposed to scratch. 

gojo swallows. "yeah," he answers, with no grin, no conceit. "i'm okay." 

and it shouldn't feel like a relief to hear, but it does. you nod, look away, and go back to your computer. back to your actual life, which shouldn't have any satoru gojo in it. 

but a minute later he adds: "i'd be better if you made me dinner, though." 

and you pull on his hair a little. you try to pretend like his smile doesn't fill you with butterflies. 

*

this shouldn't be happening. 

it's the only reasonable thought running through your brain at the moment. the only echo you can discern, the only words you can make out in the jumble of anxiety and horror running through your mind. 

he should not be this close. 

gojo had only picked you up from work once again, his easy smile meeting yours as soon as he walked through the door--you'd been waiting, wondering when he was going to show up. 

at seven-thirty he was there, letting in the cold air and sitting in the seat next to yours, complaining about the fact that you had a job that diverted your attention away from him while you rolled your eyes. 

he sat there for the half an hour remaining in your shift, distracting you. 

two months ago you would've kicked him out. would've called some make-believe security. 

but you just listened while he talked to you about space theories that didn't make any sense. 

and then he'd grabbed your bag for you, turning off the lights before you could, pushing in chairs while you organized the reception desk. 

and his hand grabbed yours before you thought to notice--swinging along while the two of you began the walk home. 

and halfway there, gojo stopped, looking up at something. "hey," he'd poked you. "look at the stars." 

you'd done it, begrudgingly, squinting. "i can count, like, three." 

"there's at least five." 

"why did you stop me to do this? it's cold." 

"because they look nice," he argues, looking down at you. "you have no eye for beauty." 

and, really, you might've agreed with him. you might've pushed him away from you and told him to hurry up and you might've not cared at all. 

but you could see his eyes, just a little bit, behind his sunglasses. and his smile was alabaster, and that feeling--that gasping for breath, trying to hold on to anything feeling--was there again. 

and it was poking you. like a push in some direction. like a laugh telling you that you were too afraid to do anything. 

you were looking at him. right at his face and the only thing you wanted to say was that he was wrong. 

he was wrong because at least you knew that he looked beautiful. 

but those words wouldn't leave your lips--that thought couldn't leave your head--so you were only staring at him. wishing that you'd never let him into your apartment and that he hadn't started becoming a person to you. 

it wasn't fair like this. 

"what?" he whispered, his smile dropping, like he could tell there was something wrong with you. like he knew you that well. 

if he'd kept on smiling, you wouldn't have done it. you wouldn't have pushed up on your toes and leaned into him, and you wouldn't have kissed him like you did. 

like you're doing. 

and it would've been fine because you never would've started this knowing that it would eventually have to stop. 

and even though it takes him less than a second to kiss you back--his lips molding to yours like an automatic reaction--you know that you shouldn't be doing this. 

that you can't be doing this. not with him. not like this. 

so when gojo's hands move to your waist, his breath even in your mouth, you push at his chest. and you want to run away. 

"i'm--" you swallow, trying not to taste him, the bubblegum flavor of him, and almost flinch away. "i'm sorry." 

gojo's mouth is frozen from where he stands two feet away. his hands are in the air like he doesn't know what to do with them. "you..." 

and you've never heard him speechless before. just the idea of it makes you blurt out whatever comes to mind. "i shouldn't have done that," you tell him, and, "i didn't mean to--i don't--" you shake your head. "sorry. i'm sorry. can we forget about this? can we get home because i'm really cold?" 

"you kissed me," gojo says, so simply. 

the words are another blow to your heart. you were hoping that he wouldn't have noticed. 

and wince and watch him, his face as it shifts, moving with each thought in his head. 

"gojo, i'm really--" 

"no," he interrupts, taking a step towards you. 

"what?" 

"that's not my name." 

you frown. "yes it is?" 

he shakes his head. "no, it's satoru. you've said it before, you know. you should keep saying it." 

"when have i said it?" you ask, momentarily blinded by how he demands this. who is he to demand anything? 

"when you were drunk." 

you scoff. "i'm not just going to call you by your first name cause you want me to," you tell him, "who do you think i am?" 

and then satoru laughs, shaking his head at you, his grin full-force on his face. "are you serious? you kissed me and now you don't want to call me by my first name?" 

you freeze. "i said i was sorry about that," you say, weakly. 

you feel like who you've always felt around him. not as easy, not as cool, never as smooth. you feel like a child caught doing something they're not supposed to. you want to run away from him, but he knows where you live. 

"you're sorry?" 

"i didn't mean to." 

he quirks a brow. "you didn't mean to?" 

"it was an accident?" 

he takes another step closer. "it was an accident?" 

"are you just going to keep repeating everything i say?" you ask, voice hard. this must be a dream. 

satoru shakes his head at you. "no, but i have a question." 

"...okay." 

"if i try to kiss you right now, are you going to try and murder me? i know that we're away from the apartment right now, but it would really ruin the mood." 

you stare at him. 

it must be answer enough because he steps forward and he kisses you again. but this time, it feels less mechanical. his lips are soft and smooth as they push against yours--and he pushes like he's demanding something from you. like he knows more about what you can give than you do. 

and he grins against you like he's doing everything exactly right. 

but when satoru pulls back, your eyes stay shut. you try and banish the feeling in your stomach from your body, but it doesn't respond to idle threats. 

"we shouldn't do this," you whisper to him. you don't open your eyes. you don't want to see his face and fall victim to another one of his schemes. 

"why not?" 

"the last time i kissed one of my roommates..." you imply, hoping that you don't have to tell him that you're scared. 

"oh, right," he brushes some hair from your face. he has not moved an inch away from you. "i forgot that you're experienced." 

"wasn't it obvious?" 

he laughs, and then nudges your cheek with a finger. "look at me." 

you shake your head. 

"c'mon, just a little." 

his voice is so soft. satoru is whispering like it's just for you. and you've never heard him like this and you don't think you want to see him. 

"please, sweetheart?" he asks, one last time, and you have to. if only to put yourself out of your own misery. "good. now listen--" 

"don't tell me what to do." 

he rolls his eyes. "listen," he repeats. "i know you don't like me very much. and i know that you only keep me around for my rent money and my pretty face--" 

you kinda want to hit him. 

"--but i've wanted to kiss you for weeks. and i'm not good at the..." he swallows, blinking just briefly. "all of the telling stuff, but i want to be. with you. for you." 

you're not sure if that's the end, or if it's the beginning. your eyes are stuck on his smile, and you're not listening to anything he said. 

he's very close right now. so accessible. and it's just another reason to want to push him away. 

satoru clears his throat, nudging your head with his nose. "and i'm tired of shoko and suguru calling me a coward, so it'd be great if you'd mention that you kissed me first." 

your brows furrow. "you told shoko and suguru?" 

"i didn't say anything," he almost swears. "they tricked me into admitting it." 

"when?" 

"...the day after i introduced you to them." 

you pull away to observe his face. "really?" 

he groans. "stop looking at me like that," he says, "it's mean." 

you almost smile at him again. then close your eyes. "okay."

"havent you listened to anything i've said to you?" he asks, rhetorically. "i flirt with you every day." 

"you flirt with everything." 

"mmm, true," he leans his chin against your head, breathing you in. "now that i've poured my heart out for you, can we go home? it's cold out here, and i'd rather make out on our couch than that bench over there." 

"who said anything about making out?" 

"please," he wraps an arm around your shoulder, and smiles down at you--with all of the typical swagger--and maybe this time you let him. 

*

PAIRING : katsuki bakugou x reader

STATUS : complete

RATING : sfw ☁️

GENRE : smau, crack, lil bit of angst, aged up, sexual references (suggested for a mature reader)

⤷ looking for a new friend after having moved to a new town, you dive into the world of ‘meeting strangers!’. Downloading a weird app called anonymous, searching for matches!

‘ profile:

▸ name: fuck you

▸ age: 19

▸ describe yourself: no

▸ interests: being better than you

↬ start talking talking to fuck you! ’

Yet, the guy you find is not the nicest but there’s an odd charm to him.

You proceed to exchange numbers after matching with a total stranger so that you wouldn’t have to talk over this cheaply made app, making him your source of entertainment in this very new stage in your life!

chapters:

0: 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙤 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧

1: 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙖𝙣

2: 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚?

3: 𝙨𝙦𝙪𝙖𝙙

4: 𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙥, 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧

5: 𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙜𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨

6: 𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙚

7: 𝙙𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧?

8: 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙘

9: 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙥

10: 𝙬𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙨!

11: 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠

12: 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚

13: 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙣

14: 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 4𝙥𝙢 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙

15:  𝙞 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤𝙤

epilogue

side warning: this was made at a time when i didn’t take into account the profile picture of y/n, so please be aware of that. I’m sorry for the mistake, my newer smau’s do not have this issue!! Be assured that the profile picture is not representative of the reader i had in mind and they barely look anything like me as well🥲